Inner Thoughts

Better incentives, infrastructure key to unlocking collaboration

True collaboration should be embedded in the practice of medicine. It should be baked in, a given, something we don’t need to write columns on. Today, it’s not. In today’s health care environment, fully integrated, cross-disciplinary teams remain a work in progress. We need to move faster to better serve our patients.

Why? As with many things, there are financial reasons. There’s an incentive to be competitive with other caregivers because we get paid for services we perform. If your practice runs a test, that’s one test that my practice is not running and not getting paid for. Of course, we clinicians aren’t sitting around actively thinking that, but the structure of today’s predominant payment model and the way we physicians are trained makes it a natural, almost invisible, contributor.

These misaligned incentives, along with inconsistent infrastructure, put physicians in a tough spot. There’s a saying, “forgetting the face of your father,” meaning someone has lost touch with their roots. I worry we doctors have forgotten the face of our father, Hippocrates. We have built a system of care that is so complex it can at times be emotionally exhausting for all of us–patients and clinical staff.

Our patients come to us seeking advice and help. It shouldn’t be necessary for that advice to be linked to a relative value unit or monetary reward. Doctors want to provide a feeling of comfort and care, yet are losing that spirit because, when we walk out of the room, we often have to deal with redundancies and inconsistency and inefficiency within the system.

Collaboration will return if we can reset and reconnect to our purpose–bringing back the empathy, compassion, and spirit that sits at the heart of medicine. Collaboration happens when we all believe we’re doing it for a bigger purpose, something more than just revenue.

Think about it: the smartest people are scattered across the country. Instead of holding onto information because of the natural tendency towards tribalism, what if we shared it? What if we were able to view data together, at the same time? The problem will be solved–and probably relatively quickly. In this scenario, we see the shared purpose–the philosophical piece–and the tools/standards–the infrastructure.

I’m fortunate to work at University of Iowa Health Care, a place I believe provides an excellent case study in collaboration. People across our organization share information and are receptive to debate and counterargument. We’re unafraid to get around a table and see things through different perspectives. There’s an emphasis on teams, not on individuals trying to make a name for themselves.

Here’s an example: The sarcoma group here at University of Iowa Health Care was participating in a sarcoma clinical trial. For patients to participate, their eligibility had to be agreed upon by a radiation oncologist, a surgeon, a pathologist, and a couple of us oncologists.

A few weeks in, the clinical trial team called us and said, “You’re putting more patients than anyone into this trial. How are you doing it?” What they meant was, “How do you get opinionated, highly-educated leaders in their fields to agree so consistently?” Here’s the simple answer: We look at each patient’s care as a collaborative effort, and we decide as a group.

Our ability to make group decisions was built on a philosophy created long before we’d evaluated a single patient. We all knew the science of the trial, but beyond that, everyone on the board bought into a collaborative approach when they joined. We all agreed that we’d focus on the trial as an important resource for patients, that it represents a better treatment because at the time we didn’t have good answers. In other words, we had an agreement on the basic philosophy. Then, when two of us might argue, we could go back to the core values of mutual trust and respect for each other as professionals and people. That kept us from letting any one person’s opinion take on an outsized importance, which then lets us get to consensus quickly.

Which brings up a final point–relevant both to small teams and to our health care system as a whole. It’s the idea of delegation and specialization. Creating standards and a shared language requires an arbiter. In the oncology world, we have the American Society of Clinical Oncology, the National Comprehensive Cancer Network, and other groups to manage guidelines that help us navigate very difficult decisions.

Using oncology as an example, we need to allow others to be in charge. Today, instead of acknowledging, “Sloan Kettering is the best in sarcoma; let’s all let them guide best practices for the sarcoma world,” some might fight the idea and compete to displace them as number one. This is largely a waste. Delegation allows expertise to shine and specialization to emerge. It also allows for standardization, because only one group is creating the guardrails.

Ultimately, what we need to do as clinicians is create an environment that lets each organization, each department, and each provider operate at the height of their ability. Change the ecosystem, remove distractions. We need good leadership to see opportunities to make changes that remove burdens.

This is not to pass the buck onto a faceless administration or to call out executives (or department heads, or anyone). We all have some form of leadership role, and it is therefore incumbent on each of us to find those opportunities. We are responsible for managing our own ego and not just recognizing but celebrating the fact that others will supersede our abilities. Rather than defending against that reality, we should embrace it.

My hope is that we can bring a moonshot mentality to all of medicine. Not necessarily in terms of the solving-huge-problems (though that’s important), but in terms of collective action. Former Vice President Biden demonstrated this idea when launching the National Cancer Moonshot initiative: the focus was on collaboration as much as it was the scale of the problem being solved. Why not instill the same attitude across medicine, regardless of whether a program is a national initiative backed by prominent names or an intra-institutional research project? Why not spur collective action towards creating an industry-wide culture of collaborative care?

