Who your doctor is could dictate how you're cared for at end of life



BOSTON, Mass., 26 may 2009— Hospice, a well-established approach to palliative care, has enabled countless people worldwide to die with dignity. Through focusing on the patient rather than the disease, individuals can spend the last weeks of their lives in an environment where hospice caregivers minimize their pain, maximize their comfort, and provide bereavement services for loved ones and family members.
A new study led by researchers at Harvard Medical School, however, found that only about half the patients diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer discuss hospice with their physician within 4 to 7 months of their diagnosis.
"Many terminally-ill patients who might benefit from hospice aren't discussing it with their physicians and may not be aware of the services hospice could offer," says Haiden Huskamp, lead author on the study and HMS associate professor of health care policy. Findings were published in the May 25 Archives of Internal Medicine.
Through the Cancer Care Outcomes Research and Surveillance Consortium, the researchers surveyed 1,517 patients diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer. For reasons not clear, blacks and Hispanics were less likely to discuss hospice than whites and Asians. Forty-nine percent of blacks and 43 percent of Hispanics discussed hospice with their doctors; for whites and Asians the percentages were 53 and 57, respectively. Married people were also less likely than unmarried people to have this discussion (51 percent compared with 57 percent, respectively).
In general, the longer patients expected to live after their diagnosis, the less likely they were to have explored hospice care with their doctor. However, the researchers also found that patients tended to overestimate how long they had to live. For example, about 30 percent of the patients thought that they would live up to two years. In reality though, only about 6 percent of patients with metastatic lung cancer will survive that long.
What's more, patients who preferred care that eased their pain and suffering at the end of life over care that extended life (roughly 50 percent of patients) were no more likely to have discussed hospice than patients who had the opposite preference.
"These conversations can be difficult for everyone involved—patients, families, and physicians," says Huskamp. "But discussing prognosis and end-of-life care options in advance is essential to make sure that patients receive care that reflects their wishes."
"Patients with advanced lung cancer understandably hope that cancer treatments can extend their lives," notes John Ayanian, senior author on the study and HMS professor of medicine and health care policy. "When these treatments are no longer working, their doctors have an important role to play in offering them hospice care that will ease their symptoms as they approach the end of life."
This study was funded by the National Cancer Institute.
Written by David Cameron
Full citation
Archives of Internal Medicine, May 25, Vol 169, number 10
"Discussions with Physicians about Hospice among Patients with Metastatic Lung Cancer"
Haiden A. Huskamp, Ph.D., Nancy L. Keating, M.D., M.P.H., Jennifer L. Malin, M.D., Ph.D., Alan M. Zaslavsky, Ph.D., Jane C. Weeks, M.D., M.Sc., Craig C. Earle, M.D., Joan M. Teno, M.D., M.S., Beth A. Virnig, Ph.D., M.P.H., Katherine L. Kahn, M.D., Yulei He, Ph.D., and John Z. Ayanian, M.D., M.P.P.
ATLANTA, Ga., 23 dec 2008 -- A new study finds that hospice services—care that is provided by physicians, visiting nurses, chaplains, home health aides, social workers and counselors—have restrictions that reduce usage by many patients who are most in-need, particularly African Americans. The research, published in the February 1, 2009 issue of CANCER, a peer-reviewed journal of the American Cancer Society, indicates that the eligibility criteria for hospice services should be reconsidered.
In order to enroll in hospice, patients must have a prognosis of six months or less if their illness runs its usual course. They must also accept the palliative nature of hospice care. African American patients are less likely than white patients to use hospice, but the reasons for this difference have remained somewhat unknown.
In the current work, investigators at the University of Pennsylvania designed a study to explore the reasons for racial disparities in hospice care among cancer patients. To define and compare preferences for cancer treatment and perceived needs for hospice services among African-American patients and white patients, Dr. David Casarett and colleagues interviewed 283 patients who were receiving cancer treatment at six oncology clinics within the University of Pennsylvania Cancer Network. Patients were asked about their perceived need for five hospice services and their preferences for continuing cancer treatment, and they were followed for six months or until death. The researchers theorized that if disparities in hospice use were the result of preference for aggressive treatment among African Americans, then their rates of hospice use could be increased by redesigning hospice eligibility criteria. Conversely, if African Americans were less likely to want hospice services, then changes to the benefit may not be necessary, but modifications to the services that are offered may be warranted.
Dr. Casarett's team found that African-American patients had stronger preferences for continuing their cancer treatments as well as greater perceived needs for hospice services. The greater perceived need for hospice services among African Americans was attributed largely to differences in self-reported finances—poorer patients wanted more services.
