Diversity in Medicine

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband UVB treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Photographs courtesy of Richard P. Usatine, MD.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹ Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (Figures A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when diagnosing vitiligo is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase– signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.11 Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

US Food and Drug Administration approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband UVB treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Photographs courtesy of Richard P. Usatine, MD.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹ Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (Figures A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when diagnosing vitiligo is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase– signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.11 Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

US Food and Drug Administration approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband UVB treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Photographs courtesy of Richard P. Usatine, MD.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹ Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (Figures A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when diagnosing vitiligo is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase– signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.11 Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

US Food and Drug Administration approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

Childhood stress can change the brain negatively, according to a new study that says Black children are affected more because they experience more poverty and adversity.

“The researchers analyzed MRI scans to identify small differences in the volume of certain brain structures, and said these could accumulate as children age and play a role in the later development of mental health problems,” STAT News reported. “The finding, part of an emerging research field looking at how racism and other social factors may affect the physical architecture of the brain, may help explain longstanding racial disparities in the prevalence of psychiatric disorders such as PTSD.”

The study was published in The American Journal of Psychiatry.

Brain development is affected by “disparities faced by certain groups of people,” even among children as young as 9 years old, said Nathaniel Harnett, an assistant professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, Boston, and the study’s senior author. “If we’re going to treat the world as colorblind, we’re not going to create mental health solutions that are effective for all people.”

The study used evidence from the Adolescent Brain Cognitive Development Study, which the National Institutes of Health established in 2015 to study the brains and experiences of thousands of American children through early adulthood.

Brain scans revealed that Black children had less gray matter in 11 of 14 brain areas that were examined. Disparities in 8 of the 14 brain areas were affected by childhood adversity, particularly poverty.

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

Childhood stress can change the brain negatively, according to a new study that says Black children are affected more because they experience more poverty and adversity.

“The researchers analyzed MRI scans to identify small differences in the volume of certain brain structures, and said these could accumulate as children age and play a role in the later development of mental health problems,” STAT News reported. “The finding, part of an emerging research field looking at how racism and other social factors may affect the physical architecture of the brain, may help explain longstanding racial disparities in the prevalence of psychiatric disorders such as PTSD.”

The study was published in The American Journal of Psychiatry.

Brain development is affected by “disparities faced by certain groups of people,” even among children as young as 9 years old, said Nathaniel Harnett, an assistant professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, Boston, and the study’s senior author. “If we’re going to treat the world as colorblind, we’re not going to create mental health solutions that are effective for all people.”

The study used evidence from the Adolescent Brain Cognitive Development Study, which the National Institutes of Health established in 2015 to study the brains and experiences of thousands of American children through early adulthood.

Brain scans revealed that Black children had less gray matter in 11 of 14 brain areas that were examined. Disparities in 8 of the 14 brain areas were affected by childhood adversity, particularly poverty.

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

Childhood stress can change the brain negatively, according to a new study that says Black children are affected more because they experience more poverty and adversity.

“The researchers analyzed MRI scans to identify small differences in the volume of certain brain structures, and said these could accumulate as children age and play a role in the later development of mental health problems,” STAT News reported. “The finding, part of an emerging research field looking at how racism and other social factors may affect the physical architecture of the brain, may help explain longstanding racial disparities in the prevalence of psychiatric disorders such as PTSD.”

The study was published in The American Journal of Psychiatry.

Brain development is affected by “disparities faced by certain groups of people,” even among children as young as 9 years old, said Nathaniel Harnett, an assistant professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, Boston, and the study’s senior author. “If we’re going to treat the world as colorblind, we’re not going to create mental health solutions that are effective for all people.”

The study used evidence from the Adolescent Brain Cognitive Development Study, which the National Institutes of Health established in 2015 to study the brains and experiences of thousands of American children through early adulthood.

Brain scans revealed that Black children had less gray matter in 11 of 14 brain areas that were examined. Disparities in 8 of the 14 brain areas were affected by childhood adversity, particularly poverty.

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

Cardiovascular-related deaths increased dramatically in 2020, marking the largest single-year increase since 2015 and surpassing the previous record from 2003, according to the American Heart Association’s 2023 Statistical Update.

During the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, the largest increases in cardiovascular disease (CVD) deaths were seen among Asian, Black, and Hispanic people.

“We thought we had been improving as a country with respect to CVD deaths over the past few decades,” Connie Tsao, MD, chair of the AHA Statistical Update writing committee, told this news organization.

Since 2020, however, those trends have changed. Dr. Tsao, a staff cardiologist at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center and assistant professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, both in Boston, noted the firsthand experience that many clinicians had in seeing the shift.

“We observed this sharp rise in age-adjusted CVD deaths, which corresponds to the COVID-19 pandemic,” she said. “Those of us health care providers knew from the overfull hospitals and ICUs that clearly COVID took a toll, particularly in those with cardiovascular risk factors.”

The AHA Statistical Update was published online in the journal Circulation.
 

Data on deaths

Each year, the American Heart Association and National Institutes of Health report the latest statistics related to heart disease, stroke, and cardiovascular risk factors. The 2023 update includes additional information about pandemic-related data.

Overall, the number of people who died from cardiovascular disease increased during the first year of the pandemic, rising from 876,613 in 2019 to 928,741 in 2020. This topped the previous high of 910,000 in 2003.

In addition, the age-adjusted mortality rate increased for the first time in several years, Dr. Tsao said, by a “fairly substantial” 4.6%. The age-adjusted mortality rate incorporates the variability in the aging population from year to year, accounting for higher death rates among older people.

“Even though our total number of deaths has been slowly increasing over the past decade, we have seen a decline each year in our age-adjusted rates – until 2020,” she said. “I think that is very indicative of what has been going on within our country – and the world – in light of people of all ages being impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic, especially before vaccines were available to slow the spread.”

The largest increases in CVD-related deaths occurred among Asian, Black, and Hispanic people, who were most heavily affected during the first year of the pandemic.

“People from communities of color were among those most highly impacted, especially early on, often due to a disproportionate burden of cardiovascular risk factors, such as hypertension and obesity,” Michelle Albert, MD, MPH, president of AHA and a professor of medicine at the University of California, San Francisco, said in a statement.

Dr. Albert, who is also the director of UCSF’s Center for the Study of Adversity and Cardiovascular Disease, does research on health equity and noted the disparities seen in the 2020 numbers. “Additionally, there are socioeconomic considerations, as well as the ongoing impact of structural racism on multiple factors, including limiting the ability to access quality health care,” she said.
 

Additional considerations

In a special commentary, the Statistical Update writing committee pointed to the need to track data for other underrepresented communities, including LGBTQ people and those living in rural or urban areas. The authors outlined several ways to better understand the effects of identity and social determinants of health, as well as strategies to reduce cardiovascular-related disparities.

“This year’s writing group made a concerted effort to gather information on specific social factors related to health risk and outcomes, including sexual orientation, gender identity, urbanization, and socioeconomic position,” Dr. Tsao said. “However, the data are lacking because these communities are grossly underrepresented in clinical and epidemiological research.”

For the next several years, the AHA Statistical Update will likely include more insights about the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as ongoing disparities.

“For sure, we will be continuing to see the effects of the pandemic for years to come,” Dr. Tsao said. “Recognition of the disparities in outcomes among vulnerable groups should be a call to action among health care providers and researchers, administration, and policy leaders to investigate the reasons and make changes to reverse these trends.”

The statistical update was prepared by a volunteer writing group on behalf of the American Heart Association Council on Epidemiology and Prevention Statistics Committee and Stroke Statistics Subcommittee.

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

Cardiovascular-related deaths increased dramatically in 2020, marking the largest single-year increase since 2015 and surpassing the previous record from 2003, according to the American Heart Association’s 2023 Statistical Update.

During the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, the largest increases in cardiovascular disease (CVD) deaths were seen among Asian, Black, and Hispanic people.

“We thought we had been improving as a country with respect to CVD deaths over the past few decades,” Connie Tsao, MD, chair of the AHA Statistical Update writing committee, told this news organization.

Since 2020, however, those trends have changed. Dr. Tsao, a staff cardiologist at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center and assistant professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, both in Boston, noted the firsthand experience that many clinicians had in seeing the shift.

“We observed this sharp rise in age-adjusted CVD deaths, which corresponds to the COVID-19 pandemic,” she said. “Those of us health care providers knew from the overfull hospitals and ICUs that clearly COVID took a toll, particularly in those with cardiovascular risk factors.”

The AHA Statistical Update was published online in the journal Circulation.
 

Data on deaths

Each year, the American Heart Association and National Institutes of Health report the latest statistics related to heart disease, stroke, and cardiovascular risk factors. The 2023 update includes additional information about pandemic-related data.

Overall, the number of people who died from cardiovascular disease increased during the first year of the pandemic, rising from 876,613 in 2019 to 928,741 in 2020. This topped the previous high of 910,000 in 2003.

In addition, the age-adjusted mortality rate increased for the first time in several years, Dr. Tsao said, by a “fairly substantial” 4.6%. The age-adjusted mortality rate incorporates the variability in the aging population from year to year, accounting for higher death rates among older people.

“Even though our total number of deaths has been slowly increasing over the past decade, we have seen a decline each year in our age-adjusted rates – until 2020,” she said. “I think that is very indicative of what has been going on within our country – and the world – in light of people of all ages being impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic, especially before vaccines were available to slow the spread.”

The largest increases in CVD-related deaths occurred among Asian, Black, and Hispanic people, who were most heavily affected during the first year of the pandemic.

“People from communities of color were among those most highly impacted, especially early on, often due to a disproportionate burden of cardiovascular risk factors, such as hypertension and obesity,” Michelle Albert, MD, MPH, president of AHA and a professor of medicine at the University of California, San Francisco, said in a statement.

Dr. Albert, who is also the director of UCSF’s Center for the Study of Adversity and Cardiovascular Disease, does research on health equity and noted the disparities seen in the 2020 numbers. “Additionally, there are socioeconomic considerations, as well as the ongoing impact of structural racism on multiple factors, including limiting the ability to access quality health care,” she said.
 

Additional considerations

In a special commentary, the Statistical Update writing committee pointed to the need to track data for other underrepresented communities, including LGBTQ people and those living in rural or urban areas. The authors outlined several ways to better understand the effects of identity and social determinants of health, as well as strategies to reduce cardiovascular-related disparities.

“This year’s writing group made a concerted effort to gather information on specific social factors related to health risk and outcomes, including sexual orientation, gender identity, urbanization, and socioeconomic position,” Dr. Tsao said. “However, the data are lacking because these communities are grossly underrepresented in clinical and epidemiological research.”

For the next several years, the AHA Statistical Update will likely include more insights about the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as ongoing disparities.

“For sure, we will be continuing to see the effects of the pandemic for years to come,” Dr. Tsao said. “Recognition of the disparities in outcomes among vulnerable groups should be a call to action among health care providers and researchers, administration, and policy leaders to investigate the reasons and make changes to reverse these trends.”

The statistical update was prepared by a volunteer writing group on behalf of the American Heart Association Council on Epidemiology and Prevention Statistics Committee and Stroke Statistics Subcommittee.

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

Cardiovascular-related deaths increased dramatically in 2020, marking the largest single-year increase since 2015 and surpassing the previous record from 2003, according to the American Heart Association’s 2023 Statistical Update.

During the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, the largest increases in cardiovascular disease (CVD) deaths were seen among Asian, Black, and Hispanic people.

“We thought we had been improving as a country with respect to CVD deaths over the past few decades,” Connie Tsao, MD, chair of the AHA Statistical Update writing committee, told this news organization.

Since 2020, however, those trends have changed. Dr. Tsao, a staff cardiologist at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center and assistant professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, both in Boston, noted the firsthand experience that many clinicians had in seeing the shift.

“We observed this sharp rise in age-adjusted CVD deaths, which corresponds to the COVID-19 pandemic,” she said. “Those of us health care providers knew from the overfull hospitals and ICUs that clearly COVID took a toll, particularly in those with cardiovascular risk factors.”

The AHA Statistical Update was published online in the journal Circulation.
 

Data on deaths

Each year, the American Heart Association and National Institutes of Health report the latest statistics related to heart disease, stroke, and cardiovascular risk factors. The 2023 update includes additional information about pandemic-related data.

Overall, the number of people who died from cardiovascular disease increased during the first year of the pandemic, rising from 876,613 in 2019 to 928,741 in 2020. This topped the previous high of 910,000 in 2003.

In addition, the age-adjusted mortality rate increased for the first time in several years, Dr. Tsao said, by a “fairly substantial” 4.6%. The age-adjusted mortality rate incorporates the variability in the aging population from year to year, accounting for higher death rates among older people.

“Even though our total number of deaths has been slowly increasing over the past decade, we have seen a decline each year in our age-adjusted rates – until 2020,” she said. “I think that is very indicative of what has been going on within our country – and the world – in light of people of all ages being impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic, especially before vaccines were available to slow the spread.”

The largest increases in CVD-related deaths occurred among Asian, Black, and Hispanic people, who were most heavily affected during the first year of the pandemic.

“People from communities of color were among those most highly impacted, especially early on, often due to a disproportionate burden of cardiovascular risk factors, such as hypertension and obesity,” Michelle Albert, MD, MPH, president of AHA and a professor of medicine at the University of California, San Francisco, said in a statement.

Dr. Albert, who is also the director of UCSF’s Center for the Study of Adversity and Cardiovascular Disease, does research on health equity and noted the disparities seen in the 2020 numbers. “Additionally, there are socioeconomic considerations, as well as the ongoing impact of structural racism on multiple factors, including limiting the ability to access quality health care,” she said.
 

Additional considerations

In a special commentary, the Statistical Update writing committee pointed to the need to track data for other underrepresented communities, including LGBTQ people and those living in rural or urban areas. The authors outlined several ways to better understand the effects of identity and social determinants of health, as well as strategies to reduce cardiovascular-related disparities.

