Maybe they should call it SICK insurance...

Much in the same way that life insurance isn't really life insurance--it's death insurance (but who wants to buy something called that?)--what we call health insurance is really sick insurance.

Case in point:
This morning I was reading an article in the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) News describing new obesity guidelines to be published later this year. Truthfully, there was little groundbreaking in this article: treat obesity as a chronic disease condition, assess if the family perceives a problem, encourage a sensible diet and one hour of exercise daily (that last one is a little surprising, and potentially problematic: yes, it's recommended, but how many obese kids will do that much? I fear many will hear of such a lofty goal and fuggedabudit. I know I don't have time to exercise an hour a day...though I admit I should...)

The guidelines will also recommend checking up on obese kids every few months. Ah-hah, I thought, another ivory-tower academic recommendation, out of touch with the real world. Who will pay for these visits? Many insurers specifically do not cover office visits that have a diagnosis of "obesity." That's a lot of free care they're expecting us to write off.

Well, just a few paragraphs later, my concerns about ivory-tower recommendations were (partially) rebuked. The article went on to say that insurers need to start paying for visits related to obesity. It added that many insurers do not pay for obesity because they feel it does not directly cause health problems.

To put it mildly, pshaw. That's no different from saying that high cholesterol does not directly cause illness. The association between cholesterol and heart disease is pretty well established--granted, not in the course of days, but certainly over years. (I guess I missed that episode of E.R. where the man came in with a hypercholesterolemic crisis..."get me niacin, NOW, and some statins, STAT!") Let's see an insurer just try to deny coverage for our modern cholesterol-lowering pharmaceuticals.

Of course, paying for doctor's visits to treat obesity ultimately benefits the insurer in the end. Unless they actually don't mind paying for later treatment for metabolic syndrome and diabetes, heart disease, hypertension, bone and joint problems, not to mention the "incidentals" such as arranging for a specialized or open MRI machine that can handle our extra-large patients, extra-sturdy wheelchairs and beds and similar...

The administrators of these companies can't be that stupid. But they're also not that patient. They can't afford to wait 20 or 30 years to reap the dividends of investment now. Because their shareholders want to reap dividends next quarter. Wall Street needs to know what next year's projected revenue will be, and doesn't give much of a hoot about 30-year projections.

Then there's also the fact that there isn't a powerful obesity lobby waging a public relations war on the insurers. It's pretty much just the primary care doctors. Whereas, if the insurers decided to cancel coverage for cholesterol, you'd have the rich cardiologists and the mighty AARP yelling at CEOs within six hours, and the decision reversed in another twelve.

The insurers will cut costs, and coverage, where they can. And preventive care is one of the easiest things to cut. But then, since "health" is most effectively (including cost-effectively) guaranteed through preventive care, don't try to call it "health insurance." At least be honest and call it "sick insurance." And certainly don't try to claim you're in the business of "health care." As was said before, insurers are in business to make money, and it just so happens that they do it in the health care sector. Any health benefits to you, the consumer-slash-patient, are purely incidental.

Easy or Hard?

Let's play "easy or hard." What would you do?
1. Mom brings in a 2-year old girl. The girl has been having a green runny nose for three days. She has been running a low grade fever (under 100). She is eating (though not as much as usual), sleeping, and still playing. She also attends daycare. Physical exam reveals mild nasal congestion; lungs are clear, eardrums look normal. Do you:
a) (Easy) prescribe amoxicillin for "sinusitis" so she can go back to day care and prevent mom from calling you in 3 days to say, "she's still not better!"
b) (Hard) let mom know that green rhinorrhea does not necessarily mean a bacterial infection, particularly in an upper respiratory infection of a few days with no other significant symptoms (e.g., fever, lethargy, findings on physical exam); explain that antibiotics are not indicated, discuss the role of over-the-counter remedies, encourage fluids, rest, nasal saline drops, and a humidifier or vaporizer; and ask that the mom call back in a few days if symptoms have not improved or if she is worsening.

