Letters from Maine

I have already shared with you that healthcare systems value panel size and productivity when they are considering primary care physician compensation. Your employers also know that the market won’t bear a substantial price increase for the procedure-poor practice style typical of primary care. You know that the relative value unit (RVU) system for calculating complexity of service is time consuming and discourages the inclusion of customer-friendly short visits that could allow an efficient provider to see more patients. Unfortunately, there is little hope that RVUs will become more PCP-friendly in the near future.

However, before leaving the topic of value and moving on to a consideration of quality, I can’t resist sharing some thoughts about efficiency and time management.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I have already shared with you that healthcare systems value panel size and productivity when they are considering primary care physician compensation. Your employers also know that the market won’t bear a substantial price increase for the procedure-poor practice style typical of primary care. You know that the relative value unit (RVU) system for calculating complexity of service is time consuming and discourages the inclusion of customer-friendly short visits that could allow an efficient provider to see more patients. Unfortunately, there is little hope that RVUs will become more PCP-friendly in the near future.

However, before leaving the topic of value and moving on to a consideration of quality, I can’t resist sharing some thoughts about efficiency and time management.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I have already shared with you that healthcare systems value panel size and productivity when they are considering primary care physician compensation. Your employers also know that the market won’t bear a substantial price increase for the procedure-poor practice style typical of primary care. You know that the relative value unit (RVU) system for calculating complexity of service is time consuming and discourages the inclusion of customer-friendly short visits that could allow an efficient provider to see more patients. Unfortunately, there is little hope that RVUs will become more PCP-friendly in the near future.

However, before leaving the topic of value and moving on to a consideration of quality, I can’t resist sharing some thoughts about efficiency and time management.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In Part 2 of this series on PCP Compensation, I concluded by saying that it is possible, maybe even likely, that growing your panel size will further endanger your health. When you share this concern with your boss, based purely on economic principles, he or she should answer, “How about charging more per visit?” However, your boss knows that third-party payers are going to look askance at that simple strategy. He or she may then suggest that you make each visit worth more to justify the increased charge.

Here is where the topic of Relative Value Units (RVUs) raises its ugly head.

Before the invention of “health insurance,” when the patient paid for his or her own office visits, it was an unspoken negotiation between patient and physician that decided the value of the care.

When third-party payers first came on the scene, the value of the visit was based roughly on the time spent with the patient. Coupling time spent with value gave no credit to more experienced or skilled physicians who were more efficient at managing their patients. If, on average, it took me 10 minutes to effectively manage an ear infection and my younger associate 20 minutes, should he or she be paid twice as much as I’m paid?

But, value spent on a crude estimate of time spent was a system ripe for abuse.

I have no way of knowing what other physicians were doing, but I suspect I was not alone in factoring my own assessment of “complexity” into the calculation when deciding what to bill for a visit, giving only a passing glance at the recommended time-based definitions of short, standard, and complex visits. The payers then began demanding a more definable method of determining complexity. The result was the RVU, the labor-intensive, but no more accurate, system in which the provider must build a case to defend his or her charges.

Unfortunately, the institution of the RVU system was a major contributor to the death of the short visit. The extra work required to submit and defend the coding of any visit meant that, from a strictly clerical point of view, the short visit became as costly to the business to process as a more complex visit. The result was that every astute business consultant worth his or her salt would begin with the recommendation to “Code up!” Do whatever it takes to build your case for a more complex visit even though it may be a stretch. (It would certainly mean a lot more time-gobbling documenting.) Stop doing short visits. They are your loss leaders.

Before there were RVUs, there was a way physicians could be profitable and include short visits in their schedule. But it meant the provider had to be efficient. But patients generally don’t like going to follow-up visits they see as needless. And, more often than not, the patients are correct. However, patients love the same-day availability that an abundance of short visits in a primary care provider’s schedule can offer. The patient who knows that he or she won’t have to wait weeks or months to see the provider is far less likely to show up at a visit with a laundry list as long as their arm of problems and questions they have saved up while they were waiting to get an appointment. It used to be possible to provide efficient and profitable care by including short visits in a PCP’s schedule. Whether it can still be done under the current RVU system is unclear and probably doubtful.

In the last and final Letter in this series, we will begin with a brief look at efficiency and a PCP’s contribution to overhead before exploring the more difficult subject of defining the quality of a provider’s care and how this could relate to compensation.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In Part 2 of this series on PCP Compensation, I concluded by saying that it is possible, maybe even likely, that growing your panel size will further endanger your health. When you share this concern with your boss, based purely on economic principles, he or she should answer, “How about charging more per visit?” However, your boss knows that third-party payers are going to look askance at that simple strategy. He or she may then suggest that you make each visit worth more to justify the increased charge.

Here is where the topic of Relative Value Units (RVUs) raises its ugly head.

Before the invention of “health insurance,” when the patient paid for his or her own office visits, it was an unspoken negotiation between patient and physician that decided the value of the care.

When third-party payers first came on the scene, the value of the visit was based roughly on the time spent with the patient. Coupling time spent with value gave no credit to more experienced or skilled physicians who were more efficient at managing their patients. If, on average, it took me 10 minutes to effectively manage an ear infection and my younger associate 20 minutes, should he or she be paid twice as much as I’m paid?

But, value spent on a crude estimate of time spent was a system ripe for abuse.

I have no way of knowing what other physicians were doing, but I suspect I was not alone in factoring my own assessment of “complexity” into the calculation when deciding what to bill for a visit, giving only a passing glance at the recommended time-based definitions of short, standard, and complex visits. The payers then began demanding a more definable method of determining complexity. The result was the RVU, the labor-intensive, but no more accurate, system in which the provider must build a case to defend his or her charges.

Unfortunately, the institution of the RVU system was a major contributor to the death of the short visit. The extra work required to submit and defend the coding of any visit meant that, from a strictly clerical point of view, the short visit became as costly to the business to process as a more complex visit. The result was that every astute business consultant worth his or her salt would begin with the recommendation to “Code up!” Do whatever it takes to build your case for a more complex visit even though it may be a stretch. (It would certainly mean a lot more time-gobbling documenting.) Stop doing short visits. They are your loss leaders.

Before there were RVUs, there was a way physicians could be profitable and include short visits in their schedule. But it meant the provider had to be efficient. But patients generally don’t like going to follow-up visits they see as needless. And, more often than not, the patients are correct. However, patients love the same-day availability that an abundance of short visits in a primary care provider’s schedule can offer. The patient who knows that he or she won’t have to wait weeks or months to see the provider is far less likely to show up at a visit with a laundry list as long as their arm of problems and questions they have saved up while they were waiting to get an appointment. It used to be possible to provide efficient and profitable care by including short visits in a PCP’s schedule. Whether it can still be done under the current RVU system is unclear and probably doubtful.

In the last and final Letter in this series, we will begin with a brief look at efficiency and a PCP’s contribution to overhead before exploring the more difficult subject of defining the quality of a provider’s care and how this could relate to compensation.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In Part 2 of this series on PCP Compensation, I concluded by saying that it is possible, maybe even likely, that growing your panel size will further endanger your health. When you share this concern with your boss, based purely on economic principles, he or she should answer, “How about charging more per visit?” However, your boss knows that third-party payers are going to look askance at that simple strategy. He or she may then suggest that you make each visit worth more to justify the increased charge.

Here is where the topic of Relative Value Units (RVUs) raises its ugly head.

Before the invention of “health insurance,” when the patient paid for his or her own office visits, it was an unspoken negotiation between patient and physician that decided the value of the care.

When third-party payers first came on the scene, the value of the visit was based roughly on the time spent with the patient. Coupling time spent with value gave no credit to more experienced or skilled physicians who were more efficient at managing their patients. If, on average, it took me 10 minutes to effectively manage an ear infection and my younger associate 20 minutes, should he or she be paid twice as much as I’m paid?

But, value spent on a crude estimate of time spent was a system ripe for abuse.

I have no way of knowing what other physicians were doing, but I suspect I was not alone in factoring my own assessment of “complexity” into the calculation when deciding what to bill for a visit, giving only a passing glance at the recommended time-based definitions of short, standard, and complex visits. The payers then began demanding a more definable method of determining complexity. The result was the RVU, the labor-intensive, but no more accurate, system in which the provider must build a case to defend his or her charges.

Unfortunately, the institution of the RVU system was a major contributor to the death of the short visit. The extra work required to submit and defend the coding of any visit meant that, from a strictly clerical point of view, the short visit became as costly to the business to process as a more complex visit. The result was that every astute business consultant worth his or her salt would begin with the recommendation to “Code up!” Do whatever it takes to build your case for a more complex visit even though it may be a stretch. (It would certainly mean a lot more time-gobbling documenting.) Stop doing short visits. They are your loss leaders.

Before there were RVUs, there was a way physicians could be profitable and include short visits in their schedule. But it meant the provider had to be efficient. But patients generally don’t like going to follow-up visits they see as needless. And, more often than not, the patients are correct. However, patients love the same-day availability that an abundance of short visits in a primary care provider’s schedule can offer. The patient who knows that he or she won’t have to wait weeks or months to see the provider is far less likely to show up at a visit with a laundry list as long as their arm of problems and questions they have saved up while they were waiting to get an appointment. It used to be possible to provide efficient and profitable care by including short visits in a PCP’s schedule. Whether it can still be done under the current RVU system is unclear and probably doubtful.

In the last and final Letter in this series, we will begin with a brief look at efficiency and a PCP’s contribution to overhead before exploring the more difficult subject of defining the quality of a provider’s care and how this could relate to compensation.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In my last column, I began to explore the factors affecting the compensation of primary care providers (PCPs). I described two apparent economic paradoxes. First, while most healthcare systems consider their primary care segments as loss leaders, they continue to seek and hire more PCPs. The second is while PCPs are in short supply, most of them feel that they are underpaid. Supply and demand doesn’t seem to be making them more valuable in the economic sense. The explanations for these nonintuitive observations are first, healthcare systems need the volume of patients stored in the practices of even unprofitable primary care physicians to feed the high-profit specialties in their businesses. Second, there is a limit to how large a gap between revenue and overhead the systems can accept for their primary care practices. Not surprisingly, this means that system administrators must continue to nudge those PCP practices closer toward profitability, usually by demanding higher productivity.

As I did in my last letter, I will continue to lean on a discussion for PCP compensation by a large international management consulting firm I found on the internet. I am not condoning the consultant’s advice, but merely using it as a scaffolding on which to hang the rather squishy topics of time, clinical quality, and patient satisfaction. I only intend to ask questions, and I promise no answers.

First, let me make it clear that I am defining PCPs as providers who are on a performance-based pathway, which is by far the most prevalent model. A fixed-salary arrangement hasn’t made sense to me since I was a 17-year-old lifeguard paid by the hour for sitting by a pool. Had I been paid by the rescue, I would have finished the summer empty handed. A fixed salary provided me a sense of security, but it offered no path for advancement and was boring as hell. The primary care provider I am talking about has an interest in developing relationships with his/her patients, building a practice, and offering some degree of continuity. In other words, I am not considering providers working in walk-in clinics as PCPs.
 