“This year’s writing group made a concerted effort to gather information on specific social factors related to health risk and outcomes, including sexual orientation, gender identity, urbanization, and socioeconomic position,” Dr. Tsao said. “However, the data are lacking because these communities are grossly underrepresented in clinical and epidemiological research.”

For the next several years, the AHA Statistical Update will likely include more insights about the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as ongoing disparities.

“For sure, we will be continuing to see the effects of the pandemic for years to come,” Dr. Tsao said. “Recognition of the disparities in outcomes among vulnerable groups should be a call to action among health care providers and researchers, administration, and policy leaders to investigate the reasons and make changes to reverse these trends.”

The statistical update was prepared by a volunteer writing group on behalf of the American Heart Association Council on Epidemiology and Prevention Statistics Committee and Stroke Statistics Subcommittee.

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

Pregnancy-associated deaths, including drug-related deaths and homicide, were up 35% in 2020, compared with prepandemic 2019, new research indicates.

The data also show a 7.1% decrease in pregnancy-related suicides in 2020 from 2019.

The study, led by Claire E. Margerison, PhD, with the department of epidemiology and biostatistics at Michigan State University, East Lansing, included 4,528 pregnancy-associated deaths. The rate of deaths per 100,000 live births from April to December 2020 was 66.9 (95% confidence interval, 63.9-70.1). The comparative rate from April to December 2019 was 49.6. Researchers looked at that time period because the pandemic started in March 2020.

The findings were published online in JAMA Open Network.
 

Drug-related deaths up 55.3%

During the study period, drug deaths increased 55.3% and deaths from homicide increased 41.2%. Deaths from obstetric and other causes (mainly vehicle crashes) increased 28.4% and 56.7%, respectively, according to Dr. Margerison's group.

“Although pregnancy-associated deaths increased over time, increases from 2019 to 2020 were substantially larger than increases from 2018 to 2019,” the authors wrote.

The findings align with deaths in the general population in that time frame, they added.

Another study – this one looking at all-cause and cause-specific mortality from 2019 to 2020 in recently pregnant women, also published in JAMA Network Open, found significant racial and ethnic disparities in rates and cause of death.

According to the study, “Compared with non-Hispanic White women, mortality rates were three- to fivefold higher among American Indian or Alaska Native women for every cause, including suicide. Likewise, these findings suggest that non-Hispanic Black women experienced significantly higher mortality rates across causes, with the highest rates for homicide.”

Dr. Margerison and colleagues did not try to answer what caused the increases but pointed to the fentanyl epidemic, the murder of George Floyd, and COVID-19–related economic strain as potential stressors. They also suggest fewer screenings during the pandemic may have played a role.
 

Prevention opportunities missed

“Although pregnancy is considered an opportunity for screening and prevention related to physical, mental, and behavioral health, our data suggest that such opportunities were missed for hundreds of pregnant people during the pandemic,” the authors wrote.

Researchers analyzed cross-sectional U.S. death certificates from Jan. 1, 2018, to Dec. 31, 2020, for female U.S. residents ages 15-44 years. They then obtained the count for live births for the same population and time frame from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention WONDER database.

They were able to identify pregnancy-associated deaths as the 2003 Revised Death Certificate contains a standardized pregnancy checkbox that asks whether the person was pregnant at the time of death, within 42 days of death, or within 43 days to 1 year of death.

Researchers also included deaths with ICD-10 codes linked with death from obstetric causes.

Deaths from overdose, suicide, and homicide are making up large and growing proportions of all deaths during pregnancy and in the first year postpartum, the authors report.

Dr. Margerison and coauthors, in research published in 2022, reported that these causes account for more than one-fifth of all pregnancy-related deaths. They also reported that drug-related deaths and homicides in this population have increased over the past 10 years.

“Substantial racial and ethnic inequities in these deaths exist,” they wrote in that paper.

The authors concluded in the current research: “Our study findings suggest that there is a need for prevention and intervention efforts, including harm-reduction strategies, tailored to pregnant and postpartum women, particularly during times of population stress and decreased utilization of preventive care, such as a pandemic.”

Dr. Margerison and coauthors reported receiving grant support from the Eunice Kennedy Shriver National Institute of Child Health and Human Development during the study. One coauthor received personal fees from the World Health Organization and Population Reference Bureau outside the submitted work. One coauthor reported receiving grant support from the National Institutes of Mental Health during the study.

*This story was updated on 2/1.

Pregnancy-associated deaths, including drug-related deaths and homicide, were up 35% in 2020, compared with prepandemic 2019, new research indicates.

The data also show a 7.1% decrease in pregnancy-related suicides in 2020 from 2019.

The study, led by Claire E. Margerison, PhD, with the department of epidemiology and biostatistics at Michigan State University, East Lansing, included 4,528 pregnancy-associated deaths. The rate of deaths per 100,000 live births from April to December 2020 was 66.9 (95% confidence interval, 63.9-70.1). The comparative rate from April to December 2019 was 49.6. Researchers looked at that time period because the pandemic started in March 2020.

The findings were published online in JAMA Open Network.
 

Drug-related deaths up 55.3%

During the study period, drug deaths increased 55.3% and deaths from homicide increased 41.2%. Deaths from obstetric and other causes (mainly vehicle crashes) increased 28.4% and 56.7%, respectively, according to Dr. Margerison's group.

“Although pregnancy-associated deaths increased over time, increases from 2019 to 2020 were substantially larger than increases from 2018 to 2019,” the authors wrote.

The findings align with deaths in the general population in that time frame, they added.

Another study – this one looking at all-cause and cause-specific mortality from 2019 to 2020 in recently pregnant women, also published in JAMA Network Open, found significant racial and ethnic disparities in rates and cause of death.

According to the study, “Compared with non-Hispanic White women, mortality rates were three- to fivefold higher among American Indian or Alaska Native women for every cause, including suicide. Likewise, these findings suggest that non-Hispanic Black women experienced significantly higher mortality rates across causes, with the highest rates for homicide.”

Dr. Margerison and colleagues did not try to answer what caused the increases but pointed to the fentanyl epidemic, the murder of George Floyd, and COVID-19–related economic strain as potential stressors. They also suggest fewer screenings during the pandemic may have played a role.
 

Prevention opportunities missed

“Although pregnancy is considered an opportunity for screening and prevention related to physical, mental, and behavioral health, our data suggest that such opportunities were missed for hundreds of pregnant people during the pandemic,” the authors wrote.

Researchers analyzed cross-sectional U.S. death certificates from Jan. 1, 2018, to Dec. 31, 2020, for female U.S. residents ages 15-44 years. They then obtained the count for live births for the same population and time frame from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention WONDER database.

They were able to identify pregnancy-associated deaths as the 2003 Revised Death Certificate contains a standardized pregnancy checkbox that asks whether the person was pregnant at the time of death, within 42 days of death, or within 43 days to 1 year of death.

Researchers also included deaths with ICD-10 codes linked with death from obstetric causes.

Deaths from overdose, suicide, and homicide are making up large and growing proportions of all deaths during pregnancy and in the first year postpartum, the authors report.

Dr. Margerison and coauthors, in research published in 2022, reported that these causes account for more than one-fifth of all pregnancy-related deaths. They also reported that drug-related deaths and homicides in this population have increased over the past 10 years.

“Substantial racial and ethnic inequities in these deaths exist,” they wrote in that paper.

The authors concluded in the current research: “Our study findings suggest that there is a need for prevention and intervention efforts, including harm-reduction strategies, tailored to pregnant and postpartum women, particularly during times of population stress and decreased utilization of preventive care, such as a pandemic.”

Dr. Margerison and coauthors reported receiving grant support from the Eunice Kennedy Shriver National Institute of Child Health and Human Development during the study. One coauthor received personal fees from the World Health Organization and Population Reference Bureau outside the submitted work. One coauthor reported receiving grant support from the National Institutes of Mental Health during the study.

*This story was updated on 2/1.

Pregnancy-associated deaths, including drug-related deaths and homicide, were up 35% in 2020, compared with prepandemic 2019, new research indicates.

The data also show a 7.1% decrease in pregnancy-related suicides in 2020 from 2019.

The study, led by Claire E. Margerison, PhD, with the department of epidemiology and biostatistics at Michigan State University, East Lansing, included 4,528 pregnancy-associated deaths. The rate of deaths per 100,000 live births from April to December 2020 was 66.9 (95% confidence interval, 63.9-70.1). The comparative rate from April to December 2019 was 49.6. Researchers looked at that time period because the pandemic started in March 2020.

The findings were published online in JAMA Open Network.
 

Drug-related deaths up 55.3%

During the study period, drug deaths increased 55.3% and deaths from homicide increased 41.2%. Deaths from obstetric and other causes (mainly vehicle crashes) increased 28.4% and 56.7%, respectively, according to Dr. Margerison's group.

“Although pregnancy-associated deaths increased over time, increases from 2019 to 2020 were substantially larger than increases from 2018 to 2019,” the authors wrote.

The findings align with deaths in the general population in that time frame, they added.

Another study – this one looking at all-cause and cause-specific mortality from 2019 to 2020 in recently pregnant women, also published in JAMA Network Open, found significant racial and ethnic disparities in rates and cause of death.

According to the study, “Compared with non-Hispanic White women, mortality rates were three- to fivefold higher among American Indian or Alaska Native women for every cause, including suicide. Likewise, these findings suggest that non-Hispanic Black women experienced significantly higher mortality rates across causes, with the highest rates for homicide.”

Dr. Margerison and colleagues did not try to answer what caused the increases but pointed to the fentanyl epidemic, the murder of George Floyd, and COVID-19–related economic strain as potential stressors. They also suggest fewer screenings during the pandemic may have played a role.
 

Prevention opportunities missed

“Although pregnancy is considered an opportunity for screening and prevention related to physical, mental, and behavioral health, our data suggest that such opportunities were missed for hundreds of pregnant people during the pandemic,” the authors wrote.

Researchers analyzed cross-sectional U.S. death certificates from Jan. 1, 2018, to Dec. 31, 2020, for female U.S. residents ages 15-44 years. They then obtained the count for live births for the same population and time frame from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention WONDER database.

They were able to identify pregnancy-associated deaths as the 2003 Revised Death Certificate contains a standardized pregnancy checkbox that asks whether the person was pregnant at the time of death, within 42 days of death, or within 43 days to 1 year of death.

Researchers also included deaths with ICD-10 codes linked with death from obstetric causes.

Deaths from overdose, suicide, and homicide are making up large and growing proportions of all deaths during pregnancy and in the first year postpartum, the authors report.

Dr. Margerison and coauthors, in research published in 2022, reported that these causes account for more than one-fifth of all pregnancy-related deaths. They also reported that drug-related deaths and homicides in this population have increased over the past 10 years.

“Substantial racial and ethnic inequities in these deaths exist,” they wrote in that paper.

The authors concluded in the current research: “Our study findings suggest that there is a need for prevention and intervention efforts, including harm-reduction strategies, tailored to pregnant and postpartum women, particularly during times of population stress and decreased utilization of preventive care, such as a pandemic.”

Dr. Margerison and coauthors reported receiving grant support from the Eunice Kennedy Shriver National Institute of Child Health and Human Development during the study. One coauthor received personal fees from the World Health Organization and Population Reference Bureau outside the submitted work. One coauthor reported receiving grant support from the National Institutes of Mental Health during the study.

*This story was updated on 2/1.

In 2021, Eugene Kim, MD, division director of pediatric surgery and vice chair in the department of surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles, gave his presidential address to the Association for Academic Surgery.

“Presidents tend to give a message of hope or inspiration; I probably took it in a different way,” he said.

Dr. Kim told the story of one of his clinical partners, Eveline Shue, who, after five rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), became pregnant with twins. A high-achiever in her field, Ms. Shue continued working the grueling hours required by her job throughout pregnancy until she noticed concerning symptoms – musculoskeletal issues, extreme swelling, and more. She and her group decided that she should step back from work in her third trimester. A few days later, Ms. Shue suffered a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital where her babies were delivered by emergency C-section. Ms. Shue underwent brain surgery but later recovered and is still practicing in Southern California.

“I remember being at her bedside thinking, ‘How could we have let this happen? How could we have prevented this?’ ”

Dr. Kim’s speech kicked off a firestorm of awareness about pregnancy complications among physicians. “I got scores of emails from women around the country, surgeons in particular, who felt like their issues had been seen. The conversation was long overdue,” he said.

Family planning issues, pregnancy complications, infertility, and pregnancy loss are common, pervasive, and often silent issues in medicine. In July 2021, Dr. Kim and a group of other researchers published a study in JAMA Surgery. It revealed staggering truths: When compared to non-surgeons, female surgeons were more likely to delay pregnancy, use assisted reproductive technology such as IVF, have non-elective C-sections, and suffer pregnancy loss. In the study, 42% of surgeons had experienced pregnancy loss – more than double the rate of the general population. Almost half had serious pregnancy complications.

Research has found that female physicians in general have a significantly greater incidence of miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy complications than the general population. According to a 2016 survey in the Journal of Women’s Health, the infertility rate for physicians is nearly 1 in 4, about double the rate of the general public.
 

The barriers to starting a family

Physicians face significant professional barriers that impact family planning. Demanding jobs with exhausting and often unpredictable hours contribute to a culture that, traditionally, has been far from family friendly. As a result, many physicians start families later. “For a pediatric surgeon, you finish training at age 35 – minimum,” says Dr. Kim. “Simply being a surgeon makes you a high-risk pregnancy candidate just because of the career.”

In 2020, Ariela L. Marshall, MD, an associate professor of clinical medicine at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman school of medicine, co-authored a commentary article in Academic Medicine titled “Physician Fertility: A Call to Action” which was based on her own experiences with infertility. Dr. Marshall was 34 when she and her husband decided to start a family, and she says her infertility diagnosis “came as a shock.”

