In can be confusing and even demoralizing for a medical student or resident to understand what's expected of them when caring for patients with social needs. They already feel overwhelmed. Are they supposed to now also screen for housing insecurity? Is it their job to intervene to address social needs? And if someone else is doing the screening, what's their role? And are they also supposed to be advocating for changes to social policies? Finally, what's special about social needs as opposed to all the other reasons that, for instance, a patient can't control their diabetes? A patient may not be able to store their insulin because they are poor. Or they may not be able to administer it because they can't read the bottle or their fingers are arthritic.

Our guest, Emily Murphy MD, an academic hospitalist, provides her perspective on teaching medical students and residents about SDOH. Co-host Saul Weiner, expresses concern that messages to trainees about their roles are confusing, that the SDOH movement is just the latest buzzword in medicine, like "patient-centered care,", and that while getting a huge amount of attention the movement could ultimately have little impact on patient wellbeing. He, Dr. Murphy, and co-host Stefan Kertesz discuss these questions and concerns and consider what needs to change.

To commemorate the start of our fifth season, we revisit a conversation we had almost two years ago about the wisdom of Simon Auster, MD.

Simon was a family physician and psychiatrist who inspired the conversations we've been having with each other and with guests on every episode.

"Simonisms" embody Simon's insights: pithy observations about the practice of medicine that are never cliché, challenge commonly held assumptions and offer fresh perspectives.

We share -- and reflect on -- these pearls because we believe they can help many doctors, those in training, and those who train them, find joy and meaning in their work.

You can learn about Simon, who died in 2020, in an online (open access) essay about his life, published in The Pharos, the journal of the AOA medical honor society.

The two doctors charged for their roles in the events leading up to actor Matthew Perry's death were both involved in a "side hustle": selling ketamine at a big mark-up to make extra money, above what they earned through legitimate practice. One was an internist-pediatrician and the other an emergency medicine physician.

Their cynicism was starkly evident in a text one sent the other about jacking up the price: "I wonder how much this moron will pay. Let's find out." It's easy to write off these doctors as just bad apples; regrettable examples of how difficult it is to prevent a small number of unethical people from making it through medical school and residency.

But what about the profit-making that occurs when thousands of physicians perform procedures, including surgeries, for which there is strong evidence of NO benefit from randomized controlled trials, but with all the risks of pain and complications during recovery and over the long term?

From a patient's perspective is there really a difference between being subjected to predictable harm when you know your doctor is a drug dealer versus these practices within the mainstream of medicine where patients assume their physicians are acting in their best interests?

Which is the greater betrayal?

The term "Narrative Medicine" (NM) refers to a range of activities, including close reading and reflective writing about literature, designed to improve the clinician-patient relationship. What could go wrong? Our returning guest, English professor Laura Greene, lays out the case for narrative medicine, while co-host Saul Weiner highlights his concern that the challenges and rewards of interacting therapeutically with patients are categorically different from those of a physician interacting with a text. Unless proponents of narrative medicine articulate these differences explicitly, they risk creating unrealistic expectations about what NM can achieve, particularly in regard to actual healing interactions in the exam room.

There is an idealized version of physician-patient communication that is taught in medical schools, reinforced with acronyms like PEARLS, SPIKES, and LEARN, but what resemblance does it bear to how doctors actually sound in the exam room? Co-host Saul Weiner leads a research team that has audio recorded and analyzed thousands of medical encounters. In this episode, he and Stefan read a transcript from a typical visit, portraying patient and doctor, respectively, breaking out of role periodically to reflect on what's just happened. Throughout, the physician interacts with the computer, peppering their patient with questions while conducting data entry.

On the one hand, the visit is unremarkable. The physician seems reasonably conscientious. On the other, it is disturbing for their lack of engagement even when the patient shows signs of distress or confusion. What can we learn and teach by studying transcripts of real doctor-patient interactions, warts and all? Saul has posted over 400 of them, all de-identified, in a federal data repository.

The National Institute on Drug Abuse defines addiction as a "chronic disease" occurring in the brain – Many believe this definition can help to reduce stigma. But, is it helpful in the care of individual patients? In this episode we discuss what we gain and what we lose when we speak of people with addiction as having "diseased brains."

The view of addiction as a chronic disease has traction, supported first by mid 20th-century alcoholism research, and then by a flood of brain imaging and neurophysiologic studies. Functional MRIs highlight changes in the brain, whether the addiction is to a substance like alcohol or opioids, or to a behavior such as gambling or disordered eating. Many authorities suggest that the "brain disease" designation is not only correct on scientific grounds, but that it also advances a social priority: to blunt stigmatizing concepts of addiction as a weakness or moral failing.