Size Matters

My high-powered management consultant is recommending to his healthcare system management clients that they emphasize panel size component as they craft their compensation packages for PCPs. Maybe even to the point of giving it more weight than the productivity piece. This, of course, makes perfect business sense if the primary value of a PCP to the system lies in the patients he/she brings into the system.

What does this emphasis on size mean for you as a provider? If your boss is following my consultant’s advice, then you would want to be growing your panel size to improve your compensation. You could do this by a marketing plan that makes you more popular. But, I can hear you muttering that you never wanted to be a contestant in a popularity contest. Although I must say that historically this was a fact of life in any community when new providers came to town.

A provider can choose his/her own definition of popularity. You can let it be known that you are a liberal prescription writer and fill your practice with drug-seeking patients. Or you could promote customer-friendly schedules and behaviors in your office staff. And, of course, you can simply exude an aura of caring, which has always been an effective practice-building tool.

On the other hand, you may believe that you have more patients than you can handle. You may fear that growing your practice runs the risk of putting the quality of your patients’ care and your own physical and mental health at risk.

Theoretically, you could keep your panel size unchanged and increase your productivity to enhance your value and therefore your compensation. In the next part of this miniseries we’ll look at the stumbling blocks that can make increasing productivity difficult.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In my last column, I began to explore the factors affecting the compensation of primary care providers (PCPs). I described two apparent economic paradoxes. First, while most healthcare systems consider their primary care segments as loss leaders, they continue to seek and hire more PCPs. The second is while PCPs are in short supply, most of them feel that they are underpaid. Supply and demand doesn’t seem to be making them more valuable in the economic sense. The explanations for these nonintuitive observations are first, healthcare systems need the volume of patients stored in the practices of even unprofitable primary care physicians to feed the high-profit specialties in their businesses. Second, there is a limit to how large a gap between revenue and overhead the systems can accept for their primary care practices. Not surprisingly, this means that system administrators must continue to nudge those PCP practices closer toward profitability, usually by demanding higher productivity.

As I did in my last letter, I will continue to lean on a discussion for PCP compensation by a large international management consulting firm I found on the internet. I am not condoning the consultant’s advice, but merely using it as a scaffolding on which to hang the rather squishy topics of time, clinical quality, and patient satisfaction. I only intend to ask questions, and I promise no answers.

First, let me make it clear that I am defining PCPs as providers who are on a performance-based pathway, which is by far the most prevalent model. A fixed-salary arrangement hasn’t made sense to me since I was a 17-year-old lifeguard paid by the hour for sitting by a pool. Had I been paid by the rescue, I would have finished the summer empty handed. A fixed salary provided me a sense of security, but it offered no path for advancement and was boring as hell. The primary care provider I am talking about has an interest in developing relationships with his/her patients, building a practice, and offering some degree of continuity. In other words, I am not considering providers working in walk-in clinics as PCPs.
 

Size Matters

My high-powered management consultant is recommending to his healthcare system management clients that they emphasize panel size component as they craft their compensation packages for PCPs. Maybe even to the point of giving it more weight than the productivity piece. This, of course, makes perfect business sense if the primary value of a PCP to the system lies in the patients he/she brings into the system.

What does this emphasis on size mean for you as a provider? If your boss is following my consultant’s advice, then you would want to be growing your panel size to improve your compensation. You could do this by a marketing plan that makes you more popular. But, I can hear you muttering that you never wanted to be a contestant in a popularity contest. Although I must say that historically this was a fact of life in any community when new providers came to town.

A provider can choose his/her own definition of popularity. You can let it be known that you are a liberal prescription writer and fill your practice with drug-seeking patients. Or you could promote customer-friendly schedules and behaviors in your office staff. And, of course, you can simply exude an aura of caring, which has always been an effective practice-building tool.

On the other hand, you may believe that you have more patients than you can handle. You may fear that growing your practice runs the risk of putting the quality of your patients’ care and your own physical and mental health at risk.

Theoretically, you could keep your panel size unchanged and increase your productivity to enhance your value and therefore your compensation. In the next part of this miniseries we’ll look at the stumbling blocks that can make increasing productivity difficult.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In my last column, I began to explore the factors affecting the compensation of primary care providers (PCPs). I described two apparent economic paradoxes. First, while most healthcare systems consider their primary care segments as loss leaders, they continue to seek and hire more PCPs. The second is while PCPs are in short supply, most of them feel that they are underpaid. Supply and demand doesn’t seem to be making them more valuable in the economic sense. The explanations for these nonintuitive observations are first, healthcare systems need the volume of patients stored in the practices of even unprofitable primary care physicians to feed the high-profit specialties in their businesses. Second, there is a limit to how large a gap between revenue and overhead the systems can accept for their primary care practices. Not surprisingly, this means that system administrators must continue to nudge those PCP practices closer toward profitability, usually by demanding higher productivity.

As I did in my last letter, I will continue to lean on a discussion for PCP compensation by a large international management consulting firm I found on the internet. I am not condoning the consultant’s advice, but merely using it as a scaffolding on which to hang the rather squishy topics of time, clinical quality, and patient satisfaction. I only intend to ask questions, and I promise no answers.

First, let me make it clear that I am defining PCPs as providers who are on a performance-based pathway, which is by far the most prevalent model. A fixed-salary arrangement hasn’t made sense to me since I was a 17-year-old lifeguard paid by the hour for sitting by a pool. Had I been paid by the rescue, I would have finished the summer empty handed. A fixed salary provided me a sense of security, but it offered no path for advancement and was boring as hell. The primary care provider I am talking about has an interest in developing relationships with his/her patients, building a practice, and offering some degree of continuity. In other words, I am not considering providers working in walk-in clinics as PCPs.
 

Size Matters

My high-powered management consultant is recommending to his healthcare system management clients that they emphasize panel size component as they craft their compensation packages for PCPs. Maybe even to the point of giving it more weight than the productivity piece. This, of course, makes perfect business sense if the primary value of a PCP to the system lies in the patients he/she brings into the system.

What does this emphasis on size mean for you as a provider? If your boss is following my consultant’s advice, then you would want to be growing your panel size to improve your compensation. You could do this by a marketing plan that makes you more popular. But, I can hear you muttering that you never wanted to be a contestant in a popularity contest. Although I must say that historically this was a fact of life in any community when new providers came to town.

A provider can choose his/her own definition of popularity. You can let it be known that you are a liberal prescription writer and fill your practice with drug-seeking patients. Or you could promote customer-friendly schedules and behaviors in your office staff. And, of course, you can simply exude an aura of caring, which has always been an effective practice-building tool.

On the other hand, you may believe that you have more patients than you can handle. You may fear that growing your practice runs the risk of putting the quality of your patients’ care and your own physical and mental health at risk.

Theoretically, you could keep your panel size unchanged and increase your productivity to enhance your value and therefore your compensation. In the next part of this miniseries we’ll look at the stumbling blocks that can make increasing productivity difficult.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I recently read an op-ed piece in which the author wondered if any young people entering the practice of medicine felt that they were answering a “calling.” I suspect that there will continue to be, and will always be, idealists whose primary motivation for choosing medicine is that they will be healing the sick or at least providing comfort to the suffering. I occasionally hear that about a former patient who has been inspired by a personal or familial experience with a serious illness.

Unfortunately, I suspect those who feel called are the providers most likely to feel discouraged and frustrated by the current state of primary care. Luckily, I never felt a calling. For me, primary care pediatrics was a job. One that l felt obligated to perform to the best of my ability. Mine was not a calling but an inherited philosophy that work in itself was virtuous. A work ethic, if you will. Pediatrics offered the additional reward that, if well done, it might help some parents and their children feel a little better.

Fifty years ago I was not alone in treating medicine as a job. Most physicians were self-employed. Although there were exceptions like Albert Schweitzer, even those of us with a calling had to obey the basic rules of business as it applied to medicine. We were employer and employee and had to understand the critical factors of overhead, profit, and loss.

I have burdened you with this little history recitation not to suggest that things were better in the good old days, but to provide a stepping stone into the murky and uncomfortable topic of primary care physician (PCP) compensation. Because almost three quarters of you work for a hospital, health system, or corporate entity, I am going to illuminate our journey by leaning on the advice of an international company with 7000 employees and revenue of 2.5 billion dollars that considers itself a “global leader” in management consulting. Your employer is listening to some management consultant and it may help us to view your compensation from someone on their side of the table.

First, you should be aware that “most health systems lose money on their primary care operations — up to $200,000 or more per primary care physician.” This may help explain why despite being in short supply, you and most PCPs feel undervalued. However, if we are such losers, we must provide something(s) that the systems are seeking. It is likely that the system is looking to tout its ability to provide comprehensive care and demonstrate that it has a patient base broad enough to warrant attention and provide bargaining leverage on volume discounts.

The system also may want to minimize competition by absorbing the remaining PCPs in the community into their system. With you outside of the system, it had less control over your compensation than it does when you are under its umbrella.

Your employer may want to grow and feed its specialty care network, and it sees PCPs as having the fuel stored in their patient volume to do just that. In simplest and most cynical terms, the systems are willing to take a loss on us less profitable high-volume grunts in order to reap the profits of the lower-volume high-profitability specialties and subspecialties.

So that’s why you as a PCP have any value at all to a large healthcare system. But, it means that to maintain your value to the system you must continue to provide the volume it anticipates and needs. While the system may have been willing to accept some degrees of unprofitability when it hired you, there are limits. And, we shouldn’t be surprised if they continue to urge or demand that we narrow the gap between the revenue we generate and the costs that we incur, ie, our overhead.

In Part 2 of this series, I’m going to discuss the collateral damage that occurs when volume and overhead collide in an environment that claims to be committed to patient care.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I recently read an op-ed piece in which the author wondered if any young people entering the practice of medicine felt that they were answering a “calling.” I suspect that there will continue to be, and will always be, idealists whose primary motivation for choosing medicine is that they will be healing the sick or at least providing comfort to the suffering. I occasionally hear that about a former patient who has been inspired by a personal or familial experience with a serious illness.

Unfortunately, I suspect those who feel called are the providers most likely to feel discouraged and frustrated by the current state of primary care. Luckily, I never felt a calling. For me, primary care pediatrics was a job. One that l felt obligated to perform to the best of my ability. Mine was not a calling but an inherited philosophy that work in itself was virtuous. A work ethic, if you will. Pediatrics offered the additional reward that, if well done, it might help some parents and their children feel a little better.

Fifty years ago I was not alone in treating medicine as a job. Most physicians were self-employed. Although there were exceptions like Albert Schweitzer, even those of us with a calling had to obey the basic rules of business as it applied to medicine. We were employer and employee and had to understand the critical factors of overhead, profit, and loss.

I have burdened you with this little history recitation not to suggest that things were better in the good old days, but to provide a stepping stone into the murky and uncomfortable topic of primary care physician (PCP) compensation. Because almost three quarters of you work for a hospital, health system, or corporate entity, I am going to illuminate our journey by leaning on the advice of an international company with 7000 employees and revenue of 2.5 billion dollars that considers itself a “global leader” in management consulting. Your employer is listening to some management consultant and it may help us to view your compensation from someone on their side of the table.