“I never stopped to think about the consequences of a career path where I’m not going to be established until my 30s,” Dr. Marshall says. “I never thought about how long hours, overnight shifts, or working all the time could impact my fertility.”

It would take four cycles of IVF egg retrieval to create embryos and one failed implantation before Dr. Marshall became pregnant with her son.

When it comes to the timing of pregnancy, medical culture also plays a role. “There’s a lot of messaging around when it’s appropriate to carry a baby – and it’s not until after training is done,” says Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, a clinical associate professor and special advisor for DEI programs at Stanford (Calif.) University’s department of medicine.

There are always exceptions. Some institutions are more flexible than others about pregnancy during residency. But Dr. Salles notes that this attitude is “not universal,” partly because of the lack of a comprehensive approach to pregnancy or parenthood in the United States. “There’s no federal paid parental leave in this country,” reminds Dr. Salles. “That signals that we don’t value parenting.”

The trickle-down effect of this in medicine is more like a waterfall. Some physicians complain when other physicians are out on leave. There’s an additional burden of work when people take time away, and there are often no support structures in place for backup or fill-in care. Dr. Salles said doctors often tell her that they were responsible for finding coverage for any time off during pregnancy or after becoming a parent. A paper of hers published in JAMA Surgery found that, for physicians, a fear of burdening others was a major barrier to getting pregnant during residency in the first place.
 

The physical consequences

Although research supports the benefits of physical activity throughout pregnancy, a job such as surgery that requires being on your feet for long periods of time “is not the same as exercise,” explains Erika Lu Rangel, MD, a gastrointestinal surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Boston, and Dr. Kim’s lead author on the JAMA Surgery article.

Surgeons operating for more than 12 hours a week are at higher risk for pregnancy complications, the study found. Dr. Rangel also cites data suggesting that night shifts or swing shifts (the hours between day and night) put women at higher risk for pregnancy complications.

Equally alarming: Medical trainees appear to have “almost as high a rate of pregnancy complications as surgeons who have already completed their training,” said Dr. Rangel. It is a concerning finding since, as a younger cohort, they should have lower complication rates based on their age. But doctors in training may be on their feet even more than surgeons during long shifts.

Like Dr. Salles, Dr. Rangel sees these issues as part of a pervasive culture of “presenteeism” in medicine, and she points out that many surgeons don’t even take time off to grieve pregnancy loss or physically recover from it. “We work even when we’re sick and even when it’s not good for our health,” she said. “I think that’s an unhealthy behavior that we cultivate from the time that we’re trainees, and we carry it on through when we’re in practice.”

Penn Medicine’s Dr. Marshall remembers that her own maternity leave was “not an easy process to navigate.” From her hospital room on a magnesium drip for preeclampsia, she still attended Zoom meetings with her colleagues. “Nobody says, ‘Oh, you have to do this,’ ” Dr. Marshall explains, “but you wind up feeling guilty if you’re not there at all moments for everyone. That’s also something that needs to change.” 

Dr. Rangel was pregnant with her oldest son as a fourth-year surgery resident. The day she gave birth to him she remembers waking up with a flu-like illness and a fever. She went to work anyway, because “you don’t call in sick as a resident.” She was barely able to complete her rounds and then had to lie down between cases. A co-resident found her and took her to labor and delivery. She had gone into premature labor at 37 weeks, and her son went into the NICU with complications.

“I remember feeling this enormous guilt,” says Dr. Rangel. “I’d been a mom for just a few minutes, and I felt like I had already failed him because I had prioritized what the residency thought of me above what I knew was necessary for his health.”
 

Hope for the future

Disturbed by the status quo, many physicians are pushing for change. “I think there’s a really important and positive conversation going on in the medical community right now about ways that we need to support new parent physicians,” said Dr. Rangel.

Parental leave is a key part of that support. Last year, The American Board of Medical Specialties enacted a mandate that all specialty boards 2 years or more in duration must provide at least 6 weeks of parental and caregiver leave. In 2023, the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) required that all training programs match that policy. “This sends a message to policymakers and leaders in American medicine that this is a priority,” said Dr. Rangel.

In January 2022, a group from the University of Michigan also published an article in the Annals of Surgery called “Safe and Supported Pregnancy: A Call to Action for Surgery Chairs and Program Directors”. The essay urged leading groups such as the ACGME and the American Board of Surgery to “directly address the health and safety of pregnant trainees” and specifically, to “allow for further flexibility during training for pregnancy and peripartum periods,” calling these “fundamental necessities for cultural progress.”

Others have recommended allowing pregnant trainees more flexibility in their schedules or front-loading certain parts of the training that may be more difficult as a pregnancy progresses. Insurance coverage for fertility preservation and reproductive endocrinology services, and support for reentry (including lactation and childcare) are also issues that must be addressed, says Dr. Salles.

A new paper of Dr. Rangel’s, published in JAMA Surgery, suggests that things like mentorship for residents from faculty can also be important pieces of the puzzle.

Education about reproductive health must start earlier, too – as early as medical school. Research suggests only 8% of physicians receive education on the risks of delaying pregnancy. Those who do are significantly less likely to experience pregnancy loss or seek infertility treatment.

Dr. Salles recalls sitting in a classroom learning about advanced maternal age at a time when age 35 seemed unimaginably distant. “It was never taught – at least to my recollection – in a way that was like, ‘this could be your future,’ ” Dr. Salles says.” It was more like this abstract patient who might have advanced maternal age and what the consequences would be. Maybe some of my colleagues put two and two together, but I definitely didn’t.”

Dr. Marshall is the curriculum chair for the IGNITEMed Initiative, which aims to educate medical students about issues not discussed in traditional medical school curricula. Dr. Marshall and her colleague Julia Files, MD, talk with IGNITEMed students about reproductive life planning.

“Raising awareness is a very big thing. That’s not just true for medical students but for professionals at every level of medicine,” Dr. Marshall said. “Residency and fellowship training program directors, department chairs, and hospital CEOs all need to understand that these issues are very common in the people they oversee – and that they are medical issues, like any other medical issue, where people need time off and support.”

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

In 2021, Eugene Kim, MD, division director of pediatric surgery and vice chair in the department of surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles, gave his presidential address to the Association for Academic Surgery.

“Presidents tend to give a message of hope or inspiration; I probably took it in a different way,” he said.

Dr. Kim told the story of one of his clinical partners, Eveline Shue, who, after five rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), became pregnant with twins. A high-achiever in her field, Ms. Shue continued working the grueling hours required by her job throughout pregnancy until she noticed concerning symptoms – musculoskeletal issues, extreme swelling, and more. She and her group decided that she should step back from work in her third trimester. A few days later, Ms. Shue suffered a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital where her babies were delivered by emergency C-section. Ms. Shue underwent brain surgery but later recovered and is still practicing in Southern California.

“I remember being at her bedside thinking, ‘How could we have let this happen? How could we have prevented this?’ ”

Dr. Kim’s speech kicked off a firestorm of awareness about pregnancy complications among physicians. “I got scores of emails from women around the country, surgeons in particular, who felt like their issues had been seen. The conversation was long overdue,” he said.

Family planning issues, pregnancy complications, infertility, and pregnancy loss are common, pervasive, and often silent issues in medicine. In July 2021, Dr. Kim and a group of other researchers published a study in JAMA Surgery. It revealed staggering truths: When compared to non-surgeons, female surgeons were more likely to delay pregnancy, use assisted reproductive technology such as IVF, have non-elective C-sections, and suffer pregnancy loss. In the study, 42% of surgeons had experienced pregnancy loss – more than double the rate of the general population. Almost half had serious pregnancy complications.

Research has found that female physicians in general have a significantly greater incidence of miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy complications than the general population. According to a 2016 survey in the Journal of Women’s Health, the infertility rate for physicians is nearly 1 in 4, about double the rate of the general public.
 

The barriers to starting a family

Physicians face significant professional barriers that impact family planning. Demanding jobs with exhausting and often unpredictable hours contribute to a culture that, traditionally, has been far from family friendly. As a result, many physicians start families later. “For a pediatric surgeon, you finish training at age 35 – minimum,” says Dr. Kim. “Simply being a surgeon makes you a high-risk pregnancy candidate just because of the career.”

In 2020, Ariela L. Marshall, MD, an associate professor of clinical medicine at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman school of medicine, co-authored a commentary article in Academic Medicine titled “Physician Fertility: A Call to Action” which was based on her own experiences with infertility. Dr. Marshall was 34 when she and her husband decided to start a family, and she says her infertility diagnosis “came as a shock.”

“I never stopped to think about the consequences of a career path where I’m not going to be established until my 30s,” Dr. Marshall says. “I never thought about how long hours, overnight shifts, or working all the time could impact my fertility.”

It would take four cycles of IVF egg retrieval to create embryos and one failed implantation before Dr. Marshall became pregnant with her son.

When it comes to the timing of pregnancy, medical culture also plays a role. “There’s a lot of messaging around when it’s appropriate to carry a baby – and it’s not until after training is done,” says Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, a clinical associate professor and special advisor for DEI programs at Stanford (Calif.) University’s department of medicine.

There are always exceptions. Some institutions are more flexible than others about pregnancy during residency. But Dr. Salles notes that this attitude is “not universal,” partly because of the lack of a comprehensive approach to pregnancy or parenthood in the United States. “There’s no federal paid parental leave in this country,” reminds Dr. Salles. “That signals that we don’t value parenting.”

The trickle-down effect of this in medicine is more like a waterfall. Some physicians complain when other physicians are out on leave. There’s an additional burden of work when people take time away, and there are often no support structures in place for backup or fill-in care. Dr. Salles said doctors often tell her that they were responsible for finding coverage for any time off during pregnancy or after becoming a parent. A paper of hers published in JAMA Surgery found that, for physicians, a fear of burdening others was a major barrier to getting pregnant during residency in the first place.
 

The physical consequences

Although research supports the benefits of physical activity throughout pregnancy, a job such as surgery that requires being on your feet for long periods of time “is not the same as exercise,” explains Erika Lu Rangel, MD, a gastrointestinal surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Boston, and Dr. Kim’s lead author on the JAMA Surgery article.

Surgeons operating for more than 12 hours a week are at higher risk for pregnancy complications, the study found. Dr. Rangel also cites data suggesting that night shifts or swing shifts (the hours between day and night) put women at higher risk for pregnancy complications.

Equally alarming: Medical trainees appear to have “almost as high a rate of pregnancy complications as surgeons who have already completed their training,” said Dr. Rangel. It is a concerning finding since, as a younger cohort, they should have lower complication rates based on their age. But doctors in training may be on their feet even more than surgeons during long shifts.

Like Dr. Salles, Dr. Rangel sees these issues as part of a pervasive culture of “presenteeism” in medicine, and she points out that many surgeons don’t even take time off to grieve pregnancy loss or physically recover from it. “We work even when we’re sick and even when it’s not good for our health,” she said. “I think that’s an unhealthy behavior that we cultivate from the time that we’re trainees, and we carry it on through when we’re in practice.”

Penn Medicine’s Dr. Marshall remembers that her own maternity leave was “not an easy process to navigate.” From her hospital room on a magnesium drip for preeclampsia, she still attended Zoom meetings with her colleagues. “Nobody says, ‘Oh, you have to do this,’ ” Dr. Marshall explains, “but you wind up feeling guilty if you’re not there at all moments for everyone. That’s also something that needs to change.” 

Dr. Rangel was pregnant with her oldest son as a fourth-year surgery resident. The day she gave birth to him she remembers waking up with a flu-like illness and a fever. She went to work anyway, because “you don’t call in sick as a resident.” She was barely able to complete her rounds and then had to lie down between cases. A co-resident found her and took her to labor and delivery. She had gone into premature labor at 37 weeks, and her son went into the NICU with complications.

“I remember feeling this enormous guilt,” says Dr. Rangel. “I’d been a mom for just a few minutes, and I felt like I had already failed him because I had prioritized what the residency thought of me above what I knew was necessary for his health.”
 

Hope for the future

Disturbed by the status quo, many physicians are pushing for change. “I think there’s a really important and positive conversation going on in the medical community right now about ways that we need to support new parent physicians,” said Dr. Rangel.

Parental leave is a key part of that support. Last year, The American Board of Medical Specialties enacted a mandate that all specialty boards 2 years or more in duration must provide at least 6 weeks of parental and caregiver leave. In 2023, the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) required that all training programs match that policy. “This sends a message to policymakers and leaders in American medicine that this is a priority,” said Dr. Rangel.

In January 2022, a group from the University of Michigan also published an article in the Annals of Surgery called “Safe and Supported Pregnancy: A Call to Action for Surgery Chairs and Program Directors”. The essay urged leading groups such as the ACGME and the American Board of Surgery to “directly address the health and safety of pregnant trainees” and specifically, to “allow for further flexibility during training for pregnancy and peripartum periods,” calling these “fundamental necessities for cultural progress.”

Others have recommended allowing pregnant trainees more flexibility in their schedules or front-loading certain parts of the training that may be more difficult as a pregnancy progresses. Insurance coverage for fertility preservation and reproductive endocrinology services, and support for reentry (including lactation and childcare) are also issues that must be addressed, says Dr. Salles.

A new paper of Dr. Rangel’s, published in JAMA Surgery, suggests that things like mentorship for residents from faculty can also be important pieces of the puzzle.

Education about reproductive health must start earlier, too – as early as medical school. Research suggests only 8% of physicians receive education on the risks of delaying pregnancy. Those who do are significantly less likely to experience pregnancy loss or seek infertility treatment.

Dr. Salles recalls sitting in a classroom learning about advanced maternal age at a time when age 35 seemed unimaginably distant. “It was never taught – at least to my recollection – in a way that was like, ‘this could be your future,’ ” Dr. Salles says.” It was more like this abstract patient who might have advanced maternal age and what the consequences would be. Maybe some of my colleagues put two and two together, but I definitely didn’t.”

