Random Thoughts from a Restless Mind

As I posted a few weeks ago, in order to continue to use an outpatient surgery center where I have performed surgeries for 15 years or so, I am now required to use the electronic medical record EPIC. My hope had been that I would be able to continue to run “under the radar” by utilizing my pre-–dictated notes and standard orders, signing the papers as I have done lo these many years. Tragically, this was not to be. Having come to this realization about a month ago I reached out to the IT department and asked for training on the system. Being the somewhat self–involved surgeon that I am, I naturally assumed that a single phone call or e-mail would see multiple individuals leaping into action in order to help me so that I might continue to use that surgery center and generate revenue for the hospital. Silly me.

Four weeks, a dozen conversations, several e-mails, and I am assured more than several telephone calls later, I finally received a call from IT and one of the physician–advocates/trainers. I explained that I had a back log of signatures (little did I know!), and that I would be taking ER call soon, and did he perhaps have some time available to show me how to use the EMR? In the first of several remarkably positive little things in this process, Andrew did, indeed, have some time available the very next morning when I, too, could sit with him for a little bit.

Andrew himself was one of those little surprises. And ex–cop who had put himself through nursing school with the intention of using his nursing degree as a springboard to management, he informed me that he was one semester away from an MBA. It was clear he was anticipating a hostile interaction; this had been his typical experience when teaching physicians the system, especially private practice physicians. I liked him instantly, we connected, which probably contributed to the speed with which we flew through phase 1 of my indoctrination.

This can’t be all good, of course, otherwise there would be no reason to do this series! After learning how to get into the system (no, you cannot change your username), we looked at my chart deficiencies, specifically op notes that needed to be signed tracing back to November. I cleaned up all the old stuff, and then we got stuck with all of the charts that were sitting there from last week. Apparently part of the efficiency of the system allows the medical records department to put you on the “bad boy” list as soon as the case is done! We agreed to ignore these deficiencies since these would still be paper charts needing to be signed and moved on to pharmacy orders.

This was rich. I looked at about 200 orders with a “signature required” tag. Things like IV orders, and medicine injected to into the IV. Some were anesthesia orders which have no business on my list, and essentially all of the rest had already been signed. Andrew told me he’d taken a look at my in basket before we met and deleted three or four months of the pharmacy orders. I think the number he used was 800,000 orders! Whoa, maybe this isn’t going to go as well as it looks like it might. There is no connection between the electronically entered pharmacy orders and the signatures on the order sheets! 30 some odd orders per patient, each one individually entered and requiring a signature. I did 22 cases yesterday! Are you kidding me? This is what my colleagues were talking about when they mentioned the four minute per chart rule.

Like I said, though, this was a surprisingly positive interaction. Andrew took a couple of screenshots and said that he was going to sit with the IT magicians and see if we might be able to figure this particular one out. Man, that’s gotta work. I mean, the whole exercise took me about 45 minutes, and I didn’t even learn how to ENTER an order.

I can sign one, though. I’ve got some ER call coming up, and I’ll have to do some–patient consultations as part of my responsibilities. I’d better polish up my “helpless look” and rehearse my supplications. Getting someone to take verbal orders is gonna be the key to salvation.

More to come…

It’s really hard to make something look easy. Think about it. The best knee surgeon takes 1/2 the time and gets twice the good results of the average surgeon. It barely looks likes he’s working at all. The very best LASIK surgeon makes the most difficult case look like a piece of cake, just like the easiest and most straight forward cases done by the average surgeon.

None of this happens without an enormous amount of hard work, practice, study, and yes, a little bit of natural ability doesnt’ hurt either.

Think about double-unders, jumping rope with two passes of the rope under your feet for each jump. A CrossFit legend named Chris Spealer did a Tabata Double-Under set (20 seconds of exercise followed by 10 seconds of rest, repeated 8 times) and got a lowest score of 40, or something crazy like that. Looked like a snap, too.  My best is 10. TEN! If you are a CrossFitter and you’ve struggled with Double-Unders (and who hasn’t, eh Jeff Martin?) you watch and you say it’s easy for him. You gotta know, though, after watching all of the Speal videos, that there were countless hours of work behind that. He just makes it look easy. It’s not.

