Tag Archives: personal well-being

Digital Immortality

In this week’s Sunday NYT Magazine, a discussion was recorded about the future of technology. One of my favorite writers, Sid Mukerjee, discussed chronic disease. In that discussion, he touched on a notion of immortality that I have been pondering for some time.

Here is what he said, and after is what I say in response.

MUKHERJEE: “In terms of longevity, the diseases that are most likely to kill us are neurological diseases and heart disease and cancer. In some other countries, there is tuberculosis and malaria and other infectious diseases, but here it’s the chronic diseases that dominate. There are three ways to think about these chronic diseases. One is the disease-specific way. So, you attack Alzheimer’s as Alzheimer’s; you attack cancer as cancer. The second one is that you forget about the disease-specific manners of attacking diseases and you attack longevity or aging reversal in general. You change diet, change genes, change whatever else — we might call them “trans factors,” which would simply override the “cis factors” that existed for individual diseases. And the third option is some combination of that and some digital form of immortality, which is that you record yourself forever, that you clone yourself and somehow pass along that recording. Which is to say that the body is just a repository of memories, images, times. And as a repository, there’s nothing special about it. The body per se, the mortal coil, is just a coil.

This is the first time I have heard a major thinker put immortality into this context. And yet – its so obvious to do so!

For example:

– wouldn’t it be fair to say that every autobiography ever written would be a sincere attempt by the writer to achieve some form of immortality?

– in like manner, isn’t the task of the biographer, in part, to immortalize their subject?

– more broadly, how do societies around the world remember their ancestors? Their memories are their attempts to allow ancestors to live forever!

This point is nicely illustrated by the Irish culture. In my work on the History of Ireland, the centrality of “oral tradition” was crystal clear. I came continually across how the Irish told stories to revere their ancestors. The Irish would distill their ancestors into a wide variety of stories that helped the present generation understand the past.

So, by extrapolation from this point (which is obvious), can this be asked: “Can I be immortalized digitally?

Digital storage costs have plummeted. Methods of organizing and tagging video and audio recordings are now commonplace. Search engines are commonplace. Pattern recognition combined with search is exploding.

So what will prevent me in the future from immortalizing myself digitally? What prevents me from storing who I am, what I did, what I learned, where I have been, what I have experienced, who I knew, who my ancestors were, who my children and grandchildren were, etc etc?

Perhaps the answer is: nothing. Nothing prevents me from being digitally immortal.

SmartWatch Technology Reliably Detects Afib

The quantified self movement strikes again!

CREDIT: Cleveland Clinic Article on Detection of Afib via SmartWatch

Smartwatch Technology Reliably Detects Afib Prior to Cardioversion
Study suggests a role for KardiaBand when paired with physician review

A newly FDA-approved smartwatch accessory can record heart rhythm and successfully differentiate atrial fibrillation (AF) from normal sinus rhythm (SR) through an automated algorithm, according to a Cleveland Clinic investigation. The study, which will be presented March 11 at the American College of Cardiology’s 67th Scientific Session, also showed that the accuracy of interpretation gets even better when the accessory is supported by physician review.
The findings suggest that the wearable technology, known as KardiaBand™, can help screen patients before presentation for elective cardioversion to avoid unnecessary procedures, among other potential uses.
KardiaBand, which consists of a software app for an Apple Watch® and a sensor band that replaces one of the watch’s straps, provides a 30-second recording of an ECG rhythm strip when the wearer places a thumb on the sensor band. The app contains an algorithm for automated detection of AF.
“Our objective was to determine how accurately KardiaBand and its algorithm can differentiate AF from sinus rhythm compared with physician-interpreted 12-lead ECGs,” says senior author Khaldoun Tarakji, MD, MPH, a Cleveland Clinic electrophysiologist. In November 2017, the device became the first smartwatch healthcare accessory to be approved by the FDA, “but we wanted to test it ourselves to determine how well it would perform in clinical practice,” Dr. Tarakji explains.
Study essentials
To that end, he and Cleveland Clinic colleagues prospectively enrolled 100 consecutive patients (mean age, 68 ± 11 years) with chronic AF who were scheduled to undergo cardioversion. Upon presenting for the cardioversion procedure, all patients were given a KardiaBand-equipped smartwatch and trained in its use, after which they underwent traditional ECG assessment and a 30-second KardiaBand recording. If cardioversion was still indicated, they underwent ECG and KardiaBand testing after the procedure. KardiaBand recordings were then compared with the physician-reviewed ECGs and also reviewed by two blinded electrophysiologists, with these readings compared to ECG interpretations.
Eight patients did not undergo cardioversion because they presented in SR; these patients were excluded. Among the remaining patients, a total of 169 pairs of ECG and KardiaBand recordings were available for comparison (each patient had two before and two after cardioversion).
Key findings
• Of the 169 pre-cardioversion KardiaBand recordings, 57 fell out as “unclassified,” meaning that the KardiaBand algorithm did not draw a conclusion of either AF or SR.
• Among the remaining 112 pairs of recordings, the reviewing electrophysiologists determined that the KardiaBand algorithm correctly detected AF with 93 percent sensitivity and 84 percent specificity compared with ECG.
• When the blinded reviewers bypassed the automated algorithm and interpreted each patient’s KardiaBand strips against his or her ECG, sensitivity rose to 99 percent and specificity was 83 percent. Further, in the 57 unclassified cases, the reviewers were able to use the strips to correctly diagnose AF versus SR with 100 percent sensitivity and 80 percent specificity.
“This study shows that KardiaBand provides excellent sensitivity and good specificity in identifying AF,” says Dr. Tarakji. “The numbers improve further with physician overview of these recordings, indicating that even unclassified KardiaBand strip recordings could be of value to reading physicians.”
Smart devices demand smart use
KardiaBand carries the benefit of enabling patients to record their rhythm at any time, as opposed to only when they are wearing a Holter monitor or at a physician’s office. “We can catch intermittent episodes when they happen, and we’re not limited to a specific duration of monitoring time,” Dr. Tarakji says. He adds that wearable devices like this can also reduce time spent responding to false alarms if a recording taken at the same time shows normal rhythm.
Yet many questions remain about how KardiaBand and similar products may ultimately be used in practice. Dr. Tarakji cites a few examples:
• Which patients are best suited to this technology? For many patients dealing with AF, KardiaBand can provide reassurance when they need it. But for others, having constant access to their ECG data may lead them to check their rhythm obsessively, raising anxiety. “In general, however, patients value the instant feedback they get,” Dr. Tarakji observes.
• Do physicians have the IT infrastructure in place to make these devices part of their practice? Wearable devices can mean a flood of event reports to clinicians’ email boxes. At Cleveland Clinic, information from patients’ KardiaBands bypasses the email system and feeds into a cloud-computing platform that physicians can access anytime.
• How should clinicians respond to short episodes, particularly in asymptomatic patients? “We currently have a gap in our clinical knowledge about whether brief, random episodes that are asymptomatic warrant anticoagulation or not,” Dr. Tarakji explains, adding that ongoing studies are trying to address this important question.
“Future studies will focus on how we can use these smart devices intelligently to make sure they’re improving quality of care rather than just producing noise for physicians,” he observes.
A parallel goal, he says, is to ensure that the devices provide value by making care delivery more efficient. Noting that patients currently need to pay for KardiaBand out of pocket, Dr. Tarakji says that “developing a richer body of research evidence is the best way we can demonstrate cost-effectiveness to healthcare payers.”
Tech like this can’t be ignored
Indeed, KardiaBand could prove cost-effective by allowing patients who are in SR to avoid needless trips for elective procedures, such as in the case of the eight patients in the study who were found to be in SR when they presented for cardioversion and did not require the procedure. Other potential uses of KardiaBand for the longitudinal management of AF patients could well prove cost-effective too.
Regardless of how quickly such cost-effectiveness evidence may come, Dr. Tarakji says clinicians cannot be passive in the face of technologies like KardiaBand. “Patients will come to us with new products, and we can’t turn away,” he observes. “We need to test these products and find ways of responding to the information they deliver in a way that improves patient outcomes, all while remaining mindful of both patient and physician satisfaction.”
The researchers report that KardiaBand’s manufacturer, AliveCor, provided smartwatches for the study but was not involved in the study’s design, implementation, data analysis or interpretation.

Well-Being – Real Time Revisited

NOTE: This post revisits a post titled “Well-Being Real Time”. The original post was May, 2014, and can be found at: http://johncreid.com/2014/05/well-being-real-time/.

Well-Being – Real Time Revisited

Well-being is arguably the central mega-trend of the 21st century. As we look to the future, we have an obligation to “unpack” this dense concept, and find its essential component parts.

We describe these components here as “ACE” – ACT, CARE, and EAT. The wish we have for ourselves and for others is to be well. “Be Well” is our salutation and our call to actions.

How far out are we looking?

The future is now. ACE is here – together with real time measuring and monitoring. ACE is our pathway to greater and greater levels of personal well-being.

ACE measuring and monitoring will be supported by all elements of the quantified self movement. FitBit, Apple Watch, and so many other new monitoring devices will allow us to to bring personal well-being into a real-time modality.

ACE represents three pillars, each deceptively simple:

A – ACT: ACT is short for activity. The call to action is “stay active”. Well-being activity has physical activity at its center, but the pillar also embraces social activity, and activities of the mind. Staying active is a critical element of being well.
C – CARE: CARE is short for well-being care. The call to action is “care for yourself” and “care for others.”Well-being care of course has health care at its center, but there is so much more. e.g. genomics, massage, essential oils, acupuncture, etc. “Caring for myself” and “Caring for others” are elements of this pillar. “Preventive care” regular check-ups, colonoscopies after age 50, mammograms, pre-natal care for expecting mothers, etc.
E – EAT: EAT is short for eating and drinking. The call to action is “Eat well.” Well-being eating is the exploration of how what we eat and drink contributes to our well-being.

As simple as these pillars appear, each is complex: deep enough for a life-time of focus. Each represents bodies of research, skills, capabilities, and areas of professional endeavor. All together, these pillars represent pathway that each of us will follow as we attain greater and greater levels of personal well-being.

Discussion:

ACT

A – ACT (walking, running, calories burned etc)

Staying active is a critical element of being well. Well-being activity has physical activity at its center: sports, walking, lifting, climbing, yoga, and all of the other activities that light up a FitBit. The pillar also embraces activity of other kinds, e.g. social activity, and activities of the mind.

CARE

Well-being care is all about promoting health. Of course, it has health care at its center, but there is so much more. e.g. mental health, addictive behaviors, massage, genomics, essential oils, acupuncture, etc.

“Caring for myself” and “Caring for others” are elements of this pillar. “Preventive care”, eldercare and aging, palliative care are included, but so are regular check-ups, colonoscopies after age 50, mammograms, pre-natal care for expecting mothers, etc.

The ability to routinely monitor vital signs at home or at the office will be a part of this pillar. Lab work – including saliva, blood, and stool samples, will be more real time, more regular and less expensive. These trends will be one of the keys to progress in the care pillar. On the innovation side of this pillar will be many technologies, but breakthroughs in genomics will certainly be high on the list. Telemedicine is another innovation that will alter access to well-being care.

Predictive modeling will be more relevant than never. Am I headed for pre-diabetes? If so, what evidence shows me a path to avoid that condition?

CARE-MMEDS (what MEDS I take, what compliance I have, etc)

CARE-RResting Metabolic Rate (calories burned at rest)

CARE-VVITALS (pulse, BP, etc)

CARE-LLABS (blood testing, etc)

CARE-SSleep (duration, deep sleep, etc)

EAT

EAT is short for eating and drinking. The call to action is “Eat well.”

Well-being eating is the exploration of how what we eat and drink contributes to our well-being. Naturally, there is a social element, where eating and drinking together makes the experience more fulfilling. There is a physiological element, having to do with ingestion, osmosis, calories, glucose and glycogen, enzymes, etc. There is a psychological element, related to the feelings of satiety, or hunger, or thirst, and their related cravings. There is a sensory element, where sweet and sour contrasts, aromas, and their related metaphorical associations, play a part.

Eating delicious food and drink with friends is certainly a component. But achieving a balanced diet, with moderation as a central tenant,

On the one hand, this pillar is ancient. For thousands of years, elders have taught daughters and sons how to cook well. and cooking techniques have evolved

On the other hand, this pillar is ripe for innovation. The new breakthrough science related to the micro-biome is a part.