First, you should be aware that “most health systems lose money on their primary care operations — up to $200,000 or more per primary care physician.” This may help explain why despite being in short supply, you and most PCPs feel undervalued. However, if we are such losers, we must provide something(s) that the systems are seeking. It is likely that the system is looking to tout its ability to provide comprehensive care and demonstrate that it has a patient base broad enough to warrant attention and provide bargaining leverage on volume discounts.

The system also may want to minimize competition by absorbing the remaining PCPs in the community into their system. With you outside of the system, it had less control over your compensation than it does when you are under its umbrella.

Your employer may want to grow and feed its specialty care network, and it sees PCPs as having the fuel stored in their patient volume to do just that. In simplest and most cynical terms, the systems are willing to take a loss on us less profitable high-volume grunts in order to reap the profits of the lower-volume high-profitability specialties and subspecialties.

So that’s why you as a PCP have any value at all to a large healthcare system. But, it means that to maintain your value to the system you must continue to provide the volume it anticipates and needs. While the system may have been willing to accept some degrees of unprofitability when it hired you, there are limits. And, we shouldn’t be surprised if they continue to urge or demand that we narrow the gap between the revenue we generate and the costs that we incur, ie, our overhead.

In Part 2 of this series, I’m going to discuss the collateral damage that occurs when volume and overhead collide in an environment that claims to be committed to patient care.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I recently read an op-ed piece in which the author wondered if any young people entering the practice of medicine felt that they were answering a “calling.” I suspect that there will continue to be, and will always be, idealists whose primary motivation for choosing medicine is that they will be healing the sick or at least providing comfort to the suffering. I occasionally hear that about a former patient who has been inspired by a personal or familial experience with a serious illness.

Unfortunately, I suspect those who feel called are the providers most likely to feel discouraged and frustrated by the current state of primary care. Luckily, I never felt a calling. For me, primary care pediatrics was a job. One that l felt obligated to perform to the best of my ability. Mine was not a calling but an inherited philosophy that work in itself was virtuous. A work ethic, if you will. Pediatrics offered the additional reward that, if well done, it might help some parents and their children feel a little better.

Fifty years ago I was not alone in treating medicine as a job. Most physicians were self-employed. Although there were exceptions like Albert Schweitzer, even those of us with a calling had to obey the basic rules of business as it applied to medicine. We were employer and employee and had to understand the critical factors of overhead, profit, and loss.

I have burdened you with this little history recitation not to suggest that things were better in the good old days, but to provide a stepping stone into the murky and uncomfortable topic of primary care physician (PCP) compensation. Because almost three quarters of you work for a hospital, health system, or corporate entity, I am going to illuminate our journey by leaning on the advice of an international company with 7000 employees and revenue of 2.5 billion dollars that considers itself a “global leader” in management consulting. Your employer is listening to some management consultant and it may help us to view your compensation from someone on their side of the table.

First, you should be aware that “most health systems lose money on their primary care operations — up to $200,000 or more per primary care physician.” This may help explain why despite being in short supply, you and most PCPs feel undervalued. However, if we are such losers, we must provide something(s) that the systems are seeking. It is likely that the system is looking to tout its ability to provide comprehensive care and demonstrate that it has a patient base broad enough to warrant attention and provide bargaining leverage on volume discounts.

The system also may want to minimize competition by absorbing the remaining PCPs in the community into their system. With you outside of the system, it had less control over your compensation than it does when you are under its umbrella.

Your employer may want to grow and feed its specialty care network, and it sees PCPs as having the fuel stored in their patient volume to do just that. In simplest and most cynical terms, the systems are willing to take a loss on us less profitable high-volume grunts in order to reap the profits of the lower-volume high-profitability specialties and subspecialties.

So that’s why you as a PCP have any value at all to a large healthcare system. But, it means that to maintain your value to the system you must continue to provide the volume it anticipates and needs. While the system may have been willing to accept some degrees of unprofitability when it hired you, there are limits. And, we shouldn’t be surprised if they continue to urge or demand that we narrow the gap between the revenue we generate and the costs that we incur, ie, our overhead.

In Part 2 of this series, I’m going to discuss the collateral damage that occurs when volume and overhead collide in an environment that claims to be committed to patient care.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Thirty years ago I had an experience in the office that influenced my approach to obesity for the rest of my career. The patient was a 4-year-old whom I had been seeing since her birth. At her annual well-child visit her weight had jumped up significantly from the previous year’s visit. She appeared well, but the change in her growth trajectory prompted a bit more in-depth history taking.

It turned out that finances had forced the family to employ one of the child’s grandmothers as the day care provider. Unfortunately, this grandmother’s passion was cooking and she was particularly adept at baking. She had no other hobbies and a sore hip limited her mobility, so she seldom went outside. When I eventually met her she was a cheerful, overweight, and delightful woman.

Deconstructing this obesogenic environment without disrupting this otherwise healthy family was an exercise that required tact, patience, and creativity. Fortunately, the young girl’s mother had already harbored some concerns about her child’s weight and was more than willing to participate in this environmental re-engineering project. It’s a long story, but she and I achieved our goals and the child eventually coasted back toward her previous growth curve.

I have always suspected that this scenario is being replayed hundreds of thousands of time across this country. But, sadly most don’t share this one’s happy ending. Parents don’t alway perceive the seriousness of the problem. The economic hurdles are often too steep to overcome, even when the most creative minds are involved.

How prevalent are obesogenic day care environments? We certainly know childhood obesity is a problem and the statistics in the preschool age group are particularly concerning. More than 14 million children are in non-parental early care and education programs; these environments would seem to be a logical place to target our prevention strategies. Understandably, there seems to be a hesitancy to point fingers, but how many day care providers are similar to the well-intentioned grandmother in the scenario I described? We must at least suspect that the example set by the adults in the preschool and day care environment might be having some influence on the children under their care.

There has been some research that sheds some light on this question. A paper from the University of Oklahoma has looked at the predictors of overweight and obesity in early care and education (ECE) teachers in hopes of “finding modifiable opportunities to enhance the health of this critical workforce.” In their paper, the investigators refer to other research that has found the prevalence of overweight and obesity among ECE teachers is higher than our national average and their waist circumference is significantly greater than the standard recommendation for women.

A study from Norway has looked at the association between preschool staff’s activity level and that of the children under their care using accelerometers. This particular investigation couldn’t determine whether it was the staff’s activity level that influenced the children or vice versa because it wasn’t an observational study. Common sense would lead one to believe it was the staff’s relative inactivity that was being reflected in the children’s.

It is interesting that in this Norwegian study when the teachers were asked about their attitudes toward activity and their self-perception of their own activity, there was no relationship between the staff’s and the children’s level of activity. In other words, the educators and caregivers bought into the importance of activity but had difficulty translating this philosophy into own behavior.

So where does this leave us? It turns out my experience decades ago was not a one-off event, but instead represents the tip of very large iceberg. Should we immediately create a system of day care provider boot camps? Let’s remember that each educator and caregiver is one of us. They may be slight outliers but not a group of individuals deserving of forced marches and half-rations to get them in shape.

ECEs have listened to the same message we have all heard about diet and activity and their importance for a child’s health. Our challenge is to create effective, yet sensitive, strategies to help the educators and caregivers modify their dietary habits behaviors in a way that helps them be a more positive influence on their students. It’s for their own health and that of their charges. This could be as simple as providing accelerometers or step-counting smartwatches. Or, by having physical educators perform on-site audits that could then be used to create site-specific plans for increasing both teacher and student activity.

Modifying the educators’ diet is a more complex procedure and can quickly become entangled in the socio-economic background of each individual teacher. A healthy diet is not always equally available to everyone. The solution may involve providing the teachers with food to be eaten at work and to be prepared at home. But, creative answers can be found if we look for them.

Before we get too far down the obesity-is-a-disease pathway, we must take a closer look at the role the early care and early school milieu are playing in the obesity problem. A little common sense behavior modification when children are in the controlled environment of school/day care may allow us to be less reliant on the those new wonder drugs in the long run.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Thirty years ago I had an experience in the office that influenced my approach to obesity for the rest of my career. The patient was a 4-year-old whom I had been seeing since her birth. At her annual well-child visit her weight had jumped up significantly from the previous year’s visit. She appeared well, but the change in her growth trajectory prompted a bit more in-depth history taking.

It turned out that finances had forced the family to employ one of the child’s grandmothers as the day care provider. Unfortunately, this grandmother’s passion was cooking and she was particularly adept at baking. She had no other hobbies and a sore hip limited her mobility, so she seldom went outside. When I eventually met her she was a cheerful, overweight, and delightful woman.

Deconstructing this obesogenic environment without disrupting this otherwise healthy family was an exercise that required tact, patience, and creativity. Fortunately, the young girl’s mother had already harbored some concerns about her child’s weight and was more than willing to participate in this environmental re-engineering project. It’s a long story, but she and I achieved our goals and the child eventually coasted back toward her previous growth curve.

I have always suspected that this scenario is being replayed hundreds of thousands of time across this country. But, sadly most don’t share this one’s happy ending. Parents don’t alway perceive the seriousness of the problem. The economic hurdles are often too steep to overcome, even when the most creative minds are involved.

How prevalent are obesogenic day care environments? We certainly know childhood obesity is a problem and the statistics in the preschool age group are particularly concerning. More than 14 million children are in non-parental early care and education programs; these environments would seem to be a logical place to target our prevention strategies. Understandably, there seems to be a hesitancy to point fingers, but how many day care providers are similar to the well-intentioned grandmother in the scenario I described? We must at least suspect that the example set by the adults in the preschool and day care environment might be having some influence on the children under their care.

There has been some research that sheds some light on this question. A paper from the University of Oklahoma has looked at the predictors of overweight and obesity in early care and education (ECE) teachers in hopes of “finding modifiable opportunities to enhance the health of this critical workforce.” In their paper, the investigators refer to other research that has found the prevalence of overweight and obesity among ECE teachers is higher than our national average and their waist circumference is significantly greater than the standard recommendation for women.

A study from Norway has looked at the association between preschool staff’s activity level and that of the children under their care using accelerometers. This particular investigation couldn’t determine whether it was the staff’s activity level that influenced the children or vice versa because it wasn’t an observational study. Common sense would lead one to believe it was the staff’s relative inactivity that was being reflected in the children’s.

It is interesting that in this Norwegian study when the teachers were asked about their attitudes toward activity and their self-perception of their own activity, there was no relationship between the staff’s and the children’s level of activity. In other words, the educators and caregivers bought into the importance of activity but had difficulty translating this philosophy into own behavior.

So where does this leave us? It turns out my experience decades ago was not a one-off event, but instead represents the tip of very large iceberg. Should we immediately create a system of day care provider boot camps? Let’s remember that each educator and caregiver is one of us. They may be slight outliers but not a group of individuals deserving of forced marches and half-rations to get them in shape.