Samuel Beckett had a run of some 10 years or so where everything he published was nothing short of brilliant, and there was a ton of it. If you are a writer and you have stared at a blank piece of paper or a blinking empty screen (and who hasn’t, eh Daigle?), you might think that Beckett was simply gifted, that the words simply poured out onto the page fully formed and prepped for posterity. Reading Beckett’s letters, though, tells a different tale entirely, one of anguish and toil, brutal hard work. He just made it look easy. It wasn’t.

We tend to discount the hard work behind any skill-based endeavor when we only see the “game film”, so to speak. The untrained eye is often unable to discern the subtleties in some performance or job that the best of the best just blow through, making it look like an everyday, ho-hum whatever. In most circumstances we just don’t have an adequate frame of reference that allows us to see how an average or “regular” surgeon, or athlete, or debater struggles with the curveball, the surprise. We don’t even get a chance to compare how the true superstar handles a truly mundane “game” in comparison with the middle-of-the-Bell Curve guy, at least outside the realm of sports.

This lack of perspective, along with a lack of awareness of how hard the best of the best have worked to get there, leads us to minimize the excellence before us. The average cataract surgeon in the United States takes more than 20:00 to complete the surgical aspects of a case. The very best among my peers take 5 or 6:00 to do the same thing. No movement is wasted, and each tiny step is literally a microscopic ballet. The complication rates for average eye surgeons are 5-10X greater than that of the top surgeons, and the best surgeons routinely achieve better outcomes by all measures.

The best surgeons make it look too easy. Our response as a nation to this is criticism that eye surgeons are overpaid for such a “quick and simple” procedure; there is a palpable, barely hidden contempt for the highest achieving physicians among healthcare policy makers. This is just wrong.

It’s really hard to make it look easy, almost everywhere and in almost every endeavor. We should be MORE amazed and have MORE respect when we see something and think: WOW…she really made that look easy!

It’s become one of those trendy phrases, “unnecessary care”. When you hear it on television or talkshow radio it’s usually said with a sneer. Indeed, the speakers almost spit the phrase out–“Unnecessary care”–like it tastes bad.  It’s almost always accompanied by “fraud and abuse”, or a not so subtle accusation that some doctor is profiting off this “unnecessary care” at the expense of some poor patient. But is this true? Is this always the case? Are there no longer any circumstances whatsoever where the doctor really DOES know best?

I’m an ophthalmologist, an eye surgeon.  Every single day in the office I see several patients who have enormous cataracts which have dramatically affected their vision, and yet they are not only totally unaware of this decrease, they are militant in their rejection of surgery to improve their vision. Some of them have vision which has decreased to a point where, not only would they fail their drivers license test, they are nothing short of a menace to society behind the wheel. Because cataract surgery is an elective procedure, the patient gets to choose whether or  not to proceed with surgery. In other words, operating on a patient with a cataract who does not feel he has a problem would be “unnecessary care”.

The opposite version of this happens every day, too. In about 25 states there are strict, numerical guidelines that insurance companies (including Medicare) used to determine whether or not cataract surgery is “medically necessary”. Not a day goes by when I don’t see a patient who is bitterly unhappy with her vision, and yet her measured visual acuity is better than the threshold for “medical necessity”. Despite the fact that this patient feels handicapped by decreased vision caused by a cataract, operating on her is considered “unnecessary care”.

It kinda tricky. Sort of a damned if you do, damned if you don’t thing. I know it seems like a rather fine distinction, but cataract surgery is actually a big deal when it comes to the economics of medicine in the United States. Did you know that there are almost 3,000,000 cataract surgeries performed every year in the United States? Could some of these surgeries have been “unnecessary”? I dunno. I’m really struggling with the definition of “necessary”, frankly. Is cataract surgery in my two patients unnecessary? Says who?

You can achieve the same relative mortality rates for atrial fibrillation with either a cardiac ablation, or a cocktail of medications. Maybe you are medicine–free with the ablation, and therefore free of not only the yoke of your daily medicine schedule and side effects, but also the considerable burden of navigating your health insurance-approved medication list. The ablation might be 10X the cost of the medicines, but does that make it “unnecessary”? Too much? Says who?

So how do these two cataract patient scenarios play out at Skyvision? Well, the very unhappy patient with a cataract of any size whose vision does not reach that threshold level of “medical necessity” always chooses to wait until her insurance will pay for the cataract surgery. Always, whether she is a retired schoolteacher or a wealthy heiress worth tens of millions of dollars. She leaves the office unhappy, frustrated, and frightened. She cannot enjoy her daily activities because she cannot see well enough, and she is frightened by the prospect of normal activities like driving.

