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Tag: primary care

  • Do you have Florida Blue and need care? Here are some Broward options

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    Where can Florida Blue members get care in South Florida?

    While there are a lot of providers that accept the health insurance in Miami-Dade County and the rest of the state, it’s not as easy to get care anymore in Broward County. Broward Health and Memorial Healthcare System, the county’s two public hospital systems, are currently out-of-network with Florida Blue due to ongoing contract disputes.

    And Cleveland Clinic Weston and its facilities could be out-of-network soon, too, if a deal isn’t finalized.

    Florida Blue, which insurers about a third of the state, says there are still plenty of providers in Broward and neighboring counties to care for members.

    READ MORE: Patients feel strain of Florida Blue fallout with Broward hospitals: ‘Just lunacy’

    Where to go depends on what you need.

    HCA Florida, for example, told the Miami Herald it accepts Florida Blue at its 14 hospitals across South Florida and its over 65 MD Now Urgent Care locations. All 12 of its freestanding ERs, including the one in Plantation, and its over 100 HCA Florida physician offices also accept the insurance, including Medicare Advantage, HMO and ACA plans associated with Florida Blue.

    Baptist Health South Florida, the region’s largest not-for-profit healthcare system, also has physician practices, urgent care centers and outpatient centers across South Florida, including in Broward County. It has 12 hospitals across South Florida, though none are in Broward County. Its first Broward hospital is set to open in Sunrise in 2029.

    The fastest way to find a doctor near you is to use Florida Blue’s online doctor search. Patients should always call to double-check that the provider will accept your insurance.

    The following list is based on information provided by Florida Blue. Patients should always check with their provider to make sure their insurance is accepted before booking an appointment.

    Broward hospitals that accept Florida Blue

    HCA Florida’s standalone ER in Plantation also accepts Florida Blue.

    Primary care providers

    • Sanitas Medical Centers, which has a partnership with Florida Blue’s parent company, primarily provides primary and specialty care services to members of Florida Blue and other Blue Cross Blue Shield plans. Providers are not in the BlueMedicare PPO network or in the BlueMedicare HMO network. To find a location near you, visit mysanitas.com/en/fl#state-locations.
    • NSU Health provides a variety of medical services. For more information and to find a location, visit nsuhealth.nova.edu.
    • Holy Cross Medical Group includes more than 160 board-certified physicians across Broward County. Providers are affiliated with Holy Cross Health. To learn more about offered services and to find a doctor, visit holy-cross.com/services/holy-cross-medical-group.
    • Cleveland Clinic, which has a hospital and other centers in Broward, remains in-network, though that could change pending contract negotiations. If a deal isn’t made, Cleveland Clinic could go out-of-network as early as March 1.
    • Primary Medical Physicians has Broward offices in Hollywood, Pembroke Pines, Davie and Plantation. The group also has a Miami-Dade office in Aventura. To learn more, visit primarymedicalphysicians.com.

    Pediatric care

    Joe DiMaggio Children’s Hospital in Hollywood, part of Memorial Healthcare System, and the Salah Foundation Children’s Hospital in Fort Lauderdale, part of Broward Health, are out-of-network.

    So what choices do Florida Blue members currently have for pediatric hospitals?

    In Broward, parents can take their children to HCA Florida’s Northwest Hospital in Margate and University Hospital in Davie.

    The other choices include Holtz Children’s Hospital, located on the main Miami campus of Jackson Memorial Hospital, part of Miami-Dade’s public hospital system, or Nicklaus Children’s Hospital near South Miami. Nicklaus Children’s doesn’t have a dedicated hospital in Broward County, but it does have primary care and urgent care centers.

    Nicklaus Children’s physicians working at Broward Health facilities also remain in-network, according to Broward Health. Still, you should check with your provider beforehand to ensure that the services needed are covered.

    For general pediatric care, parents can also turn to NSU Health Pediatric Associates, which has offices across South Florida, and the Children’s Medical Association, which has offices in Plantation, Tamarac, Coral Springs and Miramar.

    Cancer, orthopedic, maternity care and OB/GYN services

    Here are some of the places where Florida Blue says its members can seek care:

    It’s worth noting that other hospitals in Miami-Dade, including the Women’s Hospital at the main Miami campus of Jackson Memorial Hospital, also have labor and delivery units.

    Michelle Marchante

    Miami Herald

    Michelle Marchante covers the pulse of healthcare in South Florida and also the City of Coral Gables. Before that, she covered the COVID-19 pandemic, hurricanes, crime, education, entertainment and other topics in South Florida for the Herald as a breaking news reporter. She recently won first place in the health reporting category in the 2025 Sunshine State Awards for her coverage of Steward Health’s bankruptcy. An investigative series about the abrupt closure of a Miami heart transplant program led Michelle and her colleagues to be recognized as finalists in two 2024 Florida Sunshine State Award categories. She also won second place in the 73rd annual Green Eyeshade Awards for her consumer-focused healthcare stories and was part of the team of reporters who won a 2022 Pulitzer Prize for the Miami Herald’s breaking news coverage of the Surfside building collapse. Michelle graduated with honors from Florida International University and was a 2025 National Press Foundation Covering Workplace Mental Health fellow and a 2020-2021 Poynter-Koch Media & Journalism fellow. 
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    Michelle Marchante

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  • Pediatric practice in Rocky Point expands to family medicine | Long Island Business News

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    A medical practice in Rocky Point that focused on pediatrics has broadened its services to include family medicine.

