Month: March 2022

My war against PHARMA and the insurance companies is destined to fail.  In my first attempt to raise an army of patients, I enlisted NOBODY!  Yes, not one individual showed any interest in writing Congress, PHARMA or the insurance companies. While I was not surprised, I was disappointed.

Until people are willing to stand up against today’s healthcare complex, the only changes we will experience will be costly, increasing the cost of medication, labs, procedures and x-ray.  I will push on, working to expose price gauging and the inequalities between the private system and Medicare. 

My campaign will focus on uncovering just how much money PHARMA and the insurers pour into the campaigns of our political leaders and sharing those numbers with you.  My primary focus will be on those politicians who campaigned on the promise of lowering healthcare costs and reigning in the cost of medications.

Next, I plan on exposing the discrepancies in cost between what US pharmacies and foreign pharmacies charge.  I will tell you that        Canadians and Mexicans must be much brighter than U.S. citizens.  To understand what I’m talking about, all you have to do is read the package insert that comes with the product.  A US package insert is careful to tell you not to eat it, cook with it, put it in your anus, give it to children, etc.  The Mexican insert simply says take as directed.  I guess they don’t use anything rectally unless so instructed; and we, on the other hand, might shove something up our buns just to see what might happen!

As I’m writing this, I’m starting to realize how daunting a task this is going to be.  I’m going to need a lot of help. These companies are not going to say,” Wow, you caught me!  What do you want me to do?”  Instead, they’re going to fight back. Now I’m getting paranoid.  I wonder if using the word “army” puts me on a watch list.

Maybe I should scrap this idea.  What do you think?  I think I’ll fork over my $15,000 a year for my new medication and eat hot dogs at Costco.

Now for an update.  My DBS surgery is on Wednesday.  The last time I was this scared was when I saw “IT”.  I’M JOKING!  I’M REALLY NOT SCARED.

 I’VE GOT A GOOD TEAM.  OF COURSE, THE CUBS HAD A GOOD TEAM AND LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM.

One last thought.  Wouldn’t it be cool if some of you guys got together and started to do what I set out to do?

On March 14, 2019, I died.  Retirement was synonymous with death!  At the age of 13, I decided to become a physician and I fulfilled that promise.  In my world, the patient came first.  I took the Hippocratic Oath seriously, advocating for my patients and treating them literally around the clock.

Once, a respected colleague of mine described me as a “bull in a China shop” as I plowed through any barrier to get my patient the care he/she needed.  I negotiated with the hospital, insurance companies, and pharmacies to provide my patients with whatever they needed.  I enlisted an army of healthcare providers who worked along with me.

In the early days, Good Shepherd Hospital stood at my side.  The CFO wrote off entire bills when necessary.  The medical staff established “The Sunshine Fund” (TSF) from which physicians could withdraw money to help hospitalized patients. TSF actually covered the expense of a babysitter so that a father could visit his wife in the hospital.

Wauconda Pharmacy and Osco Lake Zurich could be counted on to cut the price of essential medications when necessary.  PHARMA provided samples when patients could not pay for their meds.  I had a homeless and jobless patient on medication for a seizure disorder.  I spoke with the CEO of the company who made the medication he needed, and a year’s worth showed up a few days later.

My specialist referrals always responded to my call for help, often waiving their fees.  The local CT and MRI centers also offered reduced pricing to those in need. Local religious organizations helped finding counseling and durable medical supplies.

Then things changed.  Hospitals merged into “healthcare systems” that concentrated more on the system than on healthcare.  For the most part, charity vanished.  I will forever be indebted for Mr. T who, till the day he retired, would go out of his way to help my patients cover their bills.

The owner of Wauconda Pharmacy stood by my patients for my entire career.  He helped countless patients find the means to obtain their medications as did the pharmacists at Osco.  I often provided patients in need with full courses of samples and my pharma reps quietly worked with me.  Unfortunately, their employer, “Big Pharma, had an appetite for money and would feast on the elderly and sick.