Dr. Marshall is the curriculum chair for the IGNITEMed Initiative, which aims to educate medical students about issues not discussed in traditional medical school curricula. Dr. Marshall and her colleague Julia Files, MD, talk with IGNITEMed students about reproductive life planning.

“Raising awareness is a very big thing. That’s not just true for medical students but for professionals at every level of medicine,” Dr. Marshall said. “Residency and fellowship training program directors, department chairs, and hospital CEOs all need to understand that these issues are very common in the people they oversee – and that they are medical issues, like any other medical issue, where people need time off and support.”

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

In 2021, Eugene Kim, MD, division director of pediatric surgery and vice chair in the department of surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles, gave his presidential address to the Association for Academic Surgery.

“Presidents tend to give a message of hope or inspiration; I probably took it in a different way,” he said.

Dr. Kim told the story of one of his clinical partners, Eveline Shue, who, after five rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), became pregnant with twins. A high-achiever in her field, Ms. Shue continued working the grueling hours required by her job throughout pregnancy until she noticed concerning symptoms – musculoskeletal issues, extreme swelling, and more. She and her group decided that she should step back from work in her third trimester. A few days later, Ms. Shue suffered a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital where her babies were delivered by emergency C-section. Ms. Shue underwent brain surgery but later recovered and is still practicing in Southern California.

“I remember being at her bedside thinking, ‘How could we have let this happen? How could we have prevented this?’ ”

Dr. Kim’s speech kicked off a firestorm of awareness about pregnancy complications among physicians. “I got scores of emails from women around the country, surgeons in particular, who felt like their issues had been seen. The conversation was long overdue,” he said.

Family planning issues, pregnancy complications, infertility, and pregnancy loss are common, pervasive, and often silent issues in medicine. In July 2021, Dr. Kim and a group of other researchers published a study in JAMA Surgery. It revealed staggering truths: When compared to non-surgeons, female surgeons were more likely to delay pregnancy, use assisted reproductive technology such as IVF, have non-elective C-sections, and suffer pregnancy loss. In the study, 42% of surgeons had experienced pregnancy loss – more than double the rate of the general population. Almost half had serious pregnancy complications.

Research has found that female physicians in general have a significantly greater incidence of miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy complications than the general population. According to a 2016 survey in the Journal of Women’s Health, the infertility rate for physicians is nearly 1 in 4, about double the rate of the general public.
 

The barriers to starting a family

Physicians face significant professional barriers that impact family planning. Demanding jobs with exhausting and often unpredictable hours contribute to a culture that, traditionally, has been far from family friendly. As a result, many physicians start families later. “For a pediatric surgeon, you finish training at age 35 – minimum,” says Dr. Kim. “Simply being a surgeon makes you a high-risk pregnancy candidate just because of the career.”

In 2020, Ariela L. Marshall, MD, an associate professor of clinical medicine at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman school of medicine, co-authored a commentary article in Academic Medicine titled “Physician Fertility: A Call to Action” which was based on her own experiences with infertility. Dr. Marshall was 34 when she and her husband decided to start a family, and she says her infertility diagnosis “came as a shock.”

“I never stopped to think about the consequences of a career path where I’m not going to be established until my 30s,” Dr. Marshall says. “I never thought about how long hours, overnight shifts, or working all the time could impact my fertility.”

It would take four cycles of IVF egg retrieval to create embryos and one failed implantation before Dr. Marshall became pregnant with her son.

When it comes to the timing of pregnancy, medical culture also plays a role. “There’s a lot of messaging around when it’s appropriate to carry a baby – and it’s not until after training is done,” says Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, a clinical associate professor and special advisor for DEI programs at Stanford (Calif.) University’s department of medicine.

There are always exceptions. Some institutions are more flexible than others about pregnancy during residency. But Dr. Salles notes that this attitude is “not universal,” partly because of the lack of a comprehensive approach to pregnancy or parenthood in the United States. “There’s no federal paid parental leave in this country,” reminds Dr. Salles. “That signals that we don’t value parenting.”

The trickle-down effect of this in medicine is more like a waterfall. Some physicians complain when other physicians are out on leave. There’s an additional burden of work when people take time away, and there are often no support structures in place for backup or fill-in care. Dr. Salles said doctors often tell her that they were responsible for finding coverage for any time off during pregnancy or after becoming a parent. A paper of hers published in JAMA Surgery found that, for physicians, a fear of burdening others was a major barrier to getting pregnant during residency in the first place.
 

The physical consequences

Although research supports the benefits of physical activity throughout pregnancy, a job such as surgery that requires being on your feet for long periods of time “is not the same as exercise,” explains Erika Lu Rangel, MD, a gastrointestinal surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Boston, and Dr. Kim’s lead author on the JAMA Surgery article.

Surgeons operating for more than 12 hours a week are at higher risk for pregnancy complications, the study found. Dr. Rangel also cites data suggesting that night shifts or swing shifts (the hours between day and night) put women at higher risk for pregnancy complications.

Equally alarming: Medical trainees appear to have “almost as high a rate of pregnancy complications as surgeons who have already completed their training,” said Dr. Rangel. It is a concerning finding since, as a younger cohort, they should have lower complication rates based on their age. But doctors in training may be on their feet even more than surgeons during long shifts.

Like Dr. Salles, Dr. Rangel sees these issues as part of a pervasive culture of “presenteeism” in medicine, and she points out that many surgeons don’t even take time off to grieve pregnancy loss or physically recover from it. “We work even when we’re sick and even when it’s not good for our health,” she said. “I think that’s an unhealthy behavior that we cultivate from the time that we’re trainees, and we carry it on through when we’re in practice.”

Penn Medicine’s Dr. Marshall remembers that her own maternity leave was “not an easy process to navigate.” From her hospital room on a magnesium drip for preeclampsia, she still attended Zoom meetings with her colleagues. “Nobody says, ‘Oh, you have to do this,’ ” Dr. Marshall explains, “but you wind up feeling guilty if you’re not there at all moments for everyone. That’s also something that needs to change.” 

Dr. Rangel was pregnant with her oldest son as a fourth-year surgery resident. The day she gave birth to him she remembers waking up with a flu-like illness and a fever. She went to work anyway, because “you don’t call in sick as a resident.” She was barely able to complete her rounds and then had to lie down between cases. A co-resident found her and took her to labor and delivery. She had gone into premature labor at 37 weeks, and her son went into the NICU with complications.

“I remember feeling this enormous guilt,” says Dr. Rangel. “I’d been a mom for just a few minutes, and I felt like I had already failed him because I had prioritized what the residency thought of me above what I knew was necessary for his health.”
 

Hope for the future

Disturbed by the status quo, many physicians are pushing for change. “I think there’s a really important and positive conversation going on in the medical community right now about ways that we need to support new parent physicians,” said Dr. Rangel.

Parental leave is a key part of that support. Last year, The American Board of Medical Specialties enacted a mandate that all specialty boards 2 years or more in duration must provide at least 6 weeks of parental and caregiver leave. In 2023, the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) required that all training programs match that policy. “This sends a message to policymakers and leaders in American medicine that this is a priority,” said Dr. Rangel.

In January 2022, a group from the University of Michigan also published an article in the Annals of Surgery called “Safe and Supported Pregnancy: A Call to Action for Surgery Chairs and Program Directors”. The essay urged leading groups such as the ACGME and the American Board of Surgery to “directly address the health and safety of pregnant trainees” and specifically, to “allow for further flexibility during training for pregnancy and peripartum periods,” calling these “fundamental necessities for cultural progress.”

Others have recommended allowing pregnant trainees more flexibility in their schedules or front-loading certain parts of the training that may be more difficult as a pregnancy progresses. Insurance coverage for fertility preservation and reproductive endocrinology services, and support for reentry (including lactation and childcare) are also issues that must be addressed, says Dr. Salles.

A new paper of Dr. Rangel’s, published in JAMA Surgery, suggests that things like mentorship for residents from faculty can also be important pieces of the puzzle.

Education about reproductive health must start earlier, too – as early as medical school. Research suggests only 8% of physicians receive education on the risks of delaying pregnancy. Those who do are significantly less likely to experience pregnancy loss or seek infertility treatment.

Dr. Salles recalls sitting in a classroom learning about advanced maternal age at a time when age 35 seemed unimaginably distant. “It was never taught – at least to my recollection – in a way that was like, ‘this could be your future,’ ” Dr. Salles says.” It was more like this abstract patient who might have advanced maternal age and what the consequences would be. Maybe some of my colleagues put two and two together, but I definitely didn’t.”

Dr. Marshall is the curriculum chair for the IGNITEMed Initiative, which aims to educate medical students about issues not discussed in traditional medical school curricula. Dr. Marshall and her colleague Julia Files, MD, talk with IGNITEMed students about reproductive life planning.

“Raising awareness is a very big thing. That’s not just true for medical students but for professionals at every level of medicine,” Dr. Marshall said. “Residency and fellowship training program directors, department chairs, and hospital CEOs all need to understand that these issues are very common in the people they oversee – and that they are medical issues, like any other medical issue, where people need time off and support.”

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

ORLANDO – When he was applying for residency, Omar N. Qutub, MD, eagerly arrived at his first interview of the day. But he was quickly thrown off his game.

The interviewer, he said, spent a surprising amount of time asking about his ethnicity and his last name. “I think I spent about 3-5 minutes in the first interview talking about my last name,” said Dr. Qutub, who practices in Portland, Ore., during a session titled “unconscious bias and microaggressions in dermatology” at the ODAC Dermatology, Aesthetic and Surgical Conference. “I really would have rather talked about my research interests.” The interaction threw him off for the rest of the interview process, he said.

The experience is an example of how the field has a ways to go in acquiring cultural competence and in overcoming unconscious biases, said Dr. Qutub. In 2020, a review in Clinics in Dermatology referred to a report that dermatology was the second-least diverse medical specialty, only behind orthopedic surgery, because of its low numbers of residents and faculty from groups underrepresented in medicine.

“We really need to put cultural competency at the forefront in order to do better for our patients,” he said.

Adam Friedman, MD, professor and chair of dermatology and director of the residency program at George Washington University, Washington, who also spoke during the session, said that the process of diversifying the field has to go deeper than the resident interviewing process. “If we just focus on trying to increase the diversity of our applicant pool for residents, it’s too late.”

Nada Elbuluk, MD, associate professor of dermatology at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, pointed to USC’s Derm RISES initiative, a service program that aims to reach inner-city students through education in the sciences, starting from kindergarten to 12th grade. The program also includes premed undergraduate and medical students, “with the goal of increasing exposure to the sciences, medicine, and dermatology,” according to the USC website. “It’s crucial to begin the process early to get a high yield of students who reach medical school and eventually dermatology, she said, because of the inevitable attrition at each level of the education process.

“It’s incredibly rewarding,” added Dr. Elbuluk, who is also director of the dermatology diversity and inclusion program at USC. “And we get these thank-you letters back from students who [say], ‘I didn’t know I could be a doctor.’ ”

In another presentation, Kavita Mariwalla, MD, who practices in West Islip, N.Y., provided tips on boosting cultural competence during aesthetic consults.

One was to “know your fillers,” she said, noting that fillers have different effects on different skin tones, because of differences in fibroblast content, and fat cells will interact with fillers in different ways across skin tones.

Another is to “understand the shortfall of facial canons,” the idea that you can divide a face into sections that can be viewed and enhanced discretely. This concept was based on a White European model and has to be expanded when considering other ethnicities, Dr. Mariwalla said.

Overgeneralizing categories is another pitfall, she said. “Asian” is a term that covers countries from India to Japan, but within that category are a multitude of notions and nuances about aesthetics, and dermatologists have to be sensitive to all of them.

When meeting with a patient, Dr. Mariwalla said, asking the typical “Where are you from?” is not a helpful question. Instead, she suggested asking: “What is your cultural background? Can you tell me more about what your expectations are?”

“I ask for pictures,” she said. “I want to know what they looked like as a kid. I want to know what their family looks like. And I always hand patients a mirror. Patients will say to me: ‘I want to do what you think.’ It’s not about what I think, because what I see, and what you see in your magnifying mirror, are totally different things.”

After the session ended, a member of the audience, Sharon Stokes, MD, a dermatologist in the Orlando area, provided her view of the presentations, noting that it was an important discussion.

“I think it’s past time in medicine for cultural diversity training and awareness for physicians to understand their patients better and getting to know them – and how to even approach the patient and not to offensively and microaggressively approach the patient,” she said.

Dr. Elbuluk reported relevant relationships with Avita, Incyte, Beiersdorf, and other companies. Dr. Friedman reported financial relationships with Sanova, Pfizer, Novartis and other companies. Dr. Mariwalla reported relevant financial relationships with Abbvie, Sanofi, Regeneron and other companies. Dr. Qutub reported no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Qutub is the ODAC director of equity, diversity, and inclusion.

ORLANDO – When he was applying for residency, Omar N. Qutub, MD, eagerly arrived at his first interview of the day. But he was quickly thrown off his game.

The interviewer, he said, spent a surprising amount of time asking about his ethnicity and his last name. “I think I spent about 3-5 minutes in the first interview talking about my last name,” said Dr. Qutub, who practices in Portland, Ore., during a session titled “unconscious bias and microaggressions in dermatology” at the ODAC Dermatology, Aesthetic and Surgical Conference. “I really would have rather talked about my research interests.” The interaction threw him off for the rest of the interview process, he said.

The experience is an example of how the field has a ways to go in acquiring cultural competence and in overcoming unconscious biases, said Dr. Qutub. In 2020, a review in Clinics in Dermatology referred to a report that dermatology was the second-least diverse medical specialty, only behind orthopedic surgery, because of its low numbers of residents and faculty from groups underrepresented in medicine.

“We really need to put cultural competency at the forefront in order to do better for our patients,” he said.

