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Tag: half months

  • A Gaping Hole in Cancer-Therapy Trials

    A Gaping Hole in Cancer-Therapy Trials

    This article was originally published by Undark Magazine.

    In October 2021, 84-year-old Jim Yeldell was diagnosed with Stage 3 lung cancer. The first drug he tried disrupted his balance and coordination, so his doctor halved the dose to minimize these side effects, Yeldell recalls. In addition, his physician recommended a course of treatment that included chemotherapy, radiation, and a drug targeting a specific genetic mutation. This combination can be extremely effective—at least in younger people—but it can also be “incredibly toxic” in older, frail people, says Elizabeth Kvale, a palliative-care specialist at Baylor College of Medicine, and also Yeldell’s daughter-in-law.

    Older patients are often underrepresented in clinical trials of new cancer treatments, including the one offered to Yeldell. As a result, he only learned of the potential for toxicity because his daughter-in-law had witnessed the treatment’s severe side effects in the older adults at her clinic.

    This dearth of age-specific data has profound implications for clinical care, because older adults are more likely than younger people to be diagnosed with cancer. In the U.S., approximately 42 percent of people with cancer are over the age of 70—a number that could grow in the years to come—yet they comprise less than a quarter of the people in clinical trials to test new cancer treatments. Many of those who do participate are the healthiest of the aged, who may not have common age-related conditions like diabetes or poor kidney or heart function, says Mina Sedrak, a medical oncologist and the deputy director of the Center for Cancer and Aging at City of Hope National Medical Center.

    For decades, clinical trials have tended to exclude older participants for reasons that include concerns about preexisting conditions and other medications and participants’ ability to travel to trial locations. As a result, clinicians cannot be as certain that approved cancer drugs will work as predicted in clinical trials for the people most likely to have cancer. This dearth of data means that older cancer patients must decide if they want to pursue a treatment that might yield fewer benefits—and cause more side effects—than it did for younger people in the clinical trial.

    This evidence gap extends across the spectrum of cancer treatments—from chemotherapy and radiation to immune-checkpoint inhibitors—with sometimes-dire results. Many forms of chemotherapy, for example, have proved to be more toxic in older adults, a discovery that came only after the drugs were approved for use in this population. “This is a huge problem,” Sedrak says. In an effort to minimize side effects, doctors will often tweak the dose or duration of medications that are given to older adults, but these physicians are doing this without any real guidance.

    Despite recommendations from funders and regulators, as well as extensive media coverage, not much has changed in the past three decades. “We’re in this space where everyone agrees this is a problem, but there’s very little guidance on how to do better for older adults,” Kvale says. “The consequences in the real world are stark.”


    Post-approval studies of cancer drugs have helped shed light on the disconnect between how these drugs are used in clinical trials and how they are used in clinics around the country.

    For example, when Cary Gross, a physician and cancer researcher at Yale, set out to study the use of a new kind of cancer drug known as an immune-checkpoint inhibitor, he knew that most clinicians were well aware that clinical trials overlooked older patients. Gross’s research team suspected that some doctors might be wary of offering older adults the treatments, which work by preventing immune cells from switching off, thus allowing them to kill cancer cells. “Maybe they’re going to be more careful,” he says, and offer the intervention to younger patients first.

    But in a 2018 analysis of more than 3,000 patients, Gross and his colleagues found that within four months of approval by the FDA, most patients eligible to receive a class of immune-checkpoint inhibitors were being prescribed the drugs. And the patients receiving this treatment in clinics were significantly older than those in the clinical trials. “Oncologists were very ready to give these drugs to the older patients, even though they’re not as well represented,” Gross says.

    In another analysis, published this year, Gross and his colleagues examined how these drugs helped people diagnosed with certain types of lung cancer. The team found that the drugs extended the life of patients under the age of 55 by a median of four and a half months, but only by a month in those over the age of 75.

