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Archive for the ‘health’ Category

Here’s an example of how I think something through. I often write out my thoughts in a notebook and frequently I do so by constructing a kind of mind map – not the Tony Buzan kind of mind map with all its bells and whistles but spreading the main ideas and concepts out over a blank canvas then seeing the connections between them and using boxes and arrows to tie it altogether. When I was wondering about what exactly is a doctor’s job recently I drew this map –

doctor's job

Let me explain it because some of it might be self-explanatory but it’s drawn as a thinking tool, not a communication one.

On the left hand page I’m thinking about diagnosis and the difference between the concepts of “disease” and “illness”.

People present to their doctors with symptoms (what they experience) and signs (what the doctor can feel, hear, measure and so on). Together they are used to make a “diagnosis” – a diagnosis, is, essentially, simply and understanding. It’s where the doctor recognises what these symptoms and signs are evidence of. Actually, diagnosis in the biomedical approach (that’s what we European and American doctors sometimes call “Western medicine”), is usually about discovering and naming pathology ie diseased tissue. Historically, that was known as the “lesion”. It’s a very materialistic and, frankly, usually reductionist approach to medicine. That circle means that it’s the symptoms and the signs together which constitute the diagnosis. What Kroenke and others have shown us is that there is a relationship between the symptoms and signs but whilst a sign may be highly likely to be indicative of a certain pathology, symptoms most definitely are not. Kroenke shows that over 80% of the symptoms patients experience are NOT caused by any “lesions” or pathology. This is best understood by thinking about “disease” and “illness” differently. Eric Cassell is great about this. He says “disease” is what the organ has and “illness” is what the man has. Disease is about pathology and illness is about suffering. It’s illness that encompasses the subjective experience and disease remains an objective, measurable concept.

So, as doctors, we can engage with the patient at the level of their disease, but if we want to help relieve suffering we have to think more broadly than that, and expand into the unmeasurable. This is where stories come in. People convey their illnesses by telling the stories of their experience. Two things about this are highlighted in the above mind map. Firstly, that experience is interpreted by patients themselves as well as by their doctors. It’s through narrative (story-telling) that we make sense of our experience. It’s through narrative and talking that we can understand the meaning of our illnesses. People like Darian Leader and David Corfield, and Brian Broom have made that very clear in their work on psychosomatic medicine.

Once we start to consider more than the material, the physical and the measurable, we can start to try and understand an illness in the contexts of a person’s life. The triangle of body, mind and spirit highlights how context might refer to what’s important in an individual person’s life. Some people talk about physical and material needs and security, others primarily of feelings and relationships and yet others of a world greater than themselves ie of purpose, meaning and belief. A patient’s suffering needs to be understood in the context which matters most to that person. Some people for example have chest pain because they believe they’ve offended God, others because they’ve been humiliated or abandoned and yet others because they’ve lost their jobs and income.

The final part of that left hand page is the contexts of the individual, their relationships and their environments (cultural and physical). Cassell again is great on this, asking the question of where a patient’s suffering actually lies – is it in them, their relationships or family, or their society or culture?

Many doctors don’t consider these questions but I think if we want to understand people we have to go further than the materialistic, disease model.

OK, that’s enough for this post! I’ll cover the right hand page, which is about thinking through appropriate interventions and treatments, in another post.

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Dr Des Spence is a Glasgow GP who writes a regular column in the British Medical Journal. I frequently find myself agreeing with what he writes and this week is no exception. He looks at the way doctors (and the public) are presented with “the facts”. It’s all in the way the statistics are chosen and published. He takes the West of Scotland Coronary Prevention Study as his working example. This large study showed a reduction of 32% in the deaths of men in the study who took statins to lower their cholesterol. I won’t re-iterate the detailed statistical analyses here, but that’s the “relative risk”, and another way to present exactly the same findings is to show that the “absolute risk” shows reduction in mortality from cardiovascular disease was 0.7%. That’s startling enough, but what it means is that you have to treat 715 men with the statins to save 1 life. In other words, one person benefits and 714 take the pills but don’t benefit.

I wrote about this in an earlier post where I reviewed “Reckoning with Risk” by Gigerenzer. I urge you to read either that book, or his “Gut Feelings“. You’ll never swallow “the facts” so easily again.

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Michael J Fox has an illness known as Parkinson’s Disease. It’s a disease of the nervous system which causes both tremor and decreased mobility. Diseases of the nervous system really hit a person’s sense of being in control of their own body. We tend to take it for granted that our bodies will just do what we tell them and when that doesn’t happen it’s a really central challenge to our need for control. Here’s what he says

I can’t always control my body the way I want to, and I can’t control when I feel good or when I don’t. I can control how clear my mind is. And I can control how willing I am to step up if somebody needs me.

