Regulations and the death of common sense

I jumped in the cab and told the driver to take me straight to hell. “Oh,” he said. “You mean LaGuardia?” He was correct, of course.

It takes me just as long to get to LaGuardia from a hotel in midtown Manhattan as it does for me to fly from Cincinnati to New York. And once you are at the airport, it’s a hot mess. I hear that the terminal update at LaGuardia will be finished in 4 years. This is going to cost $8 billion, plus another $2 billion for an elevated train that connects to the railroad and subway.

Cincinnati built itself a streetcar to nowhere after the city council made a field trip to Portlandia. It was fueled by $45 million in federal “stimulus” grants, disrupted downtown for 9 years instead of 3, and cost $145 million instead of $110.

No one rides the streetcar. It is regularly delayed by people parking on the tracks, and collisions with cars happen regularly. In fact, checking to see if anyone buys a ticket was determined to not be cost effective. The city government cannot close the streetcar for 20 years because the city would otherwise have to give back the $45 million grant used to build it.

How do such boondoggles happen? It was all explained in a book given to me by a new friend in New York. “The Death of Common Sense,” by Philip K. Howard, spells it out.

If you want to fix a problem in any city you must run a gauntlet of meetings and meet regulations, many of which have nothing to do with engineering, quality, or safety. Expect action or approval to take years.

The “you can’t be too careful” movement has assumed a life of its own.

Of course, the same process is true in medicine, only more so! Human lives are at stake, so absolutely no chances can be taken. Medicine is not engineering. And the science of medicine is often so inexact that no one knows when they are taking a chance, or what is the right or wrong thing to do. The paperwork and rules become enormous. The regulations proliferate.

The resulting health care administration costs account for about 25% of health care dollars.

In one recent “you can’t be too careful” moment, I had a Joint Commission inspector tell me he was concerned about patients falling off our power tables when we perform procedures under local anesthesia. Now this has never happened in the last 30 years, but you can’t be too careful! I jokingly suggested we consider giant Velcro straps for the tables, and added that they would be particularly useful for the front office staff chairs. The inspector got excited. He thought giant Velcro straps were a great idea. I am now searching online for giant Velcro straps.

Several years ago, I had a clinical lab improvement inspection and everything was perfect. The inspectors could not find anything wrong, but they had allocated a half day for the inspection. They cast about, and finally insisted I buy a red stamper to indicate on the Mohs maps that the case was clear. I pointed out that a straight line though the map indicated the same thing, and even showed them the colored key codes on the back. No, we must have a red stamp! Now we stamp all the maps, sometimes several times! You can’t be too careful! To head off our next “what can we find” moment, we make sure we leave an expired bottle of stain or tissue dye in the back of the cabinet for the inspectors to find.

Pathologists are expected to report melanomas to the state, but we found out that they were behind in their reporting. So we thought we might help them out with the reporting. What were we thinking!? Upon investigation we obtained an online form that is almost incomprehensible and takes at least an hour to fill out. The form must be submitted online and completed in its entirety. There is a 4-hour webinar to help teach you how to fill it out. I called the state health department to ask for help, I was directed to the webinar, and was told in no uncertain terms that it is serious crime not to report melanoma. Thanks! I will be sure to tell the pathologist.

So avoid LaGuardia Airport for at least 4 more years, come ride the Cincinnati streetcar where you really don’t need a ticket, always leave something small for the inspector to find (mum’s the word), and let me know if you find any giant Velcro straps for sale online!

Dr. Coldiron is in private practice but maintains a clinical assistant professorship at the University of Cincinnati. He cares for patients, teaches medical students and residents, and has several active clinical research projects. Dr. Coldiron is the author of more than 80 scientific letters, papers, and several book chapters, and he speaks frequently on a variety of topics. He is a past president of the American Academy of Dermatology. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.

I jumped in the cab and told the driver to take me straight to hell. “Oh,” he said. “You mean LaGuardia?” He was correct, of course.

It takes me just as long to get to LaGuardia from a hotel in midtown Manhattan as it does for me to fly from Cincinnati to New York. And once you are at the airport, it’s a hot mess. I hear that the terminal update at LaGuardia will be finished in 4 years. This is going to cost $8 billion, plus another $2 billion for an elevated train that connects to the railroad and subway.

Cincinnati built itself a streetcar to nowhere after the city council made a field trip to Portlandia. It was fueled by $45 million in federal “stimulus” grants, disrupted downtown for 9 years instead of 3, and cost $145 million instead of $110.

No one rides the streetcar. It is regularly delayed by people parking on the tracks, and collisions with cars happen regularly. In fact, checking to see if anyone buys a ticket was determined to not be cost effective. The city government cannot close the streetcar for 20 years because the city would otherwise have to give back the $45 million grant used to build it.

How do such boondoggles happen? It was all explained in a book given to me by a new friend in New York. “The Death of Common Sense,” by Philip K. Howard, spells it out.

If you want to fix a problem in any city you must run a gauntlet of meetings and meet regulations, many of which have nothing to do with engineering, quality, or safety. Expect action or approval to take years.

The “you can’t be too careful” movement has assumed a life of its own.

Of course, the same process is true in medicine, only more so! Human lives are at stake, so absolutely no chances can be taken. Medicine is not engineering. And the science of medicine is often so inexact that no one knows when they are taking a chance, or what is the right or wrong thing to do. The paperwork and rules become enormous. The regulations proliferate.

The resulting health care administration costs account for about 25% of health care dollars.