    The evidence doesn’t suggest that checkpoint inhibitors aren’t helpful for many patients, Gross says. But it’s important to identify which particular populations are helped the most by these drugs. “I thought that we would see a greater survival benefit than we did,” he says. “It really calls into question how we’re doing research, and we really have to double down on doing more research that includes older patients.”

    People over the age of 65 don’t fare well with other types of cancer treatments either. About half of older patients with advanced cancer experience severe and even potentially life-threatening side effects with chemotherapy, which can lead oncologists to lower medication doses, as in Yeldell’s case.

    There’s a strong connection between the lack of evidence from clinical trials and worse outcomes in the clinic, according to Kvale. “There’s a lot of enthusiasm for these medicines that don’t seem so toxic up front,” she says, “but understanding where they do or don’t work well is key—not just because of the efficacy, but because those drugs are almost toxically expensive sometimes.”

    Since the earliest reports of this data gap, regulators and researchers have tried to fix the problem. Changes to clinical trials have, in principle, made it easier for older adults to sign up. For instance, fewer and fewer studies have an upper age limit for participants. Last year, the FDA issued guidance to industry-funded trials recommending the inclusion of older adults and relaxing other criteria, to allow for participants with natural age-related declines. Still, the problem persists.

    When Sedrak and his colleagues set out to understand why the needle had moved so little over the past few decades, their analysis found a number of explanations, beginning with eligibility criteria that may inadvertently disqualify older adults. Physicians may also be concerned about their older patients’ ability to tolerate unknown side effects of new drugs. Patients and caregivers share these concerns. The logistics of participation can also prove problematic.

    “But of all these, the main driving force, the upstream force, is that trials are not designed with older adults in mind,” Sedrak says. Clinical trials tend to focus on survival, and although older adults do care about this, many of them have other motivations—and concerns—when considering treatment.


    Clinical trials are generally geared toward measuring improvements in health: They may track the size of tumors or months of life gained. These issues aren’t always top of mind for older adults, according to Sedrak. He says he’s more likely to hear questions about how side effects may influence the patient’s cognitive function, ability to live independently, and more. “We don’t design trials that capture the end points that older adults want to know,” he says.

    As a group, older adults do experience more side effects, sometimes so severe that the cure rivals the disease. In the absence of evidence from clinical trials, clinicians and patients have tried to find other ways to predict how a patient’s age might influence their response to treatment. In Yeldell’s case, discussions with Kvale and his care team led him to choose a less intensive course of treatment that has kept his cancer stable since October 2022. He continues to live in his own home and exercises with a trainer three times a week.

    For others trying to weigh their choices, researchers are developing tools that can create a more complete picture by accounting for a person’s physiological age. In a 2021 clinical trial, Supriya Mohile, a geriatric oncologist at the University of Rochester, and her colleagues tested the use of one such tool, known as a geriatric assessment, on the side effects and toxicity of cancer treatments. The tool assesses a person’s biological age based on various physiological tests.

    The team recruited more than 700 people with an average age of 77 who were about to embark on a new cancer-treatment regimen with a high risk of toxicity. Roughly half of the participants received guided treatment-management recommendations based on a geriatric assessment, which their oncologists factored into their treatment decisions. Only half of this group of patients experienced serious side effects from chemotherapy, compared with 71 percent of those who didn’t receive specialized treatment recommendations.

    This type of assessment can help avoid both undertreatment of people who might benefit from chemotherapy and overtreatment of those at risk of serious side effects, Mohile says. It doesn’t compensate for the lack of data on older adults. But in the absence of that evidence, tools such as geriatric assessment can help clinicians, patients, and families make better-informed choices. “We’re kind of going backwards around the problem,” Mohile says. Although geriatric oncologists recognize the need for better ways to make decisions, she says, “I think the geriatric assessment needs to be implemented until we have better clinical-trial data.”