The other patient? Well, this patient typically has a monstrous cataract, so brown and cloudy it’s like looking through beef broth, or even beef gravy. This patient gets angry, too, but he is angry at me. He’s angry and offended that I would have the audacity to suggest that his vision is poor, too poor to drive, for example. He doesn’t understand what 20/50, or 20/80, or 20/100 vision means, and frankly he doesn’t really care. He’s got a drivers license, dammit, and he’s legal to drive. These visits almost always end something like this:

Me: “What kind of car do you drive?”

Patient: “A crown Vic.”

Me: “What color is your Crown Vic?”

Patient:” White. Why?”

Me: “Because my wife and kids are driving on the same roads as you, and I’m going to tell them to stop and pull over every time they see a white Crown Victoria.”

I say THAT’S “necessary care”!

I stand by the side of the road, wide-eyed in amazement, alone despite the fact that I am surrounded by other spectators. We are watching a parade, a great spectacle to celebrate the apparent dawning of a new age in cataract surgery. One after the other they pass me, the great and famous experts, the Emperors of ophthalmology. Each one sits upon a throne surrounded by bags filled with the coin of the land, the thrones built upon the newest fashion, a femtosecond cataract laser. The rest of the crowd is dazzled; they stand in silent awe as these men with such magnificent reputations usher into the kingdom the latest fashion.

I blink once. Twice. I cannot believe what I am seeing.

Over the millennia there have been thus far three truly revolutionary advances in cataract surgery (a cataract is a clouding of the natural lens in our eye). The ancient Egyptians, and for all we know Ancients of many other sorts, “cured” cataracts through a procedure known as COUCHING. Using a thin bamboo reed the “surgeon” punctured the eye and simply pushed the opaque lens into the gel–filled open cavity in the middle of the eye. Not terribly elegant, but if the eye did not become infected it actually dramatically improved vision in the days of the Pharaohs. This was the original cataract surgery.

The advent of very fine suture material and magnifying glasses brought with it the development of intracapsular cataract surgery. The eye was entered through a large sterile surgical incision and the cataract was removed as a whole. After the incision was closed with these rudimentary sutures it was necessary for a patient to remain stationary, her head held still by sandbags for a week. As barbaric as this sounds today, this procedure, along with cataract glasses, dramatically improved both the safety and the visual results of cataract surgery. Revolutionary change number 1.

Intracapsular cataract surgery was followed by extracapsular cataract surgery, the procedure made necessary by the creation of intraocular lenses. These tiny implants, less than half the size of a dime, are implanted in the capsular bag left behind after the inner workings of the cataractous lens had been removed; think of it as filling an empty grape skin. Better vision, greater safety, and with the addition of mechanical assistance extracapsular cataract surgery also brought efficiency and speed to cataract surgery. Clearly superior, the extracap supplanted the intracap, and during a time of transition both procedures received identical financial coverage from all forms of health insurance. Revolution number 2.

What followed next in ophthalmology was probably the predecessor of all that we have come to know about the intersection between commerce and care in American medicine. A certified genius who was so sure that he was right that he simply did not care what any of his colleagues– indeed what any ophthalmologist at all–thought about him or his invention, introduced  phacoemulsification. Charles Kelman discovered that you could remove a cataract of any size through an extremely small incision by first dissolving it inside the eye with high–frequency ultrasound. Kelman was initially viewed as a heretic, and early adopters of phaco technology were scorned by the ophthalmic orthodoxy. In response they marketed phacoemulsification as the superior procedure that it was, further enraging the establishment by becoming wealthy and famous through the efficiency and efficacy of this surgical revolution.

Once again, during the time of transition from extracapsular cataract surgery to phacoemulsification, both procedures were treated equally in the eyes of health insurance, and every patient’s surgery was paid equally with either technique. Revolution number 3.