– Mohammed M. Milhem, MBBS

Quiet

“I don’t need this right now,” he said as I finished telling my patient the plan of his care. He had been quiet. I sighed and made my way back to my chair to settle down. Sitting down, I let my mind wander. It’s not easy to change things midstream but I think oncologists should re-examine when prompted subtly or blatantly, to what they are actually saying to a patient. I started to eliminate the stressors that plague every day practice. It’s a busy clinic, 40 odd some patients to see, bouncing between good and bad news. We were both quiet. In his silence I sensed his resentment, and I felt sad. Behind his silence, there was anger.

He fidgeted. I watched him remove his cap, stifled by the news I had just delivered. They try to teach you this in medical school as my mind raced through my training (14 years), empathy they called it. As a physician I have learned not to depend only on my training to help my patients but also on my life experiences that have brought me to where I am. I searched for something within my life that he could relate to; I know adversity and I know anger. I looked specifically for strengths that I had understood at his age when I myself had faced difficult situations. Yes, I thought quietly, I know where you are. You’re angry. I let that emotion into me, a little bit of self-exposure, and the patient and I became one. Sometimes it’s hard to invite a complete stranger into your own home, but anger was not a stranger to me.

I was young when I was touched by a war – the Gulf crisis as it is referred to. I was angry then, like a young person would be if their life had been interrupted by something they had no control over. Cancer is a war. It demands a constant engagement of every aspect of our humanness to fight. It does not mean we fight without emotion. It does not mean we are raving lunatics either. It’s a constellation of problems, an inconvenience, a cost, and an interruption. It puts a halt on education, careers, motherhood, retirement, and vacation. It consumes time, money, and emotions. There is never a good time for it, and there never will be. Empathy is a deep connection that exists between two humans where one can show true understanding and bring meaning to a difficult situation. Empathy is not observed it is felt.

We sat quietly. Nothing more needed to be said. In the end, like a spilt jug of water on the floor, we both got up and started to pick up the pieces and clean the mess. Cancer, you can’t defeat the human spirit. Cancer, you are just in the way. Cancer you are not winning anything. Cancer, you have a lot to answer to. Naive is my scientific brain, just as bravery is when facing a formidable foe. I am not the one to bring cancer to its knees but I do believe that those who suffer from it do that daily.

Mo

 

Eureka!

As I sat and watched, with awe, Vice President Biden’s summit speech on his vision of the cancer moonshot, I came alive and transformed… I felt empowered and validated. Oh the calamity of thoughts that went through my head. “By golly he’s got it!” Everyone has been there at some point, that delirium that accompanies figuring something out. “Eureka!” I thought. Mine hit all at once, and I have been reeling ever since that day of June 29th but my mind is settling to tell you a story. My friends, I am back, maybe not as often, but I will tell you I never left.

He sat across my stool afraid. He was bright eyed, sharp and thinking through the things I had discussed. “You are going to do what?” he asked, “Inject my sarcoma with a herpes virus?” I remained calm but my passion was bursting out of me because I was excited. This was my idea, an idea that has been brewing in my mind for the last 2 years, an idea that allowed me to use my knowledge to help someone, a clinical trial that I wrote. I don’t know how my patients do it; they find the wisdom, the courage, the generosity and open-mindedness to accept my words. Was it that I danced in front of him telling him about the science? Was it the cancer that inspired him to be creative? Was it his immense trust in me? It did not take him long to contemplate the proposal, to believe as he told me. Enter Subject 001.

Cancer, as VP Biden clearly remarked, is a threat the human race can unite to double the rate at which we make progress in trying to push and propagate the knowledge we have to solve its mysteries. As I reflect on this statement, the one person who comes to mind is subject 001- I get the equivalent feeling that we as humans were able to conquer space to get to the moon and back, I reflect on the day I put my patient on my trial, a trial that was unique in its rights, different and innovative. Subject 001 to me, is the first person on the moon. What a feeling!

Eureka! The day has come for us to find out that I am out of a job, that cancer has been cured, that the world is at peace, that we have overcome our fears and that we have won the war against despair. Yeah sure, we all dream. And maybe that is what makes us achieve our dreams; our hopes, our engagement and our efforts. Perhaps it’s a man standing up and saying, “What’s wrong? Why can’t we do this?” I sometimes recognize how hard it is for a General in the army to will his soldiers to go to battle. This is a war, an urgent need to develop cancer breakthroughs and a strong message for us to do things without submitting to bureaucracy, greed, and negative inertia.

“My patient is interested in joining this clinical trial” the bark of a General that does this daily. The coordinator picks up her task; she is as excited as I am. What drives people to work so hard behind the scenes to actualize a clinical trial still fascinates me. It is this ownership, this dedication that can turn the tables in this fight against this devastating disease… let’s not turn against each other, retard each other’s progress, allow politics and competition to stop us.

Don’t just sit there, do something! Don’t put it off for another day, don’t lean on reasons not to act, but rather seize the moment you are in and become part of the history-changing initiative, become a part of how we revolutionize cancer treatment.

Mo.