I sat on national advisory boards for Glaxo, Astrazeneca, Pfizer, and others and worked hard to convince PHARMA that it needed to scrap the expensive and obnoxious TV advertisements, as well as getting rid of the discount programs (not open to Medicare patients) and simply cut the cost of their medications.  I failed.

I fought for my patients until the end.  Then I retired.  I didn’t really die, but I might as well have died.  The state of my once proud profession has deteriorated beyond belief.

Today, I found my new purpose in life.  Not surprisingly, my purpose in life is to become a patient advocate, only now I’m coming at it as both a doctor and patient.  I just got off the phone with the pharmacist at Humana.  He verified that the medication I needed was in fact going to cost $1500 a month.  He suggested that I try the Humana covered alternative at a cost of $1000 a month.  He also verified that a third of the patients on the alternative will have severe nausea and vomit.  The medication is used when the patient cannot ambulate. I think it works by making you run to the bathroom so you can puke in the toilet instead of on the family room carpet!

Congress and the President have promised to do something about the cost of medications and healthcare in general.  They have done nothing to remedy the situation while enjoying PHARMA’s campaign contributions.

To accomplish anything, I need an army. That’s where you come in!  I need you to write!  I need you to write to your congressional leaders.  I need you to write to the President.  I need you to write to PHARMA, your local pharmacy, hospital and doctors.  

I know what you’re thinking.  Isn’t that what AARP is supposed top do?  As far as I’m concerned, AARP is an insurance company.  AARP is an advertising agency!  AARP is . . .

Help me help you.  This old bull is ready to break some glass and make medications affordable and available to the masses. 

The Triangle of Knowledge and its importance to doctor.  In reality, the pyramid of knowledge should play a major role in every decision you make, regardless of your vocation or lot in life.

The apex of the pyramid represents what you know.  As it turns out, no matter how smart or well educated you are, what you know accounts for a small percentage of all knowledge.

The midsection of the pyramid represents what you know that you don’t know. I know that I don’t know how to fly a jet.  I know that I don’t know how to insert an electrical conduit in a person’s brain.  Knowing what you don’t know is essential if you want both to avoid problems and find someone to fix them.  When I referred you to a specialist, it was because that individual’s job was to know about the things I didn’t know about and then to diagnose and treat those problems when necessary.

The third (largest) section of the pyramid of knowledge represents what you don’t know that you don’t know.  What you don’t know that you don’t know is what can hurt you the worst.  What I did my entire life was to “PRACTICE” medicine.  Delivering medical care has always been referred to as “THE PRACTICE OF MEDICAL CARE,” in recognition of the fact that there is much that we don’t know about the human condition and disease.  Over the last 40 years, my job has been to increase my knowledge and decrease the “I don’t know that I don’t know” portion of the pyramid.

Now for a true story.  I’ve been having trouble getting in and out of bed.  I’ve tried multiple interventions, including buying a new bed, all without success.  Renee is great at doing research and showed me a floor to ceiling bar that she thought would work.  I, a man of infinite wisdom, told her it wouldn’t work.  Further, I told her it would probably ruin both the floor and ceiling.  She, in her infinite wisdom, ordered it anyway.  Brian, my brother-in-law, and Abe, my brother from another mother, installed my pole yesterday.

Again, I was confident that a floor to ceiling pole by my bed would not help me (and that Renee certainly wasn’t going to take up pole dancing).  I was wrong!  The pole helped.  Time to eat crow! “Sorry for underestimating you.”  [Realistically, I was partially right; Renee is not going to do any pole dancing.]

Knowing what you don’t know and who knows it can save you a lot of grief.  As I grow older, the things I don’t know are becoming more plentiful.  Luckily, I have a brilliant wife whose job in life is caring for me.  Her knowledge base compliments mine, filling in the gaps.

I know I’m risking my membership in the Society of Men by admitting that my wife is right, but she is (and often).