As phacoemulsification gradually ushered extracapsular surgery into extinction in the 1980’s there began an era of relative tranquility in the world of cataract surgeons. There was very little to distinguish one surgeon from another save for gross incompetence, a complication rate so far outside the norm that it could not be ignored. How could this be, you ask? Well, all of the intraocular lens implants during the initial part of this era were essentially the same. Each lens development, each evolutionary step however big or small, was quickly adopted by the overwhelming majority of surgeons, and pretty much every cataract surgery patient received a state–of–of the–art implant for her surgery. The SURGEONS surely knew who among them was better. They knew who was faster, slicker, more elegant, and dramatically less likely to have any complications whatsoever. But even the most astute patient was incapable of knowing the difference between a 20-minute cataract surgery and a five-minute cataract surgery, one plodding and clumsy, the other elegant and quick, so powerful was this new technology. Every cataract surgeon in America could, and did, look their patients in the eye and say their outcomes were essentially the same as every other surgeon; they, themselves, were just as good as every other cataract surgeon.

This happy time of peace, love, and tranquility came to a screeching halt in 2003 with the introduction of an implant called the Crystalens. Here, for the first time, the cataract surgeon was able to give his patient excellent vision at any and all distances WITHOUT WEARING GLASSES. The problem, though, was that the Crystalens was actually rather tricky to insert. You really DID need to be more equal then your surgeon peers in order to get this extraordinary outcome. Not only that, but the implant was almost 10 times as expensive as what now became known as standard implants, it required roughly 3 times as much work preoperatively and postoperatively to achieve this outcome, and all of a sudden there was a very clear division between cataract surgeons. There were those who did what became known as premium surgery because they could, and there were those who didn’t.

Surgeon Emperor’s rode on their thrones through the throngs of what once were their peers, adorned with wondrous capes and crowns they so deservedly wore for they were truly better surgeons, and they were paid more to do this premium surgery. For you see, a great change had occurred:  the health insurance companies did NOT view these new implants as equal to those in present use, and in their wisdom they allowed patients to pay with their own money for these more expensive lenses. This they did, though not in great numbers, just enough that it started to become clear that some surgeons were more equal than others. This was not a true revolution in cataract surgery itself, only the economics of cataract surgery.

So here I find myself, one of these Lesser Surgeon Emperors of the premium implant era. I stand among the crowd as this very small group of self–proclaimed Greater Emperors glide by, pulled along on their grand femtosecond chariots. They are declaring, loudly and to anyone who’ll listen, that laser cataract surgery is the fourth great revolution in the long history of cataract surgery. “It’s more accurate,” they declare. “It will make cataract surgery safer!” They cry. “It’s the next, mandatory step in premium cataract surgery. It’s well–worth every penny of the additional $1000 the premium cataract patient will pay,” they state as they preen on their perches.

I blink as I stand there. Something’s not quite right. The rest of the crowd cheers these magnificent creatures but still something seems wrong. A better, more accurate and uniform capsulorhexis (the initial opening into the cataract)? That doesn’t seem to be a problem with premium cataract implant surgery today, at least in the hands of the best surgeons. Better sealing wounds to decrease the number of post–operative infections? Again, the busiest, highest volume, best cataract surgeons already have the lowest infection rates in America. A simpler, more reproducible and accurate limbal relaxing incision (a technique to treat astigmatism)? Well, I HAVE heard that an inability or unwillingness to handle astigmatism IS a barrier to implanting premium cataract implants, but that doesn’t really seem to be much of a problem for those surgeons who are successfully using them now.

I blink once again and then it hits me: the Emperor Surgeons have no clothes! They are parading right in front of us, declaring the femtosecond laser the proverbial silk purse to be utilized as part of a premium service, carried only by those cloaked in the finery of the court as they have been told by the industry courtesans.  Femptosecond laser cataract surgery is a revolutionary step, but it is a premium service like the Crystalens, and is properly utilized only by Emperors.

They are right but they are also so very wrong.

Blinded by the hype, blinded by the glow of their reputations, by the industry courtesans as they wave their empty clothes hangars, the naked Surgeon Emperors are trying to MISS the fourth great revolution in cataract surgery, because femtosecond cataract surgery is not a silk purse, it’s actually just a better backpack! Femtosecond laser cataract surgery is the technology that reestablishes real equality among cataract surgeons. It is not the scepter of the Greater Surgeon Emperor, it is rather the butter knife of the common surgeon.