EATS (what I eat and drink, especially calories)

Implications

Monitoring all components of ACE (MEDS, Activity, Resting Metabolism,VITALS, EATS, LABS, Sleep) is now going to accelerate at an exponential rate.

There will be three settings where ACE monitoring will accelerate:

Employees in Workplaces: Employers will offer employees routine monitoring as part of employee benefits and/or health insurance.
Residents in Communities: Communities will offer residents routine monitoring as one of their amenities. Wellbeing facilities and programs will become as important as golf courses and swimming pools. Look for HOA’s,Condo and Coop associations, and subdivision developers to increasingly view MARVELS as critical to “place-making”.
Clients of service-providers: Hotels, spas, assisted-living centers, nursing homes, and many others will increasingly offer MARVELS monitoring as one of their base services.

The Privacy Imperative will be the critical success factor for all of these pushes into the future. It is foundational.

Without it, there will be no progress.

With it, personalized, real-time care will flourish. Each individual will be able to opt-in to his care-coaching community (and to opt-out whenever they choose), and get the extraordinary benefits that such a community can provide.

Want to talk to your well-being coach? FaceTime them, and they – with your permission – will help you sort out what’s going on with you.

Feel like you might need a check-in with a doctor? Send them an email – with your ACE history embedded in it, or get them on the phone or FaceTime, and see if they need you to come in.

The future is now.

BEWELL Centers will be everywhere. Look for:

DWELL CENTERS (part of BEWELL Centers) – for community ACE measuring and monitoring support. Target population is neighbors in the community.

Employee BEWELL CENTERS (part of BEWELL Centers) – for employees in workplaces ACE measuring and monitoring support. Target population is employees in the workplace.

CLIENT BEWELL CENTERS (Part of BEWELL Centers – for service-providers ACE measuring and monitoring support.Target population is clients of the service provider.
(Walgreens and CVS are already moving aggressively in this direction>

References:
The Privacy Imperative
LABS revolution
LABS By Disease
Quantified Self Movement

Prevention Revisited

The essay below is an argument for the quality of life benefits of prevention. But its conclusions about whether prevention saves money? Those conclusions are depressing.

But I want to consider it. If prevention doesn’t save money, this goes against every intuition I have ever had on the subject.

The source of this essay is worth considering. If you look below, Dr. Aaron just published a book arguing that bad foods are not so bad – in moderation. This is a conclusion I happen to agree with. I agree with “all things in moderation”.
 
For example, a primary conclusion is that insuring people makes them more, rather than less, likely to use the emergency room. But this conclusion is about insurance, not prevention, and speaks to people’s need for convenient access to health care.

Or a second example used: anti-smoking. The essay’s conclusion is outrageous: it says that society will pay more because people who stop smoking will live longer! So, if society wishes to reduce costs, a mass euthanasia program, at, say, age 67, will really do the trick!
 
I publish but do not endorse…..

================
CREDIT: Essay in the New York Times

THE NEW HEALTH CARE

The essay below is depressing. But I want to consider it. If prevention doesn’t save money, this goes against every intuition I have ever had on the subject.

I definitely don’t trust the source of this essay, or its conclusions.

For example, a primary conclusion is that insuring people makes them more, rather than less, likely to use the emergency room. But this conclusion is about insurance, not prevention, and speaks to people’s need for convenient access to health care.

Or a second example used: anti-smoking. The essay’s conclusion is outrageous: it says that society will pay more because people who stop smoking will live longer! So, if society wishes to reduce costs, a mass euthanasia program, at, say, age 67, will really do the trick!

I publish but do not in any way endorse…..

=======================

CREDIT: New York Times Essay

THE NEW HEALTH CARE

Preventive Care Saves Money Sorry, It’s Too Good to Be True

Contrary to conventional wisdom, it tends to cost money, but it improves quality of life at a very reasonable price.

By Aaron E. Carroll
Jan. 29, 2018

The idea that spending more on preventive care will reduce overall health care spending is widely believed and often promoted as a reason to support reform. It’s thought that too many people with chronic illnesses wait until they are truly ill before seeking care, often in emergency rooms, where it costs more. It should follow then that treating diseases earlier, or screening for them before they become more serious, would wind up saving money in the long run.
Unfortunately, almost none of this is true.

Let’s begin with emergency rooms, which many people believed would get less use after passage of the Affordable Care Act. The opposite occurred. It’s not just the A.C.A. The Oregon Medicaid Health Insurance experiment, which randomly chose some uninsured people to get Medicaid before the A.C.A. went into effect, also found that insurance led to increased use of emergency medicine. Massachusetts saw the same effect after it introduced a program to increase the number of insured residents.

Emergency room care is not free, after all. People didn’t always choose it because they couldn’t afford to go to a doctor’s office. They often went there because it was more convenient. When we decreased the cost for people to use that care, many used it more.
Wellness programs, based on the idea that we can save money on health care by giving people incentives to be healthy, don’t actually work this way. As my colleague Austin Frakt and I have found from reviewing the research in detail, these programs don’t decrease costs — at least not without being discriminatory.

Accountable care organizations rely on the premise that improving outpatient and preventive care, perhaps with improved management and coordination of services for those with chronic conditions, will save money. But a recent study in Health Affairs showed that care coordination and management initiatives in the outpatient setting haven’t been drivers of savings in the Medicare Shared Savings Program.

There’s little reason to believe that even more preventive care in general is going to save a fortune. A study published in Health Affairs in 2010 looked at 20 proven preventive services, all of them recommended by the United States Preventive Services Task Force. These included immunizations, counseling, and screening for disease. Researchers modeled what would happen if up to 90 percent of these services were used, which is much higher than we currently see.

They found that this probably would have saved about $3.7 billion in 2006. That might sound like a lot, until you realize that this was about 0.2 percent of personal health care spending that year. It’s a pittance — and that was with almost complete compliance with recommendations.

One reason for this is that all prevention is not the same. The task force doesn’t model costs in its calculations; it models effectiveness and a preponderance of benefits and harms. When something works, and its positive effects outweigh its adverse ones, a recommendation is made.

This doesn’t mean it saves money.

In 2009, as part of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation’s Synthesis Project, Sarah Goodell, Joshua Cohen and Peter Neumann exhaustively explored the evidence. They examined more than 500 peer-reviewed studies that looked at primary (stopping something from happening in the first place) or secondary (stopping something from getting worse) prevention. Of all the interventions they looked at, only two were truly cost-saving: childhood immunizations (a no-brainer) and the counseling of adults on the use of low-dose aspirin. An additional 15 preventive services were cost-effective, meaning that they cost less than $50,000 to $100,000 per quality adjusted life-year gained.

But all of these analyses looked within the health care system only. If we really want to know whether prevention saves money, maybe we should take a wider perspective. Does spending on prevention save the country money over all?

A recent report from the Congressional Budget Office in the New England Journal of Medicine suggests the answer is no. The budget office modeled how a policy to reduce smoking through higher cigarette taxes might affect federal spending. It found that such a tax would cause many people to quit smoking — the desired result. In the short term, less smoking would lead to decreased spending because of reductions in health care spending for those who had smoked.
But in the long run, all of those people living longer would lead to increases in spending in many programs, including health care. The more people who quit smoking, the higher the deficit — even with the increased revenue from taxing cigarettes.

But money doesn’t have to be saved to make something worthwhile. Prevention improves outcomes. It makes people healthier. It improves quality of life. It often does so for a very reasonable price.
There are many good arguments for increasing our focus on prevention. Almost all have to do with improving quality, though, not reducing spending. We would do well to admit that and move forward.
Sometimes good things cost money.

Aaron E. Carroll is a professor of pediatrics at Indiana University School of Medicine who blogs on health research and policy at The Incidental Economist and makes videos at Healthcare Triage. He is the author of The Bad Food Bible: How and Why to Eat Sinfully.

====================APPENDIX================

CREDIT: https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2017/11/19/564879018/the-bad-food-bible-says-your-eating-might-not-be-so-sinful-after-all

The Bad Food Bible
How and Why to Eat Sinfully
by Aaron, M.D. Carroll and Nina Teicholz
Hardcover, 272 pages

There are some surprises in your book, like milk isn’t as nutritious as some might think?

This is one of those where, if you just look at nature, we’re the only animal that consumes milk outside of the infant period. Now there’s no need for it. Part of that is politics, and the fact that the United States got involved in promoting dairy and the whole dairy industry. But there’s really no good evidence outside of the childhood period that milk is necessary. One of the things that I tried to state in the book, and this is true of all beverages with calories, you should treat them like you treat alcohol. I mean, what else are you going to do with a good chocolate chip cookie? Of course you need a glass of milk with that. That’s like dessert — it’s something you should have because you want it, not because you need it.

Raw eggs often get a bad reputation, particularly when it comes to cookie dough. How bad are they, really?

The raw egg is another one where of course there is a risk. But you have to weigh that against joy again. The truth of the matter is that if you committed to eating raw eggs in cookie dough once a week every week for the rest of your life, you’d almost never come into contact with salmonella. If you did, you’d almost never get sick. If you got sick, you’d almost never notice. Even if you noticed, it would almost never result in something serious. The chance of you actually getting seriously ill is infinitesimal. … The joy of doing those kinds of things with your kids or enjoying the process of baking is much more satisfying and will lead to greater increases in quality of life than the infinitesimal risk that you’re hurting your health in some way.
So, it sounds like there’s a lot of misinformation surrounding what food is bad for us. What’s your eating advice then?

So I think you know, in general, one thing you can do is limit your heavily processed food as much as possible. Nature intended you to get the appley goodness from an apple, not from apple juice. But the more we can do to smile, to cook for ourselves, to know where our food is coming from, to be mindful of it, the better. But we shouldn’t be so panicked and fearful and constantly believing that if we don’t do what we’ve heard from the latest expert, that we’re going to get sick and die. That is just not true.

Of course, we are staring down the barrel of Thanksgiving, which for many of us can be a moment that produces a lot of anxiety, especially food anxiety nowadays. It just feels like it’s all so fraught. I’m evil if I eat meat. I’m bad if I like Diet Coke. Food is loaded.
It’s also really important, it’s one day a year! Your health and your eating habits are not established by one day a year. It’s perfectly fine to enjoy yourself and to live! You need to weigh — in all your health decisions — the benefits and the harms. And too often we only focus on the latter. And included in benefits are joy, and quality of life and happiness. There are times when it’s a perfectly rational decision to allow yourself to be happy and to enjoy yourself. I’m not sort of giving a license for people to eat whatever they want, anytime they want. Yes, the Diet Coke, the pie, these are all processed foods. So you should think about how much you’re eating them in relation to everything else. But on the other hand, a piece of pie on Thanksgiving is not going to erase everything else you’ve done the rest of the year. Thanksgiving is easily my favorite holiday and it’s not just because of the food, but also because of the meal and the fact that you get to enjoy it with family and friends.

I’ve got to ask you, what are you having for Thanksgiving?

As much as I can cram into my body on that day. But, I love turkey, really well-done turkey. I love mashed potatoes, and stuffing and gravy, and I think pie is the greatest dessert that exists, so I’m sure I’ll be having too much of that as well.

Producer Adelina Lancianese contributed to this report.

Neo.Life

This beta site NeoLife link beyond the splash pagee is tracking the “neobiological revolution”. I wholeheartedly agree that some of our best and brightest are on the case. Here they are:

ABOUT
NEO.LIFE
Making Sense of the Neobiological Revolution
NOTE FROM THE EDITOR
Mapping the brain, sequencing the genome, decoding the microbiome, extending life, curing diseases, editing mutations. We live in a time of awe and possibility — and also enormous responsibility. Are you prepared?

EDITORS

FOUNDER

Jane Metcalfe
Founder of Neo.life. Entrepreneur in media (Wired) and food (TCHO). Lover of mountains, horses, roses, and kimchee, though not necessarily in that order.
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EDITOR
Brian Bergstein
Story seeker and story teller. Editor at NEO.LIFE. Former executive editor of MIT Technology Review; former technology & media editor at The Associated Press
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ART DIRECTOR
Nicholas Vokey
Los Angeles-based graphic designer and animator.
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CONSULTANT
Saul Carlin
founder @subcasthq. used to work here.