2. Dad brings in a 6-year old boy. The boy was reportedly diagnosed with asthma by another pediatrician 4 years ago. He takes albuterol in a nebulizer when he gets sick. His "breathing attacks" consist of a junky rattle in his chest with coughing. He has no problems with breathing or coughing when he is not sick. He is now out of albuterol and wants a refill. On exam, his lungs are clear. Do you:
a) (Easy) write the refill and send them on their way
b) (Hard) explain that his current condition sounds more like a simple cold than an asthma attack; advise the father to use a humidifier at nighttime, watch the child's breathing for signs of retractions or respiratory distress; educate about the side effects of albuterol; and hold the refill unless symptoms change or progress
c) (Very Hard) same as "b" but also perform pulmonary function tests in your office to more definitively evaluate the symptoms; go over the results with dad and explain what it means and why

I could go on, but you get the idea. The Hard choices are good medicine; they bring the patient into the care, produce better outcomes, educate for the future, and are supported by clinical data and experience. But the Hard choices take time. They rarely, if ever, lead to better reimbursement (in fact, according to proper CPT coding, the simple act of writing a prescription can potentially increase the "complexity" of the visit and lead to mo' money; therefore, the education costs me both time and money!). Some patients don't want the education; they just want the prescription (this is called "convenience," and it's why CVS is betting that people will prefer to go to a nurse practitioner in a minute clinic instead of their regular doctor; it's not the best care, but that's irrelevant...)

It's been said that our current system therefore rewards mediocrity. Pay-for-performace (P4P) clearly isn't the answer, if only because "performance" means different things...and to a payor, it usually means "saving money." "Quality" is much more difficult to define, or at least measure.

I've heard that we should let the free market decide. Lawyers are free to charge whatever they want. The best lawyers charge the most. Can't afford it? Don't like it? Fine, see a cheaper lawyer. You'll get adequate representation. Which is fine for drawing up a will or contesting a small claim. Is that acceptable for multi-million dollar liability lawsuits? How about first-degree murder cases? Without giving an answer to that question, let's extend it to medicine. Yes, I know, concierge care is already a small example of this taking place. Does this mean that the poor are effectively excluded from the best care? Is that fair? Is that just? Is that simply the consequence of a capitalistic health care system?

Easy and hard, indeed. No answers here, not yet. Perhaps the lack of standardized incentives is actually an advantage: let everyone determine for themselves what they really do want. You want a quick scrip and no fuss? Find a doctor like that, or go to a minute clinic. You want 24-7 concierge care and 2-hour visits? Fine, just pony up. You want a doctor that takes time to listen, offers quality care, matches your personality? Listen through the grapevine and see who your friends and neighbors recommend. Don't like Doctor A? Go see Doctor B, maybe she's better. Everyone gets paid, everyone gets what they want--or at least compromises to get "good enough". So maybe the status quo is the best idea after all.

AAUGH!

Just like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown, Medicaid loves to play games with the pediatrician.

For the uninformed, a primer: Medicaid is the government's "safety net" insurance program for the poor. Many children are covered by Medicaid (in fact, here in Mississippi, about 3 out of 4 are). The federal government provides much of the funding, with the rest coming from each state, and each state also administers the program. Each state provides benefits as it sees fit--within certain broad federal guidelines--and can also set provider reimbursement in a similar way.

Medicaid represents government at its best and worst. The concept is wonderful, and enables patients to receive care at any willing provider. But the bureaucracy can be inscrutable, bizarre, and sometimes downright moronic, bordering on abusive and arrogant.

At the end of last week my billing manager was reviewing our past few statements from Medicaid, and she found that most of our newborn nursery visits were denied without payment. Late last year Medicaid started requiring prior authorization on many inpatient hospital stays. But babies born eligible for Medicaid don't receive their official Medicaid numbers until 4-8 weeks old.

You can't give a patient a "prior authorization" before they are born, and you also can't give them a P.A. before they have an ID number! The customer service rep agreed, and brought in her supervisor, who told us the grim news: a computer glitch was unexpectedly and incorrectly kicking out these newborn visits. Payment would be forthcoming when the problem was fixed--but that could take weeks to months.

I don't have a problem with providing charity care, as long as I determine the when and how. But I draw the line at systemically providing care for free, particularly when a payor tries to make it so. I can't pay my overhead on goodwill.

And so I am boycotting Medicaid babies until the problem is fixed. No more nursery coverage, unless I absolutely must (e.g., hospital call). I'll see them as soon as they are discharged, for an office follow-up visit. No payment, no care. Or, as others have said, "no margin, no mission."