Think about it. The best cataract surgeons in America are not having any difficulty making a proper capsulorhexis, and they are obtaining over–the–top outstanding outcomes with literally every single type of intraocular lens available. These are not the men and women who are having outbreaks of endophthalmitis (a total eye infection) because of poor technique creating their incisions. We are not seeing an epidemic of untreated astigmatism in the population served by these extraordinarily talented surgeons, especially in those eyes that have received a Crystalens or other premium lens implant. The femtosecond laser as a necessary, mandatory tool to improve the outcomes in THIS group of surgeons performing premium service cataract surgery? Please. The incremental improvement in outcomes will be infinitesimally small in this group, and I will go out on a limb and say that any of the Emperor Surgeons in the parade who are truly among this group of noted surgeons would tell you just this.

No, femtosecond laser cataract surgery is the next great revolution in regular, garden-variety, standard implant cataract surgery performed by the middle–of–the–Bell Curve cataract surgeon. Here is a quick story to illustrate my point. An 80-year-old man had cataract surgery performed in his right eye by one of the most deservedly famous cataract surgeons in the United States. Perfect incision. Perfect capsulorhexis. Limbal relaxing incisions that reduced astigmatism to 0. Every single aspect of the operation that would have been impacted by the femtosecond laser was performed flawlessly. The outcome? Not so great, actually. The patient had a poorly positioned implant causing blurred vision, which was not discovered for approximately 9 months due to postoperative inattention. This caused him to be greatly unhappy with his result and ultimately causing him to seek another surgeon for his left eye even after the blur was fixed.

This new surgeon simply could not be more different from the world famous surgeon. A very kind and gentle soul with a lovely and caring bedside manner, he was at best deeply buried in the middle of the surgical Bell Curve. The outcome? Not so great, actually. A poorly done capsulorhexis prompted him to default to a much older lens implant, a clear technological backward step, and a surgical problem that would clearly be prevented with the use of the femtosecond laser.

So my friends, the femtosecond laser actually IS the fourth great revolution in cataract surgery, but the Greater Surgeon Emperors are failing to see that, like intracapsular to extracapsular, and extracapsular to phacoemulsification, phaco to femtosecond is a revolution for the masses. The femtosecond laser will make an average cataract surgeon a good one, a good cataract surgeon a very good one, and a very good cataract surgeon potentially a great one. It will do very little for the outcomes of the already great cataract surgeon. Oh, there may certainly come some new type of implant where the outstanding surgeon will require a femtosecond laser in order to properly use it, but as of this moment that particular widget doesn’t exist. The femtosecond laser is a technology looking for a use, an investment looking for a market. Will it find its place only with the Emperors, those who should be leading, now instead just riding behind?

The greatest of Emperors lead.  If I am right, if this is actually a technology which will make regular cataract surgery safer and more predictable, Surgeon Emperors and their industry minions should be pounding the streets of Washington to make this fourth revolution just like its predecessor: available to all. They should call it as it is, the average surgeon’s pathway to greatness. They should lead on behalf of every 80-year-old man who deserves a perfect capsulorhexis and a perfectly created wound to go along with his most modern standard implant. They should lead their surgeon brethren on behalf of their people. The greatest among these Emperor Surgeons will see nothing that is negative happen to them if they fight to make femtosecond laser cataract surgery just the next revolution in every day cataract surgery.

I blink. I wait for one of these Emperors to put on some clothes, get out in front, and lead.

It took exactly one week. One whole week before we had our first adverse reaction to the not-so-new new generic eyedrop. Not a one of us was surprised because we’d been here before. The branded version of this particular medicine, version 1.0, did the same exact thing. Thankfully, branded version 2.0 and 3.0 worked like a charm with pretty much no side effects. Yup…one week forward to end up 7 years in the past. Our own little front row seat for the spectacle of the subtle, cynical rationing of “good enough”.

We’ll see more, of that I am sure.

Let me share the back story here before I expand and move on. In eye surgery, specifically cataract surgery, there is a very inconvenient complication called “Cystoid Macular Edema”, swelling of the center of the retina also known as CME. As a natural phenomenon it occurs in 6-9% of cataract surgeries, and unfortunately it occurs even in people without any risk factors who had perfect, uncomplicated surgery. However, if you treat cataract surgery patients with a Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drug (NSAID), kind of like Motrin in a drop form, you decrease the likelihood of CME by a factor of 10, down to 0.6-0.9%. Wild, huh? A real no-brainer. A classic example of that chic and trendy outcome-based medicine thing, especially since CME is costly to treat and very scary for the patient.