EDITOR
Rachel Lehmann-Haupt
Editor, www.theartandscienceoffamily.com & NEO.LIFE, author of In Her Own Sweet Time: Egg Freezing and the New Frontiers of Family

Laura Cochrane
“To oppose something is to maintain it.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

WRITERS

Amanda Schaffer
writes for the New Yorker and Neo.life, and is a former medical columnist for Slate. @abschaffer

Mallory Pickett
freelance journalist in Los Angeles

Karen Weintraub
Health/Science journalist passionate about human health, cool researcher and telling stories.

Anna Nowogrodzki
Science and tech journalist. Writing in Nature, National Geographic, Smithsonian, mental_floss, & others.
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Juan Enriquez
Best-selling author, Managing Director of Excel Venture Management.

Christina Farr
Tech and features writer. @Stanford grad.

NEO.LIFE
Making sense of the Neobiological Revolution. Get the email at www.neo.life.

Maria Finn
I’m an author and tell stories across multiple mediums including prose, food, gardens, technology & narrative mapping. www.mariafinn.com Instagram maria_finn1.

Stephanie Pappas
I write about science, technology and the things people do with them.

David Eagleman
Neuroscientist at Stanford, internationally bestselling author of fiction and non-fiction, creator and presenter of PBS’ The Brain.

Kristen V. Brown
Reporter @Gizmodo covering biotech.

Thomas Goetz

David Ewing Duncan
Life science journalist; bestselling author, 9 books; NY Times, Atlantic, Wired, Daily Beast, NPR, ABC News, more; Curator, Arc Fusion www.davidewingduncan.com

Dorothy Santos
writer, editor, curator, and educator based in the San Francisco Bay Area about.me/dorothysantos.com

Dr. Sophie Zaaijer
CEO of PlayDNA, Postdoctoral fellow at the New York Genome Center, Runway postdoc at Cornell Tech.

Andrew Rosenblum
I’m a freelance tech writer based in Oakland, CA. You can find my work at Neo.Life, the MIT Technology Review, Popular Science, and many other places.

Zoe Cormier

Diana Crow
Fledgling science journalist here, hoping to foster discussion about the ways science acts as a catalyst for social change #biology

Ashton Applewhite
Calling for a radical aging movement. Anti-ageism blog+talk+book

Grace Rubenstein
Journalist, editor, media producer. Social/bio science geek. Tweets on health science, journalism, immigration. Spanish speaker & dancing fool.

Science and other sundries.

Esther Dyson
Internet court jEsther — I occupy Esther Dyson. Founder @HICCup_co https://t.co/5dWfUSratQ http://t.co/a1Gmo3FTQv

Jessica Leber
Freelance science and technology journalist and editor, formerly on staff at Fast Company, Vocativ, MIT Technology Review, and ClimateWire.

Jessica Carew Kraft
An anthropologist, artist, and naturalist writing about health, education, and rewilding. Mother to two girls in San Francisco.

Corby Kummer
Senior editor, The Atlantic, five-time James Beard Journalism Award winner, restaurant reviewer for New York, Boston, and Atlanta magazines

K McGowan
Journalist. Reporting on health, medicine, science, other excellent things. T: @mcgowankat

Rob Waters
I’m a journalist living in Berkeley. I write about health, science, social justice and policy. Father of 1. From Detroit.
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Yiting Sun
writes for MIT Technology Review and Neo.life from Beijing, and was based in Accra, Ghana, in 2014 and 2015.
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Michael Hawley
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Richard Sprague
Curious amateur. Years of near-daily microbiome experiments. US CEO of AI healthcare startup http://airdoc.com
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Bob Parks ✂
Connoisseur of the slap dash . . . maker . . . runner . . . writer of Outside magazine’s Gear Guy blog . . . freelance writer and reporter.

CREDIT: https://medium.com/neodotlife/review-of-daytwo-microbiome-test-deacd5464cd5

Primary Care Best Practice

This post is about two important articles related to Primary Care Best Practice: One by Atul Gawande called “Big Med” and the other from Harvard Medical School about Physician Burnout.

As usual, Atul tells stories. His stories begin with his positive experience at the Cheesecake Factory and with his mother’s knee replacement surgery.

====================
Article by Atul Gawande Big Med and the Cheesecake Factory
====================
JCR NOTES

Article explores the potential for transferring some of the operational excellence of the Cheesecake Factory to aspects of health care.

He finds it tempting to look for 95% standardization and 5% customization.
He sees lessons in rolling out innovations through test kitchens and training that includes how to train others.
He sees heroes in doctors that push to articulate a standard of care, or technology, or equipment, or pharmaceutical.

====================
CREDIT: New Yorker Article by Atul Gawande “Big Med”

Annals of Health Care
August 13, 2012 Issue
Big Med
Restaurant chains have managed to combine quality control, cost control, and innovation. Can health care?

By Atul Gawande

Medicine has long resisted the productivity revolutions that transformed other industries. But the new chains aim to change this.Illustration by Harry Campbell

It was Saturday night, and I was at the local Cheesecake Factory with my two teen-age daughters and three of their friends. You may know the chain: a hundred and sixty restaurants with a catalogue-like menu that, when I did a count, listed three hundred and eight dinner items (including the forty-nine on the “Skinnylicious” menu), plus a hundred and twenty-four choices of beverage. It’s a linen-napkin-and-tablecloth sort of place, but with something for everyone. There’s wine and wasabi-crusted ahi tuna, but there’s also buffalo wings and Bud Light. The kids ordered mostly comfort food—pot stickers, mini crab cakes, teriyaki chicken, Hawaiian pizza, pasta carbonara. I got a beet salad with goat cheese, white-bean hummus and warm flatbread, and the miso salmon.

The place is huge, but it’s invariably packed, and you can see why. The typical entrée is under fifteen dollars. The décor is fancy, in an accessible, Disney-cruise-ship sort of way: faux Egyptian columns, earth-tone murals, vaulted ceilings. The waiters are efficient and friendly. They wear all white (crisp white oxford shirt, pants, apron, sneakers) and try to make you feel as if it were a special night out. As for the food—can I say this without losing forever my chance of getting a reservation at Per Se?—it was delicious.
The chain serves more than eighty million people per year. I pictured semi-frozen bags of beet salad shipped from Mexico, buckets of precooked pasta and production-line hummus, fish from a box. And yet nothing smacked of mass production. My beets were crisp and fresh, the hummus creamy, the salmon like butter in my mouth. No doubt everything we ordered was sweeter, fattier, and bigger than it had to be. But the Cheesecake Factory knows its customers. The whole table was happy (with the possible exception of Ethan, aged sixteen, who picked the onions out of his Hawaiian pizza).

I wondered how they pulled it off. I asked one of the Cheesecake Factory line cooks how much of the food was premade. He told me that everything’s pretty much made from scratch—except the cheesecake, which actually is from a cheesecake factory, in Calabasas, California.
I’d come from the hospital that day. In medicine, too, we are trying to deliver a range of services to millions of people at a reasonable cost and with a consistent level of quality. Unlike the Cheesecake Factory, we haven’t figured out how. Our costs are soaring, the service is typically mediocre, and the quality is unreliable. Every clinician has his or her own way of doing things, and the rates of failure and complication (not to mention the costs) for a given service routinely vary by a factor of two or three, even within the same hospital.

It’s easy to mock places like the Cheesecake Factory—restaurants that have brought chain production to complicated sit-down meals. But the “casual dining sector,” as it is known, plays a central role in the ecosystem of eating, providing three-course, fork-and-knife restaurant meals that most people across the country couldn’t previously find or afford. The ideas start out in élite, upscale restaurants in major cities. You could think of them as research restaurants, akin to research hospitals. Some of their enthusiasms—miso salmon, Chianti-braised short ribs, flourless chocolate espresso cake—spread to other high-end restaurants. Then the casual-dining chains reëngineer them for affordable delivery to millions. Does health care need something like this?

Big chains thrive because they provide goods and services of greater variety, better quality, and lower cost than would otherwise be available. Size is the key. It gives them buying power, lets them centralize common functions, and allows them to adopt and diffuse innovations faster than they could if they were a bunch of small, independent operations. Such advantages have made Walmart the most successful retailer on earth. Pizza Hut alone runs one in eight pizza restaurants in the country. The Cheesecake Factory’s major competitor, Darden, owns Olive Garden, LongHorn Steakhouse, Red Lobster, and the Capital Grille; it has more than two thousand restaurants across the country and employs more than a hundred and eighty thousand people. We can bristle at the idea of chains and mass production, with their homogeneity, predictability, and constant genuflection to the value-for-money god. Then you spend a bad night in a “quaint” “one of a kind” bed-and-breakfast that turns out to have a manic, halitoxic innkeeper who can’t keep the hot water running, and it’s right back to the Hyatt.

Medicine, though, had held out against the trend. Physicians were always predominantly self-employed, working alone or in small private-practice groups. American hospitals tended to be community-based. But that’s changing. Hospitals and clinics have been forming into large conglomerates. And physicians—facing escalating demands to lower costs, adopt expensive information technology, and account for performance—have been flocking to join them. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, only a quarter of doctors are self-employed—an extraordinary turnabout from a decade ago, when a majority were independent. They’ve decided to become employees, and health systems have become chains.

I’m no exception. I am an employee of an academic, nonprofit health system called Partners HealthCare, which owns the Brigham and Women’s Hospital and the Massachusetts General Hospital, along with seven other hospitals, and is affiliated with dozens of clinics around eastern Massachusetts. Partners has sixty thousand employees, including six thousand doctors. Our competitors include CareGroup, a system of five regional hospitals, and a new for-profit chain called the Steward Health Care System.

Steward was launched in late 2010, when Cerberus—the multibillion-dollar private-investment firm—bought a group of six failing Catholic hospitals in the Boston area for nine hundred million dollars. Many people were shocked that the Catholic Church would allow a corporate takeover of its charity hospitals. But the hospitals, some of which were more than a century old, had been losing money and patients, and Cerberus is one of those firms which specialize in turning around distressed businesses.

Cerberus has owned controlling stakes in Chrysler and gmac Financing and currently has stakes in Albertsons grocery stories, one of Austria’s largest retail bank chains, and the Freedom Group, which it built into one of the biggest gun-and-ammunition manufacturers in the world. When it looked at the Catholic hospitals, it saw another opportunity to create profit through size and efficiency. In the past year, Steward bought four more Massachusetts hospitals and made an offer to buy six financially troubled hospitals in south Florida. It’s trying to create what some have called the Southwest Airlines of health care—a network of high-quality hospitals that would appeal to a more cost-conscious public.

Steward’s aggressive growth has made local doctors like me nervous. But many health systems, for-profit and not-for-profit, share its goal: large-scale, production-line medicine. The way medical care is organized is changing—because the way we pay for it is changing.
Historically, doctors have been paid for services, not results. In the eighteenth century B.C., Hammurabi’s code instructed that a surgeon be paid ten shekels of silver every time he performed a procedure for a patrician—opening an abscess or treating a cataract with his bronze lancet. It also instructed that if the patient should die or lose an eye, the surgeon’s hands be cut off. Apparently, the Mesopotamian surgeons’ lobby got this results clause dropped. Since then, we’ve generally been paid for what we do, whatever happens. The consequence is the system we have, with plenty of individual transactions—procedures, tests, specialist consultations—and uncertain attention to how the patient ultimately fares.

Health-care reforms—public and private—have sought to reshape that system. This year, my employer’s new contracts with Medicare, BlueCross BlueShield, and others link financial reward to clinical performance. The more the hospital exceeds its cost-reduction and quality-improvement targets, the more money it can keep. If it misses the targets, it will lose tens of millions of dollars. This is a radical shift. Until now, hospitals and medical groups have mainly had a landlord-tenant relationship with doctors. They offered us space and facilities, but what we tenants did behind closed doors was our business. Now it’s their business, too.

The theory the country is about to test is that chains will make us better and more efficient. The question is how. To most of us who work in health care, throwing a bunch of administrators and accountants into the mix seems unlikely to help. Good medicine can’t be reduced to a recipe.

Then again neither can good food: every dish involves attention to detail and individual adjustments that require human judgment. Yet, some chains manage to achieve good, consistent results thousands of times a day across the entire country. I decided to get inside one and find out how they did it.