Adam Friedman, MD, professor and chair of dermatology and director of the residency program at George Washington University, Washington, who also spoke during the session, said that the process of diversifying the field has to go deeper than the resident interviewing process. “If we just focus on trying to increase the diversity of our applicant pool for residents, it’s too late.”

Nada Elbuluk, MD, associate professor of dermatology at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, pointed to USC’s Derm RISES initiative, a service program that aims to reach inner-city students through education in the sciences, starting from kindergarten to 12th grade. The program also includes premed undergraduate and medical students, “with the goal of increasing exposure to the sciences, medicine, and dermatology,” according to the USC website. “It’s crucial to begin the process early to get a high yield of students who reach medical school and eventually dermatology, she said, because of the inevitable attrition at each level of the education process.

“It’s incredibly rewarding,” added Dr. Elbuluk, who is also director of the dermatology diversity and inclusion program at USC. “And we get these thank-you letters back from students who [say], ‘I didn’t know I could be a doctor.’ ”

In another presentation, Kavita Mariwalla, MD, who practices in West Islip, N.Y., provided tips on boosting cultural competence during aesthetic consults.

One was to “know your fillers,” she said, noting that fillers have different effects on different skin tones, because of differences in fibroblast content, and fat cells will interact with fillers in different ways across skin tones.

Another is to “understand the shortfall of facial canons,” the idea that you can divide a face into sections that can be viewed and enhanced discretely. This concept was based on a White European model and has to be expanded when considering other ethnicities, Dr. Mariwalla said.

Overgeneralizing categories is another pitfall, she said. “Asian” is a term that covers countries from India to Japan, but within that category are a multitude of notions and nuances about aesthetics, and dermatologists have to be sensitive to all of them.

When meeting with a patient, Dr. Mariwalla said, asking the typical “Where are you from?” is not a helpful question. Instead, she suggested asking: “What is your cultural background? Can you tell me more about what your expectations are?”

“I ask for pictures,” she said. “I want to know what they looked like as a kid. I want to know what their family looks like. And I always hand patients a mirror. Patients will say to me: ‘I want to do what you think.’ It’s not about what I think, because what I see, and what you see in your magnifying mirror, are totally different things.”

After the session ended, a member of the audience, Sharon Stokes, MD, a dermatologist in the Orlando area, provided her view of the presentations, noting that it was an important discussion.

“I think it’s past time in medicine for cultural diversity training and awareness for physicians to understand their patients better and getting to know them – and how to even approach the patient and not to offensively and microaggressively approach the patient,” she said.

Dr. Elbuluk reported relevant relationships with Avita, Incyte, Beiersdorf, and other companies. Dr. Friedman reported financial relationships with Sanova, Pfizer, Novartis and other companies. Dr. Mariwalla reported relevant financial relationships with Abbvie, Sanofi, Regeneron and other companies. Dr. Qutub reported no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Qutub is the ODAC director of equity, diversity, and inclusion.

ORLANDO – When he was applying for residency, Omar N. Qutub, MD, eagerly arrived at his first interview of the day. But he was quickly thrown off his game.

The interviewer, he said, spent a surprising amount of time asking about his ethnicity and his last name. “I think I spent about 3-5 minutes in the first interview talking about my last name,” said Dr. Qutub, who practices in Portland, Ore., during a session titled “unconscious bias and microaggressions in dermatology” at the ODAC Dermatology, Aesthetic and Surgical Conference. “I really would have rather talked about my research interests.” The interaction threw him off for the rest of the interview process, he said.

The experience is an example of how the field has a ways to go in acquiring cultural competence and in overcoming unconscious biases, said Dr. Qutub. In 2020, a review in Clinics in Dermatology referred to a report that dermatology was the second-least diverse medical specialty, only behind orthopedic surgery, because of its low numbers of residents and faculty from groups underrepresented in medicine.

“We really need to put cultural competency at the forefront in order to do better for our patients,” he said.

Adam Friedman, MD, professor and chair of dermatology and director of the residency program at George Washington University, Washington, who also spoke during the session, said that the process of diversifying the field has to go deeper than the resident interviewing process. “If we just focus on trying to increase the diversity of our applicant pool for residents, it’s too late.”

Nada Elbuluk, MD, associate professor of dermatology at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, pointed to USC’s Derm RISES initiative, a service program that aims to reach inner-city students through education in the sciences, starting from kindergarten to 12th grade. The program also includes premed undergraduate and medical students, “with the goal of increasing exposure to the sciences, medicine, and dermatology,” according to the USC website. “It’s crucial to begin the process early to get a high yield of students who reach medical school and eventually dermatology, she said, because of the inevitable attrition at each level of the education process.

“It’s incredibly rewarding,” added Dr. Elbuluk, who is also director of the dermatology diversity and inclusion program at USC. “And we get these thank-you letters back from students who [say], ‘I didn’t know I could be a doctor.’ ”

In another presentation, Kavita Mariwalla, MD, who practices in West Islip, N.Y., provided tips on boosting cultural competence during aesthetic consults.

One was to “know your fillers,” she said, noting that fillers have different effects on different skin tones, because of differences in fibroblast content, and fat cells will interact with fillers in different ways across skin tones.

Another is to “understand the shortfall of facial canons,” the idea that you can divide a face into sections that can be viewed and enhanced discretely. This concept was based on a White European model and has to be expanded when considering other ethnicities, Dr. Mariwalla said.

Overgeneralizing categories is another pitfall, she said. “Asian” is a term that covers countries from India to Japan, but within that category are a multitude of notions and nuances about aesthetics, and dermatologists have to be sensitive to all of them.

When meeting with a patient, Dr. Mariwalla said, asking the typical “Where are you from?” is not a helpful question. Instead, she suggested asking: “What is your cultural background? Can you tell me more about what your expectations are?”

“I ask for pictures,” she said. “I want to know what they looked like as a kid. I want to know what their family looks like. And I always hand patients a mirror. Patients will say to me: ‘I want to do what you think.’ It’s not about what I think, because what I see, and what you see in your magnifying mirror, are totally different things.”

After the session ended, a member of the audience, Sharon Stokes, MD, a dermatologist in the Orlando area, provided her view of the presentations, noting that it was an important discussion.

“I think it’s past time in medicine for cultural diversity training and awareness for physicians to understand their patients better and getting to know them – and how to even approach the patient and not to offensively and microaggressively approach the patient,” she said.

Dr. Elbuluk reported relevant relationships with Avita, Incyte, Beiersdorf, and other companies. Dr. Friedman reported financial relationships with Sanova, Pfizer, Novartis and other companies. Dr. Mariwalla reported relevant financial relationships with Abbvie, Sanofi, Regeneron and other companies. Dr. Qutub reported no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Qutub is the ODAC director of equity, diversity, and inclusion.

People of color with epilepsy, including Black, Hispanic, and Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, are significantly less likely to be prescribed the latest antiseizure medications (ASMs), compared with their White counterparts, new research shows.

Even after controlling for epilepsy severity, comorbid conditions, and other factors that might affect medication choice, researchers found that newer medication use was 29% less likely in Black patients, 23% less likely in Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, and 7% less likely in Hispanic patients, compared with White individuals.

“I hope that clinicians will see from our findings that minoritized patients with epilepsy face a myriad of barriers in receiving the highest quality of care, including ASM use,” said lead investigator Wyatt P. Bensken, PhD, adjunct assistant professor of Population and Quantitative Health Sciences at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland. “Considering your patients’ barriers, and how that influences their care – including ASM selection – will be critical to helping reduce these population-level inequities.”

A prompt for practice change

For the study, researchers used Medicaid claims for more than 78,000 people who had filled at least two prescriptions for an ASM between 2010 and 2014.

Most patients were White (53.4%); 22.6% were Black; 11.9% were Hispanic; 1.6% were Asian; 1.5% were Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander; 0.6% American Indian or Alaskan Native; and 8.3% were classified as “other.”

One-quarter of participants were taking an older ASM, such as carbamazepine, phenytoin, and valproate. About 65% were taking second-generation ASMs, including gabapentin, levetiracetam, and zonisamide. A little less than 10% were taking lacosamide, perampenel, or another third-generation ASM.

Compared with White patients, newer medication prescriptions were significantly less likely in Black individuals (adjusted odds ratio, 0.71; 95% confidence interval, 0.68-0.75), Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islanders (aOR, 0.77; 95% CI, 0.67-0.88), and Hispanic patients (aOR, 0.93; 95% CI, 0.88-0.99).

Third-generation ASMs were used by 10.7% of White patients versus 6% of Black individuals and 5.1% of American Indian or Alaskan Native patients.

Researchers also found that taking a second-generation ASM was associated with better treatment adherence (aOR, 1.17; 95% CI, 1.11-1.23) and that patients on newer ASMs were more than three times as likely to be under the care of a neurologist (aOR, 3.26; 95% CI, 3.13-3.41).

The findings draw attention to racial inequities surrounding access to medication and specialists and subspecialists, Dr. Bensken said. Identifying specific barriers and developing solutions is the long-range goal, he added.

“In the interim, increasing the attention to these inequities will, we hope, prompt changes across practices,” Dr. Bensken said.
 

A ‘wake-up call’

Commenting on the findings, Joseph Sirven, MD, professor of neurology at the Mayo Clinic Florida, Jacksonville, said the results were “striking” because newer ASMs are generally the go-to for most physicians who treat epilepsy. 

“Use of first-generation ASMs is typically reserved [for] if one runs out of options,” Dr. Sirven said.

This study and others like it should serve as a “wake-up call” for clinicians, Dr. Sirven added.

“This study is important because it shows that whether we realize it or not, race and ethnicities are playing a role in ASM, and this is related to financial access to newer-generation drugs,” he said. “Similar findings are seen in impoverished countries where first-generation ASM drugs are routinely used because of drug pricing.”
 

More to explore

Also commenting on the study, Scott Mintzer, MD, a professor and director of the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, said using first-generation ASMs as a proxy for quality of care is “a very innovative concept.”

“From that perspective, the finding that racial minority patients are more likely to be on a first-generation drug is not surprising. But after that it gets far more complicated to interpret,” he added.  

Neither adherence nor care by a neurologist was different in a consistent direction within the various minority populations, Dr. Mintzer noted. In addition, Black patients were as likely to see a neurologist as White patients but still more likely to be on a first-generation drug.

There are also a few caveats to the findings that should be considered, Dr. Mintzer added. First, the sample included only Medicaid recipients, nearly 35% of whom had a comorbid psychosis. Those and other characteristics of the study pool suggest participants aren’t representative of the United States population as a whole. Second, significant shifts in ASM use have occurred since the study data cutoff in 2014, none of which are reflected in these findings.

“So, I don’t think we can really say how to address this yet,” Dr. Mintzer said. “There’s a lot to explore about whether this is still occurring, how generalizable these findings are, and what they might be due to, as there are a host of potential explanations, which the authors themselves acknowledge.”

The study was funded by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities. Dr. Bensken has received support for this work from NIMHD and serves on the Editorial Board of the journal Neurology. Dr. Sirven and Mintzer report no relevant financial relationships.

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

People of color with epilepsy, including Black, Hispanic, and Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, are significantly less likely to be prescribed the latest antiseizure medications (ASMs), compared with their White counterparts, new research shows.

Even after controlling for epilepsy severity, comorbid conditions, and other factors that might affect medication choice, researchers found that newer medication use was 29% less likely in Black patients, 23% less likely in Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, and 7% less likely in Hispanic patients, compared with White individuals.

“I hope that clinicians will see from our findings that minoritized patients with epilepsy face a myriad of barriers in receiving the highest quality of care, including ASM use,” said lead investigator Wyatt P. Bensken, PhD, adjunct assistant professor of Population and Quantitative Health Sciences at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland. “Considering your patients’ barriers, and how that influences their care – including ASM selection – will be critical to helping reduce these population-level inequities.”

A prompt for practice change

For the study, researchers used Medicaid claims for more than 78,000 people who had filled at least two prescriptions for an ASM between 2010 and 2014.

Most patients were White (53.4%); 22.6% were Black; 11.9% were Hispanic; 1.6% were Asian; 1.5% were Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander; 0.6% American Indian or Alaskan Native; and 8.3% were classified as “other.”

One-quarter of participants were taking an older ASM, such as carbamazepine, phenytoin, and valproate. About 65% were taking second-generation ASMs, including gabapentin, levetiracetam, and zonisamide. A little less than 10% were taking lacosamide, perampenel, or another third-generation ASM.

Compared with White patients, newer medication prescriptions were significantly less likely in Black individuals (adjusted odds ratio, 0.71; 95% confidence interval, 0.68-0.75), Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islanders (aOR, 0.77; 95% CI, 0.67-0.88), and Hispanic patients (aOR, 0.93; 95% CI, 0.88-0.99).

Third-generation ASMs were used by 10.7% of White patients versus 6% of Black individuals and 5.1% of American Indian or Alaskan Native patients.

Researchers also found that taking a second-generation ASM was associated with better treatment adherence (aOR, 1.17; 95% CI, 1.11-1.23) and that patients on newer ASMs were more than three times as likely to be under the care of a neurologist (aOR, 3.26; 95% CI, 3.13-3.41).

The findings draw attention to racial inequities surrounding access to medication and specialists and subspecialists, Dr. Bensken said. Identifying specific barriers and developing solutions is the long-range goal, he added.

“In the interim, increasing the attention to these inequities will, we hope, prompt changes across practices,” Dr. Bensken said.
 

A ‘wake-up call’

Commenting on the findings, Joseph Sirven, MD, professor of neurology at the Mayo Clinic Florida, Jacksonville, said the results were “striking” because newer ASMs are generally the go-to for most physicians who treat epilepsy. 

“Use of first-generation ASMs is typically reserved [for] if one runs out of options,” Dr. Sirven said.

This study and others like it should serve as a “wake-up call” for clinicians, Dr. Sirven added.