    Since 2018, the American Society of Clinical Oncology has recommended the use of geriatric assessment to guide cancer care for older patients. But clinicians have been slow to follow through in their practice, in part because the assessment doesn’t necessarily show any cancer-specific benefits, such as tumors shrinking and people living longer. Instead, the tool’s main purpose is to improve quality of life. “We need more prospective therapeutic trials in older adults, but we also need all of these other mechanisms to be funded,” Mohile says, “So we actually know what to do for older adults who are in the real world.”

    Jyoti Madhusoodanan

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  • The Strongest Signal That Americans Should Worry About Flu This Winter

    The Strongest Signal That Americans Should Worry About Flu This Winter

    Sometime in the spring of 2020, after centuries, perhaps millennia, of tumultuous coexistence with humans, influenza abruptly went dark. Around the globe, documented cases of the viral infection completely cratered as the world tried to counteract SARS-CoV-2. This time last year, American experts began to fret that the flu’s unprecedented sabbatical was too bizarre to last: Perhaps the group of viruses that cause the disease would be poised for an epic comeback, slamming us with “a little more punch” than usual, Richard Webby, an influenza expert at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, in Tennessee, told me at the time.

    But those fears did not not come to pass. Flu’s winter 2021 season in the Southern Hemisphere was once again eerily silent; in the north, cases sneaked up in December—only to peter out before a lackluster reprise in the spring.

    Now, as the weather once again chills in this hemisphere and the winter holidays loom, experts are nervously looking ahead. After skipping two seasons in the Southern Hemisphere, flu spent 2022 hopping across the planet’s lower half with more fervor than it’s had since the COVID crisis began. And of the three years of the pandemic that have played out so far, this one is previewing the strongest signs yet of a rough flu season ahead.

    It’s still very possible that the flu will fizzle into mildness for the third year in a row, making experts’ gloomier suspicions welcomingly wrong. Then again, this year is, virologically, nothing like the last. Australia recently wrapped an unusually early and “very significant” season with flu viruses, says Kanta Subbarao, the director of the WHO Collaborating Centre for Reference and Research on Influenza at the Doherty Institute. By sheer confirmed case counts, this season was one of the country’s worst in several years. In South Africa, “it’s been a very typical flu season” by pre-pandemic standards, which is still enough to be of note, according to Cheryl Cohen, a co-head of the country’s Centre for Respiratory Disease and Meningitis at the National Institute for Communicable Diseases. After a long, long hiatus, Subbarao told me, flu in the Southern Hemisphere “is certainly back.”

    That does not bode terribly well for those of us up north. The same viruses that seed outbreaks in the south tend to be the ones that sprout epidemics here as the seasons do their annual flip. “I take the south as an indicator,” says Seema Lakdawala, a flu-transmission expert at Emory University. And should flu return here, too, with a vengeance, it will collide with a population that hasn’t seen its likes in years, and is already trying to marshal responses to several dangerous pathogens at once.

    The worst-case scenario won’t necessarily pan out. What goes on below the equator is never a perfect predictor for what will occur above it: Even during peacetime, “we’re pretty bad in terms of predicting what a flu season is going to look like,” Webby, of St. Jude, told me. COVID, and the world’s responses to it, have put experts’ few forecasting tools further on the fritz. But the south’s experiences can still be telling. In South Africa and Australia, for instance, many COVID-mitigation measures, such as universal masking recommendations and post-travel quarantines, lifted as winter arrived, allowing a glut of respiratory viruses to percolate through the population. The flu flood also began after two essentially flu-less years—which is a good thing at face value, but also represents many months of missed opportunities to refresh people’s anti-flu defenses, leaving them more vulnerable at the season’s start.

    Some of the same factors are working against those of us north of the equator, perhaps to an even greater degree. Here, too, the population is starting at a lower defensive baseline against flu—especially young children, many of whom have never tussled with the viruses. It’s “very, very likely” that kids may end up disproportionately hit, Webby said, as they appear to have been in Australia—though Subbarao notes that this trend may have been driven by more cautious behaviors among older populations, skewing illness younger.