Dave Luz is the regional manager for the eight Cheesecake Factories in the Boston area. He oversees operations that bring in eighty million dollars in yearly revenue, about as much as a medium-sized hospital. Luz (rhymes with “fuzz”) is forty-seven, and had started out in his twenties waiting tables at a Cheesecake Factory restaurant in Los Angeles. He was writing screenplays, but couldn’t make a living at it. When he and his wife hit thirty and had their second child, they came back east to Boston to be closer to family. He decided to stick with the Cheesecake Factory. Luz rose steadily, and made a nice living. “I wanted to have some business skills,” he said—he started a film-production company on the side—“and there was no other place I knew where you could go in, know nothing, and learn top to bottom how to run a business.”

To show me how a Cheesecake Factory works, he took me into the kitchen of his busiest restaurant, at Prudential Center, a shopping and convention hub. The kitchen design is the same in every restaurant, he explained. It’s laid out like a manufacturing facility, in which raw materials in the back of the plant come together as a finished product that rolls out the front. Along the back wall are the walk-in refrigerators and prep stations, where half a dozen people stood chopping and stirring and mixing. The next zone is where the cooking gets done—two parallel lines of countertop, forty-some feet long and just three shoe-lengths apart, with fifteen people pivoting in place between the stovetops and grills on the hot side and the neatly laid-out bins of fixings (sauces, garnishes, seasonings, and the like) on the cold side. The prep staff stock the pullout drawers beneath the counters with slabs of marinated meat and fish, serving-size baggies of pasta and crabmeat, steaming bowls of brown rice and mashed potatoes. Basically, the prep crew handles the parts, and the cooks do the assembly.

Computer monitors positioned head-high every few feet flashed the orders for a given station. Luz showed me the touch-screen tabs for the recipe for each order and a photo showing the proper presentation. The recipe has the ingredients on the left part of the screen and the steps on the right. A timer counts down to a target time for completion. The background turns from green to yellow as the order nears the target time and to red when it has exceeded it.

I watched Mauricio Gaviria at the broiler station as the lunch crowd began coming in. Mauricio was twenty-nine years old and had worked there eight years. He’d got his start doing simple prep—chopping vegetables—and worked his way up to fry cook, the pasta station, and now the sauté and broiler stations. He bounced in place waiting for the pace to pick up. An order for a “hibachi” steak popped up. He tapped the screen to open the order: medium-rare, no special requests. A ten-minute timer began. He tonged a fat hanger steak soaking in teriyaki sauce onto the broiler and started a nest of sliced onions cooking beside it. While the meat was grilling, other orders arrived: a Kobe burger, a blue-cheese B.L.T. burger, three “old-fashioned” burgers, five veggie burgers, a “farmhouse” burger, and two Thai chicken wraps. Tap, tap, tap. He got each of them grilling.

I brought up the hibachi-steak recipe on the screen. There were instructions to season the steak, sauté the onions, grill some mushrooms, slice the meat, place it on the bed of onions, pile the mushrooms on top, garnish with parsley and sesame seeds, heap a stack of asparagus tempura next to it, shape a tower of mashed potatoes alongside, drop a pat of wasabi butter on top, and serve.

Two things struck me. First, the instructions were precise about the ingredients and the objectives (the steak slices were to be a quarter of an inch thick, the presentation just so), but not about how to get there. The cook has to decide how much to salt and baste, how to sequence the onions and mushrooms and meat so they’re done at the same time, how to swivel from grill to countertop and back, sprinkling a pinch of salt here, flipping a burger there, sending word to the fry cook for the asparagus tempura, all the while keeping an eye on the steak. In producing complicated food, there might be recipes, but there was also a substantial amount of what’s called “tacit knowledge”—knowledge that has not been reduced to instructions.

Second, Mauricio never looked at the instructions anyway. By the time I’d finished reading the steak recipe, he was done with the dish and had plated half a dozen others. “Do you use this recipe screen?” I asked.

“No. I have the recipes right here,” he said, pointing to his baseball-capped head.

He put the steak dish under warming lights, and tapped the screen to signal the servers for pickup. But before the dish was taken away, the kitchen manager stopped to look, and the system started to become clearer. He pulled a clean fork out and poked at the steak. Then he called to Mauricio and the two other cooks manning the grill station.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “this steak is perfect.” It was juicy and pink in the center, he said. “The grill marks are excellent.” The sesame seeds and garnish were ample without being excessive. “But the tower is too tight.” I could see what he meant. The mashed potatoes looked a bit like something a kid at the beach might have molded with a bucket. You don’t want the food to look manufactured, he explained. Mauricio fluffed up the potatoes with a fork.

I watched the kitchen manager for a while. At every Cheesecake Factory restaurant, a kitchen manager is stationed at the counter where the food comes off the line, and he rates the food on a scale of one to ten. A nine is near-perfect. An eight requires one or two corrections before going out to a guest. A seven needs three. A six is unacceptable and has to be redone. This inspection process seemed a tricky task. No one likes to be second-guessed. The kitchen manager prodded gently, being careful to praise as often as he corrected. (“Beautiful. Beautiful!” “The pattern of this pesto glaze is just right.”) But he didn’t hesitate to correct.

“We’re getting sloppy with the plating,” he told the pasta station. He was unhappy with how the fry cooks were slicing the avocado spring rolls. “Gentlemen, a half-inch border on this next time.” He tried to be a coach more than a policeman. “Is this three-quarters of an ounce of Parm-Romano?”

And that seemed to be the spirit in which the line cooks took him and the other managers. The managers had all risen through the ranks. This earned them a certain amount of respect. They in turn seemed respectful of the cooks’ skills and experience. Still, the oversight is tight, and this seemed crucial to the success of the enterprise.

The managers monitored the pace, too—scanning the screens for a station stacking up red flags, indicating orders past the target time, and deciding whether to give the cooks at the station a nudge or an extra pair of hands. They watched for waste—wasted food, wasted time, wasted effort. The formula was Business 101: Use the right amount of goods and labor to deliver what customers want and no more. Anything more is waste, and waste is lost profit.

I spoke to David Gordon, the company’s chief operating officer. He told me that the Cheesecake Factory has worked out a staff-to-customer ratio that keeps everyone busy but not so busy that there’s no slack in the system in the event of a sudden surge of customers. More difficult is the problem of wasted food. Although the company buys in bulk from regional suppliers, groceries are the biggest expense after labor, and the most unpredictable. Everything—the chicken, the beef, the lettuce, the eggs, and all the rest—has a shelf life. If a restaurant were to stock too much, it could end up throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of food. If a restaurant stocks too little, it will have to tell customers that their favorite dish is not available, and they may never come back. Groceries, Gordon said, can kill a restaurant.

The company’s target last year was at least 97.5-per-cent efficiency: the managers aimed at throwing away no more than 2.5 per cent of the groceries they bought, without running out. This seemed to me an absurd target. Achieving it would require knowing in advance almost exactly how many customers would be coming in and what they were going to want, then insuring that the cooks didn’t spill or toss or waste anything. Yet this is precisely what the organization has learned to do. The chain-restaurant industry has produced a field of computer analytics known as “guest forecasting.”

“We have forecasting models based on historical data—the trend of the past six weeks and also the trend of the previous year,” Gordon told me. “The predictability of the business has become astounding.” The company has even learned how to make adjustments for the weather or for scheduled events like playoff games that keep people at home.

A computer program known as Net Chef showed Luz that for this one restaurant food costs accounted for 28.73 per cent of expenses the previous week. It also showed exactly how many chicken breasts were ordered that week ($1,614 worth), the volume sold, the volume on hand, and how much of last week’s order had been wasted (three dollars’ worth). Chain production requires control, and they’d figured out how to achieve it on a mass scale.

As a doctor, I found such control alien—possibly from a hostile planet. We don’t have patient forecasting in my office, push-button waste monitoring, or such stringent, hour-by-hour oversight of the work we do, and we don’t want to. I asked Luz if he had ever thought about the contrast when he went to see a doctor. We were standing amid the bustle of the kitchen, and the look on his face shifted before he answered.
“I have,” he said. His mother was seventy-eight. She had early Alzheimer’s disease, and required a caretaker at home. Getting her adequate medical care was, he said, a constant battle.

Recently, she’d had a fall, apparently after fainting, and was taken to a local emergency room. The doctors ordered a series of tests and scans, and kept her overnight. They never figured out what the problem was. Luz understood that sometimes explanations prove elusive. But the clinicians didn’t seem to be following any coördinated plan of action. The emergency doctor told the family one plan, the admitting internist described another, and the consulting specialist a third. Thousands of dollars had been spent on tests, but nobody ever told Luz the results.

A nurse came at ten the next morning and said that his mother was being discharged. But his mother’s nurse was on break, and the discharge paperwork with her instructions and prescriptions hadn’t been done. So they waited. Then the next person they needed was at lunch. It was as if the clinicians were the customers, and the patients’ job was to serve them. “We didn’t get to go until 6 p.m., with a tired, disabled lady and a long drive home.” Even then she still had to be changed out of her hospital gown and dressed. Luz pressed the call button to ask for help. No answer. He went out to the ward desk.

The aide was on break, the secretary said. “Don’t you dress her yourself at home?” He explained that he didn’t, and made a fuss.

An aide was sent. She was short with him and rough in changing his mother’s clothes. “She was manhandling her,” Luz said. “I felt like, ‘Stop. I’m not one to complain. I respect what you do enormously. But if there were a video camera in here, you’d be on the evening news.’ I sent her out. I had to do everything myself. I’m stuffing my mom’s boob in her bra. It was unbelievable.”

His mother was given instructions to check with her doctor for the results of cultures taken during her stay, for a possible urinary-tract infection. But when Luz tried to follow up, he couldn’t get through to her doctor for days. “Doctors are busy,” he said. “I get it. But come on.” An office assistant finally told him that the results wouldn’t be ready for another week and that she was to see a neurologist. No explanations. No chance to ask questions.

The neurologist, after giving her a two-minute exam, suggested tests that had already been done and wrote a prescription that he admitted was of doubtful benefit. Luz’s family seemed to encounter this kind of disorganization, imprecision, and waste wherever his mother went for help.

“It is unbelievable to me that they would not manage this better,” Luz said. I asked him what he would do if he were the manager of a neurology unit or a cardiology clinic. “I don’t know anything about medicine,” he said. But when I pressed he thought for a moment, and said, “This is pretty obvious. I’m sure you already do it. But I’d study what the best people are doing, figure out how to standardize it, and then bring it to everyone to execute.”

This is not at all the normal way of doing things in medicine. (“You’re scaring me,” he said, when I told him.) But it’s exactly what the new health-care chains are now hoping to do on a mass scale. They want to create Cheesecake Factories for health care. The question is whether the medical counterparts to Mauricio at the broiler station—the clinicians in the operating rooms, in the medical offices, in the intensive-care units—will go along with the plan. Fixing a nice piece of steak is hardly of the same complexity as diagnosing the cause of an elderly patient’s loss of consciousness. Doctors and patients have not had a positive experience with outsiders second-guessing decisions. How will they feel about managers trying to tell them what the “best practices” are?

In March, my mother underwent a total knee replacement, like at least six hundred thousand Americans each year. She’d had a partial knee replacement a decade ago, when arthritis had worn away part of the cartilage, and for a while this served her beautifully. The surgeon warned, however, that the results would be temporary, and about five years ago the pain returned.

She’s originally from Ahmadabad, India, and has spent three decades as a pediatrician, attending to the children of my small Ohio home town. She’s chatty. She can’t go through a grocery checkout line or get pulled over for speeding without learning people’s names and a little bit about them. But she didn’t talk about her mounting pain. I noticed, however, that she had developed a pronounced limp and had become unable to walk even moderate distances. When I asked her about it, she admitted that just getting out of bed in the morning was an ordeal. Her doctor showed me her X-rays. Her partial prosthesis had worn through the bone on the lower surface of her knee. It was time for a total knee replacement.
This past winter, she finally stopped putting it off, and asked me to find her a surgeon. I wanted her to be treated well, in both the technical and the human sense. I wanted a place where everyone and everything—from the clinic secretary to the physical therapists—worked together seamlessly.