“This study is important because it shows that whether we realize it or not, race and ethnicities are playing a role in ASM, and this is related to financial access to newer-generation drugs,” he said. “Similar findings are seen in impoverished countries where first-generation ASM drugs are routinely used because of drug pricing.”
 

More to explore

Also commenting on the study, Scott Mintzer, MD, a professor and director of the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, said using first-generation ASMs as a proxy for quality of care is “a very innovative concept.”

“From that perspective, the finding that racial minority patients are more likely to be on a first-generation drug is not surprising. But after that it gets far more complicated to interpret,” he added.  

Neither adherence nor care by a neurologist was different in a consistent direction within the various minority populations, Dr. Mintzer noted. In addition, Black patients were as likely to see a neurologist as White patients but still more likely to be on a first-generation drug.

There are also a few caveats to the findings that should be considered, Dr. Mintzer added. First, the sample included only Medicaid recipients, nearly 35% of whom had a comorbid psychosis. Those and other characteristics of the study pool suggest participants aren’t representative of the United States population as a whole. Second, significant shifts in ASM use have occurred since the study data cutoff in 2014, none of which are reflected in these findings.

“So, I don’t think we can really say how to address this yet,” Dr. Mintzer said. “There’s a lot to explore about whether this is still occurring, how generalizable these findings are, and what they might be due to, as there are a host of potential explanations, which the authors themselves acknowledge.”

The study was funded by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities. Dr. Bensken has received support for this work from NIMHD and serves on the Editorial Board of the journal Neurology. Dr. Sirven and Mintzer report no relevant financial relationships.

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

People of color with epilepsy, including Black, Hispanic, and Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, are significantly less likely to be prescribed the latest antiseizure medications (ASMs), compared with their White counterparts, new research shows.

Even after controlling for epilepsy severity, comorbid conditions, and other factors that might affect medication choice, researchers found that newer medication use was 29% less likely in Black patients, 23% less likely in Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, and 7% less likely in Hispanic patients, compared with White individuals.

“I hope that clinicians will see from our findings that minoritized patients with epilepsy face a myriad of barriers in receiving the highest quality of care, including ASM use,” said lead investigator Wyatt P. Bensken, PhD, adjunct assistant professor of Population and Quantitative Health Sciences at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland. “Considering your patients’ barriers, and how that influences their care – including ASM selection – will be critical to helping reduce these population-level inequities.”

A prompt for practice change

For the study, researchers used Medicaid claims for more than 78,000 people who had filled at least two prescriptions for an ASM between 2010 and 2014.

Most patients were White (53.4%); 22.6% were Black; 11.9% were Hispanic; 1.6% were Asian; 1.5% were Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander; 0.6% American Indian or Alaskan Native; and 8.3% were classified as “other.”

One-quarter of participants were taking an older ASM, such as carbamazepine, phenytoin, and valproate. About 65% were taking second-generation ASMs, including gabapentin, levetiracetam, and zonisamide. A little less than 10% were taking lacosamide, perampenel, or another third-generation ASM.

Compared with White patients, newer medication prescriptions were significantly less likely in Black individuals (adjusted odds ratio, 0.71; 95% confidence interval, 0.68-0.75), Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islanders (aOR, 0.77; 95% CI, 0.67-0.88), and Hispanic patients (aOR, 0.93; 95% CI, 0.88-0.99).

Third-generation ASMs were used by 10.7% of White patients versus 6% of Black individuals and 5.1% of American Indian or Alaskan Native patients.

Researchers also found that taking a second-generation ASM was associated with better treatment adherence (aOR, 1.17; 95% CI, 1.11-1.23) and that patients on newer ASMs were more than three times as likely to be under the care of a neurologist (aOR, 3.26; 95% CI, 3.13-3.41).

The findings draw attention to racial inequities surrounding access to medication and specialists and subspecialists, Dr. Bensken said. Identifying specific barriers and developing solutions is the long-range goal, he added.

“In the interim, increasing the attention to these inequities will, we hope, prompt changes across practices,” Dr. Bensken said.
 

A ‘wake-up call’

Commenting on the findings, Joseph Sirven, MD, professor of neurology at the Mayo Clinic Florida, Jacksonville, said the results were “striking” because newer ASMs are generally the go-to for most physicians who treat epilepsy. 

“Use of first-generation ASMs is typically reserved [for] if one runs out of options,” Dr. Sirven said.

This study and others like it should serve as a “wake-up call” for clinicians, Dr. Sirven added.

“This study is important because it shows that whether we realize it or not, race and ethnicities are playing a role in ASM, and this is related to financial access to newer-generation drugs,” he said. “Similar findings are seen in impoverished countries where first-generation ASM drugs are routinely used because of drug pricing.”
 

More to explore

Also commenting on the study, Scott Mintzer, MD, a professor and director of the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, said using first-generation ASMs as a proxy for quality of care is “a very innovative concept.”

“From that perspective, the finding that racial minority patients are more likely to be on a first-generation drug is not surprising. But after that it gets far more complicated to interpret,” he added.  

Neither adherence nor care by a neurologist was different in a consistent direction within the various minority populations, Dr. Mintzer noted. In addition, Black patients were as likely to see a neurologist as White patients but still more likely to be on a first-generation drug.

There are also a few caveats to the findings that should be considered, Dr. Mintzer added. First, the sample included only Medicaid recipients, nearly 35% of whom had a comorbid psychosis. Those and other characteristics of the study pool suggest participants aren’t representative of the United States population as a whole. Second, significant shifts in ASM use have occurred since the study data cutoff in 2014, none of which are reflected in these findings.

“So, I don’t think we can really say how to address this yet,” Dr. Mintzer said. “There’s a lot to explore about whether this is still occurring, how generalizable these findings are, and what they might be due to, as there are a host of potential explanations, which the authors themselves acknowledge.”

The study was funded by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities. Dr. Bensken has received support for this work from NIMHD and serves on the Editorial Board of the journal Neurology. Dr. Sirven and Mintzer report no relevant financial relationships.

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

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband ultraviolet B (UVB) treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹

Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (FIGURES A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when making the diagnosis is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Continue to: Treatment of vitiligo...

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients ages 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase–signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.¹¹ Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

FDA approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband ultraviolet B (UVB) treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹

Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (FIGURES A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when making the diagnosis is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Continue to: Treatment of vitiligo...

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients ages 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase–signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.¹¹ Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

FDA approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband ultraviolet B (UVB) treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹

Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (FIGURES A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when making the diagnosis is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Continue to: Treatment of vitiligo...

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients ages 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase–signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.¹¹ Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

FDA approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

For Tammy Rainey, finding a health care provider who knows about gender-affirming care has been a challenge in the rural northern Mississippi town where she lives.

As a transgender woman, Ms. Rainey needs the hormone estrogen, which allows her to physically transition by developing more feminine features. But when she asked her doctor for an estrogen prescription, he said he couldn’t provide that type of care.

“He’s generally a good guy and doesn’t act prejudiced. He gets my name and pronouns right,” said Ms. Rainey. “But when I asked him about hormones, he said, ‘I just don’t feel like I know enough about that. I don’t want to get involved in that.’ ”

So Ms. Rainey drives around 170 miles round trip every 6 months to get a supply of estrogen from a clinic in Memphis, Tenn., to take home with her.

The obstacles Ms. Rainey overcomes to access care illustrate a type of medical inequity that transgender people who live in the rural United States often face: A general lack of education about trans-related care among small-town health professionals who might also be reluctant to learn.

“Medical communities across the country are seeing clearly that there is a knowledge gap in the provision of gender-affirming care,” said Morissa Ladinsky, MD, a pediatrician who co-leads the Youth Multidisciplinary Gender Team at the University of Alabama–Birmingham (UAB).

Accurately counting the number of transgender people in rural America is hindered by a lack of U.S. census data and uniform state data. However, the Movement Advancement Project, a nonprofit organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ issues, used 2014-17 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data from selected ZIP codes in 35 states to estimate that roughly one in six transgender adults in the United States live in a rural area. When that report was released in 2019, there were an estimated 1.4 million transgender people 13 and older nationwide. That number is now at least 1.6 million, according to the Williams Institute, a nonprofit think tank at the UCLA School of Law.

One in three trans people in rural areas experienced discrimination by a health care provider in the year leading up to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey Report, according to an analysis by MAP. A third of all trans individuals report having to teach their doctors about their health care needs to receive appropriate care, and 62% worry about being negatively judged by a health care provider because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, according to data collected by the Williams Institute and other organizations.

A lack of local rural providers knowledgeable in trans care can mean long drives to gender-affirming clinics in metropolitan areas. Rural trans people are three times as likely as are all transgender adults to travel 25-49 miles for routine care.

In Colorado, for example, many trans people outside Denver struggle to find proper care. Those who do have a trans-inclusive provider are more likely to receive wellness exams, less likely to delay care due to discrimination, and less likely to attempt suicide, according to results from the Colorado Transgender Health Survey published in 2018.

Much of the lack of care experienced by trans people is linked to insufficient education on LGBTQ+ health in medical schools across the country. In 2014, the Association of American Medical Colleges, which represents 170 accredited medical schools in the United States and Canada, released its first curriculum guidelines on caring for LGBTQ+ patients. As of 2018, 76% of medical schools included LGBTQ health themes in their curriculum, with half providing three or fewer classes on this topic.

Perhaps because of this, almost 77% of students from 10 medical schools in New England felt “not competent” or “somewhat not competent” in treating gender minority patients, according to a 2018 pilot study. Another paper, published last year, found that even clinicians who work in trans-friendly clinics lack knowledge about hormones, gender-affirming surgical options, and how to use appropriate pronouns and trans-inclusive language.

Throughout medical school, trans care was only briefly mentioned in endocrinology class, said Justin Bailey, MD, who received his medical degree from UAB in 2021 and is now a resident there. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or use the wrong pronouns, so I was hesitant and a little bit tepid in my approach to interviewing and treating this population of patients,” he said.

On top of insufficient medical school education, some practicing doctors don’t take the time to teach themselves about trans people, said Kathie Moehlig, founder of TransFamily Support Services, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of services to transgender people and their families. They are very well intentioned yet uneducated when it comes to transgender care, she said.

Some medical schools, like the one at UAB, have pushed for change. Since 2017, Dr. Ladinsky and her colleagues have worked to include trans people in their standardized patient program, which gives medical students hands-on experience and feedback by interacting with “patients” in simulated clinical environments.

For example, a trans individual acting as a patient will simulate acid reflux by pretending to have pain in their stomach and chest. Then, over the course of the examination, they will reveal that they are transgender.

In the early years of this program, some students’ bedside manner would change once the patient’s gender identity was revealed, said Elaine Stephens, a trans woman who participates in UAB’s standardized patient program. “Sometimes they would immediately start asking about sexual activity,” Stephens said.

Since UAB launched its program, students’ reactions have improved significantly, she said.

This progress is being replicated by other medical schools, said Ms. Moehlig. “But it’s a slow start, and these are large institutions that take a long time to move forward.”

Advocates also are working outside medical schools to improve care in rural areas. In Colorado, the nonprofit Extension for Community Health Outcomes, or ECHO Colorado, has been offering monthly virtual classes on gender-affirming care to rural providers since 2020. The classes became so popular that the organization created a 4-week boot camp in 2021 for providers to learn about hormone therapy management, proper terminologies, surgical options, and supporting patients’ mental health.

For many years, doctors failed to recognize the need to learn about gender-affirming care, said Caroline Kirsch, DO, director of osteopathic education at the University of Wyoming Family Medicine Residency Program–Casper. In Casper, this led to “a number of patients traveling to Colorado to access care, which is a large burden for them financially,” said Dr. Kirsch, who has participated in the ECHO Colorado program.

“Things that haven’t been as well taught historically in medical school are things that I think many physicians feel anxious about initially,” she said. “The earlier you learn about this type of care in your career, the more likely you are to see its potential and be less anxious about it.”

Educating more providers about trans-related care has become increasingly vital in recent years as gender-affirming clinics nationwide experience a rise in harassment and threats. For instance, Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s Clinic for Transgender Health became the target of far-right hate on social media last year. After growing pressure from Tennessee’s Republican lawmakers, the clinic paused gender-affirmation surgeries on patients younger than 18, potentially leaving many trans individuals without necessary care.

Stephens hopes to see more medical schools include coursework on trans health care. She also wishes for doctors to treat trans people as they would any other patient.

“Just provide quality health care,” she tells the medical students at UAB. “We need health care like everyone else does.”
 

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

For Tammy Rainey, finding a health care provider who knows about gender-affirming care has been a challenge in the rural northern Mississippi town where she lives.

As a transgender woman, Ms. Rainey needs the hormone estrogen, which allows her to physically transition by developing more feminine features. But when she asked her doctor for an estrogen prescription, he said he couldn’t provide that type of care.

“He’s generally a good guy and doesn’t act prejudiced. He gets my name and pronouns right,” said Ms. Rainey. “But when I asked him about hormones, he said, ‘I just don’t feel like I know enough about that. I don’t want to get involved in that.’ ”

So Ms. Rainey drives around 170 miles round trip every 6 months to get a supply of estrogen from a clinic in Memphis, Tenn., to take home with her.

The obstacles Ms. Rainey overcomes to access care illustrate a type of medical inequity that transgender people who live in the rural United States often face: A general lack of education about trans-related care among small-town health professionals who might also be reluctant to learn.

“Medical communities across the country are seeing clearly that there is a knowledge gap in the provision of gender-affirming care,” said Morissa Ladinsky, MD, a pediatrician who co-leads the Youth Multidisciplinary Gender Team at the University of Alabama–Birmingham (UAB).

Accurately counting the number of transgender people in rural America is hindered by a lack of U.S. census data and uniform state data. However, the Movement Advancement Project, a nonprofit organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ issues, used 2014-17 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data from selected ZIP codes in 35 states to estimate that roughly one in six transgender adults in the United States live in a rural area. When that report was released in 2019, there were an estimated 1.4 million transgender people 13 and older nationwide. That number is now at least 1.6 million, according to the Williams Institute, a nonprofit think tank at the UCLA School of Law.