ECEs have listened to the same message we have all heard about diet and activity and their importance for a child’s health. Our challenge is to create effective, yet sensitive, strategies to help the educators and caregivers modify their dietary habits behaviors in a way that helps them be a more positive influence on their students. It’s for their own health and that of their charges. This could be as simple as providing accelerometers or step-counting smartwatches. Or, by having physical educators perform on-site audits that could then be used to create site-specific plans for increasing both teacher and student activity.

Modifying the educators’ diet is a more complex procedure and can quickly become entangled in the socio-economic background of each individual teacher. A healthy diet is not always equally available to everyone. The solution may involve providing the teachers with food to be eaten at work and to be prepared at home. But, creative answers can be found if we look for them.

Before we get too far down the obesity-is-a-disease pathway, we must take a closer look at the role the early care and early school milieu are playing in the obesity problem. A little common sense behavior modification when children are in the controlled environment of school/day care may allow us to be less reliant on the those new wonder drugs in the long run.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Thirty years ago I had an experience in the office that influenced my approach to obesity for the rest of my career. The patient was a 4-year-old whom I had been seeing since her birth. At her annual well-child visit her weight had jumped up significantly from the previous year’s visit. She appeared well, but the change in her growth trajectory prompted a bit more in-depth history taking.

It turned out that finances had forced the family to employ one of the child’s grandmothers as the day care provider. Unfortunately, this grandmother’s passion was cooking and she was particularly adept at baking. She had no other hobbies and a sore hip limited her mobility, so she seldom went outside. When I eventually met her she was a cheerful, overweight, and delightful woman.

Deconstructing this obesogenic environment without disrupting this otherwise healthy family was an exercise that required tact, patience, and creativity. Fortunately, the young girl’s mother had already harbored some concerns about her child’s weight and was more than willing to participate in this environmental re-engineering project. It’s a long story, but she and I achieved our goals and the child eventually coasted back toward her previous growth curve.

I have always suspected that this scenario is being replayed hundreds of thousands of time across this country. But, sadly most don’t share this one’s happy ending. Parents don’t alway perceive the seriousness of the problem. The economic hurdles are often too steep to overcome, even when the most creative minds are involved.

How prevalent are obesogenic day care environments? We certainly know childhood obesity is a problem and the statistics in the preschool age group are particularly concerning. More than 14 million children are in non-parental early care and education programs; these environments would seem to be a logical place to target our prevention strategies. Understandably, there seems to be a hesitancy to point fingers, but how many day care providers are similar to the well-intentioned grandmother in the scenario I described? We must at least suspect that the example set by the adults in the preschool and day care environment might be having some influence on the children under their care.

There has been some research that sheds some light on this question. A paper from the University of Oklahoma has looked at the predictors of overweight and obesity in early care and education (ECE) teachers in hopes of “finding modifiable opportunities to enhance the health of this critical workforce.” In their paper, the investigators refer to other research that has found the prevalence of overweight and obesity among ECE teachers is higher than our national average and their waist circumference is significantly greater than the standard recommendation for women.

A study from Norway has looked at the association between preschool staff’s activity level and that of the children under their care using accelerometers. This particular investigation couldn’t determine whether it was the staff’s activity level that influenced the children or vice versa because it wasn’t an observational study. Common sense would lead one to believe it was the staff’s relative inactivity that was being reflected in the children’s.

It is interesting that in this Norwegian study when the teachers were asked about their attitudes toward activity and their self-perception of their own activity, there was no relationship between the staff’s and the children’s level of activity. In other words, the educators and caregivers bought into the importance of activity but had difficulty translating this philosophy into own behavior.

So where does this leave us? It turns out my experience decades ago was not a one-off event, but instead represents the tip of very large iceberg. Should we immediately create a system of day care provider boot camps? Let’s remember that each educator and caregiver is one of us. They may be slight outliers but not a group of individuals deserving of forced marches and half-rations to get them in shape.

ECEs have listened to the same message we have all heard about diet and activity and their importance for a child’s health. Our challenge is to create effective, yet sensitive, strategies to help the educators and caregivers modify their dietary habits behaviors in a way that helps them be a more positive influence on their students. It’s for their own health and that of their charges. This could be as simple as providing accelerometers or step-counting smartwatches. Or, by having physical educators perform on-site audits that could then be used to create site-specific plans for increasing both teacher and student activity.

Modifying the educators’ diet is a more complex procedure and can quickly become entangled in the socio-economic background of each individual teacher. A healthy diet is not always equally available to everyone. The solution may involve providing the teachers with food to be eaten at work and to be prepared at home. But, creative answers can be found if we look for them.

Before we get too far down the obesity-is-a-disease pathway, we must take a closer look at the role the early care and early school milieu are playing in the obesity problem. A little common sense behavior modification when children are in the controlled environment of school/day care may allow us to be less reliant on the those new wonder drugs in the long run.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I would have preferred to start this Letter reporting to you that the pandemic is fading out of sight in our rear view mirror. However, I think it is more accurate to say the pandemic is sitting in that blind spot off our passenger side rear fender. Unless you’re like one of those cars with “blind spot detection” blinking a warning, you probably aren’t giving the pandemic much thought. However, three journalists at The New York Times have taken this lull in the pandemic’s newsworthiness to consider the consequences of school closure and remote learning.

From what you may have read and heard, and possibly experienced firsthand, you have a sense that keeping children out of school has been awash in negatives. These journalists looked at all the data they could find and their article is replete with graphs and references. I will just summarize some of what they discovered.

“While poverty and other factors played a role, remote learning was a key driver in academic declines ...” They found there was a direct relationship between the length of school closure and the severity of academic skill loss. The journalists noted that “some time in school was better than no time.” And sadly, “most students have not caught up.”

Poverty played a significant role, with students in economically challenged communities experiencing steeper losses in academics. The reporters quoted Stanford Professor Sean F. Reardon, EdD, who has said “A community’s poverty rate and length of school closures had a ‘roughly equal’ effect.” Poorer school districts tended to continue remote learning longer than those in more well off communities.

At the very beginning of the pandemic, when we were floating in a sea of unknowns, the decision to close schools and take advantage of the new technology that made remote learning possible sounded like the best and maybe only option. However, looking back, Dr. Sean O’Leary, who helped craft AAP guidelines, admits “we probably kept schools closed longer than we should have.”

Early signs that children were not as likely as adults to get sick, and that students posed little threat to others in the school environment, were not taken seriously enough. Too much time and energy was wasted in deep cleaning even after it was clear the virus was airborne. Opening windows that had been painted shut would have been a much better investment.

As it became more apparent that school closures were not having the deterrent effect we had hoped for, there were still communities that resisted. The Times’ reporters noted that teachers’ unions and Democratic cities tended to be more cautious about reopening. And clearly there was political flavor to how communities responded. Masking is probably one of the best examples where emotions and politics colored our responses.

Are there things we could have done differently? One can certainly understand why teachers might have been cautious about returning to in-school learning. With more than a quarter of teachers in this country being older than 50 (16% over 55) and nearly 80% of elementary and middle school teachers self-reporting that they are obese or overweight, educators represent a group that we know now is more vulnerable to complications from COVID. In retrospect, had we understood more about the virus and the downsides of remote learning, the government could have offered paid leave to teachers who felt vulnerable. Then, by expediting the transition of the younger, less vulnerable college students in their final years of training into the workforce earlier could have kept schools open until we were up to speed with vaccines and treatment. But the water has spilled over the dam. We can hope that we as a nation have learned that making frequent evaluations of our strategies and being flexible enough to make changes will help in future pandemics. Unfortunately, those RNA viruses are fast mutators and clever adapters. Strategies we thought were working the first time may not succeed with new variants.

We have now learned that, in general, remote learning was a bust. My grandkids knew it at the time. It’s not just the learning piece. It’s about the social contact with peers that can provide comfort and support when the adults around at home may be anxious and depressed. School is a place you can be physically active away from 24/7 television at home. Adapting to going to school can be difficult for some young children in the beginning because of separation anxiety, but for the vast majority of children doing the school thing is a habit that is quickly rewarded and reinforced daily.

Children learn in school because they are rubbing elbows with other kids who are learning. While some peers may be distracting, the data suggest the distractions of home are far more of a problem. Most children I know were eager to get back in school because that’s where their friends were. But, getting back in the habit of going to school can be difficult for some, especially those who have been less successful in the past. Not surprisingly, the longer the hiatus the more difficult the reentry becomes.

The big lesson we mustn’t forget is that being in school is far more valuable than we ever imagined. And, when we are considering our options in future pandemics and natural disasters, we should be giving much more weight to in-school learning than we have in the past.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I would have preferred to start this Letter reporting to you that the pandemic is fading out of sight in our rear view mirror. However, I think it is more accurate to say the pandemic is sitting in that blind spot off our passenger side rear fender. Unless you’re like one of those cars with “blind spot detection” blinking a warning, you probably aren’t giving the pandemic much thought. However, three journalists at The New York Times have taken this lull in the pandemic’s newsworthiness to consider the consequences of school closure and remote learning.

From what you may have read and heard, and possibly experienced firsthand, you have a sense that keeping children out of school has been awash in negatives. These journalists looked at all the data they could find and their article is replete with graphs and references. I will just summarize some of what they discovered.

“While poverty and other factors played a role, remote learning was a key driver in academic declines ...” They found there was a direct relationship between the length of school closure and the severity of academic skill loss. The journalists noted that “some time in school was better than no time.” And sadly, “most students have not caught up.”

Poverty played a significant role, with students in economically challenged communities experiencing steeper losses in academics. The reporters quoted Stanford Professor Sean F. Reardon, EdD, who has said “A community’s poverty rate and length of school closures had a ‘roughly equal’ effect.” Poorer school districts tended to continue remote learning longer than those in more well off communities.

At the very beginning of the pandemic, when we were floating in a sea of unknowns, the decision to close schools and take advantage of the new technology that made remote learning possible sounded like the best and maybe only option. However, looking back, Dr. Sean O’Leary, who helped craft AAP guidelines, admits “we probably kept schools closed longer than we should have.”

Early signs that children were not as likely as adults to get sick, and that students posed little threat to others in the school environment, were not taken seriously enough. Too much time and energy was wasted in deep cleaning even after it was clear the virus was airborne. Opening windows that had been painted shut would have been a much better investment.

As it became more apparent that school closures were not having the deterrent effect we had hoped for, there were still communities that resisted. The Times’ reporters noted that teachers’ unions and Democratic cities tended to be more cautious about reopening. And clearly there was political flavor to how communities responded. Masking is probably one of the best examples where emotions and politics colored our responses.

Are there things we could have done differently? One can certainly understand why teachers might have been cautious about returning to in-school learning. With more than a quarter of teachers in this country being older than 50 (16% over 55) and nearly 80% of elementary and middle school teachers self-reporting that they are obese or overweight, educators represent a group that we know now is more vulnerable to complications from COVID. In retrospect, had we understood more about the virus and the downsides of remote learning, the government could have offered paid leave to teachers who felt vulnerable. Then, by expediting the transition of the younger, less vulnerable college students in their final years of training into the workforce earlier could have kept schools open until we were up to speed with vaccines and treatment. But the water has spilled over the dam. We can hope that we as a nation have learned that making frequent evaluations of our strategies and being flexible enough to make changes will help in future pandemics. Unfortunately, those RNA viruses are fast mutators and clever adapters. Strategies we thought were working the first time may not succeed with new variants.