My mother planned to come to Boston, where I live, for the surgery so she could stay with me during her recovery. (My father died last year.) Boston has three hospitals in the top rank of orthopedic surgery. But even a doctor doesn’t have much to go on when it comes to making a choice. A place may have a great reputation, but it’s hard to know about actual quality of care.

Unlike some countries, the United States doesn’t have a monitoring system that tracks joint-replacement statistics. Even within an institution, I found, surgeons take strikingly different approaches. They use different makes of artificial joints, different kinds of anesthesia, different regimens for post-surgical pain control and physical therapy.

In the absence of information, I went with my own hospital, the Brigham and Women’s Hospital. Our big-name orthopedic surgeons treat Olympians and professional athletes. Nine of them do knee replacements. Of most interest to me, however, was a surgeon who was not one of the famous names. He has no national recognition. But he has led what is now a decade-long experiment in standardizing joint-replacement surgery.

John Wright is a New Zealander in his late fifties. He’s a tower crane of a man, six feet four inches tall, and so bald he barely seems to have eyebrows. He’s informal in attire—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a tie, and he is as apt to do rounds in his zip-up anorak as in his white coat—but he exudes competence.

“Customization should be five per cent, not ninety-five per cent, of what we do,” he told me. A few years ago, he gathered a group of people from every specialty involved—surgery, anesthesia, nursing, physical therapy—to formulate a single default way of doing knee replacements. They examined every detail, arguing their way through their past experiences and whatever evidence they could find. Essentially, they did what Luz considered the obvious thing to do: they studied what the best people were doing, figured out how to standardize it, and then tried to get everyone to follow suit.

They came up with a plan for anesthesia based on research studies—including giving certain pain medications before the patient entered the operating room and using spinal anesthesia plus an injection of local anesthetic to block the main nerve to the knee. They settled on a postoperative regimen, too. The day after a knee replacement, most orthopedic surgeons have their patients use a continuous passive-motion machine, which flexes and extends the knee as they lie in bed. Large-scale studies, though, have suggested that the machines don’t do much good. Sure enough, when the members of Wright’s group examined their own patients, they found that the ones without the machine got out of bed sooner after surgery, used less pain medication, and had more range of motion at discharge. So Wright instructed the hospital to get rid of the machines, and to use the money this saved (ninety thousand dollars a year) to pay for more physical therapy, something that is proven to help patient mobility. Therapy, starting the day after surgery, would increase from once to twice a day, including weekends.

Even more startling, Wright had persuaded the surgeons to accept changes in the operation itself; there was now, for instance, a limit as to which prostheses they could use. Each of our nine knee-replacement surgeons had his preferred type and brand. Knee surgeons are as particular about their implants as professional tennis players are about their racquets. But the hardware is easily the biggest cost of the operation—the average retail price is around eight thousand dollars, and some cost twice that, with no solid evidence of real differences in results.

Knee implants were largely perfected a quarter century ago. By the nineteen-nineties, studies showed that, for some ninety-five per cent of patients, the implants worked magnificently a decade after surgery. Evidence from the Australian registry has shown that not a single new knee or hip prosthesis had a lower failure rate than that of the established prostheses. Indeed, thirty per cent of the new models were likelier to fail. Like others on staff, Wright has advised companies on implant design. He believes that innovation will lead to better implants. In the meantime, however, he has sought to limit the staff to the three lowest-cost knee implants.

These have been hard changes for many people to accept. Wright has tried to figure out how to persuade clinicians to follow the standardized plan. To prevent revolt, he learned, he had to let them deviate at times from the default option. Surgeons could still order a passive-motion machine or a preferred prosthesis. “But I didn’t make it easy,” Wright said. The surgeons had to enter the treatment orders in the computer themselves. To change or add an implant, a surgeon had to show that the performance was superior or the price at least as low.

I asked one of his orthopedic colleagues, a surgeon named John Ready, what he thought about Wright’s efforts. Ready was philosophical. He recognized that the changes were improvements, and liked most of them. But he wasn’t happy when Wright told him that his knee-implant manufacturer wasn’t matching the others’ prices and would have to be dropped.

“It’s not ideal to lose my prosthesis,” Ready said. “I could make the switch. The differences between manufacturers are minor. But there’d be a learning curve.” Each implant has its quirks—how you seat it, what tools you use. “It’s probably a ten-case learning curve for me.” Wright suggested that he explain the situation to the manufacturer’s sales rep. “I’m my rep’s livelihood,” Ready said. “He probably makes five hundred dollars a case from me.” Ready spoke to his rep. The price was dropped.

Wright has become the hospital’s kitchen manager—not always a pleasant role. He told me that about half of the surgeons appreciate what he’s doing. The other half tolerate it at best. One or two have been outright hostile. But he has persevered, because he’s gratified by the results. The surgeons now use a single manufacturer for seventy-five per cent of their implants, giving the hospital bargaining power that has helped slash its knee-implant costs by half. And the start-to-finish standardization has led to vastly better outcomes. The distance patients can walk two days after surgery has increased from fifty-three to eighty-five feet. Nine out of ten could stand, walk, and climb at least a few stairs independently by the time of discharge. The amount of narcotic pain medications they required fell by a third. They could also leave the hospital nearly a full day earlier on average (which saved some two thousand dollars per patient).

My mother was one of the beneficiaries. She had insisted to Dr. Wright that she would need a week in the hospital after the operation and three weeks in a rehabilitation center. That was what she’d required for her previous knee operation, and this one was more extensive.
“We’ll see,” he told her.

The morning after her operation, he came in and told her that he wanted her getting out of bed, standing up, and doing a specific set of exercises he showed her. “He’s pushy, if you want to say it that way,” she told me. The physical therapists and nurses were, too. They were a team, and that was no small matter. I counted sixty-three different people involved in her care. Nineteen were doctors, including the surgeon and chief resident who assisted him, the anesthesiologists, the radiologists who reviewed her imaging scans, and the junior residents who examined her twice a day and adjusted her fluids and medications. Twenty-three were nurses, including her operating-room nurses, her recovery-room nurse, and the many ward nurses on their eight-to-twelve-hour shifts. There were also at least five physical therapists; sixteen patient-care assistants, helping check her vital signs, bathe her, and get her to the bathroom; plus X-ray and EKG technologists, transport workers, nurse practitioners, and physician assistants. I didn’t even count the bioengineers who serviced the equipment used, the pharmacists who dispensed her medications, or the kitchen staff preparing her food while taking into account her dietary limitations. They all had to coördinate their contributions, and they did.

Three days after her operation, she was getting in and out of bed on her own. She was on virtually no narcotic medication. She was starting to climb stairs. Her knee pain was actually less than before her operation. She left the hospital for the rehabilitation center that afternoon.

The biggest complaint that people have about health care is that no one ever takes responsibility for the total experience of care, for the costs, and for the results. My mother experienced what happens in medicine when someone takes charge. Of course, John Wright isn’t alone in trying to design and implement this kind of systematic care, in joint surgery and beyond. The Virginia Mason Medical Center, in Seattle, has done it for knee surgery and cancer care; the Geisinger Health Center, in Pennsylvania, has done it for cardiac surgery and primary care; the University of Michigan Health System standardized how its doctors give blood transfusions to patients, reducing the need for transfusions by thirty-one per cent and expenses by two hundred thousand dollars a month. Yet, unless such programs are ramped up on a nationwide scale, they aren’t going to do much to improve health care for most people or reduce the explosive growth of health-care costs.

In medicine, good ideas still take an appallingly long time to trickle down. Recently, the American Academy of Neurology and the American Headache Society released new guidelines for migraine-headache-treatment. They recommended treating severe migraine sufferers—who have more than six attacks a month—with preventive medications and listed several drugs that markedly reduce the occurrence of attacks. The authors noted, however, that previous guidelines going back more than a decade had recommended such remedies, and doctors were still not providing them to more than two-thirds of patients. One study examined how long it took several major discoveries, such as the finding that the use of beta-blockers after a heart attack improves survival, to reach even half of Americans. The answer was, on average, more than fifteen years.

Scaling good ideas has been one of our deepest problems in medicine. Regulation has had its place, but it has proved no more likely to produce great medicine than food inspectors are to produce great food. During the era of managed care, insurance-company reviewers did hardly any better. We’ve been stuck. But do we have to be?

Every six months, the Cheesecake Factory puts out a new menu. This means that everyone who works in its restaurants expects to learn something new twice a year. The March, 2012, Cheesecake Factory menu included thirteen new items. The teaching process is now finely honed: from start to finish, rollout takes just seven weeks.

The ideas for a new dish, or for tweaking an old one, can come from anywhere. One of the Boston prep cooks told me about an idea he once had that ended up in a recipe. David Overton, the founder and C.E.O. of the Cheesecake Factory, spends much of his time sampling a range of cuisines and comes up with many dishes himself. All the ideas, however, go through half a dozen chefs in the company’s test kitchen, in Calabasas. They figure out how to make each recipe reproducible, appealing, and affordable. Then they teach the new recipe to the company’s regional managers and kitchen managers.

Dave Luz, the Boston regional manager, went to California for training this past January with his chief kitchen manager, Tom Schmidt, a chef with fifteen years’ experience. They attended lectures, watched videos, participated in workshops. It sounded like a surgical conference. Where I might be taught a new surgical technique, they were taught the steps involved in preparing a “Santorini farro salad.” But there was a crucial difference. The Cheesecake instructors also trained the attendees how to teach what they were learning. In medicine, we hardly ever think about how to implement what we’ve learned. We learn what we want to, when we want to.

On the first training day, the kitchen managers worked their way through thirteen stations, preparing each new dish, and their performances were evaluated. The following day, they had to teach their regional managers how to prepare each dish—Schmidt taught Luz—and this time the instructors assessed how well the kitchen managers had taught.
The managers returned home to replicate the training session for the general manager and the chief kitchen manager of every restaurant in their region. The training at the Boston Prudential Center restaurant took place on two mornings, before the lunch rush. The first day, the managers taught the kitchen staff the new menu items. There was a lot of poring over the recipes and videos and fussing over the details. The second day, the cooks made the new dishes for the servers. This gave the cooks some practice preparing the food at speed, while allowing the servers to learn the new menu items. The dishes would go live in two weeks. I asked a couple of the line cooks how long it took them to learn to make the new food.

“I know it already,” one said.
“I make it two times, and that’s all I need,” the other said.
Come on, I said. How long before they had it down pat?
“One day,” they insisted. “It’s easy.”

I asked Schmidt how much time he thought the cooks required to master the recipes. They thought a day, I told him. He grinned. “More like a month,” he said.

Even a month would be enviable in medicine, where innovations commonly spread at a glacial pace. The new health-care chains, though, are betting that they can change that, in much the same way that other chains have.
Armin Ernst is responsible for intensive-care-unit operations in Steward’s ten hospitals. The I.C.U.s he oversees serve some eight thousand patients a year. In another era, an I.C.U. manager would have been a facilities expert. He would have spent his time making sure that the equipment, electronics, pharmacy resources, and nurse staffing were up to snuff. He would have regarded the I.C.U. as the doctors’ workshop, and he would have wanted to give them the best possible conditions to do their work as they saw fit.
Ernst, though, is a doctor—a new kind of doctor, whose goal is to help disseminate good ideas. He doesn’t see the I.C.U. as a doctors’ workshop. He sees it as the temporary home of the sickest, most fragile people in the country. Nowhere in health care do we expend more resources. Although fewer than one in four thousand Americans are in intensive care at any given time, they account for four per cent of national health-care costs. Ernst believes that his job is to make sure that everyone is collaborating to provide the most effective and least wasteful care possible.

He looked like a regular doctor to me. Ernst is fifty years old, a native German who received his medical degree at the University of Heidelberg before training in pulmonary and critical-care medicine in the United States. He wears a white hospital coat and talks about drips and ventilator settings, like any other critical-care specialist. But he doesn’t deal with patients: he deals with the people who deal with patients.

Ernst says he’s not telling clinicians what to do. Instead, he’s trying to get clinicians to agree on precise standards of care, and then make sure that they follow through on them. (The word “consensus” comes up a lot.) What I didn’t understand was how he could enforce such standards in ten hospitals across three thousand square miles.

