When I started out in the medical field, I worked in Orange and Washington counties in southern Indiana. Save for one kid who was bi-racial at my school, I can’t even think of when I first ran into someone with a different cultural background than myself. Everyone around me – including me, I guess – were redneck WASPs (white, Anglo-Saxon, protestants). As far as religion went, you were either a Baptist or hell-bound. It’s kind of sad when the Amish were the most exotic people I’d ever met.
Now: I won’t cop to the idea that I was a redneck. I didn’t grow up on a farm, and I certainly never drove a tractor to school on Drive Your Tractor to School Day. Yes, that was actually a real thing. I’m completely serious. Don’t even get me started about all the confederate flags. We had three extracurricular activities at my high school: football, Future Farmers of America (FFA), and the Klu Klux Klan (KKK).
I’ve always found culture as a whole to be interesting. And I think coming from such a culturally arrested community helps to drive that interest today. My academic safe place is well rooted in the Humanities, but my career safe place is – and always has been – in biomedical equipment and gadgets. The importance of scientific and technological innovations in the United States is directly related to what makes our country attractive to racially diverse countries abroad. And how those biomedical factors have shaped the history and will shape the future of our medical industry are worth considering. Trust me when I say I get that.
When I was a medic, I was lucky enough to work for a service that valued innovation, so we would have biomedical reps come in all the time to try and sell us their products. They would often leave a fully functional demo model for us for a few weeks to see if we liked their products. And that may be were my love of medical gadgets was sewn. When I left the field, I came in to work for a cardiologist who was also an electrophysiologist. I was always learning something new about gadgets because I tended to implanted biomedical devices, mostly pacemakers and defibrillators. Now I do diagnostic testing in a nuclear cardiology lab. It sometimes amazes me how the industry has changed in a biomedical sense over just the last 15 years. I also feel like we, as citizens of the U.S., should understand just how lucky we are in that specific respect. Even compared with the other countries of the civilized world, we still have the best toys.
In a sense, though, I do think that laypersons outside the industry have been spoiled by our technological sophistications. I don’t remember the company, but one of the cell phone providers has a tag line something like “There’s an app for that.” This is a telling example of just how technologically integrated our lives have become. There is pretty much an app for everything. And people expect everything to have an app. Our cell phones double as MP3 players, compasses, photographic cameras, video cameras, biometric monitors, televisions, and God knows whatever else I am forgetting. If you look at cellphone gadgetry as an analogy for healthcare technologies, we expect our cell phones to be a phone and all these other things, too. So if we can have a cell phone that is also a tiny vacuum cleaner, or humidifier, or full-size printer, why can’t we develop a ventricular assist device that is completely implantable and doesn’t come with a harness because it weighs 50 pounds. Or why haven’t we developed a feasible Terminator-style cybernetic arm as a replacement for those who have lost a limb? We can clone sheep, we can transplant faces, we can even counsel peopled on a genetic level, but we can’t cure HIV and people are still dying of a variety of cancers. And I really think the general public expects medical science to be limitless in its ability to diagnose, treat, and cure based on the assumption that if we can make a cell phone that has a thousand different functions then we should also be able to correct chromosomal defects in utero.
If you read my posts over the course of the evolution of this blog, it won’t be long until you come to find that I am fairly critical of both the biomedical model for healthcare and the role capitalism plays in how we deliver our healthcare in this country. I believe that a nearly exclusive amount of healthcare in this country is styled to respond to the biomedical model of care delivery. Sometimes I will listen to my peers talk about an ethical subject from a biomedical standpoint, and it will make me sad. And you might expect me to come from the biomedical point-of-view knowing a little bit about my background, but there are so many things that are healthcare related, as well as culturally related, that hinge on the opposite side of the biomedical model. In my view, the psychosocial model is probably slightly more than two-thirds as important as the biomedical model and terribly under-addressed in our society. If you look only at the pathology, to steal a word from the biomedical model, to help gauge the importance of the psychosocial model in just our country, we begin to recognize that almost all the biomedical maladies we treat from an empirical basis have psychosocial foundations. Obesity, alcoholism, preventable cancers, addiction, cardiovascular illnesses, depression, indigent care, pregnancy prevention, STDs, and the newer disorders of ADD, ADHD and the rise of autism diagnoses have a huge amount of psychosocial issues intertwined with them. Sure, we can attack some of these problems from a biomedical standpoint, but there are some instances, as with, say, autism, that I find hard-pressed to be successfully treated in any other form than from the psychosocial model stand-point.
A further complication that pits the biomedical and the psychosocial model against one another is the dichotomy of the market justice and the social justice of healthcare services delivery. It shouldn’t be surprising that I strongly believe that the social market is the best route of distribution. This has less to do with capitalism, in my mind, than it has to do with the universality of the access to healthcare services. Here’s a short story: while working at the cardiologist’s office, I had a patient call me and ask if there was another medication she could be put on that was different than a drug called Sotalol. Sotalol is used for treating ventricular tachycardia (VT), amongst other things. The patient had a recent VT ablation. An ablation is a procedure where the EP doc goes in and finds the irritated pathway that causes the patient to go in and out of ventricular tachycardia. That pathway is burned with a catheter that basically cauterizes the irritated focus. After the procedure, the patient is still prone to arrhythmia for the simple fact that the ablated pathway has to have time to heal for it to be completely “deactivated.” A day after this specific patient’s procedure, she calls me and says she can’t afford the medication. Sotalol is important post-ablation because the patient has the risk of going back into VT, which can eventually deteriorate into Ventricular fibrillation. VF is incompatible with life. So I end up with a patient that has decent hospitalization insurance, but she has no prescription benefits, and she can’t buy the medicine that might keep her alive. I passed around a hat, and the office staff was able to pitch in enough for her to buy a months’ prescription of Sotalol. Some employees didn’t chip in because they said they had medication to buy for themselves. Even though I completely felt the same, I also felt like I didn’t have much of a choice. What do you do? Sure, I could have contacted the drug company, and that is what I ended up doing, but that doesn’t take care of the immediate need. Ethically, how do you walk away from someone like that?
In our quest to create new technologies to make caring for patients better or more efficient, are we looking over the real problems that are at hand. I mean, we performed an ablation of a patient that didn’t have the money to care for herself after the produce but also because of the procedure. Would it have been better for her if we didn’t do the ablation and focused only on medicating her and making sure she could meet the needs of her day-to-day medical expenses? What kind of a standard does that set for culturally diverse populations that come to the United States for medical school?
There are people who can’t afford a $25 flu shot in our community. How much more are we contributing to personal medical disaster for people who can’t afford Coumadin after a heart valve replacement or Plavix after a stent placement? As much as I love innovation and truly believe in medical research, I worry what kind of a state we’re placing minorities and the working poor into by not considering the end-user of what we rush for approval.