However, many neuroscientists disagree with the brain disease model. Without disputing the brain science, they note that all learned behaviors change the brain, not just addiction. Also, people who reduce or stop use often report they chose to make that change because of new opportunities or intolerable consequences. The brain disease argument invites a second criticism: arguably, it lets unfettered capitalism off the hook – predatory industries spend billions to get people addicted. Calling it a disease of an organ conveniently focuses attention away from a predatory system.

Why does this debate matter for clinicians and patients? Saul interviews co-host, Stefan Kertesz, who is a primary care doctor and a board-certified addiction medicine specialist. Together we consider how addiction is a part of the human condition, which includes how we learn, how we relate to the environment in which we live, and how we are shaped by experiences.

Nearly everyone has habits that are problematic to varying degrees. How we think about addiction can shape our approach to patient care across a wide range of clinical interactions.

The National Institute on Drug Abuse defines addiction as a “chronic disease” occurring in the brain – Many believe this definition can help to reduce stigma. But is it helpful in the care of individual patients? In this episode we discuss what we gain and what we lose when we speak of people with addiction as having “diseased brains.”

The view of addiction as a chronic disease has traction, supported first by mid 20th-century alcoholism research, and then by a flood of brain imaging and neurophysiologic studies. Functional MRIs highlight changes in the brain, whether the addiction is to a substance like alcohol or opioids, or to a behavior such as gambling or disordered eating. Many authorities suggest that the “brain disease” designation is not only correct on scientific grounds, but that it also advances a social priority: to blunt stigmatizing concepts of addiction as a weakness or moral failing.

However, many neuroscientists disagree with the brain disease model. Without disputing the brain science, they note that all learned behaviors change the brain, not just addiction. Also, people who reduce or stop use often report they chose to make that change because of new opportunities or intolerable consequences.  The brain disease argument invites a second criticism:  arguably, it lets unfettered capitalism off the hook – predatory industries spend billions to get people addicted. Calling it a disease of an organ conveniently focuses attention away from a predatory system.

Why does this debate matter for clinicians and patients?  Saul interviews co-host, Stefan Kertesz, who is a primary care doctor and a board-certified addiction medicine specialist.  Together we consider how addiction is a part of the human condition, which includes how we learn, how we relate to the environment in which we live, and how we are shaped by experiences. 

Nearly everyone has habits that are problematic to varying degrees. How we think about addiction can shape our approach to patient care across a wide range of clinical interactions.

In his book, The Present Illness, American Health Care and Its Afflictions, physician and historian Martin Shapiro, MD, PhD, MPH presents a scathing critique of a profession suffused with status, money, and power. At the same time, he also describes many deeply caring and rewarding patient care experiences, his own and those of colleagues. But these relationships are only possible when the clinician has a clear understanding of the pernicious corrupting forces in medicine and consciously rejects them. This is a moral act that must be renewed continuously. They also require a capacity to confront one's own insecurities -- Dr. Shapiro describes years of psychotherapy that were essential to his own growth as a physician who can be fully present in the face of suffering.

Martin indicts the profession for producing far too many doctors who want to get rich and who are unprepared, through a faulty process of selection and training, to be truly caring towards those they serve. Martin reminds us that the motives of the profession have long been suspect, quoting Plato's Republic in which Socrates asks, "Is the physician a healer or a maker of money?" Never before, however, and nowhere on the scale found in the United States has health care become such a massive industry, one that keeps growing. Martin argues that the profession can only heal itself if it confronts its demons honestly and openly, beginning at the earliest stages of medical training.

A recent NEJM article and accompanying podcast episode ("Tough Love") authored and hosted by the Journal's national correspondent sound the alarm that a culture of grievance among medical students and trainees about the discomforts of medical training is threatening to undermine both their medical education and patient care. She also describes widespread anxiety among medical educators who feel fearful of speaking because of concerns of retaliation on social media. Absent from the discussion, however, are the voices of students and trainees who, in the podcast, are referred to as "our children." Medical Students and trainees we spoke with did not feel that their concerns are experiences were accurately characterized. We propose that medical educators are ill prepared for the shifting power dynamics, both in terms of knowing how to listen and how to lead.

"Sonny's Blues" is a 1956 story by the author, James Baldwin, about a "sensible" and pragmatic algebra teacher and his younger musically gifted younger brother ("Sonny"), who struggles with heroin addiction. Both of them, raised in Harlem, are deeply affected by anti-Black racism. Although the older brother, who narrates the story, feels responsible for Sonny, he struggles to relate to him. With the help of an English professor, Laura Greene at Augustana College, we reflect on some of the lessons of this story for the physician-patient relationship, especially when caring for individuals with substance use disorder. We explore the cost both to patients and to ourselves, as healthcare professionals, of holding patients at arm's length because we fear engaging, especially in the face of suffering.

A PDF of "Sonny's Blues," can be accessed from the story's Wiki page (scroll down to external links).