Late one Friday evening, I joined an intensive-care-unit team on night duty. But this team was nowhere near a hospital. We were in a drab one-story building behind a meat-trucking facility outside of Boston, in a back section that Ernst called his I.C.U. command center. It was outfitted with millions of dollars’ worth of technology. Banks of computer screens carried a live feed of cardiac-monitor readings, radiology-imaging scans, and laboratory results from I.C.U. patients throughout Steward’s hospitals. Software monitored the stream and produced yellow and red alerts when it detected patterns that raised concerns. Doctors and nurses manned consoles where they could toggle on high-definition video cameras that allowed them to zoom into any I.C.U. room and talk directly to the staff on the scene or to the patients themselves.

The command center was just a few months old. The team had gone live in only four of the ten hospitals. But in the next several months Ernst’s “tele-I.C.U.” team will have the ability to monitor the care for every patient in every I.C.U. bed in the Steward health-care system.
A doctor, two nurses, and an administrative assistant were on duty in the command center each night I visited. Christina Monti was one of the nurses. A pixie-like thirty-year-old with nine years’ experience as a cardiac intensive-care nurse, she was covering Holy Family Hospital, on the New Hampshire border, and St. Elizabeth’s Medical Center, in Boston’s Brighton neighborhood. When I sat down with her, she was making her rounds, virtually.

First, she checked on the patients she had marked as most critical. She reviewed their most recent laboratory results, clinical notes, and medication changes in the electronic record. Then she made a “visit,” flicking on the two-way camera and audio system. If the patients were able to interact, she would say hello to them in their beds. She asked the staff members whether she could do anything for them. The tele-I.C.U. team provided the staff with extra eyes and ears when needed. If a crashing patient diverts the staff’s attention, the members of the remote team can keep an eye on the other patients. They can handle computer paperwork if a nurse falls behind; they can look up needed clinical information. The hospital staff have an OnStar-like button in every room that they can push to summon the tele-I.C.U. team.

Monti also ran through a series of checks for each patient. She had a reference list of the standards that Ernst had negotiated with the people running the I.C.U.s, and she looked to see if they were being followed. The standards covered basics, from hand hygiene to measures for stomach-ulcer prevention. In every room with a patient on a respirator, for instance, Monti made sure the nurse had propped the head of the bed up at least thirty degrees, which makes pneumonia less likely. She made sure the breathing tube in the patient’s mouth was secure, to reduce the risk of the tube’s falling out or becoming disconnected. She zoomed in on the medication pumps to check that the drips were dosed properly. She was not looking for bad nurses or bad doctors. She was looking for the kinds of misses that even excellent nurses and doctors can make under pressure.
The concept of the remote I.C.U. started with an effort to let specialists in critical-care medicine, who are in short supply, cover not just one but several community hospitals. Two hundred and fifty hospitals from Alaska to Virginia have installed a version of the tele-I.C.U. It produced significant improvements in outcomes and costs—and, some discovered, a means of driving better practices even in hospitals that had specialists on hand.
After five minutes of observation, however, I realized that the remote I.C.U. team wasn’t exactly in command; it was in negotiation. I observed Monti perform a video check on a middle-aged man who had just come out of heart surgery. A soft chime let the people in the room know she was dropping in. The man was unconscious, supported by a respirator and intravenous drips. At his bedside was a nurse hanging a bag of fluid. She seemed to stiffen at the chime’s sound.

“Hi,” Monti said to her. “I’m Chris. Just making my evening rounds. How are you?” The bedside nurse gave the screen only a sidelong glance.
Ernst wasn’t oblivious of the issue. He had taken pains to introduce the command center’s team, spending weeks visiting the units and bringing doctors and nurses out to tour the tele-I.C.U. before a camera was ever turned on. But there was no escaping the fact that these were strangers peering over the staff’s shoulders. The bedside nurse’s chilliness wasn’t hard to understand.

In a single hour, however, Monti had caught a number of problems. She noticed, for example, that a patient’s breathing tube had come loose. Another patient wasn’t getting recommended medication to prevent potentially fatal blood clots. Red alerts flashed on the screen—a patient with an abnormal potassium level that could cause heart-rhythm problems, another with a sudden leap in heart rate.

Monti made sure that the team wasn’t already on the case and that the alerts weren’t false alarms. Checking the computer, she figured out that a doctor had already ordered a potassium infusion for the woman with the low level. Flipping on a camera, she saw that the patient with the high heart rate was just experiencing the stress of being helped out of bed for the first time after surgery. But the unsecured breathing tube and the forgotten blood-clot medication proved to be oversights. Monti raised the concerns with the bedside staff.

Sometimes they resist. “You have got to be careful from patient to patient,” Gerard Hayes, the tele-I.C.U. doctor on duty, explained. “Pushing hard on one has ramifications for how it goes with a lot of patients. You don’t want to sour whole teams on the tele-I.C.U.” Across the country, several hospitals have decommissioned their systems. Clinicians have been known to place a gown over the camera, or even rip the camera out of the wall. Remote monitoring will never be the same as being at the bedside. One nurse called the command center to ask the team not to turn on the video system in her patient’s room: he was delirious and confused, and the sudden appearance of someone talking to him from the television would freak him out.
Still, you could see signs of change. I watched Hayes make his virtual rounds through the I.C.U. at St. Anne’s Hospital, in Fall River, near the Rhode Island border. He didn’t yet know all the members of the hospital staff—this was only his second night in the command center, and when he sees patients in person it’s at a hospital sixty miles north. So, in his dealings with the on-site clinicians, he was feeling his way.

Checking on one patient, he found a few problems. Mr. Karlage, as I’ll call him, was in his mid-fifties, an alcoholic smoker with cirrhosis of the liver, severe emphysema, terrible nutrition, and now a pneumonia that had put him into respiratory failure. The I.C.U. team injected him with antibiotics and sedatives, put a breathing tube down his throat, and forced pure oxygen into his lungs. Over a few hours, he stabilized, and the I.C.U. doctor was able to turn his attention to other patients.

But stabilizing a sick patient is like putting out a house fire. There can be smoldering embers just waiting to reignite. Hayes spotted a few. The ventilator remained set to push breaths at near-maximum pressure, and, given the patient’s severe emphysema, this risked causing a blowout. The oxygen concentration was still cranked up to a hundred per cent, which, over time, can damage the lungs. The team had also started several broad-spectrum antibiotics all at once, and this regimen had to be dialled back if they were to avoid breeding resistant bacteria.

Hayes had to notify the unit doctor. An earlier interaction, however, had not been promising. During a video check on a patient, Hayes had introduced himself and mentioned an issue he’d noticed. The unit doctor stared at him with folded arms, mouth shut tight. Hayes was a former Navy flight surgeon with twenty years’ experience as an I.C.U. doctor and looked to have at least a decade on the St. Anne’s doctor. But the doctor was no greenhorn, either, and gave him the brushoff: “The morning team can deal with that.” Now Hayes needed to call him about Mr. Karlage. He decided to do it by phone.

“Sounds like you’re having a busy night,” Hayes began when he reached the doctor. “Mr. Karlage is really turning around, huh?” Hayes praised the doctor’s work. Then he brought up his three issues, explaining what he thought could be done and why. He spoke like a consultant brought in to help. This went over better. The doctor seemed to accept Hayes’s suggestions.

Unlike a mere consultant, however, Hayes took a few extra steps to make sure his suggestions were carried out. He spoke to the nurse and the respiratory therapist by video and explained the changes needed. To carry out the plan, they needed written orders from the unit doctor. Hayes told them to call him back if they didn’t get the orders soon.

Half an hour later, Hayes called Mr. Karlage’s nurse again. She hadn’t received the orders. For all the millions of dollars of technology spent on the I.C.U. command center, this is where the plug meets the socket. The fundamental question in medicine is: Who is in charge? With the opening of the command center, Steward was trying to change the answer—it gave the remote doctors the authority to issue orders as well. The idea was that they could help when a unit doctor got too busy and fell behind, and that’s what Hayes chose to believe had happened. He entered the orders into the computer. In a conflict, however, the on-site physician has the final say. So Hayes texted the St. Anne’s doctor, informing him of the changes and asking if he’d let him know if he disagreed.

Hayes received no reply. No “thanks” or “got it” or “O.K.” After midnight, though, the unit doctor pressed the video call button and his face flashed onto Hayes’s screen. Hayes braced for a confrontation. Instead, the doctor said, “So I’ve got this other patient and I wanted to get your opinion.”
Hayes suppressed a smile. “Sure,” he said.

When he signed off, he seemed ready to high-five someone. “He called us,” he marvelled. The command center was gaining credibility.
Armin Ernst has big plans for the command center—a rollout of full-scale treatment protocols for patients with severe sepsis, acute respiratory-distress syndrome, and other conditions; strategies to reduce unnecessary costs; perhaps even computer forecasting of patient volume someday. Steward is already extending the command-center concept to in-patient psychiatry. Emergency rooms and surgery may be next. Other health systems are pursuing similar models. The command-center concept provides the possibility of, well, command.

Today, some ninety “super-regional” health-care systems have formed across the country—large, growing chains of clinics, hospitals, and home-care agencies. Most are not-for-profit. Financial analysts expect the successful ones to drive independent medical centers out of existence in much of the country—either by buying them up or by drawing away their patients with better quality and cost control. Some small clinics and stand-alone hospitals will undoubtedly remain successful, perhaps catering to the luxury end of health care the way gourmet restaurants do for food. But analysts expect that most of us will gravitate to the big systems, just as we have moved away from small pharmacies to CVS and Walmart.
Already, there have been startling changes. Cleveland Clinic, for example, opened nine regional hospitals in northeast Ohio, as well as health centers in southern Florida, Toronto, and Las Vegas, and is now going international, with a three-hundred-and-sixty-four-bed hospital in Abu Dhabi scheduled to open next year. It reached an agreement with Lowe’s, the home-improvement chain, guaranteeing a fixed price for cardiac surgery for the company’s employees and dependents. The prospect of getting better care for a lower price persuaded Lowe’s to cover all out-of-pocket costs for its insured workers to go to Cleveland, including co-payments, airfare, transportation, and lodging. Three other companies, including Kohl’s department stores, have made similar deals, and a dozen more, including Boeing, are in negotiations.

Big Medicine is on the way.
Reinventing medical care could produce hundreds of innovations. Some may be as simple as giving patients greater e-mail and online support from their clinicians, which would enable timelier advice and reduce the need for emergency-room visits. Others might involve smartphone apps for coaching the chronically ill in the management of their disease, new methods for getting advice from specialists, sophisticated systems for tracking outcomes and costs, and instant delivery to medical teams of up-to-date care protocols. Innovations could take a system that requires sixty-three clinicians for a knee replacement and knock the number down by half or more. But most significant will be the changes that finally put people like John Wright and Armin Ernst in charge of making care coherent, coördinated, and affordable. Essentially, we’re moving from a Jeffersonian ideal of small guilds and independent craftsmen to a Hamiltonian recognition of the advantages that size and centralized control can bring.

Yet it seems strange to pin our hopes on chains. We have no guarantee that Big Medicine will serve the social good. Whatever the industry, an increase in size and control creates the conditions for monopoly, which could do the opposite of what we want: suppress innovation and drive up costs over time. In the past, certainly, health-care systems that pursued size and market power were better at raising prices than at lowering them.
A new generation of medical leaders and institutions professes to have a different aim. But a lesson of the past century is that government can influence the behavior of big corporations, by requiring transparency about their performance and costs, and by enacting rules and limitations to protect the ordinary citizen. The federal government has broken up monopolies like Standard Oil and A.T. & T.; in some parts of the country, similar concerns could develop in health care.

Mixed feelings about the transformation are unavoidable. There’s not just the worry about what Big Medicine will do; there’s also the worry about how society and government will respond. For the changes to live up to our hopes—lower costs and better care for everyone—liberals will have to accept the growth of Big Medicine, and conservatives will have to accept the growth of strong public oversight.

The vast savings of Big Medicine could be widely shared—or reserved for a few. The clinicians who are trying to reinvent medicine aren’t doing it to make hedge-fund managers and bondholders richer; they want to see that everyone benefits from the savings their work generates—and that won’t be automatic.