This 10X decrease originally came with a cost, however. The original versions of these NSAID drops stung and burned, and some 30% of patients had swelling and inflammation in their cornea which caused a temporary DECREASE in vision. So, stinging and burning which reduced the number of people who actually took the medicine, and an inflammatory side effect that decreased vision and forced you to stop the medicine. Tough call. But we live in America. Lo and behold out come versions 2.0 and 3.0 which still have a 10 times decrease in CME, only this time without any stinging or burning, and without any inflammation and decreased vision. BINGO! Another no-brainer, right? Same benefit with pretty much no side effects. Sure. Easy. Right up until a generic of version 1.0 comes out. It took exactly one week to be reminded why 1.0 was bumped by 2.0 and 3.0.

It’s like they used to say in Amish country when my wife was a kid: it’s good enough for who it’s for.

And there’s the rub, of course. Right now it’s for “them others”, but eventually it’ll be good enough for YOU. That’s the whole name of the game with this rationing stuff, you know. All you have to get to is “good enough” and then the only thing that matters is cost. No consideration for compliance, convenience, or quality of life, the only consideration on the board is cost.

Why does this matter? Isn’t the cost of medical care in the United States the single greatest fiscal challenge facing our local, state, and federal governments? Simply put, yes, the cost of caring for an increasingly unhealthy population is, indeed, getting out of hand. Rationing based on “good enough” is based on a very superficial analysis of this problem, however. This is part of the cynical aspect of this type of rationing, because a true effort at cost containment demands a deeper root–cause analysis of the “why” it’s getting so expensive. “Good enough”, by its very nature, brings healthcare to at best a standstill, and as I noted above generally involves rolling back the clock.

Reasonable people have asked why this isn’t actually, truly, good enough. In truth, what we have available to treat diseases today, or even stuff available in 2003, is at least one full order of magnitude better than that which is available in second and third world countries today, or available in first world countries in 1975. Why WOULDN’T this be good enough? Well, how do you think we got where we are today? We did so, of course, by always seeking BETTER. Not only that, but at least in America we did so by always seeking better for EVERYONE. Even “them others”.

Rationing is the great chameleon of health care cost reduction. It’s not just the forced use of generic medications (some are actually exactly equivalent to their branded counterparts) but it takes many other forms as well. The effective denial of access to both primary and specialty care for those individuals “covered” by Medicaid. The myriad, byzantine rules and regulations that are so opaque that individuals throw their hands up in disgust and dismay and fail to seek care for fear of the financial consequences of doing so. Scarcity of resources which is either real (there is an inadequate number of neurologists practicing in the United States), bureaucratic (operating room privileges for specialty surgeons are limited by governmentfFiat in Canada), regulatory (exciting new uses for established medications go undiscovered because of FDA gag rules). or arbitrary ( payment for cataract surgery is denied if the visual acuity is not decreased to a particular level regardless of how it is affecting an individual’s life). Seriously, I could go on and on.

“Good enough” is okay, I suppose, if it is used as the floor beneath which we will not allow healthcare to fall. It’s okay if that floor is constructed by carpenters whose only consideration is the real “boots on the ground” outcome from that healthcare, NOT people whose major concern is cost alone. Finally, it’s really only okay if that floor is actually the floor of an elevator, always and ever moving upward, because even “good enough” has to get better. Every example of “good enough” is actually the result of some yesterday’s healthcare breakthrough. Some yesterday’s effort at achieving “better.” Every version of “good enough” is actually trickle-down “better”.

“It’s good enough for who it’s for” is all well and good as long as you remember that, eventually, who it’s for is you.

I’ve been thinking a lot about health care recently. Real health care, not Health Care as in “Health Care Crisis” or “Health Care Reform”, but the kind of health care that is provided by doctors and nurses and all kinds of other health care providers. You know, like making sick people better, and keeping healthy people healthy. The kind of health care that old guys like me (I’m 49, in case you were wondering) got from pediatricians like Dr. Roy in Southbridge, MA in the 60’s, or like my sons get from Dr. Gerace in Westlake, OH today.

I did a lot of thinking about this some 5 or so years ago, too, when I developed the concepts that eventually resulted in Skyvision Centers. My mini-epiphany at that time is that medicine is the ultimate consumer service business. At its core medicine is about one group of people providing a service to another group of people who either want or need that service. It’s the most intimate type of service, too. One to one. Face to face. You and me.