That’s one of the things the illness has given me: It’s a degree of death. There’s a certain amount of loss, and whenever you have a loss, it’s a step toward death. So if you can accept loss, you can accept the fact that there’s gonna be the big loss. Once you can accept that, you can accept anything. So then I think, Well, given that that’s the case, let’s tip myself a break. Let’s tip everybody a break.

My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance, and in inverse proportion to my expectations.

Acceptance is the key to everything.

Which isn’t to say that I’m resigned to it, or that I’ve given up on it, or that I don’t think I have any effect on the outcome of it. It’s just that, as a reality, I get it.

There really is a lot in those little answers! Look at how he deals with the issue of loss of control. What helps him to deal with his illness is knowing what he can still control – clarity of mind and motivation to help others – and those things are more important than controlling limbs.

He speaks of how coming to terms with the sense of loss which his illness brings has better prepared him for death, and in doing so, better prepared him for life.

I also like what he says about acceptance, and how he distinguishes that from resignation. It’s about being real. Isn’t that true? How much unhappiness and suffering do we experience because of our refusal to accept reality, focusing instead on how we’d prefer things to be?

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Another of Charles Handy’s useful concepts from his Empty Raincoat is the ‘doughnut principle’. He says to imagine an American donut (see how I changed the spelling to the American one?) but to invert it so that instead of a hole in the middle, you have a core, and outside of the core you have an area bounded by the donut’s edge.

He says the core is what’s essential. It’s the agreed given of a job, or a project, or a person. And the outside of the core is the potential. The potential is variable and you can develop as much or as little of it as you want. But it does have a boundary, or a limit.

Without a boundary it is easy to be oppressed by guilt, for enough is never enough.

This is a good model in health care. The core might be the essential health outcomes you’d hope to achieve eg a normal blood pressure reading, but the outer ring of the doughnut represents the potential which might be achieved – how might this person’s health be improved, not just their blood pressure?

Societies which overemphasise the core can be too regulated.

This is his warning and it’s so true. It’s the danger inherent in a system of targets in health care. The ‘Quality Outcomes Framework’ at the heart of UK General Practice is the core, but if it consumes all of the doctors’ attention and energies, we’re going to lose an awful lot of good medical practice that sits out there in the potential.

There’s also something in this idea of a core which reminds me of the concept of virtues, where the focus is on developing character rather than on tasks and duties.

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David Corfield mentioned ‘When The Body Displaces the Mind’ on his blog. It’s by Jean Benjamin Storr who is a French ‘psychoanalytic psychosomatician’ – Wow! I’ve never heard of such a job, but I do understand both the idea and the relevance of having someone with such skills on a team.

We still have a very materialistic, very reductionist and dualistic concept of illness. It’s very common for illnesses to be divided into “real” diseases, and ones that are “in the mind”. I don’t find this the least bit helpful. I’ve always said I’ve never met a mind without a body and the only bodies I’ve met without minds are in the morgue. People present their whole experience and it’s not possible to have only symptoms related to the body, or only to the mind. OK, not everyone will agree with that, but that’s how I see it. Books like David Corfield’s own one (‘Why do people get ill?’ which is, I believe, now out in the USA with the title ‘Why people get sick?’), and Brian Broom’s ‘Meaning-full Disease‘, are, I found both easy to read and excellent at setting out a compelling case for the consideration of a patient in the wholeness of their suffering.

Stora’s book is not such an easy read. I think this is for a number of reasons. First of all, it’s originally written in French and the French have a way of writing that is really not the same as Anglophones. Even in French it can be challenging to an English speaker. In translation, something is lost. This makes it harder. And in the case of this particular book I think the translation is pretty clunky in places (although I’m sure it wouldn’t be an easy job). The additional complication is that the author is a dyed in the wool Freudian. I haven’t trained in Freudian analysis and the language of that particular approach has never really appealed to me. Of course, I think Freud’s concepts of pre-conscious, unconscious and conscious functions of the mind were amazing breakthroughs and I also think his Id, Ego and Superego were similarly insightful but all the oral/anal fixation, castration anxiety, sadomasochistic and oedipal drives…….nope! It doesn’t work for me! What I mean is that I just don’t find that kind of formulation of someone’s problem to be helpful. This book is steeped in that approach. That said, if you can let the jargon kind of wash over, the insights are still stimulating, and what impressed me most was actually the part of the book after the theoretical introductory chapters. That latter part is completely based on cases and as such I found it quite compelling. I can’t say I’d always sign up for the analysis but if you step up a level out of the Freudian School as such you can see a highly empathic, skilled practitioner, enabling a patient to create a story which pulls together all of the apparently diverse elements of their suffering, their biography and their cultural experience. His final case, of Nina, is totally fascinating because of the cultural overlay and the demonstrated need for the therapist to get onto the same wavelength as the patient to be able to help her.