Here’s your joke of the day:

Annoyed by the professor of anatomy who liked to tell “naughty” stories during class, a group of female students decided that the next time he started to tell one, they would all rise and leave the room in protest. The professor, however, got wind of their scheme just before class the following day, so he bided his time. Then, halfway through the lecture, he began. “They say there is quite a shortage of prostitutes in France.” The girls looked at one another, arose and started for the door. “Young ladies,” said the professor with a broad smile, “the next plane doesn’t leave till tomorrow afternoon.”

Usually, words come easy, spilling onto the pages I will publish. Originally, my articles were designed to teach individuals how to be better patients and how to care for themselves. I addressed current medical controversies and treatment protocols, as well as the importance of having a functional medical family. Eight years ago, I started on meds for Parkinson’s and everything changed.  My articles became more personal, giving my readers a front row seat from which they could witness the effects of chronic illness on the lives of those dealing with such devastation. While my original articles were meant to help my patients take better care of themselves, my recent articles should help the families of their chronically ill loved one better understand and care for their charge.

I have become more pessimistic and essentially capitulated to Parkinson’s.  In my role as a doc, I found that the patients that give up (such as myself,) don’t do very well.  In my case, every time I allow a smidgeon of optimism to sneak into my life, I find myself facing new source of pain and suffering.   It’s as if I have a roulette wheel with body parts instead of numbers.  Every morning I spin the wheel.  Whatever body part I land on is the one that will bother me today.

I Facetime with my brother every day and every day I see the benefit of hard work and healthy attitude.  I’ve started to write about my brother multiple times and find that doing him justice is beyond my capability.  Nonetheless, I’ll try.  Alan, in many ways, is my opposite.  He worked out in a gym while I worked out in the refrigerator. When he was faced with a debilitating stroke, he refused to capitulate, fighting to get the use of his leg and arm back.  I replayed images of my grandfather and father’s Parkinson’s, buried my head in the sand, and refused to admit that my foe was attacking or that there was something I could do to slow the disease process.  The list goes on.

I’ve always looked up to my older brother, but never really told him how I felt.  There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.  As a rule, what disability you have at the end of the first post stroke year is what you are left with.  Not my brother! He continues to gain function by battling through physical therapy and refusing to give in to his losses.  He works at lifting my spirits while I write depressing articles and slide further into my disability.  I must embarrass him.

I failed to mention him or Martha, my other sister from another mother, in my last article.  Writing at 3 am is probably not a good idea. They are coming to see me at great personal peril.  Their major risk is that I take the wind out of his sail with my attitude. Traveling by car from Tennessee is not going to be easy. Not having your own chair, bed, and bathroom poses new problems. Our recent trip to Disney reminded me how difficult life can be when away from your usual abode.  Like Renee, Martha has become responsible for everything!  The packing and trip preparations Alan and I used to do have now fallen on our wives. They have become superwomen caregivers.  Frankly, I’m wearing Renee out.

I love my brother and sister.  Unfortunately, we lived our lives miles apart and never traveled together or spent much social time together.  Those who read my blog know I advise against playing the “would’a, could’a, should’a game”; but waiting until you are ill to see each other is insane.

It’s a pity that there are no do overs.  If you could play the “would’a, could’a, should’a game,” I would follow my own advice, spend more time with family, stress less, eat better, and exercise.  Oh, well.

Maybe there is a God however the devastation caused by war makes me wonder.  As many of you know, I’m having a deep brain stimulator (DBS) implanted in my brain on the 23^rd of this month.  What you may not know is how scared I am! I shouldn’t be.  I practiced medicine for close to 40 years and have done or seen it all.  Years ago, I assisted my local neurosurgeon in a case of traumatic brain injury and even bored holes in a child’s skull.  She did great, as did the other patients I assisted with.   Even though our tools were primitive compared to today’s tools, our patients did well.

Nonetheless, I’m scared.  I worry about having a stroke or bleed.  I worry about becoming even more of a burden on my wife than I am today.  It may surprise you, but I worry about worsening and NOT dying.  I do not want to be a burden to my family or linger in a nursing home. Realistically, DB is going to help or it’s not going to help; and I’ll deal with whatever comes my way.

