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A friend sent me an article from the New Yorker called “The Algorithm Will See You Now,” in which Siddhartha Mukherjee, MD, author of the magisterial “The Emperor of All Maladies,” ponders the effect artificial intelligence may have on medicine. One possible outcome may be that computers replace radiologists and dermatologists. (They already beat top humans at Jeopardy, chess, and Go, so why not lick Homo sapiens at pattern recognition?)
No worries for me. When Watson takes over, I will be off somewhere playing shuffleboard.
“It’s a particularly bad case. But, the question is why it appeared now, and why it’s getting worse.” She asked the patient about new hair products or family stress. The man said he’d just lost his job.
“Keep a diary,” she advised. “We can determine if there’s a link.”
Thus was my pedagogic legacy shattered in an instant. I’ve spent decades advising students not to tell patients they have a bad case of anything and never to ask them to keep diaries. Then, a foremost medical writer in a leading cultural journal endorses the reverse of both lessons. What was I thinking all these years?
I counseled students not to call any case “bad” because I saw how patients took it personally if I told them that. No matter how mild their diagnosis – rosacea and seborrhea, maladies less emperors than footmen– patients who heard theirs called “bad” looked sad, even insulted. Sad and insulted patients may give up and don’t follow treatment advice. (With such a bad case, why bother?) I didn’t urge patients to think that way. I just couldn’t ignore that they did. By contrast, assuring people that their case “wasn’t bad at all!” made them light up like Halloween pumpkins.
As for diaries, I’ve filed a few that patients handed me over the years. I showed these detailed chronicles to students to illustrate the lengths to which people will go to explain the unexplainable, like the ups and downs of idiopathic urticaria, eczema, and so forth:
- Thursday, August 6th, had sushi at a restaurant with friends.
- Sunday, September 3rd, watched science-fiction movie, unable to sleep that night.
- Monday, October 2nd, discarded fourth new detergent.
And so on.
In the meantime, several times each working day patients would troop in with randomly reoccurring conditions, atopic dermatitis above all, prompting dialogues like these:
“This is crazy! I never had anything like this before!”
“Well, actually, Ms. Jones, I treated you for the same thing in 2006.”
*********************
“This is bizarre! I never had this, and no one in my family ever did either.”
“I see. Well, here’s a prescription.”
“Come to think of it, my Mom had sensitive skin, and I get these dry patches on my arms and legs every winter.”
********************
“I’ve changed my soap three times and thrown out my makeup four times, and the rash keeps coming back. What should I do?”
“Stop throwing out your soap and makeup?”
And so on and on.
Sometimes, of course, semi-plausible causes seem to surface, such as stress. The question is, How useful is it to point this out? Consider the New Yorker case. Once the doctor “determined there is a link,” how might the conversation go?
“We have found the trigger, Mr. Smith. It’s stress.”
“Great! What should I do?”
“Don’t get laid off.”
No doctor (I hope) would ever say that, but patients present reports like the following all the time:
“As a kid, I was allergic to milk, but I’m not anymore.” (No, he wasn’t – he had infantile eczema that got blamed on milk.)
“Penicillin gave me hives.” (But, the hives lasted 6 weeks after the penicillin was stopped, which showed that the hives were idiopathic.)
“I’m very sensitive. I can’t use any moisturizer, any makeup, or all pills.” (People generate long litanies of sensitivities, piling one spurious correlation on another.)
Who benefits from “determining the link” when there isn’t any? Not the patients I’ve been seeing for forty years. Your patients? Maybe detergent manufacturers?
As to my errant pedagogy, with any luck, my students don’t remember a word I told them, a safe assumption for any teacher.
Either that or they don’t read the New Yorker.
Dr. Rockoff practices dermatology in Brookline, Mass., and is a longtime contributor to Dermatology News. He serves on the clinical faculty at Tufts University, Boston, and has taught senior medical students and other trainees for 30 years. His second book, “Act Like a Doctor, Think Like a Patient,” is available at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com. Write to him at dermnews@frontlinemedcom.com.