Our new models come from industries that have learned to increase the capabilities and efficiency of the human beings who work for them. Yet the same industries have also tended to devalue those employees. The frontline worker, whether he is making cars, solar panels, or wasabi-crusted ahi tuna, now generates unprecedented value but receives little of the wealth he is creating. Can we avoid this as we revolutionize health care?

Those of us who work in the health-care chains will have to contend with new protocols and technology rollouts every six months, supervisors and project managers, and detailed metrics on our performance. Patients won’t just look for the best specialist anymore; they’ll look for the best system. Nurses and doctors will have to get used to delivering care in which our own convenience counts for less and the patients’ experience counts for more. We’ll also have to figure out how to reward people for taking the time and expense to teach the next generations of clinicians. All this will be an enormous upheaval, but it’s long overdue, and many people recognize that. When I asked Christina Monti, the Steward tele-I.C.U. nurse, why she wanted to work in a remote facility tangling with staffers who mostly regarded her with indifference or hostility, she told me, “Because I wanted to be part of the change.”

And we are seeing glimpses of this change. In my mother’s rehabilitation center, miles away from where her surgery was done, the physical therapists adhered to the exercise protocols that Dr. Wright’s knee factory had developed. He didn’t have a video command center, so he came out every other day to check on all the patients and make sure that the staff was following the program. My mother was sure she’d need a month in rehab, but she left in just a week, incurring a fraction of the costs she would have otherwise. She walked out the door using a cane. On her first day at home with me, she climbed two flights of stairs and walked around the block for exercise.

The critical question is how soon that sort of quality and cost control will be available to patients everywhere across the country. We’ve let health-care systems provide us with the equivalent of greasy-spoon fare at four-star prices, and the results have been ruinous. The Cheesecake Factory model represents our best prospect for change. Some will see danger in this. Many will see hope. And that’s probably the way it should be. ♦

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Article on Physician Burnout and Best Practice
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JCR Notes:

A primary care physician’s work includes vaccinations, screenings, chronic disease prevention and treatment, relationship building, family planning, behavioral health, counseling, and other vital but time-consuming work.

To be in full compliance with the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force recommendations, primary care physicians with average-sized patient populations need to dedicate 7.4 hours per day to preventative care alone. Taken in conjunction with the other primary care services, namely acute and chronic care, the estimated total working hours per primary care physician comes to 21.7 hours per day, or 108.5 hours per week.

“Complete Care” across 8500 physicians and 4.4 million members at SCPMG has four elements:

1. Share accountability:
share accountability for preventative and chronic care services (e.g., treating people with hypertension or women in need of a mammogram) with high-volume specialties.

2. Delegation:
One fundamental move was to transfer tasks from physicians — not just those in primary care — to non-physicians

3. Information technology
“Outreach team” manages information technologies that allowed patients to schedule visits from mobile apps, access online personalized health care plans (e.g., customized weight-loss calendars and healthy recipes), and manage complex schedules (e.g., the steps prior to a kidney transplant).

4. Standardized Care Process (see Atul Gawande Big Med)
“Proactive Office Encounter” (POE), ensures consistent evidence-based care at every encounter across the organization. At its core, the POE is an agreement of process and delegation of tasks between physicians and their administrative supports.

Glossary:
Medical assistants (MAs)
Licensed vocational nurses (LVNs)

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CREDIT HBR Case Study on SCPMG Primary Care Best Practice

How One California Medical Group Is Decreasing Physician Burnout
Sophia Arabadjis
Erin E. Sullivan
JUNE 07, 2017

Physician burnout is a growing problem for all health care systems in the United States. Burned-out physicians deliver lower quality care, reduce their hours, or stop practicing, reducing access to care around the country. Primary care physicians are particularly vulnerable: They have some of the highest burnout rates of any medical discipline.

As part of our work researching high-performing primary care systems, we discovered a system-wide approach launched by Southern California Permanente Medical Group (SCPMG) in 2004 that unburdens primary care physicians. We believe the program — Complete Care — may be a viable model for other institutions looking to decrease burnout or increase physician satisfaction. (While burnout can easily be measured, institutions often don’t publicly report their own rates and the associated turnover they experience. Consequently, we used physician satisfaction as a proxy for burnout in our research.)

In most health care systems, primary care physicians are the first stop for patients needing care. As a result, their patients’ needs — and their own tasks — vary immensely. A primary care physician’s work includes vaccinations, screenings, chronic disease prevention and treatment, relationship building, family planning, behavioral health, counseling, and other vital but time-consuming work.

Some studies have examined just how much time a primary care physician needs to do all of these tasks and the results are staggering. To be in full compliance with the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force recommendations, primary care physicians with average-sized patient populations need to dedicate 7.4 hours per day to preventative care alone. Taken in conjunction with the other primary care services, namely acute and chronic care, the estimated total working hours per primary care physician comes to 21.7 hours per day, or 108.5 hours per week. Given such workloads, the high burnout rate is hardly surprising.

While designed with the intent to improve quality of care, SCPMG’s Complete Care program also alleviates some of the identified drivers of physician burnout by following a systematic approach to care delivery. Comprised of 8,500 physicians, SCPMG consistently provides the highest quality care to the region’s 4.4 million plan members. And a recent study of SCPMG physician satisfaction suggests that regardless of discipline, physicians feel high levels of satisfaction in three key areas: their compensation, their perceived ability to deliver high-quality care, and their day-to-day professional lives.

Complete Care has four core elements:

Share Accountability with Specialists
A few years ago, SCPMG’s regional medical director of quality and clinical analysis noticed a plateauing effect in some preventative screenings where screenings rates failed to increase after a certain percentage. He asked his team to analyze how certain patient populations — for example, women in need of a mammogram — accessed the health care system. As approximately one in eight women will develop invasive breast cancer over the course of their lifetimes, a failure to receive the recommended preventative screening could have serious health repercussions.
What the team found was startling: Over the course of a year, nearly two-thirds of women clinically eligible for a mammogram never set foot in their primary care physician’s office. Instead they showed up in specialty care or urgent care.

While this discovery spurred more research into patient access, the outcome remained the same: To achieve better rates of preventative and chronic care compliance, specialists had to be brought into the fold.
SCPMG slowly started to share accountability for preventative and chronic care services (e.g., treating people with hypertension or women in need of a mammogram) with high-volume specialties. In order to bring the specialists on board, SCPMG identified and enlisted physician champions across the medical group to promote the program throughout the region; carefully timed the rollouts of different elements of the program pieces so increased demands wouldn’t overwhelm specialists; and crafted incentive programs whose payout was tied to their performance of preventative and chronic-care activities.

This reallocation of traditional primary care responsibilities has allowed SCPMG to achieve a high level of care integration and challenge traditional notions of roles and systems. Its specialists now have to respond to patients’ needs outside their immediate expertise: For example, a podiatrist will inquire whether a diabetic patient has had his or her regular eye examination, and an emergency room doctor will stitch up a cut and give immunizations in the same visit. And the whole system, not just primary care, is responsible for quality metrics related to prevention and chronic care (e.g., the percentage of eligible patients who received a mammogram).

In addition, SCPMG revamped the way it provided care to match how patients accessed and used their system. For example, it began promoting the idea of the comprehensive visit, where patients could see their primary care provider, get blood drawn, and pick up prescribed medications in the same building.

Ultimately, the burden on primary care physicians started to ease. Even more important, SCPMG estimates that Complete Care has saved over 17,000 lives.

Delegate Responsibility
“Right work, right people,” a guiding principle, helped shape the revamping of the organization’s infrastructure. One fundamental move was to transfer tasks from physicians — not just those in primary care — to non-physicians so physicians could spend their time doing tasks only they could do and everyone was working at the top of his or her license. For example, embedded nurse managers of diabetic patients help coordinate care visits, regularly communicate directly with patients about meeting their health goals (such as weekly calls about lower HbA1c levels), and track metrics on diabetic populations across the entire organization. At the same time, dedicated prescribing nurse practitioners work closely with physicians to monitor medication use, which in the case of blood thinners, is very time intensive and requires careful titration.

Leverage Technology

SCPMG invested in information technologies that allowed patients to schedule visits from mobile apps, access online personalized health care plans (e.g., customized weight-loss calendars and healthy recipes), and manage complex schedules (e.g., the steps prior to a kidney transplant). It also established a small outreach team (about four people) that uses large automated registries of patients to mail seasonal reminders (e.g., “it’s time for your flu vaccine shot”) and alerts about routine checkups (e.g., “you are due for a mammogram”) and handle other duties (e.g., coordinating mail-order, at-home fecal tests for colon cancer). In addition, the outreach team manages automated calls and e-mail reminders for the regions 4.4 million members.

Thanks to this reorganization of responsibilities and use of new technology, traditional primary care tasks such as monitoring blood thinners, managing diabetic care, and tracking patients eligibility for cancer screenings have been transferred to other people and processes within the SCPMG system.

Standardize Care Processes
The final element of Complete Care is the kind of process standardization advocated by Atul Gawande’s in his New Yorker article “Big Med.” Standardizing processes — and in particular, workflows — removes duplicative work, strengthens working relationships, and results in higher-functioning teams, reliable routines and higher-quality outcomes. In primary care, standardized workflows help create consistent communications between providers and staff and providers and patients, which allows physicians to spend more time during visits on patients’ pressing needs.
One such process, the “Proactive Office Encounter” (POE), ensures consistent evidence-based care at every encounter across the organization. At its core, the POE is an agreement of process and delegation of tasks between physicians and their administrative supports. It was originally developed to improve communications between support staff and physicians after SCPMG’s electronic medical record was introduced.
Medical assistants (MAs) and licensed vocational nurses (LVNs) are key players. A series of checklists embedded into the medical record guide their work both before and after the visit. These checklists contain symptoms, actions, and questions that are timely and specific to each patient based on age, disease status, and reason for his or her visit. Prior to the visit, MAs or LVNs contact patients with pre-visit instructions or to schedule necessary lab work. During the visit, they use the same checklists to follow up pre-visit instructions, take vitals, conduct medication reconciliation and prep the patient for the provider.

Pop-ups within the medical record indicate a patient’s eligibility for a new screening or regular test based on new literature, prompting the MAs or LVNs to ask patients for additional information. During the visit, physicians have access to the same checklists and data collected by the MAs or LVNs. This enables them to review the work quickly and efficiently and follow up on any flagged issues. After the visit with the physician, patients see an MA or LVN again and receive a summary of topics discussed with the provider and specific instructions or health education resources.

Contemporary physicians face many challenges: an aging population, rising rates of chronic conditions, workforce shortages, technological uncertainty, changing governmental policies, and greater disparities in health outcomes across populations. All of this, it could be argued, disproportionately affect primary care specialties. These factors promise to increase physician burnout unless something is done by health care organizations to ease their burden. SCPMG’s Complete Care initiative offers a viable blueprint to do just that.

Sophia Arabadjis is a researcher and case writer at the Harvard Medical School Center for Primary Care and a research assistant at the University of Colorado. She has investigated health systems in Europe and the United States.

Erin E. Sullivan is the research director of the Harvard Medical School Center for Primary Care. Her research focuses on high-performing primary care systems.

20th Century History on Health Care and Insurance

A historian’s take on health care and insurance in the US:

Key points:

Health care in the US is primarily driven by an “insurance company model”.’
There actually was a “medical marketplace” in early 20th century.
One of the best in that marketplace was a “prepaid physician group” with profit sharing for docs.
Truman proposed universal health care.
A.M.A. fought government intervention.
A.M.A. decided that the best way to keep the government out of their industry was to design a private sector model: the insurance company model.
In the insurance company model, insurance companies would pay physicians using fee-for-service compensation.
Thus, physicians became allied with insurance companies – both striving to keep government out of health care. Fee for service was their chosen model.
The model worked to expand coverage: from 25% of the population in 1945 to about 80 percent in 1965.
Elderly did not get covered as well. Congress stepped in with Medicare in 1965.
Because of rising prices, insurers gradually took over. “To constrain rising prices, insurers gradually introduced cost containment procedures and incrementally claimed supervisory authority over doctors. Soon they were reviewing their medical work, standardizing treatment blueprints tied to reimbursements and shaping the practice of medicine.”
Innovation in lacking. Concierge medicine experiments show some promise, like Atlas is Wichita.

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JCR comments:
It’s always easier looking backward. If only 25% of the population have health insurance, it seems eminently sensible that driving that number up to, say, 80% would be a high priority goal.