Just in case I don’t survive the surgery, I’m having a going away party over the next few weeks.  My family is trickling in from Virginia, New Jersey, and Georgia.  I have been blessed with two childhood friends/brothers.  I talk to them frequently and both had reasons why they couldn’t be here.  Internet hugs are just not as good as real hugs, but they would just have to do.

Maybe there is a God, and maybe He/She/or whatever pronoun you choose to use was looking after me today and recognized how badly I need an Abe hug.  Abe was scheduled to fly into Charlotte today and make a connection to his flight to the Virgin Islands.  Apparently, a bank of fog rolled in, closing the airport, and causing Abe’s plane to circle long enough to miss his connection. Yep, you guessed it. Abe and Linda are spending the night; and, having been able to hug them and tell them I loved them has alleviated many of my fears and concerns.

There is a Yiddish word, B’Shert, that translates to “meant to be.” What was unfortunate for Abe and Linda turned out to be a blessing for Renee and me.  I’ll drive them to the airport tomorrow knowing that their layover here was B’Shert no matter what happens in the OR.

Ripped off and pissed!  Embarrassed! Guilty! Ashamed! Trapped! Taken advantage of! Scared! These are some of the emotions I’m dealing with tonight!  Let me explain.  My Parkinson’s is getting worse rapidly.  I “freeze” meaning that my legs won’t obey my brain’s command.  It’s like I’m cemented to the floor.  It lasts a variable amount of time and can be embarrassing.  Imagine you have to go to the bathroom (really bad) and you freeze half the way there. Oops!

Now imagine that there is a new formulation of a very old medication that can help.  Rather than swallow a pill, you inhale its contents; and, within 10-20 minutes, the freezing goes away (for 2-3 hours).  What would you be willing to pay for it?  Would you believe that my copay for this new formulation of an old compound is $1240.00 dollars for 60 capsules.  Yep, $1240 for less than 1 month of medication.  Now you understand why I feel ripped off! 

Let’s talk about the other emotions:

1.  Embarrassed – I was a paid consultant to Pharma for many years.  I sat on several national physician/Pharma boards and fought for lower prices for meds, less TV advertising, and better access to medications for those who couldn’t pay for it.  I’m embarrassed to say I accomplished nothing and may have actually added to the cost of pharmaceuticals (they paid us well).
2. Guilty- Yep, I was paid well.  Afterall, my opinions were valuable.  I thought Pharma were the good guys and was proud to work with them. In time, I learned how wrong I was.  They are in the business of making a profit and they are very good at it!  Unfortunately, there are no limits to the amount they can charge; and the sick and elderly either pay or die.
3. Ashamed – I should have realized who I was dealing with earlier.  I gave out a lot of samples and those samples led to the prescribing of “brand named” products at inflated prices.  Samples cost society a lot of money!  Generics save money.  They also don’t advertise, don’t hire physician consultants and don’t have a fleet of sales reps pushing their products.
4. Trapped – I either pay $1200 plus or wet myself.  By the way, adult diapers are expensive as well.  Yes, the company that makes my new medication offers discount coupons.  Did you know that Medicare does not allow seniors (covered by Medicare) to use any discount programs?  Yep, you heard me right.  When your government talks about controlling the cost of medications, I laugh. Not only have they failed to control Pharma, but they’ve guaranteed that retired elders have to pay the full, inflated cost of their medications.  By doing so, they have guaranteed that Pharma will thrive for many years to come.
5. Taken advantage of – I think this emotion is self-explanatory.  Why hasn’t Congress done something about the price gouging policies of Pharma?  Pharma is one of the largest contributors to political campaigns; and, rather than count on drug reps to sell their goods, they fund lobbyists!
6. Scared – Do the math. The cost of living with Parkinson’s just went up between $14,880 to $30,000 a year for just one of my many medications. Diapers are not that expensive after all!

Anyone want to bet on Biden tackling Pharma?   If so, let me know.  I could use the money.

Here’s your joke for the day:

There was an old guy who took suppositories as a medication daily. One day he went to a restaurant with his wife, she said, “What is a suppository doing in your ear.” The old man says, “OH! Now I know where my hearing aids are!”