A friend sent me an article from the New Yorker called “The Algorithm Will See You Now,” in which Siddhartha Mukherjee, MD, author of the magisterial “The Emperor of All Maladies,” ponders the effect artificial intelligence may have on medicine. One possible outcome may be that computers replace radiologists and dermatologists. (They already beat top humans at Jeopardy, chess, and Go, so why not lick Homo sapiens at pattern recognition?)
No worries for me. When Watson takes over, I will be off somewhere playing shuffleboard.
“It’s a particularly bad case. But, the question is why it appeared now, and why it’s getting worse.” She asked the patient about new hair products or family stress. The man said he’d just lost his job.
“Keep a diary,” she advised. “We can determine if there’s a link.”
Thus was my pedagogic legacy shattered in an instant. I’ve spent decades advising students not to tell patients they have a bad case of anything and never to ask them to keep diaries. Then, a foremost medical writer in a leading cultural journal endorses the reverse of both lessons. What was I thinking all these years?
I counseled students not to call any case “bad” because I saw how patients took it personally if I told them that. No matter how mild their diagnosis – rosacea and seborrhea, maladies less emperors than footmen– patients who heard theirs called “bad” looked sad, even insulted. Sad and insulted patients may give up and don’t follow treatment advice. (With such a bad case, why bother?) I didn’t urge patients to think that way. I just couldn’t ignore that they did. By contrast, assuring people that their case “wasn’t bad at all!” made them light up like Halloween pumpkins.
As for diaries, I’ve filed a few that patients handed me over the years. I showed these detailed chronicles to students to illustrate the lengths to which people will go to explain the unexplainable, like the ups and downs of idiopathic urticaria, eczema, and so forth:
- Thursday, August 6th, had sushi at a restaurant with friends.
- Sunday, September 3rd, watched science-fiction movie, unable to sleep that night.
- Monday, October 2nd, discarded fourth new detergent.
And so on.
In the meantime, several times each working day patients would troop in with randomly reoccurring conditions, atopic dermatitis above all, prompting dialogues like these:
“This is crazy! I never had anything like this before!”
“Well, actually, Ms. Jones, I treated you for the same thing in 2006.”
*********************
“This is bizarre! I never had this, and no one in my family ever did either.”
“I see. Well, here’s a prescription.”
“Come to think of it, my Mom had sensitive skin, and I get these dry patches on my arms and legs every winter.”
********************
“I’ve changed my soap three times and thrown out my makeup four times, and the rash keeps coming back. What should I do?”
“Stop throwing out your soap and makeup?”
And so on and on.
Sometimes, of course, semi-plausible causes seem to surface, such as stress. The question is, How useful is it to point this out? Consider the New Yorker case. Once the doctor “determined there is a link,” how might the conversation go?
“We have found the trigger, Mr. Smith. It’s stress.”
“Great! What should I do?”
“Don’t get laid off.”
No doctor (I hope) would ever say that, but patients present reports like the following all the time:
“As a kid, I was allergic to milk, but I’m not anymore.” (No, he wasn’t – he had infantile eczema that got blamed on milk.)
“Penicillin gave me hives.” (But, the hives lasted 6 weeks after the penicillin was stopped, which showed that the hives were idiopathic.)
“I’m very sensitive. I can’t use any moisturizer, any makeup, or all pills.” (People generate long litanies of sensitivities, piling one spurious correlation on another.)
Who benefits from “determining the link” when there isn’t any? Not the patients I’ve been seeing for forty years. Your patients? Maybe detergent manufacturers?
As to my errant pedagogy, with any luck, my students don’t remember a word I told them, a safe assumption for any teacher.
Either that or they don’t read the New Yorker.
Dr. Rockoff practices dermatology in Brookline, Mass., and is a longtime contributor to Dermatology News. He serves on the clinical faculty at Tufts University, Boston, and has taught senior medical students and other trainees for 30 years. His second book, “Act Like a Doctor, Think Like a Patient,” is available at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com. Write to him at dermnews@frontlinemedcom.com.