We have now learned that, in general, remote learning was a bust. My grandkids knew it at the time. It’s not just the learning piece. It’s about the social contact with peers that can provide comfort and support when the adults around at home may be anxious and depressed. School is a place you can be physically active away from 24/7 television at home. Adapting to going to school can be difficult for some young children in the beginning because of separation anxiety, but for the vast majority of children doing the school thing is a habit that is quickly rewarded and reinforced daily.

Children learn in school because they are rubbing elbows with other kids who are learning. While some peers may be distracting, the data suggest the distractions of home are far more of a problem. Most children I know were eager to get back in school because that’s where their friends were. But, getting back in the habit of going to school can be difficult for some, especially those who have been less successful in the past. Not surprisingly, the longer the hiatus the more difficult the reentry becomes.

The big lesson we mustn’t forget is that being in school is far more valuable than we ever imagined. And, when we are considering our options in future pandemics and natural disasters, we should be giving much more weight to in-school learning than we have in the past.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I would have preferred to start this Letter reporting to you that the pandemic is fading out of sight in our rear view mirror. However, I think it is more accurate to say the pandemic is sitting in that blind spot off our passenger side rear fender. Unless you’re like one of those cars with “blind spot detection” blinking a warning, you probably aren’t giving the pandemic much thought. However, three journalists at The New York Times have taken this lull in the pandemic’s newsworthiness to consider the consequences of school closure and remote learning.

From what you may have read and heard, and possibly experienced firsthand, you have a sense that keeping children out of school has been awash in negatives. These journalists looked at all the data they could find and their article is replete with graphs and references. I will just summarize some of what they discovered.

“While poverty and other factors played a role, remote learning was a key driver in academic declines ...” They found there was a direct relationship between the length of school closure and the severity of academic skill loss. The journalists noted that “some time in school was better than no time.” And sadly, “most students have not caught up.”

Poverty played a significant role, with students in economically challenged communities experiencing steeper losses in academics. The reporters quoted Stanford Professor Sean F. Reardon, EdD, who has said “A community’s poverty rate and length of school closures had a ‘roughly equal’ effect.” Poorer school districts tended to continue remote learning longer than those in more well off communities.

At the very beginning of the pandemic, when we were floating in a sea of unknowns, the decision to close schools and take advantage of the new technology that made remote learning possible sounded like the best and maybe only option. However, looking back, Dr. Sean O’Leary, who helped craft AAP guidelines, admits “we probably kept schools closed longer than we should have.”

Early signs that children were not as likely as adults to get sick, and that students posed little threat to others in the school environment, were not taken seriously enough. Too much time and energy was wasted in deep cleaning even after it was clear the virus was airborne. Opening windows that had been painted shut would have been a much better investment.

As it became more apparent that school closures were not having the deterrent effect we had hoped for, there were still communities that resisted. The Times’ reporters noted that teachers’ unions and Democratic cities tended to be more cautious about reopening. And clearly there was political flavor to how communities responded. Masking is probably one of the best examples where emotions and politics colored our responses.

Are there things we could have done differently? One can certainly understand why teachers might have been cautious about returning to in-school learning. With more than a quarter of teachers in this country being older than 50 (16% over 55) and nearly 80% of elementary and middle school teachers self-reporting that they are obese or overweight, educators represent a group that we know now is more vulnerable to complications from COVID. In retrospect, had we understood more about the virus and the downsides of remote learning, the government could have offered paid leave to teachers who felt vulnerable. Then, by expediting the transition of the younger, less vulnerable college students in their final years of training into the workforce earlier could have kept schools open until we were up to speed with vaccines and treatment. But the water has spilled over the dam. We can hope that we as a nation have learned that making frequent evaluations of our strategies and being flexible enough to make changes will help in future pandemics. Unfortunately, those RNA viruses are fast mutators and clever adapters. Strategies we thought were working the first time may not succeed with new variants.

We have now learned that, in general, remote learning was a bust. My grandkids knew it at the time. It’s not just the learning piece. It’s about the social contact with peers that can provide comfort and support when the adults around at home may be anxious and depressed. School is a place you can be physically active away from 24/7 television at home. Adapting to going to school can be difficult for some young children in the beginning because of separation anxiety, but for the vast majority of children doing the school thing is a habit that is quickly rewarded and reinforced daily.

Children learn in school because they are rubbing elbows with other kids who are learning. While some peers may be distracting, the data suggest the distractions of home are far more of a problem. Most children I know were eager to get back in school because that’s where their friends were. But, getting back in the habit of going to school can be difficult for some, especially those who have been less successful in the past. Not surprisingly, the longer the hiatus the more difficult the reentry becomes.

The big lesson we mustn’t forget is that being in school is far more valuable than we ever imagined. And, when we are considering our options in future pandemics and natural disasters, we should be giving much more weight to in-school learning than we have in the past.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a two-sentence blurb in a pediatric newsletter summarizing the results of a study comparing the chemical profile of infant body odor with that of postpubertal adolescents. The investigators found that, not surprisingly, the smell of the chemical constituents wafting from babies was more appealing than that emanating from sweaty teenagers. I quickly moved on to the next blurb hoping to find something I hadn’t already experienced or figured out on my own.

But, as I navigated through the rest of my day filled with pickleball, bicycling, and the smell of home-cooked food, something about that study of body odor nagged at me. Who had funded that voyage into the obvious? Were my tax dollars involved? Had I been duped by some alleged nonprofit that had promised my donation would save lives or at least ameliorate suffering? Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, my curiosity got the best of me and I searched out the original study. Within minutes I fell down a rabbit hole into the cavernous world of odor science.

Having had zero experience in this niche field, I was amazed at the lengths to which these German odor investigators had gone to analyze the chemicals on and around their subjects. Just trying to ensure that materials and microclimates in the experimental environment were scent-free was a heroic effort. There was “Mono-trap sampling of volatiles, followed by thermodesorption-comprehensive gas chromatography, and time of flight-mass spectrometry analysis.” There were graphs and charts galore. This is serious science, folks. However, they still use the abbreviation “BO” freely, just as I learned to do in junior high. And, in some situations, the investigators relied on the observation of a panel of trained human sniffers to assess the detection threshold and the degree of pleasantness.

Ultimately, the authors’ conclusion was “sexual maturation coincides with changes in body odor chemical composition. Whether those changes explain differences in parental olfactory perception needs to be determined in future studies.” Again, no surprises here.

Exhausted by my venture into the realm of odor science, I finally found the answer to my burning question. The study was supported by the German Research Foundation and the European Union. Phew! Not on my nickel.

Lest you think that I believe any investigation into the potential role of smell in our health and well-being is pure bunk, let me make it clear that I think the role of odor detection is one of the least well-studied and potentially most valuable areas of medical research. Having had one family tell me that their black lab had twice successfully “diagnosed” their pre-verbal child’s ear infection (which I confirmed with an otoscope and the tympanic membrane was intact) I have been keenly interested in the role of animal-assisted diagnosis.

If you also have wondered whether you could write off your pedigreed Portuguese Water Dog as an office expense, I would direct you to an article titled “Canine olfactory detection and its relevance to medical detection.” The authors note that there is some evidence of dogs successfully alerting physicians to Parkinson’s disease, some cancers, malaria, and COVID-19, among others. However, they caution that the reliability is, in most cases, not of a quality that would be helpful on a larger scale.

I can understand the reasons for their caution. However, from my own personal experience, I am completely confident that I can diagnose strep throat by smell, sometimes simply on opening the examination room door. My false-positive rate over 40 years of practice is zero. Of course I still test and, not surprisingly, my false-negative rate is nothing to brag about. However, if a dog can produce even close to my zero false negative with a given disease, that information is valuable and suggests that we should be pointing the odor investigators and their tool box of skills in that direction. I’m pretty sure we don’t need them to dig much deeper into why babies smell better than teenagers.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a two-sentence blurb in a pediatric newsletter summarizing the results of a study comparing the chemical profile of infant body odor with that of postpubertal adolescents. The investigators found that, not surprisingly, the smell of the chemical constituents wafting from babies was more appealing than that emanating from sweaty teenagers. I quickly moved on to the next blurb hoping to find something I hadn’t already experienced or figured out on my own.

But, as I navigated through the rest of my day filled with pickleball, bicycling, and the smell of home-cooked food, something about that study of body odor nagged at me. Who had funded that voyage into the obvious? Were my tax dollars involved? Had I been duped by some alleged nonprofit that had promised my donation would save lives or at least ameliorate suffering? Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, my curiosity got the best of me and I searched out the original study. Within minutes I fell down a rabbit hole into the cavernous world of odor science.

Having had zero experience in this niche field, I was amazed at the lengths to which these German odor investigators had gone to analyze the chemicals on and around their subjects. Just trying to ensure that materials and microclimates in the experimental environment were scent-free was a heroic effort. There was “Mono-trap sampling of volatiles, followed by thermodesorption-comprehensive gas chromatography, and time of flight-mass spectrometry analysis.” There were graphs and charts galore. This is serious science, folks. However, they still use the abbreviation “BO” freely, just as I learned to do in junior high. And, in some situations, the investigators relied on the observation of a panel of trained human sniffers to assess the detection threshold and the degree of pleasantness.

Ultimately, the authors’ conclusion was “sexual maturation coincides with changes in body odor chemical composition. Whether those changes explain differences in parental olfactory perception needs to be determined in future studies.” Again, no surprises here.

Exhausted by my venture into the realm of odor science, I finally found the answer to my burning question. The study was supported by the German Research Foundation and the European Union. Phew! Not on my nickel.

Lest you think that I believe any investigation into the potential role of smell in our health and well-being is pure bunk, let me make it clear that I think the role of odor detection is one of the least well-studied and potentially most valuable areas of medical research. Having had one family tell me that their black lab had twice successfully “diagnosed” their pre-verbal child’s ear infection (which I confirmed with an otoscope and the tympanic membrane was intact) I have been keenly interested in the role of animal-assisted diagnosis.

If you also have wondered whether you could write off your pedigreed Portuguese Water Dog as an office expense, I would direct you to an article titled “Canine olfactory detection and its relevance to medical detection.” The authors note that there is some evidence of dogs successfully alerting physicians to Parkinson’s disease, some cancers, malaria, and COVID-19, among others. However, they caution that the reliability is, in most cases, not of a quality that would be helpful on a larger scale.

I can understand the reasons for their caution. However, from my own personal experience, I am completely confident that I can diagnose strep throat by smell, sometimes simply on opening the examination room door. My false-positive rate over 40 years of practice is zero. Of course I still test and, not surprisingly, my false-negative rate is nothing to brag about. However, if a dog can produce even close to my zero false negative with a given disease, that information is valuable and suggests that we should be pointing the odor investigators and their tool box of skills in that direction. I’m pretty sure we don’t need them to dig much deeper into why babies smell better than teenagers.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a two-sentence blurb in a pediatric newsletter summarizing the results of a study comparing the chemical profile of infant body odor with that of postpubertal adolescents. The investigators found that, not surprisingly, the smell of the chemical constituents wafting from babies was more appealing than that emanating from sweaty teenagers. I quickly moved on to the next blurb hoping to find something I hadn’t already experienced or figured out on my own.