One in three trans people in rural areas experienced discrimination by a health care provider in the year leading up to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey Report, according to an analysis by MAP. A third of all trans individuals report having to teach their doctors about their health care needs to receive appropriate care, and 62% worry about being negatively judged by a health care provider because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, according to data collected by the Williams Institute and other organizations.

A lack of local rural providers knowledgeable in trans care can mean long drives to gender-affirming clinics in metropolitan areas. Rural trans people are three times as likely as are all transgender adults to travel 25-49 miles for routine care.

In Colorado, for example, many trans people outside Denver struggle to find proper care. Those who do have a trans-inclusive provider are more likely to receive wellness exams, less likely to delay care due to discrimination, and less likely to attempt suicide, according to results from the Colorado Transgender Health Survey published in 2018.

Much of the lack of care experienced by trans people is linked to insufficient education on LGBTQ+ health in medical schools across the country. In 2014, the Association of American Medical Colleges, which represents 170 accredited medical schools in the United States and Canada, released its first curriculum guidelines on caring for LGBTQ+ patients. As of 2018, 76% of medical schools included LGBTQ health themes in their curriculum, with half providing three or fewer classes on this topic.

Perhaps because of this, almost 77% of students from 10 medical schools in New England felt “not competent” or “somewhat not competent” in treating gender minority patients, according to a 2018 pilot study. Another paper, published last year, found that even clinicians who work in trans-friendly clinics lack knowledge about hormones, gender-affirming surgical options, and how to use appropriate pronouns and trans-inclusive language.

Throughout medical school, trans care was only briefly mentioned in endocrinology class, said Justin Bailey, MD, who received his medical degree from UAB in 2021 and is now a resident there. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or use the wrong pronouns, so I was hesitant and a little bit tepid in my approach to interviewing and treating this population of patients,” he said.

On top of insufficient medical school education, some practicing doctors don’t take the time to teach themselves about trans people, said Kathie Moehlig, founder of TransFamily Support Services, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of services to transgender people and their families. They are very well intentioned yet uneducated when it comes to transgender care, she said.

Some medical schools, like the one at UAB, have pushed for change. Since 2017, Dr. Ladinsky and her colleagues have worked to include trans people in their standardized patient program, which gives medical students hands-on experience and feedback by interacting with “patients” in simulated clinical environments.

For example, a trans individual acting as a patient will simulate acid reflux by pretending to have pain in their stomach and chest. Then, over the course of the examination, they will reveal that they are transgender.

In the early years of this program, some students’ bedside manner would change once the patient’s gender identity was revealed, said Elaine Stephens, a trans woman who participates in UAB’s standardized patient program. “Sometimes they would immediately start asking about sexual activity,” Stephens said.

Since UAB launched its program, students’ reactions have improved significantly, she said.

This progress is being replicated by other medical schools, said Ms. Moehlig. “But it’s a slow start, and these are large institutions that take a long time to move forward.”

Advocates also are working outside medical schools to improve care in rural areas. In Colorado, the nonprofit Extension for Community Health Outcomes, or ECHO Colorado, has been offering monthly virtual classes on gender-affirming care to rural providers since 2020. The classes became so popular that the organization created a 4-week boot camp in 2021 for providers to learn about hormone therapy management, proper terminologies, surgical options, and supporting patients’ mental health.

For many years, doctors failed to recognize the need to learn about gender-affirming care, said Caroline Kirsch, DO, director of osteopathic education at the University of Wyoming Family Medicine Residency Program–Casper. In Casper, this led to “a number of patients traveling to Colorado to access care, which is a large burden for them financially,” said Dr. Kirsch, who has participated in the ECHO Colorado program.

“Things that haven’t been as well taught historically in medical school are things that I think many physicians feel anxious about initially,” she said. “The earlier you learn about this type of care in your career, the more likely you are to see its potential and be less anxious about it.”

Educating more providers about trans-related care has become increasingly vital in recent years as gender-affirming clinics nationwide experience a rise in harassment and threats. For instance, Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s Clinic for Transgender Health became the target of far-right hate on social media last year. After growing pressure from Tennessee’s Republican lawmakers, the clinic paused gender-affirmation surgeries on patients younger than 18, potentially leaving many trans individuals without necessary care.

Stephens hopes to see more medical schools include coursework on trans health care. She also wishes for doctors to treat trans people as they would any other patient.

“Just provide quality health care,” she tells the medical students at UAB. “We need health care like everyone else does.”
 

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

For Tammy Rainey, finding a health care provider who knows about gender-affirming care has been a challenge in the rural northern Mississippi town where she lives.

As a transgender woman, Ms. Rainey needs the hormone estrogen, which allows her to physically transition by developing more feminine features. But when she asked her doctor for an estrogen prescription, he said he couldn’t provide that type of care.

“He’s generally a good guy and doesn’t act prejudiced. He gets my name and pronouns right,” said Ms. Rainey. “But when I asked him about hormones, he said, ‘I just don’t feel like I know enough about that. I don’t want to get involved in that.’ ”

So Ms. Rainey drives around 170 miles round trip every 6 months to get a supply of estrogen from a clinic in Memphis, Tenn., to take home with her.

The obstacles Ms. Rainey overcomes to access care illustrate a type of medical inequity that transgender people who live in the rural United States often face: A general lack of education about trans-related care among small-town health professionals who might also be reluctant to learn.

“Medical communities across the country are seeing clearly that there is a knowledge gap in the provision of gender-affirming care,” said Morissa Ladinsky, MD, a pediatrician who co-leads the Youth Multidisciplinary Gender Team at the University of Alabama–Birmingham (UAB).

Accurately counting the number of transgender people in rural America is hindered by a lack of U.S. census data and uniform state data. However, the Movement Advancement Project, a nonprofit organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ issues, used 2014-17 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data from selected ZIP codes in 35 states to estimate that roughly one in six transgender adults in the United States live in a rural area. When that report was released in 2019, there were an estimated 1.4 million transgender people 13 and older nationwide. That number is now at least 1.6 million, according to the Williams Institute, a nonprofit think tank at the UCLA School of Law.

One in three trans people in rural areas experienced discrimination by a health care provider in the year leading up to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey Report, according to an analysis by MAP. A third of all trans individuals report having to teach their doctors about their health care needs to receive appropriate care, and 62% worry about being negatively judged by a health care provider because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, according to data collected by the Williams Institute and other organizations.

A lack of local rural providers knowledgeable in trans care can mean long drives to gender-affirming clinics in metropolitan areas. Rural trans people are three times as likely as are all transgender adults to travel 25-49 miles for routine care.

In Colorado, for example, many trans people outside Denver struggle to find proper care. Those who do have a trans-inclusive provider are more likely to receive wellness exams, less likely to delay care due to discrimination, and less likely to attempt suicide, according to results from the Colorado Transgender Health Survey published in 2018.

Much of the lack of care experienced by trans people is linked to insufficient education on LGBTQ+ health in medical schools across the country. In 2014, the Association of American Medical Colleges, which represents 170 accredited medical schools in the United States and Canada, released its first curriculum guidelines on caring for LGBTQ+ patients. As of 2018, 76% of medical schools included LGBTQ health themes in their curriculum, with half providing three or fewer classes on this topic.

Perhaps because of this, almost 77% of students from 10 medical schools in New England felt “not competent” or “somewhat not competent” in treating gender minority patients, according to a 2018 pilot study. Another paper, published last year, found that even clinicians who work in trans-friendly clinics lack knowledge about hormones, gender-affirming surgical options, and how to use appropriate pronouns and trans-inclusive language.

Throughout medical school, trans care was only briefly mentioned in endocrinology class, said Justin Bailey, MD, who received his medical degree from UAB in 2021 and is now a resident there. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or use the wrong pronouns, so I was hesitant and a little bit tepid in my approach to interviewing and treating this population of patients,” he said.

On top of insufficient medical school education, some practicing doctors don’t take the time to teach themselves about trans people, said Kathie Moehlig, founder of TransFamily Support Services, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of services to transgender people and their families. They are very well intentioned yet uneducated when it comes to transgender care, she said.

Some medical schools, like the one at UAB, have pushed for change. Since 2017, Dr. Ladinsky and her colleagues have worked to include trans people in their standardized patient program, which gives medical students hands-on experience and feedback by interacting with “patients” in simulated clinical environments.

For example, a trans individual acting as a patient will simulate acid reflux by pretending to have pain in their stomach and chest. Then, over the course of the examination, they will reveal that they are transgender.

In the early years of this program, some students’ bedside manner would change once the patient’s gender identity was revealed, said Elaine Stephens, a trans woman who participates in UAB’s standardized patient program. “Sometimes they would immediately start asking about sexual activity,” Stephens said.

Since UAB launched its program, students’ reactions have improved significantly, she said.

This progress is being replicated by other medical schools, said Ms. Moehlig. “But it’s a slow start, and these are large institutions that take a long time to move forward.”

Advocates also are working outside medical schools to improve care in rural areas. In Colorado, the nonprofit Extension for Community Health Outcomes, or ECHO Colorado, has been offering monthly virtual classes on gender-affirming care to rural providers since 2020. The classes became so popular that the organization created a 4-week boot camp in 2021 for providers to learn about hormone therapy management, proper terminologies, surgical options, and supporting patients’ mental health.

For many years, doctors failed to recognize the need to learn about gender-affirming care, said Caroline Kirsch, DO, director of osteopathic education at the University of Wyoming Family Medicine Residency Program–Casper. In Casper, this led to “a number of patients traveling to Colorado to access care, which is a large burden for them financially,” said Dr. Kirsch, who has participated in the ECHO Colorado program.

“Things that haven’t been as well taught historically in medical school are things that I think many physicians feel anxious about initially,” she said. “The earlier you learn about this type of care in your career, the more likely you are to see its potential and be less anxious about it.”

Educating more providers about trans-related care has become increasingly vital in recent years as gender-affirming clinics nationwide experience a rise in harassment and threats. For instance, Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s Clinic for Transgender Health became the target of far-right hate on social media last year. After growing pressure from Tennessee’s Republican lawmakers, the clinic paused gender-affirmation surgeries on patients younger than 18, potentially leaving many trans individuals without necessary care.

Stephens hopes to see more medical schools include coursework on trans health care. She also wishes for doctors to treat trans people as they would any other patient.

“Just provide quality health care,” she tells the medical students at UAB. “We need health care like everyone else does.”
 

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

What does a doctor look like? Throughout history, this concept has shifted due to societal norms and increased access to medical education. Today, the idea of a physician has expanded to incorporate a myriad of people; however, stigma still exists in medicine regarding mental illness and disability. I would like to share my personal journey through high school, college, medical school, and now residency, and how my identity and struggles have shaped me into the physician I am today. There are few conversations around disability—especially disability and mental health—in medicine, and through my own advocacy, I have met many students with disability who feel that medical school is unattainable. Additionally, I have met many medical students, residents, and pre-health advisors who are happy for the experience to learn more about a marginalized group in medicine. My hope in sharing my story is to offer a space for conversation about intersectionality within medical communities and how physicians and physicians in training can facilitate that change, regardless of their position or specialty. Additionally, I hope to shed light on the unique mental health needs of patients with disabilities and how mental health clinicians can address those needs.

Perceived weaknesses turned into strengths

“Why do you walk like that?” “What is that brace on your leg?” The early years of my childhood were marked by these questions and others like them. I was the kid with the limp, the kid with a brace on his leg, and the kid who disappeared multiple times a week for doctor’s appointments or physical therapy. I learned to deflect these questions or give nebulous answers about an accident or injury. The reality is that I was born with cerebral palsy (CP). My CP manifested as hemiparesis on the left side of my body. I was in aggressive physical therapy throughout childhood, received Botox injections for muscle spasticity, and underwent corrective surgery on my left leg to straighten my foot. In childhood, the diagnosis meant nothing more than 2 words that sounded like they belonged to superheroes in comic books. Even with supportive parents and family, I kept my disability a secret, much like the powers and abilities of my favorite superheroes.

However, like all great origin stories, what I once thought were weaknesses turned out to be strengths that pushed me through college, medical school, and now psychiatry residency. Living with a disability has shaped how I see the world and relate to my patients. My experience has helped me connect to my patients in ways others might not. These properties are important in any physician but vital in psychiatry, where many patients feel neglected or stigmatized; this is another reason there should be more doctors with disabilities in medicine. Unfortunately, systemic barriers are still in place that disincentivize those with a disability from pursuing careers in medicine. Stories like mine are important to inspire a reexamination of what a physician should be and how medicine, patients, and communities benefit from this change.

My experience through medical school

My path to psychiatry and residency was shaped by my early experience with the medical field and treatment. From the early days of my diagnosis at age 4, I was told that my brain was “wired differently” and that, because of this disruption in circuitry, I would have difficulty with physical activity. I grew to appreciate the intricacies of the brain and pathology to understand my body. With greater understanding came the existential realization that I would live with a disability for the rest of my life. Rather than dream of a future where I would be “normal,” I focused on adapting my life to my normal. An unfortunate reality of this normal was that no doctor would be able to relate to me, and my health care would focus on limitations rather than possibilities.