A friend sent me an article from the New Yorker called “The Algorithm Will See You Now,” in which Siddhartha Mukherjee, MD, author of the magisterial “The Emperor of All Maladies,” ponders the effect artificial intelligence may have on medicine. One possible outcome may be that computers replace radiologists and dermatologists. (They already beat top humans at Jeopardy, chess, and Go, so why not lick Homo sapiens at pattern recognition?)
No worries for me. When Watson takes over, I will be off somewhere playing shuffleboard.
“It’s a particularly bad case. But, the question is why it appeared now, and why it’s getting worse.” She asked the patient about new hair products or family stress. The man said he’d just lost his job.
“Keep a diary,” she advised. “We can determine if there’s a link.”
Thus was my pedagogic legacy shattered in an instant. I’ve spent decades advising students not to tell patients they have a bad case of anything and never to ask them to keep diaries. Then, a foremost medical writer in a leading cultural journal endorses the reverse of both lessons. What was I thinking all these years?
I counseled students not to call any case “bad” because I saw how patients took it personally if I told them that. No matter how mild their diagnosis – rosacea and seborrhea, maladies less emperors than footmen– patients who heard theirs called “bad” looked sad, even insulted. Sad and insulted patients may give up and don’t follow treatment advice. (With such a bad case, why bother?) I didn’t urge patients to think that way. I just couldn’t ignore that they did. By contrast, assuring people that their case “wasn’t bad at all!” made them light up like Halloween pumpkins.
As for diaries, I’ve filed a few that patients handed me over the years. I showed these detailed chronicles to students to illustrate the lengths to which people will go to explain the unexplainable, like the ups and downs of idiopathic urticaria, eczema, and so forth:
- Thursday, August 6th, had sushi at a restaurant with friends.
- Sunday, September 3rd, watched science-fiction movie, unable to sleep that night.
- Monday, October 2nd, discarded fourth new detergent.
And so on.
In the meantime, several times each working day patients would troop in with randomly reoccurring conditions, atopic dermatitis above all, prompting dialogues like these:
“This is crazy! I never had anything like this before!”
“Well, actually, Ms. Jones, I treated you for the same thing in 2006.”
*********************
“This is bizarre! I never had this, and no one in my family ever did either.”
“I see. Well, here’s a prescription.”
“Come to think of it, my Mom had sensitive skin, and I get these dry patches on my arms and legs every winter.”
********************
“I’ve changed my soap three times and thrown out my makeup four times, and the rash keeps coming back. What should I do?”
“Stop throwing out your soap and makeup?”
And so on and on.
Sometimes, of course, semi-plausible causes seem to surface, such as stress. The question is, How useful is it to point this out? Consider the New Yorker case. Once the doctor “determined there is a link,” how might the conversation go?
“We have found the trigger, Mr. Smith. It’s stress.”
“Great! What should I do?”
“Don’t get laid off.”
No doctor (I hope) would ever say that, but patients present reports like the following all the time:
“As a kid, I was allergic to milk, but I’m not anymore.” (No, he wasn’t – he had infantile eczema that got blamed on milk.)
“Penicillin gave me hives.” (But, the hives lasted 6 weeks after the penicillin was stopped, which showed that the hives were idiopathic.)
“I’m very sensitive. I can’t use any moisturizer, any makeup, or all pills.” (People generate long litanies of sensitivities, piling one spurious correlation on another.)
Who benefits from “determining the link” when there isn’t any? Not the patients I’ve been seeing for forty years. Your patients? Maybe detergent manufacturers?
As to my errant pedagogy, with any luck, my students don’t remember a word I told them, a safe assumption for any teacher.
Either that or they don’t read the New Yorker.
Dr. Rockoff practices dermatology in Brookline, Mass., and is a longtime contributor to Dermatology News. He serves on the clinical faculty at Tufts University, Boston, and has taught senior medical students and other trainees for 30 years. His second book, “Act Like a Doctor, Think Like a Patient,” is available at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com. Write to him at dermnews@frontlinemedcom.com.