    Interest in inoculations has also dropped during the pandemic: After more than a year of calls for booster after booster, “people have a lot of fatigue,” says Helen Chu, a physician and flu expert at the University of Washington, and that exhaustion may be driving already low interest in flu shots even further down. (During good years, flu-shot uptake in the U.S. peaks around 50 percent.) And the few protections against viruses that were still in place last winter have now almost entirely vanished. In particular, schools—a fixture of flu transmission—have loosened up enormously since last year. There’s also just “much more flu around,” all over the global map, Webby said. With international travel back in full swing, the viruses will get that many more chances to hopscotch across borders and ignite an outbreak. And should such an epidemic emerge, with its health infrastructure already under strain from simultaneous outbreaks of COVID, monkeypox, and polio, America may not handle another addition well. “Overall,” Chu told me, “we are not well prepared.”

    At the same time, though, countries around the world have taken such different approaches to COVID mitigation that the pandemic may have further uncoupled their flu-season fate. Australia’s experience with the flu, for instance, started, peaked, and ended early this year; the new arrival of more relaxed travel policies likely played a role in the outbreak’s beginning, before a mid-year BA.5 surge potentially hastened the sudden drop. It’s also very unclear whether the U.S. may be better or worse off because its last flu season was wimpy, weirdly shaped, and unusually late. South Africa saw an atypical summer bump in flu activity as well; those infections may have left behind a fresh dusting of immunity and blunted the severity of the following season, Cohen told me. But it’s always hard to tell. “I was quite strong in saying that I really believed that South Africa was going to have a severe season,” she said. “And it seems that I was wrong.” The long summer tail of the Northern Hemisphere’s most recent flu season could also exacerbate the intensity of the coming winter season, says John McCauley, the director of the Worldwide Influenza Centre at the Francis Crick Institute, in London. Kept going in their off-season, the viruses may have an easier vantage point from which to reemerge this winter.

    COVID’s crush has shifted flu dynamics on the whole as well. The pandemic “squeezed out” a lot of diversity from the influenza-virus population, Webby told me; some lineages may have even entirely blipped out. But others could also still be stewing and mutating, potentially in animals or unmonitored pockets of the world. That these strains—which harbor especially large pandemic potential—could emerge into the general population is “my bigger concern,” Lakdawala, of Emory, told me. And although the particular strains of flu that are circulating most avidly seem reasonably well matched to this year’s vaccines, the dominant strains that attack the north could yet shift, says Florian Krammer, a flu virologist at Mount Sinai’s Icahn School of Medicine. Viruses also tend to wobble and hop when they return from long vacations; it may take a season or two before the flu finds its usual rhythm.

    Another epic SARS-CoV-2 variant could also quash a would-be influenza peak. Flu cases rose at the end of 2021, and the dreaded “twindemic” loomed. But then, Omicron hit—and flu “basically disappeared for one and a half months,” Krammer told me, only tiptoeing back onto the scene after COVID cases dropped. Some experts suspect that the immune system may have played a role in this tag-team act: Although co-infections or sequential infections of SARS-CoV-2 and flu viruses are possible, the aggressive spread of a new coronavirus variant may have set people’s defenses on high alert, making it that much harder for another pathogen to gain a foothold.

    No matter the odds we enter flu season with, human behavior can still alter winter’s course. One of the main reasons that flu viruses have been so absent the past few years is because mitigation measures have kept them at bay. “People understand transmission more than they ever did before,” Lakdawala told me. Subbarao thinks COVID wisdom is what helped keep Australian flu deaths down, despite the gargantuan swell in cases: Older people took note of the actions that thwarted the coronavirus and applied those same lessons to flu. Perhaps populations across the Northern Hemisphere will act in similar ways. “I would hope that we’ve actually learned how to deal with infectious disease more seriously,” McCauley told me.

    But Webby isn’t sure that he’s optimistic. “People have had enough hearing about viruses in general,” he told me. Flu, unfortunately, does not feel similarly about us.

    Katherine J. Wu

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