That’s what America did: it adopted a high priority goal to increase health insurance coverage from 25% to 80%. It’s chosen method was a fee-for-service reimbursement model – the “insurance model”. We put insurance companies in the driver’s seat, and we encouraged them to work with employers and physicians groups.

They were the middle man:

Insurers made sure that their employer clients had the benefits they needed to attract employees, at a cost that was practical.
Insurers also made sure that their physician partners supplied the services that they needed, at prices that were practical.

So, with the insurer-as-middle-man-model, we achieved our goal of enrolling 80%, up from 25%. 80% of the American population had health insurance in 1965.

So – what’s wrong with that?

It’s mostly very good. But…

Looking backward, it is obvious now that what is wrong: it is the remaining 20%. These are the unemployed – or the seniors – or the ones who have such ugly health attributes that their health costs are truly exorbitant.

While America was getting the 80% “squared away”, the 20% were left to fend for themselves. They overran emergency rooms; they took beds in charity hospitals; they died.

In 1965, we adopted Medicare and Medicaid. Medicare addressed the 20% who were seniors.
Medicaid addressed the 20% who were poor, such as:

Low-income families
Pregnant women
People of all ages with disabilities
People who need long-term care

Most of this happened over time, not in 1965. State offerings vary.

In 1997, we adopted CHIP for children. This addressed the 20% who were kids. 11 million kids got coverage. They were from families with too much income to qualify for Medicaid.

in 2003, we adopted MMA “The Medicare Prescription Drug Improvement and Modernization Act of 2003”. Under the MMA, private health plans were offered, approved by Medicare “Medicare Advantage Plans’. An optional prescription drug benefit was offered (“Part D”)

In 2011, the Affordable Care Act was adopted.

So, the key question for today is: why is our health care system such a mess. Read on:

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CREDIT: NYT https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/19/opinion/health-insurance-american-medical-association.html?emc=edit_th_20170619&nl=todaysheadlines&nlid=44049881&_r=0

The Opinion Pages | OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR
How Did Health Care Get to Be Such a Mess?
By CHRISTY FORD CHAPINJUNE 19, 2017
The problem with American health care is not the care. It’s the insurance.
Both parties have stumbled to enact comprehensive health care reform because they insist on patching up a rickety, malfunctioning model. The insurance company model drives up prices and fragments care. Rather than rejecting this jerry-built structure, the Democrats’ Obamacare legislation simply added a cracked support beam or two. The Republican bill will knock those out to focus on spackling other dilapidated parts of the system.

An alternative structure can be found in the early decades of the 20th century, when the medical marketplace offered a variety of models. Unions, businesses, consumer cooperatives and ethnic and African-American mutual aid societies had diverse ways of organizing and paying for medical care.

Physicians established a particularly elegant model: the prepaid doctor group. Unlike today’s physician practices, these groups usually staffed a variety of specialists, including general practitioners, surgeons and obstetricians. Patients received integrated care in one location, with group physicians from across specialties meeting regularly to review treatment options for their chronically ill or hard-to-treat patients.

Individuals and families paid a monthly fee, not to an insurance company but directly to the physician group. This system held down costs. Physicians typically earned a base salary plus a percentage of the group’s quarterly profits, so they lacked incentive to either ration care, which would lose them paying patients, or provide unnecessary care.

This contrasts with current examples of such financing arrangements. Where physicians earn a preset salary — for example, in Kaiser Permanente plans or in the British National Health Service — patients frequently complain about rationed or delayed care. When physicians are paid on a fee-for-service basis, for every service or procedure they provide — as they are under the insurance company model — then care is oversupplied. In these systems, costs escalate quickly.

Unfortunately, the leaders of the American Medical Association saw early health care models — union welfare funds, prepaid physician groups — as a threat. A.M.A. members sat on state licensing boards, so they could revoke the licenses of physicians who joined these “alternative” plans. A.M.A. officials likewise saw to it that recalcitrant physicians had their hospital admitting privileges rescinded.

The A.M.A. was also busy working to prevent government intervention in the medical field. Persistent federal efforts to reform health care began during the 1930s. After World War II, President Harry Truman proposed a universal health care system, and archival evidence suggests that policy makers hoped to build the program around prepaid physician groups.

A.M.A. officials decided that the best way to keep the government out of their industry was to design a private sector model: the insurance company model.

In this system, insurance companies would pay physicians using fee-for-service compensation. Insurers would pay for services even though they lacked the ability to control their supply. Moreover, the A.M.A. forbade insurers from supervising physician work and from financing multispecialty practices, which they feared might develop into medical corporations.

With the insurance company model, the A.M.A. could fight off Truman’s plan for universal care and, over the next decade, oppose more moderate reforms offered during the Eisenhower years.

Through each legislative battle, physicians and their new allies, insurers, argued that federal health care funding was unnecessary because they were expanding insurance coverage. Indeed, because of the perceived threat of reform, insurers weathered rapidly rising medical costs and unfavorable financial conditions to expand coverage from about a quarter of the population in 1945 to about 80 percent in 1965.

But private interests failed to cover a sufficient number of the elderly. Consequently, Congress stepped in to create Medicare in 1965. The private health care sector had far more capacity to manage a large, complex program than did the government, so Medicare was designed around the insurance company model. Insurers, moreover, were tasked with helping administer the program, acting as intermediaries between the government and service providers.

With Medicare, the demand for health services increased and medical costs became a national crisis. To constrain rising prices, insurers gradually introduced cost containment procedures and incrementally claimed supervisory authority over doctors. Soon they were reviewing their medical work, standardizing treatment blueprints tied to reimbursements and shaping the practice of medicine.

It’s easy to see the challenge of real reform: To actually bring down costs, legislators must roll back regulations to allow market innovation outside the insurance company model.

In some places, doctors are already trying their hand at practices similar to prepaid physician groups, as in concierge medicine experiments like the Atlas MD plan, a physician cooperative in Wichita, Kan. These plans must be able to skirt state insurance regulations and other laws, such as those prohibiting physicians from owning their own diagnostic facilities.

Both Democrats and Republicans could learn from this lost history of health care innovation.

Christy Ford Chapin is an associate professor of history at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, a visiting scholar at Johns Hopkins University and the author of “Ensuring America’s Health: The Public Creation of the Corporate Health Care System.”
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook and Twitter (@NYTopinion), and sign up for the Opinion Today newsletter.

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Brian Hudes Comment:

I saw this one, as well.  The author lost credibility for me.   Ironically, what the author clearly doesn’t realize is that she is making an argument for the Kaiser Permenante model.  However, she unfairly and without any data makes the following claim: 

“Where physicians earn a preset salary — for example, in Kaiser Permanente plans or in the British National Health Service — patients frequently complain about rationed or delayed care”

Here’s a more balanced and comprehensive assessment supported by third party research:

Health Care Members Speak

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Four Daily Well-Being Workouts

Marty Seligman is a renowned well-being researcher, and writes in today’s NYT about four practices for flourishing:

Identify Signature Strengths: Focus every day on personal strengths exhibited when you were at your best.

Find the Good: Focus every day on “why did this good thing happen”?

Make a Gratitude Visit: Visit a person you feel gratitude toward.

Respond Constructively: Practice active, constructive responses.

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CREDIT: Article Below Can Be Found at This Link

Get Happy: Four Well-Being Workouts

By JULIE SCELFO
APRIL 5, 2017
Relieving stress and anxiety might help you feel better — for a bit. Martin E.P. Seligman, a professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania and a pioneer in the field of positive psychology, does not see alleviating negative emotions as a path to happiness.
“Psychology is generally focused on how to relieve depression, anger and worry,” he said. “Freud and Schopenhauer said the most you can ever hope for in life is not to suffer, not to be miserable, and I think that view is empirically false, morally insidious, and a political and educational dead-end.”
“What makes life worth living,” he said, “is much more than the absence of the negative.”

To Dr. Seligman, the most effective long-term strategy for happiness is to actively cultivate well-being.

In his 2012 book, “Flourish: A Visionary New Understanding of Happiness and Well-Being,” he explored how well-being consists not merely of feeling happy (an emotion that can be fleeting) but of experiencing a sense of contentment in the knowledge that your life is flourishing and has meaning beyond your own pleasure.

To cultivate the components of well-being, which include engagement, good relationships, accomplishment and purpose, Dr. Seligman suggests these four exercises based on research at the Penn Positive Psychology Center, which he directs, and at other universities.

Identify Signature Strengths
Write down a story about a time when you were at your best. It doesn’t need to be a life-changing event but should have a clear beginning, middle and end. Reread it every day for a week, and each time ask yourself: “What personal strengths did I display when I was at my best?” Did you show a lot of creativity? Good judgment? Were you kind to other people? Loyal? Brave? Passionate? Forgiving? Honest?

Writing down your answers “puts you in touch with what you’re good at,” Dr. Seligman explained. The next step is to contemplate how to use these strengths to your advantage, intentionally organizing and structuring your life around them.

In a study by Dr. Seligman and colleagues published in American Psychologist, participants looked for an opportunity to deploy one of their signature strengths “in a new and different way” every day for one week.

“A week later, a month later, six months later, people had on average lower rates of depression and higher life satisfaction,” Dr. Seligman said. “Possible mechanisms could be more positive emotions. People like you more, relationships go better, life goes better.”

Find the Good
Set aside 10 minutes before you go to bed each night to write down three things that went really well that day. Next to each event answer the question, “Why did this good thing happen?”
Instead of focusing on life’s lows, which can increase the likelihood of depression, the exercise “turns your attention to the good things in life, so it changes what you attend to,” Dr. Seligman said. “Consciousness is like your tongue: It swirls around in the mouth looking for a cavity, and when it finds it, you focus on it. Imagine if your tongue went looking for a beautiful, healthy tooth.” Polish it.

Make a Gratitude Visit
Think of someone who has been especially kind to you but you have not properly thanked. Write a letter describing what he or she did and how it affected your life, and how you often remember the effort. Then arrange a meeting and read the letter aloud, in person.

“It’s common that when people do the gratitude visit both people weep out of joy,” Dr. Seligman said. Why is the experience so powerful? “It puts you in better touch with other people, with your place in the world.”

Respond Constructively
This exercise was inspired by the work of Shelly Gable, a social psychologist at the University of California, Santa Barbara, who has extensively studied marriages and other close relationships. The next time someone you care about shares good news, give what Dr. Gable calls an “active constructive response.”

That is, instead of saying something passive like, “Oh, that’s nice” or being dismissive, express genuine excitement. Prolong the discussion by, say, encouraging them to tell others or suggest a celebratory activity.

“Love goes better, commitment increases, and from the literature, even sex gets better after that.”

Julie Scelfo is a former staff writer for The Times who writes often about human behavior.

Microbiome Update

CREDIT: https://www.wsj.com/articles/how-disrupting-your-guts-rhythm-affects-your-health-1488164400?mod=e2tw

A healthy community of microbes in the gut maintains regular daily cycles of activities.
A healthy community of microbes in the gut maintains regular daily cycles of activities.PHOTO: WEIZMANN INSTITUTE
By LARRY M. GREENBERG
Updated Feb. 27, 2017 3:33 p.m. ET
4 COMMENTS
New research is helping to unravel the mystery of how disruptions to the bacteria in our gut, caused by an unhealthy diet or irregular sleep, can lead to a number of diseases.

Such research could someday result in new treatments for obesity, diabetes and other metabolic conditions by restoring the health of the gut-microbe community, known as the microbiota. Researchers are exploring how to do this through individualized diets and mealtimes or other interventions.

When gut microbiota are healthy, they maintain regular daily cycles of activities such as congregating in different parts of the intestine and producing metabolites, molecules that help the body function properly. A disruption of the gut’s circadian rhythms is communicated through the bloodstream and upsets many of the body’s other circadian clocks, especially in the liver, one of the main metabolic organs, according to a studyby Israel’s Weizmann Institute of Science published in the journal Cell in December.

The gut’s circadian rhythms and those in other organs “dance together in a very profound way and go up and down in coordination with each other,” says Eran Elinav, a physician and immunologist at the Weizmann Institute and one of the study’s lead investigators. “By controlling the gut microbiota, you can modify many physiological capabilities” throughout the body, he says.