“Certainly, for frontline doctors like us who are used to wrestling with clunky NHS IT systems, the biggest surprise of the malware attack was not that it happened but why it had taken so long. It is an irony lost on no NHS doctor that though we can transplant faces, build bionic limbs, even operate on fetuses still in the womb, a working, functional NHS computer can seem rarer and more precious than gold dust.’
“Core surgical training in the UK has been dubbed “core service training” because many trainees believe it does not provide enough surgical experience. At the southern tip of Africa, I felt I was being taught to operate, not to just watch and hold retractors. My commitment and progression were judged on hard work and merit, not on how many courses I had attended.”
Fairly dismal reading here and here. Much of what has happened in the UK is a result of a health service that is not based around clinical need, and in which most decision makers might as well believe in fairies. The mistake is to imagine that we got into this mess because of a lack of money. We got into this mess for much the same reason that much of UK industry has collapsed: the people making decisions have no technical competence in the relevant domains. If it was left to the NHS, BMW would not employ engineers (‘its just process management, isn’t it, so let’s reorganise the workflow, and set some targets?’).
‘Health policy is in tatters. Markets haven’t worked, inspection hasn’t worked, demand management has failed, morale at an all-time low and workforce planning botched. The sky is dark with chickens coming home to roost. The NHS is now all about muddling through’. Roy Lilley calls it right. But what is a young graduate or student to do? [link for this post]
So the English NHS is to stop paying GPs to diagnose dementia. The NHS supremo is quoted as saying, ‘I think it’s too early for hindsight. We need to look at the dementia diagnosis rate through the year before we do that. It is not driven by patient preference, but by different levels of focus on this topic. ‘ Well forget hindsight, a little foresight would have helped.
A long, long time ago, I was sitting in the biochemistry coffee room in the medical school in Newcastle. Roger Paine, a professor of biochemistry came and sat next to me. I knew of him, but he didn’t know me. He was a FRS, I was a dermatology research registrar taking my first steps in learning some wet bench science in the Medical Molecular Biology Group there. Coffee rooms work, as do Aeron chairs. Sometimes you need to talk, and ramble around what interests you; and sometimes you have to sit alone, and dream. If you don’t, you will do ‘kit’ science, or act out being an administrator by conducting randomised controlled trials.
We got chatting—we shared a mutual colleague—and he expressed his puzzlement to me about how medics managed to do any research. He pointed out what with seeing patients, and some undergraduate teaching and postgraduate training, how on earth could you hope to do any meaningful research. I listened, not wanting to hear what he said. And I should point out, he was a keen collaborator with medics, nor stand-offish in any way.
Many years later, in another setting, I was talking to another successful scientist, a geneticist, also a FRS. We knew each other reasonably well, and by this stage I had been working in wet-bench science for a dozen years or more. Some modest successes, and plenty of failures. He told me that because he knew the details of many clinical medics research careers very well, he would be loathe to ever approach any of them if he needed medical care. He had the highest regard for them as academics, and researchers, but he too couldn’t see how they could carry on all the various activities expected on them. (And no doubt be able to go to the cinema once in a while: Steven Rosenberg, a one time Chief of Surgery at NIH, in his autobiography, describes how he would struggle to leave Sunday evening free of lab and clinical duties, so that he could go to the cinema with his wife).
“What of attempts to improve skin cancer diagnostic skills in primary care, or to develop GP specialists as seen in Australia or the UK? There are various points to make here, and perhaps a lot of wishful thinking about how the problem could be solved if only ‘GPs’ knew more about this or that subdomain of medical knowledge. In truth, such blandishments, must be frustrating to many GPs: there are only so many hours in the day. There are studies showing that it is possible to improve diagnostic skills over the short term following organised tuition (cited in Rees (16)). To find anything else would of course be surprising: if we expose intelligent people to formal tuition or learning, we expect short-term performance to improve. But, the critical point is whether this improvement is maintained, and what aspects of performance suffer because they have been replaced by training in another domain (16). There is no free lunch. If we run a course on skin cancer, then the rheumatologists, cardiologists etc. will all want to run courses. And much of what we know about such one off tuition is that in the absence of consolidation and feedback, the benefits are short lived only. How many of us remember all the history and geography we learned at school?” Here.