This is not ideal care. In fact, some might even call it dumping on my colleagues, who will now see "my" babies on "their" nursery rounds. Of course, they have the option to do the same as me, in which case we all dump on each other, and it all evens out. They also have the option to suck it up and continue to provide free care, in which case you may call them "patsy," "sucker," or "loser."

Perhaps I'm deluding myself, but I like to think my profession entails doing some good in this world. I make sure kids stay healthy, or get healthy. This is not about "playing games" or pushing paper, this is about real-world results and making a difference. Compare and contrast with those who seem to erect barriers to said goals.

I'm not accusing Medicaid's bureaucracy of purposefully creating these computerized denials. But I think their response will be most telling, as to how quickly they fix the problem. And trying to deny proper due payment to providers for services rendered--especially contracted services delivered to poor babies--is most certainly "playing games."

We don't care how they do it in New York, and apparently the feeling is mutual

I caught a glimpse of the NBC Nightly News last week and was surprised to see a feature story about Dr. Persharon Dixon, a pediatrician who left Atlanta to work with the local community health center here after the storm. The health center has her riding around in a mobile van, a rather ingenious setup. The van and her work is sponsored by the Children's Health Fund out of New Yawk.

The broadcast gave me a peculiar feeling of pride, revulsion, and anger.

Only the first emotion is directed at Dr. Dixon. I've met her, and she's a wonderful woman and pediatrician, very sincere and caring. I have nothing but good things to say about her.

The latter two emotions I reserve for the Children's Health Fund.

A mobile health van is a good thing. A community health center is also a good thing. But so are local pediatricians. I don't claim to know the timeline or organization of CHF's involvement with healthcare on the MS coast after Katrina, but I do know this: CHF sure as hell never called me. Not to ask what I thought the kids might need, not to ask how CHF might integrate into the existing health structure, not even how we might work together.

All right, Dr. Scott: be reasonable! They have no obligation to call every pediatrician on the coast. You are a private practice, they hooked up with a non-profit. Besides, they're here helping out, just be grateful and appreciative!

First, there aren't that many pediatric practices on the coast. Here in Hancock County there are three pediatricians, and one of them already works for the community health center. How hard would it have been to pick up the phone and call the other 2 pedi's here?

Second, and more importantly, good intentions are no excuse for arrogance, particularly when intruding on someone's home turf. The CHF has a press release which notes that Mississippi already had pathetic medical care before the storm, and a shortage of primary care physicians. That may be true, but not on the coast. Me and my colleagues are not ignorant back-woods hicks who need us a little edumacation from the big city experts. We need help, not competition. Yes, we can learn from CHF's experience, but they can also learn from ours.

And so, once again, the locals continue to toil for (what somedays appears to be) naught while the out-of-towners grab the attention. "Look! Look at what we are doing for these poor Mississippi children! Look how we are helping when no one else will!"

Go ahead, call it sour grapes. I know I have it coming. But when the spotlight leaves, will the local providers leave also? Having exhausted our resources, with no outside help for us, what will happen then? I hope CHF has a fleet of those mobile health clinics ready, because that's all that may be left for health care on the coast.

Pandemic Panic

Amidst the hoopla over the Gardasil (HPV/cervical cancer) vaccine this week, one news item largely overlooked concerned OSHA and the CDC issuing more pandemic flu guidelines. In the event of a severe pandemic, children would be largely quarantined; no school, no daycare, no spreading the nasty little hobbitses...er, I mean, flu viruses...until the pandemic started to abate.

By itself, that sounds prudent. Past studies have shown children to be the principal "vectors" for spreading the flu. Interrupt transmission by keeping them away from each other.

I'm curious if anyone on the federal level has considered the economic consequences of this. As a med school professor used to say, "if this is true, what does this imply?"

No school or day care means teachers and day care workers out of work, possibly for as long as 2 months. Parents will need to take off work themselves to care for their children. And parents' employers will no longer be able to function. Even if we prevent the flu from causing widespread death (which is very optimistic), the US economy would basically crash.

Has our government considered how they would bail out millions of small businesses? Pay for massive unemployment benefits? Would public employees still be paid?

On a personal level, what will happen to healthcare? Will I basically shut down my pediatric office for 2 months? Will I temporarily confine my practice to check-ups and children without fever or respiratory symptoms? Will I only allow one child in the office at a time? Will I leave my office to staff the ER? Note that none of these options leave me with a financially viable practice. After Katrina, I don't have any more financial reserves. A two-month shut-down--or even a slow-down--would most likely cause me to go under without state and federal assistance.

