EPtalk by Dr. Jayne 8/20/20

There’s been so many notices from CMS in my inbox lately that I missed a biggie, and that was the recent release of the 2021 Medicare Physician Fee Schedule. CMS is planning to shuffle some of the telehealth codes, eliminating 70 or so codes from the 80-ish that were created to cover services during the pandemic. They are adding more than a dozen new codes, though, and some advocates are hopeful that the public comment period will lead them to add even more. They’re going to have an uphill battle since CMS isn’t convinced that the services are beneficial outside the context of a public health emergency. The organization will be looking for data to make a decision, and in reality, none of us know how long the declared emergency will last. Flu season will soon be upon us – I’ve already had patients trying to get vaccinated – and only time will tell.

The Physician Fee Schedule noticed was tucked in between about 10 emails about new resources and strategies and collaboration spaces for eCQM projects. In my previous life with a large health system, the clinical quality measures fell under my purview. I’m fairly certain that dealing with all the calculations and making sure our EHR was handling them properly killed more than a couple of my brain cells. I have tremendous respect for the IT and clinical teams that live in that world all the time, and just wish there could be an easier way to go about gathering the data needed to drive value-based care.

The American Academy of Family Physicians launched their new redesigned website today. Although it’s much cleaner than the old one, virtually no information is available from the home screen without going through menus. The entire first page is sucked up by a big graphical tile and the concept repeats down the screen, offering little value. They also changed the login scheme from one using the member number to one using an email address, forcing every single user to change their password.

A blurb they sent out about the update mentions the addition of new “mega-menus” for users to find their content, and I’m definitely not impressed. The menus are so long you have to scroll through them, and they completely cover the rest of the screen even though a good chunk of the menu popup is blank. Seems like perhaps it’s supposed to be optimized to some other form factor than the PC I was using it on. The menus are so big though I can’t imagine them on a phone screen. It took me four clicks to access content I used to find with one, so I give the update a grade of C at best.

A better website was the one for the COVID-19 Prevention Network, which I visited to volunteer for a potential vaccine trial. Based on the questions, I’m not sure what their ideal candidate looks like, but if they are seeking people who are constantly exposed to unmasked sick people, I might know a couple.

My clinical employer sent out a notice from a local medical testing place that is also doing vaccine trials, but I’d much rather participate in one that is part of a university study versus the commercial lab that was offering cash to participants. Not to mention that I have no desire to be part of a safety trial, but would be happy to be a guinea pig for one that determines whether the vaccine is effective in the real world.

I’ve read several articles in the last couple of weeks about so-called toxic positivity and its negative impact on people as they try to cope through the pandemic. Although experts agree that having a positive mindset can help with coping, when overdone, it can make it seem like the only way to deal with a negative situation is to put a happy face on it.

I’m a huge fan of Fred Rogers. As an adult reading about his life, one of the things I came to appreciate about him is that he told children that it was OK to feel mad, or sad, or bad. One of his goals was to help his viewers learn to process those emotions in a productive way. One study from 2018 looked at “The psychological health benefits of accepting negative emotions and thoughts” and found that those who don’t manage difficult emotions don’t do as well as individuals who manage them effectively.

I used to have someone in my life who told was constantly telling me to smile, which I loathed. Trust me, there is nothing to smile about when you’ve been on call in the critical care unit for over 24 hours, have had to pronounce patients dead overnight, or have had to do any of a number of difficult things that healthcare professionals do all the time. Years later, I understand that the real reason I hated the comment was that it was an attempt (conscious or not) to minimize or invalidate my experiences or to try to mold them into something that the other person was more comfortable with. As we learn more about the trauma that healthcare providers experience and other concepts such as moral injury, it becomes even more important to give ourselves permission to be less than OK.

Getting through this pandemic and whatever other economic and societal crises go along with it will be a long, hard slog across the globe. I saw a figure the other day that some 20% of first line healthcare workers had contemplated suicide in the last 90 days, which should be setting off alarm bells. As someone who has been personally touched by physician suicide this year, I encourage everyone to try to find moments to check on your co-workers and to care for each other.

This week provided another crazy day at the urgent care, where I was completely understaffed and “over-patiented.” We have some newer-ish staffers who are still a little freaked out about COVID, unlike the rest of us who are just used to it by now. Mask, double mask, face shield, let’s go. We were trading stories about whether we’re still doing the whole “strip in the garage and run to the shower” track and field event when we get home from work. 

The paramedic I was working with had me literally laughing out loud. His wife won’t let him in the house until he strips in the garage, sprays a cloud of Lysol, and walks through it to the shower. He refers to it as “the fog of war,” which was just the right degree of hilarious coming from a guy who served his country in both Iraq and Afghanistan and who could probably kill me three different ways with chewing gum and a popsicle stick. Somehow the camaraderie made up for the 68 patients I saw by myself, and I’m actually looking forward to my next shift.

What’s the funniest thing you’ve heard in the time of COVID? Leave a comment or email me.

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