But, as I navigated through the rest of my day filled with pickleball, bicycling, and the smell of home-cooked food, something about that study of body odor nagged at me. Who had funded that voyage into the obvious? Were my tax dollars involved? Had I been duped by some alleged nonprofit that had promised my donation would save lives or at least ameliorate suffering? Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, my curiosity got the best of me and I searched out the original study. Within minutes I fell down a rabbit hole into the cavernous world of odor science.

Having had zero experience in this niche field, I was amazed at the lengths to which these German odor investigators had gone to analyze the chemicals on and around their subjects. Just trying to ensure that materials and microclimates in the experimental environment were scent-free was a heroic effort. There was “Mono-trap sampling of volatiles, followed by thermodesorption-comprehensive gas chromatography, and time of flight-mass spectrometry analysis.” There were graphs and charts galore. This is serious science, folks. However, they still use the abbreviation “BO” freely, just as I learned to do in junior high. And, in some situations, the investigators relied on the observation of a panel of trained human sniffers to assess the detection threshold and the degree of pleasantness.

Ultimately, the authors’ conclusion was “sexual maturation coincides with changes in body odor chemical composition. Whether those changes explain differences in parental olfactory perception needs to be determined in future studies.” Again, no surprises here.

Exhausted by my venture into the realm of odor science, I finally found the answer to my burning question. The study was supported by the German Research Foundation and the European Union. Phew! Not on my nickel.

Lest you think that I believe any investigation into the potential role of smell in our health and well-being is pure bunk, let me make it clear that I think the role of odor detection is one of the least well-studied and potentially most valuable areas of medical research. Having had one family tell me that their black lab had twice successfully “diagnosed” their pre-verbal child’s ear infection (which I confirmed with an otoscope and the tympanic membrane was intact) I have been keenly interested in the role of animal-assisted diagnosis.

If you also have wondered whether you could write off your pedigreed Portuguese Water Dog as an office expense, I would direct you to an article titled “Canine olfactory detection and its relevance to medical detection.” The authors note that there is some evidence of dogs successfully alerting physicians to Parkinson’s disease, some cancers, malaria, and COVID-19, among others. However, they caution that the reliability is, in most cases, not of a quality that would be helpful on a larger scale.

I can understand the reasons for their caution. However, from my own personal experience, I am completely confident that I can diagnose strep throat by smell, sometimes simply on opening the examination room door. My false-positive rate over 40 years of practice is zero. Of course I still test and, not surprisingly, my false-negative rate is nothing to brag about. However, if a dog can produce even close to my zero false negative with a given disease, that information is valuable and suggests that we should be pointing the odor investigators and their tool box of skills in that direction. I’m pretty sure we don’t need them to dig much deeper into why babies smell better than teenagers.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Whether you have totally bought into the “obesity is a disease” paradigm or are still in denial, you must admit that the development of a suite of effective weight loss medications has created a tsunami of interest and economic activity in this country on a scale not seen since the Beanie Baby craze of the mid-1990s. But, obesity management is serious business. While most of those soft cuddly toys are gathering dust in shoeboxes across this country, weight loss medications are likely to be the vanguard of rapidly evolving revolution in healthcare management that will be with us for the foreseeable future.

Most thoughtful folks who purchased Beanie Babies in 1994 had no illusions and knew that in a few short years this bubble of soft cuddly toys was going to burst. However, do those of us on the front line of medical care know what the future holds for the patients who are being prescribed or are scavenging those too-good-to-be-true medications?

My guess is that in the long run we will need a combination of some serious tinkering by the pharmaceutical industry and a trek up some steep learning curves before we eventually arrive at a safe and effective chemical management for obese patients. I recently read an article by an obesity management specialist at Harvard Medical School who voiced her concerns that we are missing an opportunity to make this explosion of popularity in GLP-1 drugs into an important learning experience.

In an opinion piece in JAMA Internal Medicine, Dr. Fatima Cody Stanford and her coauthors argue that we, actually the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA), is over-focused on weight loss in determining the efficacy of anti-obesity medications. Dr. Stanford and colleagues point out that when a patient loses weight it isn’t just fat — it is complex process that may include muscle and bone mineralization as well. She has consulted for at least one obesity-drug manufacturer and says that these companies have the resources to produce data on body composition that could help clinicians create management plans that would address the patients’ overall health. However, the FDA has not demanded this broader and deeper assessment of general health when reviewing the drug trials.

I don’t think we can blame the patients for not asking whether they will healthier while taking these medications. They have already spent a lifetime, even if it is just a decade, of suffering as the “fat one.” A new outfit and a look in the mirror can’t help but make them feel better ... in the short term anyway. We as physicians must shoulder some of the blame for focusing on weight. Our spoken or unspoken message has been “Lose weight and you will be healthier.” We may make our message sound more professional by tossing around terms like “BMI,” but as Dr. Stanford points out, “we have known BMI is a flawed metric for a long time.”

There is the notion that obese people have had to build more muscle to help them carry around the extra weight, so that we should expect them to lose that extra muscle along with the fat. However, in older adults there is an entity called sarcopenic obesity, in which the patient doesn’t have that extra muscle to lose.

In a brief Internet research venture, I could find little on the subject of muscle loss and GLP-1s, other than “it can happen.” And, nothing on the effect in adolescents. And that is one of Dr. Stanford’s points. We just don’t know. She said that looking at body composition can be costly and not something that the clinician can do. However, as far as muscle mass is concerned, we need to be alert to the potential for loss. Simple assessments of strength can help us tailor our management to the specific patient’s need.

The bottom line is this ... now that we have effective medications for “weight loss,” we need to redefine the relationship between weight and health. “We” means us as clinicians. It means the folks at FDA. And, if we can improve our messaging, it will osmose to the rest of the population. Just because you’ve dropped two dress sizes doesn’t mean you’re healthy.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Whether you have totally bought into the “obesity is a disease” paradigm or are still in denial, you must admit that the development of a suite of effective weight loss medications has created a tsunami of interest and economic activity in this country on a scale not seen since the Beanie Baby craze of the mid-1990s. But, obesity management is serious business. While most of those soft cuddly toys are gathering dust in shoeboxes across this country, weight loss medications are likely to be the vanguard of rapidly evolving revolution in healthcare management that will be with us for the foreseeable future.

Most thoughtful folks who purchased Beanie Babies in 1994 had no illusions and knew that in a few short years this bubble of soft cuddly toys was going to burst. However, do those of us on the front line of medical care know what the future holds for the patients who are being prescribed or are scavenging those too-good-to-be-true medications?

My guess is that in the long run we will need a combination of some serious tinkering by the pharmaceutical industry and a trek up some steep learning curves before we eventually arrive at a safe and effective chemical management for obese patients. I recently read an article by an obesity management specialist at Harvard Medical School who voiced her concerns that we are missing an opportunity to make this explosion of popularity in GLP-1 drugs into an important learning experience.

In an opinion piece in JAMA Internal Medicine, Dr. Fatima Cody Stanford and her coauthors argue that we, actually the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA), is over-focused on weight loss in determining the efficacy of anti-obesity medications. Dr. Stanford and colleagues point out that when a patient loses weight it isn’t just fat — it is complex process that may include muscle and bone mineralization as well. She has consulted for at least one obesity-drug manufacturer and says that these companies have the resources to produce data on body composition that could help clinicians create management plans that would address the patients’ overall health. However, the FDA has not demanded this broader and deeper assessment of general health when reviewing the drug trials.

I don’t think we can blame the patients for not asking whether they will healthier while taking these medications. They have already spent a lifetime, even if it is just a decade, of suffering as the “fat one.” A new outfit and a look in the mirror can’t help but make them feel better ... in the short term anyway. We as physicians must shoulder some of the blame for focusing on weight. Our spoken or unspoken message has been “Lose weight and you will be healthier.” We may make our message sound more professional by tossing around terms like “BMI,” but as Dr. Stanford points out, “we have known BMI is a flawed metric for a long time.”

There is the notion that obese people have had to build more muscle to help them carry around the extra weight, so that we should expect them to lose that extra muscle along with the fat. However, in older adults there is an entity called sarcopenic obesity, in which the patient doesn’t have that extra muscle to lose.

In a brief Internet research venture, I could find little on the subject of muscle loss and GLP-1s, other than “it can happen.” And, nothing on the effect in adolescents. And that is one of Dr. Stanford’s points. We just don’t know. She said that looking at body composition can be costly and not something that the clinician can do. However, as far as muscle mass is concerned, we need to be alert to the potential for loss. Simple assessments of strength can help us tailor our management to the specific patient’s need.

The bottom line is this ... now that we have effective medications for “weight loss,” we need to redefine the relationship between weight and health. “We” means us as clinicians. It means the folks at FDA. And, if we can improve our messaging, it will osmose to the rest of the population. Just because you’ve dropped two dress sizes doesn’t mean you’re healthy.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Whether you have totally bought into the “obesity is a disease” paradigm or are still in denial, you must admit that the development of a suite of effective weight loss medications has created a tsunami of interest and economic activity in this country on a scale not seen since the Beanie Baby craze of the mid-1990s. But, obesity management is serious business. While most of those soft cuddly toys are gathering dust in shoeboxes across this country, weight loss medications are likely to be the vanguard of rapidly evolving revolution in healthcare management that will be with us for the foreseeable future.

Most thoughtful folks who purchased Beanie Babies in 1994 had no illusions and knew that in a few short years this bubble of soft cuddly toys was going to burst. However, do those of us on the front line of medical care know what the future holds for the patients who are being prescribed or are scavenging those too-good-to-be-true medications?

My guess is that in the long run we will need a combination of some serious tinkering by the pharmaceutical industry and a trek up some steep learning curves before we eventually arrive at a safe and effective chemical management for obese patients. I recently read an article by an obesity management specialist at Harvard Medical School who voiced her concerns that we are missing an opportunity to make this explosion of popularity in GLP-1 drugs into an important learning experience.

In an opinion piece in JAMA Internal Medicine, Dr. Fatima Cody Stanford and her coauthors argue that we, actually the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA), is over-focused on weight loss in determining the efficacy of anti-obesity medications. Dr. Stanford and colleagues point out that when a patient loses weight it isn’t just fat — it is complex process that may include muscle and bone mineralization as well. She has consulted for at least one obesity-drug manufacturer and says that these companies have the resources to produce data on body composition that could help clinicians create management plans that would address the patients’ overall health. However, the FDA has not demanded this broader and deeper assessment of general health when reviewing the drug trials.

I don’t think we can blame the patients for not asking whether they will healthier while taking these medications. They have already spent a lifetime, even if it is just a decade, of suffering as the “fat one.” A new outfit and a look in the mirror can’t help but make them feel better ... in the short term anyway. We as physicians must shoulder some of the blame for focusing on weight. Our spoken or unspoken message has been “Lose weight and you will be healthier.” We may make our message sound more professional by tossing around terms like “BMI,” but as Dr. Stanford points out, “we have known BMI is a flawed metric for a long time.”