Inhabited

“It’s just so hard, Mo!” she exclaimed amidst tears, taking in labored breaths with her oxygen on. I had delivered the news that the tumors again were stable, which just meant they were not growing. “Stable”, I wonder where we come up with such terms and expect our patients to grasp the meaning. Stable, I guess, means: it’s quiet, not dramatic or anything, not out of control.. but then it is all relative. The cancer has not left her body. In each nodule billions of cells divide and multiply, and the CT scan is unable to tell the whole truth of what really was going on.

The conversation took a turn to where she was now sobbing. So lets do this like the movies, where a screen shot would say something like ….

10 minutes earlier

I had walked in and greeted my patient with a hug, she was a big advocate of my program and always supported cancer research. I had gone off on a tangent telling her about a new way of attacking cancer based on a test we were now doing in the cancer clinic identifying potential genetic targets. Here I go again sounding all sophisticated, but cancer growth often is dependent on what we call “pathways” that cause the cancer cells to survive in the environment they grow in. If identified, these signals can also be interrupted and the cancer treated, controlled or stabilized. I had found a potential agent that could be added to her current regimen and I was talking to her about this, when she suddenly started to sob.

“Stable” the word just hung there in the air. Not better, not gone. I felt the hard truth was that she was inhabited by this cancer. It was not going away like we would hope when we deliver therapy. She carries it along with her every day, in her body, memory, and heart. She must live amongst her family and forget that it exists. The oxygen prongs in her nose a constant reminder of the damage it had done to her lungs and her breathing. How does she do it? Is that what is hard?

Her next words, the gist of which was…..”I know the day will come when what you will say is not what I want to hear, that day when my tumor gets the better of me.” She followed by ” You need to blog. Your blogs help, they help me”. She is not the first to reach out to me to write.

What is touching is that she came with a gift to the scientific enterprise that comes up with answers and defines new attack schemas against this un-welcomed inhabitant. This gift, I explained to her, opens the doors to researchers that find ways to understand the alien lurking inside her for future cancer patients.

I held the envelope in my hand and I thanked her for her supporting cancer research: “every breath, every word and every gift goes a long way” I said. She told me that what I said helped. She wanted to share her message with her friends, explaining to them the power of what we can do as a collective group, to fight the rarity of what she has as we define the finest details of this complex disease.

Cancer has a different face now. It is constantly changing; evolving and so is our understanding of it. While this cancer is an intrinsic inhabitant of some of the people I have come to love and respect, never does my mind rest in searching for solutions to the issues that it keeps presenting. It cannot bend the spirit of the patient fighting, the family supporting and of the researchers who strive to impact the lives they so stringently try to save. “Stable”, while good, is far from where we want to be.

I am with you today my friend

Mo

 

Permission

“You’re a good man”, said my patient as he hugged me. He was tapping me kindly on my back. He had waited for over an hour to see me. Wheelchair bound I was saddened when I walked in to see him. I was realizing the end was near as the quote of the series Dr. Who flashed through my mind…when The Doctor says….” I am not a good man, but I am not bad man, I am definitely not a president, or a general or an officer…….I am in idiot with a box and a screwdriver, helping out when I can, learning.” The obvious part is that I am helping out when I can, and the rest of the truth is that I am an idiot passing through with the knowledge I have acquired, and learning as I go. I discovered that my patients have been teaching me something they do very well; teaching me how to die. Here he sat in the wheelchair, he looked ready. What was he waiting for?

I have acquired an innate understanding of death. I recognize it, I accept it, and I too am scared of it. It is a stretch to talk about death like we do about life. Death is more inevitable than life itself yet we tend to dismiss it. We focus on life, and on the aspects that are important to develop a career, an education, a pathway and a life, a relationship and a way to replicate ourselves and bring in more lives to this world. But, as I talk to so many who are ready to transition to death, I tend to think of it as a suspension. That is another story for another day. This man was a little different he made a trip to see me, but I am hiding the ending behind the veil, because it is what is making my statement more powerful. He is making me talk about death to you as intimate, as something there, and maybe we should not be dismissing it. We tend to not want to embark on the journey that challenges our intellect or our comfort, or our narcissism. We do not talk about it objectively or even humorously like we do about a thrilling story in Halloween, not every day, not all the time. We do not talk about it with a bit of comradery, or some spirituality, or some vulnerability? “It” is the way we observe it. Why are we talking about Dr. Who?

He sat there. Haggard. I told him it was time to die. That he should be made “Hospice”, that his cancer was everywhere, and that there is nothing I could do. I was sure of that. My mind fighting the words, “We have had this conversation……why did you come?” He gracefully accepted and hugged me. All the people in the room did that. Why so thankful I thought? How could death today not be so familiar to me, I say goodbye to so many. The relationship being re-defined. The news came the next morning, he died early morning peacefully surrounded by his family. I make sure I always ask how. My heart goes out to his family and I was sad. He knew what he was doing. He signaled that he was dying, as if he wanted permission to give in to its call. He wanted to not let me down, not let his family down he was fighting for those around him. Once the news was out, he let go.

I am just passing through, learning from those who travel into the suspension they go.

Mo