In one recent “you can’t be too careful” moment, I had a Joint Commission inspector tell me he was concerned about patients falling off our power tables when we perform procedures under local anesthesia. Now this has never happened in the last 30 years, but you can’t be too careful! I jokingly suggested we consider giant Velcro straps for the tables, and added that they would be particularly useful for the front office staff chairs. The inspector got excited. He thought giant Velcro straps were a great idea. I am now searching online for giant Velcro straps.

Several years ago, I had a clinical lab improvement inspection and everything was perfect. The inspectors could not find anything wrong, but they had allocated a half day for the inspection. They cast about, and finally insisted I buy a red stamper to indicate on the Mohs maps that the case was clear. I pointed out that a straight line though the map indicated the same thing, and even showed them the colored key codes on the back. No, we must have a red stamp! Now we stamp all the maps, sometimes several times! You can’t be too careful! To head off our next “what can we find” moment, we make sure we leave an expired bottle of stain or tissue dye in the back of the cabinet for the inspectors to find.

Pathologists are expected to report melanomas to the state, but we found out that they were behind in their reporting. So we thought we might help them out with the reporting. What were we thinking!? Upon investigation we obtained an online form that is almost incomprehensible and takes at least an hour to fill out. The form must be submitted online and completed in its entirety. There is a 4-hour webinar to help teach you how to fill it out. I called the state health department to ask for help, I was directed to the webinar, and was told in no uncertain terms that it is serious crime not to report melanoma. Thanks! I will be sure to tell the pathologist.

So avoid LaGuardia Airport for at least 4 more years, come ride the Cincinnati streetcar where you really don’t need a ticket, always leave something small for the inspector to find (mum’s the word), and let me know if you find any giant Velcro straps for sale online!

Dr. Coldiron is in private practice but maintains a clinical assistant professorship at the University of Cincinnati. He cares for patients, teaches medical students and residents, and has several active clinical research projects. Dr. Coldiron is the author of more than 80 scientific letters, papers, and several book chapters, and he speaks frequently on a variety of topics. He is a past president of the American Academy of Dermatology. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.

I jumped in the cab and told the driver to take me straight to hell. “Oh,” he said. “You mean LaGuardia?” He was correct, of course.

It takes me just as long to get to LaGuardia from a hotel in midtown Manhattan as it does for me to fly from Cincinnati to New York. And once you are at the airport, it’s a hot mess. I hear that the terminal update at LaGuardia will be finished in 4 years. This is going to cost $8 billion, plus another $2 billion for an elevated train that connects to the railroad and subway.

Cincinnati built itself a streetcar to nowhere after the city council made a field trip to Portlandia. It was fueled by $45 million in federal “stimulus” grants, disrupted downtown for 9 years instead of 3, and cost $145 million instead of $110.

No one rides the streetcar. It is regularly delayed by people parking on the tracks, and collisions with cars happen regularly. In fact, checking to see if anyone buys a ticket was determined to not be cost effective. The city government cannot close the streetcar for 20 years because the city would otherwise have to give back the $45 million grant used to build it.

How do such boondoggles happen? It was all explained in a book given to me by a new friend in New York. “The Death of Common Sense,” by Philip K. Howard, spells it out.

If you want to fix a problem in any city you must run a gauntlet of meetings and meet regulations, many of which have nothing to do with engineering, quality, or safety. Expect action or approval to take years.

The “you can’t be too careful” movement has assumed a life of its own.

Of course, the same process is true in medicine, only more so! Human lives are at stake, so absolutely no chances can be taken. Medicine is not engineering. And the science of medicine is often so inexact that no one knows when they are taking a chance, or what is the right or wrong thing to do. The paperwork and rules become enormous. The regulations proliferate.

The resulting health care administration costs account for about 25% of health care dollars.

In one recent “you can’t be too careful” moment, I had a Joint Commission inspector tell me he was concerned about patients falling off our power tables when we perform procedures under local anesthesia. Now this has never happened in the last 30 years, but you can’t be too careful! I jokingly suggested we consider giant Velcro straps for the tables, and added that they would be particularly useful for the front office staff chairs. The inspector got excited. He thought giant Velcro straps were a great idea. I am now searching online for giant Velcro straps.

Several years ago, I had a clinical lab improvement inspection and everything was perfect. The inspectors could not find anything wrong, but they had allocated a half day for the inspection. They cast about, and finally insisted I buy a red stamper to indicate on the Mohs maps that the case was clear. I pointed out that a straight line though the map indicated the same thing, and even showed them the colored key codes on the back. No, we must have a red stamp! Now we stamp all the maps, sometimes several times! You can’t be too careful! To head off our next “what can we find” moment, we make sure we leave an expired bottle of stain or tissue dye in the back of the cabinet for the inspectors to find.

Pathologists are expected to report melanomas to the state, but we found out that they were behind in their reporting. So we thought we might help them out with the reporting. What were we thinking!? Upon investigation we obtained an online form that is almost incomprehensible and takes at least an hour to fill out. The form must be submitted online and completed in its entirety. There is a 4-hour webinar to help teach you how to fill it out. I called the state health department to ask for help, I was directed to the webinar, and was told in no uncertain terms that it is serious crime not to report melanoma. Thanks! I will be sure to tell the pathologist.

So avoid LaGuardia Airport for at least 4 more years, come ride the Cincinnati streetcar where you really don’t need a ticket, always leave something small for the inspector to find (mum’s the word), and let me know if you find any giant Velcro straps for sale online!

Dr. Coldiron is in private practice but maintains a clinical assistant professorship at the University of Cincinnati. He cares for patients, teaches medical students and residents, and has several active clinical research projects. Dr. Coldiron is the author of more than 80 scientific letters, papers, and several book chapters, and he speaks frequently on a variety of topics. He is a past president of the American Academy of Dermatology. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.