There is a remarkable lack of difference between doctors (and hospitals, for that matter) when you look at the outcomes that arise from that service– how many people get better after receiving medical care for their illnesses. The difference between the top 1 or 2% of doctors and the 50th percentile in terms of real medical outcomes is remarkably small, and much smaller today than it was in the days of my Dr. Roy.

Sure, there are differences in how people arrive at getting better. Some very instructive studies from Dartmouth have shown dramatic regional differences in the U.S. in how much money is spent on treating heart attacks, for instance. By and large, though, the same number of people get the same amount of better no matter where they are treated or from whom they received that treatment, and the quality of those treatments is several orders of magnitude greater and better than it was in my youth.

So what was it about Dr. Roy that people in my generation seem to have so much trouble finding in medical care today? If the treatment of diseases is so much better now why do so many people complain about medical care today? Why is it that Dr. Gerace has people lined up waiting to see him while other doctors don’t? Why do people rave about their experience at Skyvision Centers and complain so bitterly when they need to have a consultation at some of the most famous medical institutions in Cleveland?

I think it’s because Dr. Roy, Dr. Gerace, and I were all, once upon a time, caddies.

Seriously. We spent the earliest part of our working lives on the lowest rung of the service ladder, providing one-on-one service for a single customer. Because of that I think each of us realized that what really sets doctors (and hospitals) apart is what a patient experiences when they visit. The most successful doctors and the most successful medical practices are those who have realized that the central character in the play is the patient. The most successful caddies never forget that the most important person on the course is the golfer. The job of the caddy is to help the golfer perform a well as possible (maximize the health of her game) while at the same time making sure that she has a wonderful experience on the golf course.

Ben Stein wrote a recent column in the NY Times about his first real job; he was a shoe salesman. Imagine, at 17 years of age, selling shoes. Days filled with all manner of customers and handling the foot of each and every one of them. Customer service and sales is “learning the product you are selling, learning it so well that you can describe it while doing a pirouette of smiles for the customer and talking about the latest football scores” no matter who that customer might be. Tinker, tailor, soldier or spy, junior partner or janitor. Be they humble or haughty, gracious or grating. Totally focused on that one customer in front of you in order to provide them that service. The same can be said for any front line service job. Waitress in a diner, car mechanic, you name it.

My first summer job was caddying, and I caddied for parts of each summer through medical school. As I think about it now after reading Stein’s article it’s amazing how many parallels there are between my first job as a caddy and my career as an eye surgeon. I toted the bags for one or two golfers at a time; I usually have a patient, patient and spouse, or parent and child in the office. I was a better golfer than almost all of the men and women for whom I caddied; I know more about the eye than every patient who visits, google notwithstanding. In both circumstances my success was/is determined by my customer’s (golfer/patient) outcome, their “score”, as well as their view of the experience. Even a career-best round doesn’t feel quite as enjoyable if it took place over 6 hours in the company of a surly caddy!

I’ll tell the story of how this turned into Skyvision Centers another time; it’s a neat story and I love telling it. For the moment, though, I have a little experiment for anyone who might be listening, and a modest suggestion for the powers that be in medical education (who most assuredly AREN’T listening). The next time you visit a doctor ask him or her what their first couple of jobs were. See if you can predict which of your doctors or dentists or nurses had what kind of jobs before their medical career based on the kind of experience you’ve had in their offices or institutions.

Let’s add a little time to the education of the folks who take care of our medical problems, especially our doctors. How about 6 months selling shoes at Norstrom’s. Or a year of Sunday mornings slinging hash at a local diner. Better yet, let’s get all of those pasty white interns out on the golf course with a bag on their shoulder and a yardage book on their hip, golf hat slightly askew and Oakleys on tight (for the record, even people of color end up “washed-out” after a year of internship). Let ’em learn how to take care of a customer without the huge advantage of all that medical knowledge. We’ll take the best of them and turn them loose in offices all across the land. Those who can’t hack it, the ones who can memorize the history of Florsheim but can’t bring themselves to touch a foot, who are scratch golfers but can’t bring themselves to congratulate the hacker who sinks a 30 foot double-breaker, those we’ll hide in the lab, or put them in huge, anonymous medical centers, one more anonymous member of an anonymous team hiding under the brand umbrella of some “World Class Clinic”  where one-on-one customer service never really happens.Because the ultimate consumer service business is medicine.

Just ask a caddy.