"These findings suggest that the hospice eligibility criteria of Medicare and other insurers requiring patients to give up cancer treatment contribute to racial disparities in hospice use," the authors wrote. "Moreover, these criteria do not select those patients with the greatest needs for hospice services," they added.
The basis for these disparities is likely related to both cultural differences and economic characteristics. The results from this study indicate that hospice access could be made fairer by using eligibility criteria that are more directly need-based. For example, the investigators suggested that eligibility might be determined by assessing needs for specific hospice services such as pain or symptom management.
Article: "Race, treatment preferences, and hospice enrollment: Eligibility criteria may exclude patients with the greatest needs for care." Jessica Fishman, Peter O'Dwyer, Hien L. Lu, Hope Henderson, David A. Asch, and David J. Casarett. CANCER; Published Online: December 22, 2008 (DOI: 10.1002/cncr.24046); Print Issue Date: February 1, 2009.
“If something should happen to me, and I couldn’t help myself, would you be willing to help me?”
12 nov 2008--It is the question so many of us dread hearing. My mother asked it of me around her 75th birthday. Of course I didn’t need to ask what she meant by “something” or “help.” She was a card-carrying member of the Hemlock Society. On her bookshelves were titles like “Final Exit” and “The Peaceful Pill Handbook.”
“Can I think about that?” I said, hoping she might forget to follow up. It was a ridiculous hope: she took as gospel my every medical comment, and she never forgot a single one.
My mother had been ready to die for years. Not that she was suicidal, but she had always been one of those people who found the cloud in every silver lining. For my mother, life’s positives outweighed its negatives, but just barely.
When she lost all but her peripheral vision to macular degeneration and could no longer read, drive or teach, the scales tipped in the opposite direction. Whenever an acquaintance died or received a diagnosis of something swift and painless, her reaction (often to the dismay of those around her) was “Oh, that lucky fellow.”
Her greatest fear was of a stroke or some other catastrophe that would force her to live on for unwanted years, unable to care for herself. Her own mother, after a stroke, had spent the end of her life in a nursing-home wheelchair.
In a phone call two weeks to the day after her initial question, my mother did follow up: “Did you get a chance to think about what I asked?” Of course I had. I had spent large chunks of time obsessing about it. So I gave the only answer I could stand to give, the only kind answer I could think of.
“Yes,” I said. “If you ever need my help, of course I will help you.”
Then I changed the subject, but not before hearing the immense relief and gratitude in her voice. Even though I was quite sure my definition of “help” did not match hers, to answer otherwise would have been cruel. What did it matter, I thought; she couldn’t possibly hold me to it, and with a little luck it will never come up. And in fact, the subject did not come up again for more than a decade.
A couple of months short of her 87th birthday, my mother began to complain repeatedly of being unable to work the remote for her large-screen television. Each time she said this, someone would painstakingly walk her through the steps. But a few days later something would go wrong and she would need help again. A few weeks later, when her shower faucet went on the blink, it finally dawned on me that the fault might lie not in the remote or the faucet but in their user. I persuaded her to see her internist, and I called to let him know my concerns.
The internist called me right after her appointment to tell me she was being admitted to the hospital. She was wheezing, and a chest X-ray showed pneumonia. In addition, the brain M.R.I. showed several lesions — strongly suggestive of a tumor.
Multiple scans and doses of antibiotics later, the pneumonia was reclassified as a lung tumor and the brain lesions as metastases. My mother was put on steroids, and after considering and rejecting brain irradiation, she left her home near Boston and moved into a hospice five minutes from my house in Philadelphia.
She lived three more weeks — three weeks during which the only help she ever asked of me was to bring her chocolate milkshakes (which I did, often several times a day).
The night she died, I sat with her. She was unconscious by then, seemingly comfortable but breathing more and more rapidly, her skin growing more and more mottled. As I held her hand and mopped the bubbles from the corners of her mouth, I remembered a conversation we had had in the hospital in Boston right after her doctor had given me the results of her chest scan. I had told him that I would give the news to my mother.
My mother knew there were “masses” in her brain (she herself was calling them tumors), so I expected the news not to be a great surprise and, more than likely, welcome.
When I finished speaking, she looked concerned and frightened, making me wonder whether all her talk of wishing to die had been just that — talk.
“What if I don’t go quickly?” she asked. “What if this takes forever?”
“It won’t, Ma,” I answered, relieved at such an easy question. “Everything’s going to be O.K.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I replied, with the certainty I knew she craved and trusted. “All the tests confirm that it won’t be long now.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Do you remember, years ago, you promised you would help me if I ever needed it?”
I nodded.
“Well,” she said, “you just did.”