There is the notion that obese people have had to build more muscle to help them carry around the extra weight, so that we should expect them to lose that extra muscle along with the fat. However, in older adults there is an entity called sarcopenic obesity, in which the patient doesn’t have that extra muscle to lose.

In a brief Internet research venture, I could find little on the subject of muscle loss and GLP-1s, other than “it can happen.” And, nothing on the effect in adolescents. And that is one of Dr. Stanford’s points. We just don’t know. She said that looking at body composition can be costly and not something that the clinician can do. However, as far as muscle mass is concerned, we need to be alert to the potential for loss. Simple assessments of strength can help us tailor our management to the specific patient’s need.

The bottom line is this ... now that we have effective medications for “weight loss,” we need to redefine the relationship between weight and health. “We” means us as clinicians. It means the folks at FDA. And, if we can improve our messaging, it will osmose to the rest of the population. Just because you’ve dropped two dress sizes doesn’t mean you’re healthy.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Those of you who are regular readers of Letters from Maine have probably noticed that concussion is one of my favorite topics. The explanation for this perseveration is personal and may lie in the fact that I played two contact sports in college. In high school we still wore leather helmets and in college the lacrosse helmets were constructed of plastic-coated cardboard. I can recall just a few of what might be now labeled as sports-related concussions. Ironically, my only loss of consciousness came on the first dinner date with the woman who would eventually become my wife. A hypotensive episode resulting from the combination of sweat loss (2 hours of basketball) and blood loss from selling some platelets earlier in the day (to pay for the dinner) led to the unfortunate meeting of my head and the beautifully tiled floor at the restaurant.

Postconcussion Recovery

The phenomenon of delayed symptomatic recovery has been a particular interest of mine. Within the last 12 months I have written about an excellent companion commentary in Pediatricsby Talin Babikian PhD, a psychologist at University of California, Los Angeles, in which he urges us to “Consider the comorbidities or premorbidities,” including, among others, anxiety and/or depression, post-traumatic stress, and poor sleep when we are faced with a patient who is slow in shedding his postconcussion symptoms. A short 6 months after reading Dr. Babikian’s prescient commentary, I have encountered some evidence supporting his advice.

Investigators at the Sports Medicine and Performance Center at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia have recently published a study in which they have found “Preexisting mental health diagnoses are associated with greater postinjury emotional symptom burden and longer concussion recovery in a dose-response fashion.” In their prospective study of over 3000 children and adolescents, they found that, although patients with more mental health diagnoses were at greater risk of increased emotional symptoms after concussion, “Children and adolescents with any preexisting mental health diagnosis took longer to recover.”

Female patients and those with abnormal visio-vestibular test results at the initial postinjury evaluation took longer to recover, although boys with prolonged recovery had more emotional symptoms. In general, patients with preexisting mental health diagnoses returned to exercise later, a known factor in delayed concussion recovery.
 

Making Sense of It All

There are a couple of ways to look at this paper’s findings. The first is through the lens that focuses on the population of children and adolescents who have known mental health conditions. If our patient has a mental health diagnosis, we shouldn’t be surprised that he/she is taking longer to recover from his/her concussion and is experiencing an increase in symptoms. Most of us probably suspected this already. However, we should be particularly aware of this phenomenon if the patient is male.

The other perspective is probably more valuable to us as primary care physicians. If faced with a patient who is taking longer to recover than we might expect, maybe we have missed an underlying mental health condition. Even one diagnosis so subtle that we may have overlooked it is likely to slow his/her progress toward recovery. And, of course, it may be that injury has triggered an underlying condition that none — not even the most astute diagnostician — would have found without a focused investigation.

I can’t leave this subject without wondering whether the findings in this paper should be extrapolated to other conditions of delayed recovery, including Lyme disease and COVID 19. Patients with these conditions are understandably resistant to the suggestion that their mental health may be contributing to the situation. Too many have been told too often it is “all in their head.” However, I think we as clinicians should keep open minds when symptoms are resolving more slowly than we would expect.

Finally, in their conclusion the authors of this paper reinforce a principle that has unfortunately taken some of us a while to accept. Early introduction of symptom-limited exercise should be a standard of postconcussion management, especially for patients with a mental health diagnosis.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Those of you who are regular readers of Letters from Maine have probably noticed that concussion is one of my favorite topics. The explanation for this perseveration is personal and may lie in the fact that I played two contact sports in college. In high school we still wore leather helmets and in college the lacrosse helmets were constructed of plastic-coated cardboard. I can recall just a few of what might be now labeled as sports-related concussions. Ironically, my only loss of consciousness came on the first dinner date with the woman who would eventually become my wife. A hypotensive episode resulting from the combination of sweat loss (2 hours of basketball) and blood loss from selling some platelets earlier in the day (to pay for the dinner) led to the unfortunate meeting of my head and the beautifully tiled floor at the restaurant.

Postconcussion Recovery

The phenomenon of delayed symptomatic recovery has been a particular interest of mine. Within the last 12 months I have written about an excellent companion commentary in Pediatricsby Talin Babikian PhD, a psychologist at University of California, Los Angeles, in which he urges us to “Consider the comorbidities or premorbidities,” including, among others, anxiety and/or depression, post-traumatic stress, and poor sleep when we are faced with a patient who is slow in shedding his postconcussion symptoms. A short 6 months after reading Dr. Babikian’s prescient commentary, I have encountered some evidence supporting his advice.

Investigators at the Sports Medicine and Performance Center at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia have recently published a study in which they have found “Preexisting mental health diagnoses are associated with greater postinjury emotional symptom burden and longer concussion recovery in a dose-response fashion.” In their prospective study of over 3000 children and adolescents, they found that, although patients with more mental health diagnoses were at greater risk of increased emotional symptoms after concussion, “Children and adolescents with any preexisting mental health diagnosis took longer to recover.”

Female patients and those with abnormal visio-vestibular test results at the initial postinjury evaluation took longer to recover, although boys with prolonged recovery had more emotional symptoms. In general, patients with preexisting mental health diagnoses returned to exercise later, a known factor in delayed concussion recovery.
 

Making Sense of It All

There are a couple of ways to look at this paper’s findings. The first is through the lens that focuses on the population of children and adolescents who have known mental health conditions. If our patient has a mental health diagnosis, we shouldn’t be surprised that he/she is taking longer to recover from his/her concussion and is experiencing an increase in symptoms. Most of us probably suspected this already. However, we should be particularly aware of this phenomenon if the patient is male.

The other perspective is probably more valuable to us as primary care physicians. If faced with a patient who is taking longer to recover than we might expect, maybe we have missed an underlying mental health condition. Even one diagnosis so subtle that we may have overlooked it is likely to slow his/her progress toward recovery. And, of course, it may be that injury has triggered an underlying condition that none — not even the most astute diagnostician — would have found without a focused investigation.

I can’t leave this subject without wondering whether the findings in this paper should be extrapolated to other conditions of delayed recovery, including Lyme disease and COVID 19. Patients with these conditions are understandably resistant to the suggestion that their mental health may be contributing to the situation. Too many have been told too often it is “all in their head.” However, I think we as clinicians should keep open minds when symptoms are resolving more slowly than we would expect.

Finally, in their conclusion the authors of this paper reinforce a principle that has unfortunately taken some of us a while to accept. Early introduction of symptom-limited exercise should be a standard of postconcussion management, especially for patients with a mental health diagnosis.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Those of you who are regular readers of Letters from Maine have probably noticed that concussion is one of my favorite topics. The explanation for this perseveration is personal and may lie in the fact that I played two contact sports in college. In high school we still wore leather helmets and in college the lacrosse helmets were constructed of plastic-coated cardboard. I can recall just a few of what might be now labeled as sports-related concussions. Ironically, my only loss of consciousness came on the first dinner date with the woman who would eventually become my wife. A hypotensive episode resulting from the combination of sweat loss (2 hours of basketball) and blood loss from selling some platelets earlier in the day (to pay for the dinner) led to the unfortunate meeting of my head and the beautifully tiled floor at the restaurant.

Postconcussion Recovery

The phenomenon of delayed symptomatic recovery has been a particular interest of mine. Within the last 12 months I have written about an excellent companion commentary in Pediatricsby Talin Babikian PhD, a psychologist at University of California, Los Angeles, in which he urges us to “Consider the comorbidities or premorbidities,” including, among others, anxiety and/or depression, post-traumatic stress, and poor sleep when we are faced with a patient who is slow in shedding his postconcussion symptoms. A short 6 months after reading Dr. Babikian’s prescient commentary, I have encountered some evidence supporting his advice.

Investigators at the Sports Medicine and Performance Center at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia have recently published a study in which they have found “Preexisting mental health diagnoses are associated with greater postinjury emotional symptom burden and longer concussion recovery in a dose-response fashion.” In their prospective study of over 3000 children and adolescents, they found that, although patients with more mental health diagnoses were at greater risk of increased emotional symptoms after concussion, “Children and adolescents with any preexisting mental health diagnosis took longer to recover.”

Female patients and those with abnormal visio-vestibular test results at the initial postinjury evaluation took longer to recover, although boys with prolonged recovery had more emotional symptoms. In general, patients with preexisting mental health diagnoses returned to exercise later, a known factor in delayed concussion recovery.
 

Making Sense of It All

There are a couple of ways to look at this paper’s findings. The first is through the lens that focuses on the population of children and adolescents who have known mental health conditions. If our patient has a mental health diagnosis, we shouldn’t be surprised that he/she is taking longer to recover from his/her concussion and is experiencing an increase in symptoms. Most of us probably suspected this already. However, we should be particularly aware of this phenomenon if the patient is male.

The other perspective is probably more valuable to us as primary care physicians. If faced with a patient who is taking longer to recover than we might expect, maybe we have missed an underlying mental health condition. Even one diagnosis so subtle that we may have overlooked it is likely to slow his/her progress toward recovery. And, of course, it may be that injury has triggered an underlying condition that none — not even the most astute diagnostician — would have found without a focused investigation.

I can’t leave this subject without wondering whether the findings in this paper should be extrapolated to other conditions of delayed recovery, including Lyme disease and COVID 19. Patients with these conditions are understandably resistant to the suggestion that their mental health may be contributing to the situation. Too many have been told too often it is “all in their head.” However, I think we as clinicians should keep open minds when symptoms are resolving more slowly than we would expect.

Finally, in their conclusion the authors of this paper reinforce a principle that has unfortunately taken some of us a while to accept. Early introduction of symptom-limited exercise should be a standard of postconcussion management, especially for patients with a mental health diagnosis.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has wisely chosen to draw our attention to the distressing statistic that by age 13, 70% of children have dropped out of organized sports.