As Stora himself says –

…the spiritual dimension plays an important role in restoring individual psychosomatic equilibrium for those who have received a spiritual education.

I really appreciate his understanding of complexity science as a way of illuminating illness. He situates illness in the life of the whole embedded person –

I favour a multi-causal approach to somatic patients; human beings are fundamentally integrated in three inextricable dimensions: a somatic; a psychic and a socio-cultural dimension……..the cause of an illness may lie in any one of the three dimensions……..Every therapeutic endeavour ideally should incorporate these three dimensions.

Dr Eric Cassell’s ‘The Nature of Suffering’ describes that extremely well from a clinical perspective.

Stora highlights something of the same kind of finding as Kroenke

Surveys conducted among people who have consulted GPs reveal 50 – 70% of patients do not have lesional illnesses.

I like that language – ‘lesional illnesses’. Historically we can go right back to another French author, Bichat, who wrote the “Treatise on the Membranes” with one of the earliest descriptions of disease as an identifiable, physical entity, and whilst in his day that was a breakthrough, three centuries on we’re stuck with an inadequate view of illness as either having lesions or not being real.

This book is an interesting addition to the challenge to that way of thinking. However, in it’s introduction I thought it held out more potential than was realised. It remains firmly in the camp of explaining how emotional wounds can be the origin of physical disease, but I’m even more interested in both the other direction – how physical diseases impact on the mind, and then how both the mind and body interact to produce the full picture of the illness. I’m also more interested to know how to identify and effectively treat the great majority of patients who don’t have what Stora refers to as lesional illnesses. And in addition to that how we produce rational therapeutic interventions to treat whole, individual people, not just think the job is done once the pathology has been addressed. Only then will we have a system of health care which is genuinely healing.

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Every Christmas issue of the British Medical Journal, now known simply as the BMJ, has some really fun articles. I haven’t opened this year’s issue yet but when I picked it up from behind my door just now a study from old BMJ Christmas issue came to mind. It was a systematic review of the evidence base for the use of parachutes. In the introduction they say –

The perception that parachutes are a successful intervention is based largely on anecdotal evidence. Observational data have shown that their use is associated with morbidity and mortality, due to both failure of the intervention1 2 and iatrogenic complications.3 In addition, “natural history” studies of free fall indicate that failure to take or deploy a parachute does not inevitably result in an adverse outcome.4 We therefore undertook a systematic review of randomised controlled trials of parachutes.

The authors completely failed to find a single randomised controlled trial of parachute use! This article is typical of the BMJ Christmas editions. It’s funny, tongue in cheek, but thought-provoking and makes serious points through the use of humour. I love their conclusion –

Only two options exist. The first is that we accept that, under exceptional circumstances, common sense might be applied when considering the potential risks and benefits of interventions. The second is that we continue our quest for the holy grail of exclusively evidence based interventions and preclude parachute use outside the context of a properly conducted trial. The dependency we have created in our population may make recruitment of the unenlightened masses to such a trial difficult. If so, we feel assured that those who advocate evidence based medicine and criticise use of interventions that lack an evidence base will not hesitate to demonstrate their commitment by volunteering for a double blind, randomised, placebo controlled, crossover trial.

Any volunteers? (and, no, you’re not allowed to volunteer anybody else!)

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The slowleadership blog has an interesting post today. It’s about management and sales methods, but in particular it’s about an obsession with what can be measured –

For over a century, many academic disciplines — including business, more recently — have had a case of “physics-envy.” They believe that only “real” data is meaningful, only particles and precision make for real “science.”

The writers make the point that relationships are more important –

Selling is not at root, despite what web-searches will tell you, about process. It is about people and relationships and trust.

Well, it’s interesting isn’t it? You could say the same about health. Health care is ultimately about people and relationships and trust – not either only, or even primarily, about what can be measured. We’ve really forgotten that though in modern health care management. There’s been an obsession with targets and not only targets but targets of what can be measured. And in the midst of all that we’ve lost sight of the fact that medicine is a caring profession. It’s about people, it’s about relationships and it’s about trust.