The devastation from Katrina will be repeated, but this time on a national scale. I'm not talking about the physical destruction; I'm referring to the economic fallout. The fact that we have still failed to address the Katrina recovery makes me very, very scared that pandemic flu would be far, far worse.

Have a nice day. >:)

A medical practice is/is not a small business

I love practicing medicine, which is good, because it's how I pay the bills. My patients often seem to forget that I charge for my services because I need to make a living, but I also need to pay my staff, pay for vaccines, pay for rent and utilities and office supplies and table paper and toilet paper and malpractice insurance and other insurance and what not. Just like any other small business, right? Post-Katrina, FEMA and the SBA have said so. Medical practices received no special treatment. So I try and pursue grants, loans, and other assistance to rebuild my practice. But my revenue is solely and entirely dependent on me seeing patients. So if I'm out of the office (say, for a meeting), I'm not making money.
That's not special, you say. Same as any other professional in a service field--lawyers, plumbers, electricians.
Yes, but an electrician sets his rate, gives you a bill, and you pay.
In healthcare, the insurer sets the reimbursement and pays what they feel is appropriate. This is like walking into Circuit City, seeing a TV for $1000, and saying, "no, I'll give you $700 for it. Thanks!" In theory, the insurer gets to take a cut off the doctor's standard prices in exchange for steering patients to the provider, enabling prompt and worry-free payment. In practice, it's done this way because doctors usually have no choice.
So unlike any other business in town after Katrina, I cannot increase my revenue by increasing charges, because it won't make any difference. I can charge Medicaid $65 for an office visit, or $650, and they still pay me $50.48. But I still have to pay an extra $2 for my $6 roast beef po' boy (mmm...roast beef po' boy). I still have to pay when Merck raises prices on its vaccines. In short, trapped. The only way to make more money is to see more patients.

And there's the final catch: there was an initial surge in population here after Katrina as everyone started coming back, and the contractors and workers started flooding into town. But now the population growth has slowed. Why? Housing. Here in Waveland MS about 90% of the houses were damaged or destroyed. As a result, people aren't coming to the area because there's no place to live. Few houses are on the market; the houses that are, are overpriced (simple market economics, supply and demand), squeezing out poorer working-class families. You can buy an overpriced empty lot, but you'll have to wait about 6-12 months before you can hire a contractor to even start construction.
So the doctors can't raise fees, can't see more patients, still have to pay the bills, and--oh yeah--try to recover all of the losses and expenses related from the storm and the loss of practice. (I'll try to post on that at a later date.)

Why does all this matter? So if I can't make it, shouldn't I just leave town?
First is the personal, community aspect. I feel a commitment to my patients. I want to be there for them when I'm most needed, and see them (and me) through this recovery.
Second: well, doctors are all rich anyway. Shouldn't I just sell off one of my 3 Lamborghinis, or my vacation home in the Bahamas? Actually, pediatricians are generally not rich. Most middle class 2-income families earn what I make--without the associated student loans, and with a good many years headstart on saving for retirement. I realize I'm doing better than many others, but I certainly don't have the resources to weather this for much longer. As is, I've taken out a $40,000 home equity loan and $60,000 SBA loan to cover post-storm and restarting expenses. That's $100,000 in new debt. OUCH. At least the SBA loan can be paid back over 30 years--just like my Stafford loan from med school.
Third, and most importantly, if I leave, who will see my patients? This is not a rhetorical question. There are two other pediatricians in town (one is now employed by the local hospital, the other works for a community health center). They could probably cover things, and patients could also see other pediatricians further away. But then what? A town without good medical care won't be very enticing to new families, or new businesses. And the recovery stalls out and the community never rebuilds.
Is that okay for little old Waveland, MS? How about New Orleans, LA? How about the next city hit by a major disaster?
I'm not even bringing in the moral arguments, that health care is a necessary community service and should be maintained for the good of the community. Or that doctors such as me are being not rewarded, but penalized, for staying on after Katrina. (Every week I get a flier for "Lucrative position! Starting income $200,000!" or something similar. Yet I'm still here????) Just on an economic basis, physicians face inherent difficulties unique to healthcare. We can't respond like other businesses can, yet we're expected to anyway. No special treatment, despite special circumstances.
So what to do? More to come.