Seventy-five years ago news of this dramatic decline in participation would have received a quizzical shrug because organized youth sports was in its infancy. It consisted primarily of Little League Baseball and for the most part excluded girls. Prior to middle school and high school, children were self-organizing their sports activities – picking their own teams, demarcating their own fields, and making up the rules to fit the conditions. Soccer Dads and Hockey Moms hadn’t been invented. To what extent this attrition from youth sports is contributing to the fact that more than 75% of this country’s adolescents fail to meet even the most lenient activity requirements is unclear. But, it certainly isn’t helping the situation.

Parsing out the contributors to this decline in organized sport should be high on our priority list. In the recent AAP Clinical Report published in Pediatrics (same reference as above) the authors claim “Burnout represents one of the primary reasons for attrition in youth sports.” This statement doesn’t quite agree with my experiences. So, I decided to chase down their reference. It turns out their assertion comes from an article coming out of Australia by eight authors who “brainstormed” 83 unique statements of 61 stakeholders regarding “athlete participation in the high-performance pathway” and concluded “Athlete health was considered the most important athlete retention to address.” While injury and overuse may explain why some elite youth participants drop out and represent a topic for the AAP to address, I’m not sure this paper’s anecdotal conclusion helps us understand the overall decline in youth sports. A broader and deeper discussion can be found in a 2019 AAP Clinical Report that addresses the advantages and pitfalls of youth sports as organized in this country.

How we arrived at this point in which, as the AAP report observes, “Youth sport participation represents the primary route to physical activity” is unclear. One obvious cause is the blossoming of the sedentary entertainment alternatives that has easily overpowered the attraction of self-organized outdoor games. The first attack in this war that we are losing came with affordable color television. Here we must blame ourselves both as parents and pediatricians for not acknowledging the risks and creating some limits. Sadly, the AAP’s initial focus was on content and not on time watched. And, of course, by the time handheld electronic devices arrived the cat was out of the bag.

We also must accept some blame for allowing physical activity to disappear as a meaningful part of the school day. Recesses have been curtailed, leaving free play and all its benefits as an endangered species. Physical education classes have been pared down tragically just as teenagers are making their own choices about how they will spend their time.

We must not underestimate the role that parental anxiety has played in the popularity of organized sport. I’m not sure of the origins of this change, but folks in my cohort recall that our parents let us roam free. As long as we showed up for meals without a policeman in tow, our parents were happy. For some reason parents seem more concerned about risks of their children being outside unmonitored, even in what are clearly safe neighborhoods.

Into this void created by sedentary amusements, limited in-school opportunities for physical activity, and parental anxiety, adult (often parent) organized sports have flourished. Unfortunately, they have too often been over-organized and allowed to morph into a model that mimics professional sports. The myth that to succeed a child must start early, narrow his/her focus and practice, practice, practice has created a situation that is a major contributor to the decline in youth sports participation. This philosophy also contributes to burnout and overuse injuries, but this is primarily among the few and the more elite.

When the child who is already involved in an organized sport sees and believes that he or she hasn’t a chance against the “early bloomers,” that child will quit. Without an appealing alternative, he/she will become sedentary. Further damage is done when children themselves and their parents have witnessed other families heavily invested in professionalized youth programs and decide it doesn’t make sense to even sign up.

In full disclosure, I must say that I have children and grandchildren who have participated in travel teams. Luckily they have not been tempted to seek even more elite programs. They have played at least two or three sports each year and still remain physically active as adults.

I don’t think the answer to the decline in youth sports is to eliminate travel and super-elite teams. The drive to succeed is too strong in some individuals. The answers lie in setting limits on sedentary alternatives, continuing to loudly question the myth of early specialization, and to work harder at offering the broadest range of opportunities that can appeal to children of all skill levels.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has wisely chosen to draw our attention to the distressing statistic that by age 13, 70% of children have dropped out of organized sports.

Seventy-five years ago news of this dramatic decline in participation would have received a quizzical shrug because organized youth sports was in its infancy. It consisted primarily of Little League Baseball and for the most part excluded girls. Prior to middle school and high school, children were self-organizing their sports activities – picking their own teams, demarcating their own fields, and making up the rules to fit the conditions. Soccer Dads and Hockey Moms hadn’t been invented. To what extent this attrition from youth sports is contributing to the fact that more than 75% of this country’s adolescents fail to meet even the most lenient activity requirements is unclear. But, it certainly isn’t helping the situation.

Parsing out the contributors to this decline in organized sport should be high on our priority list. In the recent AAP Clinical Report published in Pediatrics (same reference as above) the authors claim “Burnout represents one of the primary reasons for attrition in youth sports.” This statement doesn’t quite agree with my experiences. So, I decided to chase down their reference. It turns out their assertion comes from an article coming out of Australia by eight authors who “brainstormed” 83 unique statements of 61 stakeholders regarding “athlete participation in the high-performance pathway” and concluded “Athlete health was considered the most important athlete retention to address.” While injury and overuse may explain why some elite youth participants drop out and represent a topic for the AAP to address, I’m not sure this paper’s anecdotal conclusion helps us understand the overall decline in youth sports. A broader and deeper discussion can be found in a 2019 AAP Clinical Report that addresses the advantages and pitfalls of youth sports as organized in this country.

How we arrived at this point in which, as the AAP report observes, “Youth sport participation represents the primary route to physical activity” is unclear. One obvious cause is the blossoming of the sedentary entertainment alternatives that has easily overpowered the attraction of self-organized outdoor games. The first attack in this war that we are losing came with affordable color television. Here we must blame ourselves both as parents and pediatricians for not acknowledging the risks and creating some limits. Sadly, the AAP’s initial focus was on content and not on time watched. And, of course, by the time handheld electronic devices arrived the cat was out of the bag.

We also must accept some blame for allowing physical activity to disappear as a meaningful part of the school day. Recesses have been curtailed, leaving free play and all its benefits as an endangered species. Physical education classes have been pared down tragically just as teenagers are making their own choices about how they will spend their time.

We must not underestimate the role that parental anxiety has played in the popularity of organized sport. I’m not sure of the origins of this change, but folks in my cohort recall that our parents let us roam free. As long as we showed up for meals without a policeman in tow, our parents were happy. For some reason parents seem more concerned about risks of their children being outside unmonitored, even in what are clearly safe neighborhoods.

Into this void created by sedentary amusements, limited in-school opportunities for physical activity, and parental anxiety, adult (often parent) organized sports have flourished. Unfortunately, they have too often been over-organized and allowed to morph into a model that mimics professional sports. The myth that to succeed a child must start early, narrow his/her focus and practice, practice, practice has created a situation that is a major contributor to the decline in youth sports participation. This philosophy also contributes to burnout and overuse injuries, but this is primarily among the few and the more elite.

When the child who is already involved in an organized sport sees and believes that he or she hasn’t a chance against the “early bloomers,” that child will quit. Without an appealing alternative, he/she will become sedentary. Further damage is done when children themselves and their parents have witnessed other families heavily invested in professionalized youth programs and decide it doesn’t make sense to even sign up.

In full disclosure, I must say that I have children and grandchildren who have participated in travel teams. Luckily they have not been tempted to seek even more elite programs. They have played at least two or three sports each year and still remain physically active as adults.

I don’t think the answer to the decline in youth sports is to eliminate travel and super-elite teams. The drive to succeed is too strong in some individuals. The answers lie in setting limits on sedentary alternatives, continuing to loudly question the myth of early specialization, and to work harder at offering the broadest range of opportunities that can appeal to children of all skill levels.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has wisely chosen to draw our attention to the distressing statistic that by age 13, 70% of children have dropped out of organized sports.

Seventy-five years ago news of this dramatic decline in participation would have received a quizzical shrug because organized youth sports was in its infancy. It consisted primarily of Little League Baseball and for the most part excluded girls. Prior to middle school and high school, children were self-organizing their sports activities – picking their own teams, demarcating their own fields, and making up the rules to fit the conditions. Soccer Dads and Hockey Moms hadn’t been invented. To what extent this attrition from youth sports is contributing to the fact that more than 75% of this country’s adolescents fail to meet even the most lenient activity requirements is unclear. But, it certainly isn’t helping the situation.

Parsing out the contributors to this decline in organized sport should be high on our priority list. In the recent AAP Clinical Report published in Pediatrics (same reference as above) the authors claim “Burnout represents one of the primary reasons for attrition in youth sports.” This statement doesn’t quite agree with my experiences. So, I decided to chase down their reference. It turns out their assertion comes from an article coming out of Australia by eight authors who “brainstormed” 83 unique statements of 61 stakeholders regarding “athlete participation in the high-performance pathway” and concluded “Athlete health was considered the most important athlete retention to address.” While injury and overuse may explain why some elite youth participants drop out and represent a topic for the AAP to address, I’m not sure this paper’s anecdotal conclusion helps us understand the overall decline in youth sports. A broader and deeper discussion can be found in a 2019 AAP Clinical Report that addresses the advantages and pitfalls of youth sports as organized in this country.

How we arrived at this point in which, as the AAP report observes, “Youth sport participation represents the primary route to physical activity” is unclear. One obvious cause is the blossoming of the sedentary entertainment alternatives that has easily overpowered the attraction of self-organized outdoor games. The first attack in this war that we are losing came with affordable color television. Here we must blame ourselves both as parents and pediatricians for not acknowledging the risks and creating some limits. Sadly, the AAP’s initial focus was on content and not on time watched. And, of course, by the time handheld electronic devices arrived the cat was out of the bag.

We also must accept some blame for allowing physical activity to disappear as a meaningful part of the school day. Recesses have been curtailed, leaving free play and all its benefits as an endangered species. Physical education classes have been pared down tragically just as teenagers are making their own choices about how they will spend their time.

We must not underestimate the role that parental anxiety has played in the popularity of organized sport. I’m not sure of the origins of this change, but folks in my cohort recall that our parents let us roam free. As long as we showed up for meals without a policeman in tow, our parents were happy. For some reason parents seem more concerned about risks of their children being outside unmonitored, even in what are clearly safe neighborhoods.

Into this void created by sedentary amusements, limited in-school opportunities for physical activity, and parental anxiety, adult (often parent) organized sports have flourished. Unfortunately, they have too often been over-organized and allowed to morph into a model that mimics professional sports. The myth that to succeed a child must start early, narrow his/her focus and practice, practice, practice has created a situation that is a major contributor to the decline in youth sports participation. This philosophy also contributes to burnout and overuse injuries, but this is primarily among the few and the more elite.

When the child who is already involved in an organized sport sees and believes that he or she hasn’t a chance against the “early bloomers,” that child will quit. Without an appealing alternative, he/she will become sedentary. Further damage is done when children themselves and their parents have witnessed other families heavily invested in professionalized youth programs and decide it doesn’t make sense to even sign up.

In full disclosure, I must say that I have children and grandchildren who have participated in travel teams. Luckily they have not been tempted to seek even more elite programs. They have played at least two or three sports each year and still remain physically active as adults.

I don’t think the answer to the decline in youth sports is to eliminate travel and super-elite teams. The drive to succeed is too strong in some individuals. The answers lie in setting limits on sedentary alternatives, continuing to loudly question the myth of early specialization, and to work harder at offering the broadest range of opportunities that can appeal to children of all skill levels.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.