I focused on school as a distraction and slowly warmed to the idea of pursuing medicine as a career. The seed was planted years prior by the numerous doctors’ visits and procedures, and was cultivated by a desire to understand pathologies and offer treatment to patients from the perspective of a patient. When I applied to medical school, I did not know how to address my CP. Living as a person with CP was a core reason for my decision to pursue medicine, but I was afraid that a disclosure of disability would preclude any admission to medical school. Research into programs offered little guidance because most institutions only listed vague “physical expectations” of each student. There were times I doubted if I would be accepted anywhere. Many programs I reached out to about my situation seemed unenthusiastic about the prospect of a student with CP, and when I brought up my CP in interviews, the reaction was often of surprise and an admission that they had forgotten about “that part” of my application. Fortunately, I was accepted to medical school, but still struggled with the fear that one day I would be found out and not allowed to continue. No one in my class or school was like me, and a meeting with an Americans with Disabilities Act coordinator who asked me to reexamine the physical competencies of the school before advancing to clinical clerkships only further reinforced this fear. I decided to fly under the radar and not say anything about my disability to my attendings. I slowly worked my way through clerkships by making do with adapted ways to perform procedures and exams with additional practice and maneuvering at home. I found myself drawn to psychiatry because of the similarities I saw in the patients and myself. I empathized with how the patients struggled with chronic conditions that left them feeling separated from society and how they felt that their diagnosis was something they needed to hide. When medical school ended and I decided to pursue psychiatry, I wanted to share my story to inspire others with a disability to consider medicine as a career given their unique experiences. My experience thus far has been uplifting as my journey has echoed so many others.

A need for greater representation

Disability representation in medicine is needed more than ever. According to the CDC, >60 million adults in the United States (1 in 4) live with a disability.¹ Although the physical health disparities are often discussed, there is less conversation surrounding mental health for individuals with disabilities. A 2018 study by Cree et al² found that approximately 17.4 million adults with disabilities experienced frequent mental distress, defined as reporting ≥14 mentally unhealthy days in the past 30 days. Furthermore, compared to individuals without a disability, those with a disability are statistically more likely to have suicidal ideation, suicidal planning, and suicide attempts.³ One way to address this disparity is to recruit medical students with disabilities to become physicians with disabilities. Evidence suggests that physicians who are members of groups that are underrepresented in medicine are more likely to deliver care to underrepresented patients.⁴ However, medical schools and institutions have been slow to address the disparity. A 2019 survey found an estimated 4.6% of medical students responded “yes” when asked if they had a disability, with most students reporting a psychological or attention/hyperactive disorder.⁵ Existing barriers include restrictive language surrounding technical standards influenced by long-standing vestiges of what a physician should be.⁶

An opportunity to connect with patients

I now do not see myself as having a secret identity to hide. Although my CP does not give me any superpowers, it has given me the opportunity to connect with my patients and serve as an example of why medical school recruitment and admissions should expand. Psychiatrists have been on the forefront of change in medicine and can shift the perception of a physician. In doing so, we not only enrich our field but also the lives of our patients who may need it most.

What does a doctor look like? Throughout history, this concept has shifted due to societal norms and increased access to medical education. Today, the idea of a physician has expanded to incorporate a myriad of people; however, stigma still exists in medicine regarding mental illness and disability. I would like to share my personal journey through high school, college, medical school, and now residency, and how my identity and struggles have shaped me into the physician I am today. There are few conversations around disability—especially disability and mental health—in medicine, and through my own advocacy, I have met many students with disability who feel that medical school is unattainable. Additionally, I have met many medical students, residents, and pre-health advisors who are happy for the experience to learn more about a marginalized group in medicine. My hope in sharing my story is to offer a space for conversation about intersectionality within medical communities and how physicians and physicians in training can facilitate that change, regardless of their position or specialty. Additionally, I hope to shed light on the unique mental health needs of patients with disabilities and how mental health clinicians can address those needs.

Perceived weaknesses turned into strengths

“Why do you walk like that?” “What is that brace on your leg?” The early years of my childhood were marked by these questions and others like them. I was the kid with the limp, the kid with a brace on his leg, and the kid who disappeared multiple times a week for doctor’s appointments or physical therapy. I learned to deflect these questions or give nebulous answers about an accident or injury. The reality is that I was born with cerebral palsy (CP). My CP manifested as hemiparesis on the left side of my body. I was in aggressive physical therapy throughout childhood, received Botox injections for muscle spasticity, and underwent corrective surgery on my left leg to straighten my foot. In childhood, the diagnosis meant nothing more than 2 words that sounded like they belonged to superheroes in comic books. Even with supportive parents and family, I kept my disability a secret, much like the powers and abilities of my favorite superheroes.

However, like all great origin stories, what I once thought were weaknesses turned out to be strengths that pushed me through college, medical school, and now psychiatry residency. Living with a disability has shaped how I see the world and relate to my patients. My experience has helped me connect to my patients in ways others might not. These properties are important in any physician but vital in psychiatry, where many patients feel neglected or stigmatized; this is another reason there should be more doctors with disabilities in medicine. Unfortunately, systemic barriers are still in place that disincentivize those with a disability from pursuing careers in medicine. Stories like mine are important to inspire a reexamination of what a physician should be and how medicine, patients, and communities benefit from this change.

My experience through medical school

My path to psychiatry and residency was shaped by my early experience with the medical field and treatment. From the early days of my diagnosis at age 4, I was told that my brain was “wired differently” and that, because of this disruption in circuitry, I would have difficulty with physical activity. I grew to appreciate the intricacies of the brain and pathology to understand my body. With greater understanding came the existential realization that I would live with a disability for the rest of my life. Rather than dream of a future where I would be “normal,” I focused on adapting my life to my normal. An unfortunate reality of this normal was that no doctor would be able to relate to me, and my health care would focus on limitations rather than possibilities.

I focused on school as a distraction and slowly warmed to the idea of pursuing medicine as a career. The seed was planted years prior by the numerous doctors’ visits and procedures, and was cultivated by a desire to understand pathologies and offer treatment to patients from the perspective of a patient. When I applied to medical school, I did not know how to address my CP. Living as a person with CP was a core reason for my decision to pursue medicine, but I was afraid that a disclosure of disability would preclude any admission to medical school. Research into programs offered little guidance because most institutions only listed vague “physical expectations” of each student. There were times I doubted if I would be accepted anywhere. Many programs I reached out to about my situation seemed unenthusiastic about the prospect of a student with CP, and when I brought up my CP in interviews, the reaction was often of surprise and an admission that they had forgotten about “that part” of my application. Fortunately, I was accepted to medical school, but still struggled with the fear that one day I would be found out and not allowed to continue. No one in my class or school was like me, and a meeting with an Americans with Disabilities Act coordinator who asked me to reexamine the physical competencies of the school before advancing to clinical clerkships only further reinforced this fear. I decided to fly under the radar and not say anything about my disability to my attendings. I slowly worked my way through clerkships by making do with adapted ways to perform procedures and exams with additional practice and maneuvering at home. I found myself drawn to psychiatry because of the similarities I saw in the patients and myself. I empathized with how the patients struggled with chronic conditions that left them feeling separated from society and how they felt that their diagnosis was something they needed to hide. When medical school ended and I decided to pursue psychiatry, I wanted to share my story to inspire others with a disability to consider medicine as a career given their unique experiences. My experience thus far has been uplifting as my journey has echoed so many others.

A need for greater representation

Disability representation in medicine is needed more than ever. According to the CDC, >60 million adults in the United States (1 in 4) live with a disability.¹ Although the physical health disparities are often discussed, there is less conversation surrounding mental health for individuals with disabilities. A 2018 study by Cree et al² found that approximately 17.4 million adults with disabilities experienced frequent mental distress, defined as reporting ≥14 mentally unhealthy days in the past 30 days. Furthermore, compared to individuals without a disability, those with a disability are statistically more likely to have suicidal ideation, suicidal planning, and suicide attempts.³ One way to address this disparity is to recruit medical students with disabilities to become physicians with disabilities. Evidence suggests that physicians who are members of groups that are underrepresented in medicine are more likely to deliver care to underrepresented patients.⁴ However, medical schools and institutions have been slow to address the disparity. A 2019 survey found an estimated 4.6% of medical students responded “yes” when asked if they had a disability, with most students reporting a psychological or attention/hyperactive disorder.⁵ Existing barriers include restrictive language surrounding technical standards influenced by long-standing vestiges of what a physician should be.⁶

An opportunity to connect with patients

I now do not see myself as having a secret identity to hide. Although my CP does not give me any superpowers, it has given me the opportunity to connect with my patients and serve as an example of why medical school recruitment and admissions should expand. Psychiatrists have been on the forefront of change in medicine and can shift the perception of a physician. In doing so, we not only enrich our field but also the lives of our patients who may need it most.

What does a doctor look like? Throughout history, this concept has shifted due to societal norms and increased access to medical education. Today, the idea of a physician has expanded to incorporate a myriad of people; however, stigma still exists in medicine regarding mental illness and disability. I would like to share my personal journey through high school, college, medical school, and now residency, and how my identity and struggles have shaped me into the physician I am today. There are few conversations around disability—especially disability and mental health—in medicine, and through my own advocacy, I have met many students with disability who feel that medical school is unattainable. Additionally, I have met many medical students, residents, and pre-health advisors who are happy for the experience to learn more about a marginalized group in medicine. My hope in sharing my story is to offer a space for conversation about intersectionality within medical communities and how physicians and physicians in training can facilitate that change, regardless of their position or specialty. Additionally, I hope to shed light on the unique mental health needs of patients with disabilities and how mental health clinicians can address those needs.

Perceived weaknesses turned into strengths

“Why do you walk like that?” “What is that brace on your leg?” The early years of my childhood were marked by these questions and others like them. I was the kid with the limp, the kid with a brace on his leg, and the kid who disappeared multiple times a week for doctor’s appointments or physical therapy. I learned to deflect these questions or give nebulous answers about an accident or injury. The reality is that I was born with cerebral palsy (CP). My CP manifested as hemiparesis on the left side of my body. I was in aggressive physical therapy throughout childhood, received Botox injections for muscle spasticity, and underwent corrective surgery on my left leg to straighten my foot. In childhood, the diagnosis meant nothing more than 2 words that sounded like they belonged to superheroes in comic books. Even with supportive parents and family, I kept my disability a secret, much like the powers and abilities of my favorite superheroes.

However, like all great origin stories, what I once thought were weaknesses turned out to be strengths that pushed me through college, medical school, and now psychiatry residency. Living with a disability has shaped how I see the world and relate to my patients. My experience has helped me connect to my patients in ways others might not. These properties are important in any physician but vital in psychiatry, where many patients feel neglected or stigmatized; this is another reason there should be more doctors with disabilities in medicine. Unfortunately, systemic barriers are still in place that disincentivize those with a disability from pursuing careers in medicine. Stories like mine are important to inspire a reexamination of what a physician should be and how medicine, patients, and communities benefit from this change.

My experience through medical school

My path to psychiatry and residency was shaped by my early experience with the medical field and treatment. From the early days of my diagnosis at age 4, I was told that my brain was “wired differently” and that, because of this disruption in circuitry, I would have difficulty with physical activity. I grew to appreciate the intricacies of the brain and pathology to understand my body. With greater understanding came the existential realization that I would live with a disability for the rest of my life. Rather than dream of a future where I would be “normal,” I focused on adapting my life to my normal. An unfortunate reality of this normal was that no doctor would be able to relate to me, and my health care would focus on limitations rather than possibilities.

I focused on school as a distraction and slowly warmed to the idea of pursuing medicine as a career. The seed was planted years prior by the numerous doctors’ visits and procedures, and was cultivated by a desire to understand pathologies and offer treatment to patients from the perspective of a patient. When I applied to medical school, I did not know how to address my CP. Living as a person with CP was a core reason for my decision to pursue medicine, but I was afraid that a disclosure of disability would preclude any admission to medical school. Research into programs offered little guidance because most institutions only listed vague “physical expectations” of each student. There were times I doubted if I would be accepted anywhere. Many programs I reached out to about my situation seemed unenthusiastic about the prospect of a student with CP, and when I brought up my CP in interviews, the reaction was often of surprise and an admission that they had forgotten about “that part” of my application. Fortunately, I was accepted to medical school, but still struggled with the fear that one day I would be found out and not allowed to continue. No one in my class or school was like me, and a meeting with an Americans with Disabilities Act coordinator who asked me to reexamine the physical competencies of the school before advancing to clinical clerkships only further reinforced this fear. I decided to fly under the radar and not say anything about my disability to my attendings. I slowly worked my way through clerkships by making do with adapted ways to perform procedures and exams with additional practice and maneuvering at home. I found myself drawn to psychiatry because of the similarities I saw in the patients and myself. I empathized with how the patients struggled with chronic conditions that left them feeling separated from society and how they felt that their diagnosis was something they needed to hide. When medical school ended and I decided to pursue psychiatry, I wanted to share my story to inspire others with a disability to consider medicine as a career given their unique experiences. My experience thus far has been uplifting as my journey has echoed so many others.

A need for greater representation

Disability representation in medicine is needed more than ever. According to the CDC, >60 million adults in the United States (1 in 4) live with a disability.¹ Although the physical health disparities are often discussed, there is less conversation surrounding mental health for individuals with disabilities. A 2018 study by Cree et al² found that approximately 17.4 million adults with disabilities experienced frequent mental distress, defined as reporting ≥14 mentally unhealthy days in the past 30 days. Furthermore, compared to individuals without a disability, those with a disability are statistically more likely to have suicidal ideation, suicidal planning, and suicide attempts.³ One way to address this disparity is to recruit medical students with disabilities to become physicians with disabilities. Evidence suggests that physicians who are members of groups that are underrepresented in medicine are more likely to deliver care to underrepresented patients.⁴ However, medical schools and institutions have been slow to address the disparity. A 2019 survey found an estimated 4.6% of medical students responded “yes” when asked if they had a disability, with most students reporting a psychological or attention/hyperactive disorder.⁵ Existing barriers include restrictive language surrounding technical standards influenced by long-standing vestiges of what a physician should be.⁶

An opportunity to connect with patients

I now do not see myself as having a secret identity to hide. Although my CP does not give me any superpowers, it has given me the opportunity to connect with my patients and serve as an example of why medical school recruitment and admissions should expand. Psychiatrists have been on the forefront of change in medicine and can shift the perception of a physician. In doing so, we not only enrich our field but also the lives of our patients who may need it most.