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There’s an ad running on TV here in the UK at the moment. It’s for a drug called Anadin Extra – a painkiller basically.

This really struck me. Here we have a woman with too many responsibilities, trying to literally juggle her tasks and her relationships. She’s not coping. She’s getting headaches. How is she going to get a better life? How is she going to tackle that old life-work balance thing? How can she be happier, healthier?

The drug companies answer?

Take drugs

I think that’s sad – especially when the drug companies themselves even know that most drugs don’t help most people.

What kind of a vision is this for a healthy society?

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…..same principle I guess. Without considering the individual and unique contexts of a person’s life we can neither understand their illness, nor help them find the best treatment and support. Iona Heath, who writes in the BMJ tackles the dumbing down of medicine in another article this week

We are witnessing a degradation of knowledge, which results from its bureaucratic application to whole populations. Too often, evidence from clinical trials is being shamelessly extrapolated across time, across population subgroup, and across condition. Again and again, efforts are concentrated on crude process measures, while clinical outcomes that are genuinely significant for patients because they reduce or delay suffering or prolong life are ignored. Thirdly, the present state of clinical evidence systematically neglects the reporting of harms

The point she is making is that we are abusing research findings which are conducted on specific groups of people by extrapolating the findings and conclusions and applying them to hugely diverse and significantly different groups of patients. The more we generalise, the poorer our understanding and effectiveness. She argues strongly for not applying the findings of the effects of a treatment on young people, to old people, for example. This is because of two main problems – first the setting of outcomes by the researchers (outcomes which might be important to the group under study, but not the most important to another group) and secondly because of a huge under-reporting of harms of a treatment.

As more and more treatments are directed at an intended long term outcome, the older patient is less likely than the younger one to have a chance of the intended benefit. However, as harms start straight away with treatments, the older patient is more likely to experience harm than benefit than the younger one. In addition, because of other body systems already failing, the elderly patient is more susceptible to harms from drugs than the younger patients.

And that’s just the consideration of age. What about other factors in other contexts which make a substantial difference? Sex, the presence of other diseases (‘co-morbidity’), and economic, social, cultural and psychological factors?

Context is all important in chronic disease especially. Here’s why…..

acute/chronic

In acute disease, as we see on the far left, the green circle represents the pattern of symptoms consistent with the disease, and pretty much determines the whole picture. Most patients who are rushed into hospital have obvious patterns of disease. As time passes however we see that the green circle becomes a much smaller subset of the overall symptoms. This is because as the years pass, the individual brings more and more of themselves and their unique contexts into the overall picture. If we only aim at the disease, we miss helping most chronically ill patients.

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Flow

Flow

There’s something about the idea of flow which really seems to work when thinking about health. In Chinese medicine there is a concept of “chi” or “Qi”– a kind of energy. We don’t use such a concept in our Western model but maybe we should. Why? Well a couple of reasons –

First of all – measuring energy – I’m not talking about weird and wonderful machines that claim to measure energies in a human being – I don’t think we’ve understood what energy is in a biological sense. I don’t mean calories and basal metabolic rates and so on. I mean that sense of vitality, of well-being, of having a certain amount of energy, that’s hard to pin down but so, so easy to know. Think of the 1 – 10 scale and asking people to self-rate their energy level with 1 representing the worst possible energy they can imagine and 10 the best. They can do it in a flash. People have no trouble quickly assigning a number on scale to their current energy state. You can even break it down into different energies – mental, physical, emotional for example, assessing each using the 1 – 10 scale. People can do it easily. What are they doing? How do they assess their energy level? What are they measuring and how? It’s not at all clear but it still seems both possible and useful.

Secondly, there is the idea of energy as flow. In the Chinese system chi isn’t just energy that sits there humming away at a certain level. It’s something more dynamic than that. They have descriptions of this energy as flowing or becoming sluggish or even stopped. So for us, we can not only measure our energy levels but we can sense the flow – is my vitality flowing? Is my physical, mental, emotional energy flowing? Or have I become sluggish, or even blocked? Maybe we can just adopt the Chinese concept without looking for a thing called chi, and without taking on board all the detailed dogma of TCM chi?

Csikszentmihalyi uses the concept in relation to psychological processes in his studies of happiness. I like his work and I think he’s described something very real by using the concept of flow, but I’m meaning something more holistic than he does. I mean flow in the sense of the whole organism, not just a psychological state or a function of mind, but also the function of all the body’s systems and processes.

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