    Allied Physicians Rocky Point is now a 5,500-square-foot location at 346 NY-25A. The expanded practice is led by Dr. John Schwartzberg; Nicole Ladd, a certified pediatric nurse practitioner; and Joanna Tutrone, a physician’s assistant.

    “This expansion of services represents our commitment to delivering local, high-quality care that families can trust,” Dr. Kerry Fierstein, CEO of , which is headquartered in Melville, said in a news release about the expansion in Rocky Point.

    “By offering both pediatric and under one roof, we are making it easier for families to access the care they need close to home,” she said.

    The expansion comes at a time when demand for care far outpaces the supply of physicians and other healthcare professionals, according to Becker’s Hospital Review. By 2037, there could be a shortage of 187,130 full-time physicians across the nation, according to the Health Resources and Services Administration, a federal agency within the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

    Among the reasons for the shortage, according to Harvard Medical School, is burnout.

    But Allied Physicians – which has a network of 42 independent practices across Long Island, New York City and the Lower Hudson Valley – works to alleviate burnout.

    Allied “prioritizes the health and happiness of its providers. With a dedicated chief wellness officer, a strong focus on work–life balance and robust resources to prevent burnout. This ensures physicians feel supported both professionally and personally,” Allied Physicians said in a statement.

    physicians can help achieve better health outcomes through preventive measures, early detection, guidance and monitoring, experts say.

    At the Rocky Point practice, patients can access adult and family medical services, including preventative care, vaccinations, chronic condition management, physicals, women’s and men’s health, behavioral health, allergy and asthma treatment, diabetes management and medical weight management.

    Meanwhile, the practice is continuing its commitment to pediatrics, providing comprehensive well and sick care, breastfeeding support, telehealth visits, nutrition guidance and asthma and allergy management as well as community education programs, such as CPR classes and health webinars.


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    Adina Genn

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  • Northwell expands at Stony Brook Technology Center | Long Island Business News

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    Physician Partners has expanded its presence within Tritec’s in . 

    The Northwell affiliate, which currently occupies 6,240 square feet at 3 Technology Drive, expanded its space in the building with an additional 6,717 square feet, bringing their offices to a total of 12,957 square feet, according to a statement. 

    Northwell provides comprehensive healthcare focused on preventive medicine, chronic disease management and wellness. Its physicians offer services including annual checkups, screenings, immunizations, and coordinated care for conditions such as diabetes, heart disease, and high blood pressure. Northwell is expected to take occupancy of the expanded space in the first quarter of 2026. 

    “This expansion reflects Tritec’s dedication to supporting the growth of leading healthcare providers like Northwell,” Karen Shelhorse, vice president of Tritec Asset Management, said in the statement. “With space available in the park and a location less than four miles from three major hospitals, Mather, Stony Brook and St. Charles, the Stony Brook Technology Center offers unmatched convenience and opportunity for healthcare institutions.” 

    Darren Leiderman of represented Northwell Primary Care, while his Colliers colleagues Maria Valanzano and Steve D’Orazio represented landlord Tritec in the East Setauket lease transaction. 

    “We’re proud to facilitate Northwell’s expansion at Stony Brook Technology Center,” Valanzano said. “This transaction highlights the ongoing demand for top-tier in the region.” 


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    David Winzelberg

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  • Anti-Allergy Formula Is on the Rise. Milk Allergies Might Not Be.

    Anti-Allergy Formula Is on the Rise. Milk Allergies Might Not Be.

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    This article was originally published by Undark Magazine.

    For Taylor Arnold, a registered dietitian nutritionist, feeding her second baby was not easy. At eight weeks old, he screamed when he ate and wouldn’t gain much weight. Arnold brought him to a gastroenterologist, who diagnosed him with allergic proctocolitis—an immune response to the proteins found in certain foods, which she narrowed down to cow’s milk.

    Cow’s-milk-protein allergies, or CMPA, might be on the rise—following a similar trend in other children’s food allergies—and they can upend a caregiver’s feeding plans: In many cases, a breastfeeding parent is told to eliminate dairy from their diet, or switch to a specialized hypoallergenic formula, which can be expensive.

    But although some evidence suggests that CMPA rates are climbing, the source and extent of that increase remain unclear. Some experts say that the uptick is partly because doctors are getting better at recognizing symptoms. Others claim that the condition is overdiagnosed. And among those who believe that milk-allergy rates are inflated, some suspect that the global formula industry, valued at $55 billion according to a 2022 report from the World Health Organization and UNICEF, may have an undue influence.

    Meanwhile, “no one has ever studied these kids in a systematic way,” Victoria Martin, a pediatric gastroenterologist and allergy researcher at Massachusetts General Hospital, told me. “It’s pretty unusual in disease that is this common, that has been going on for this long, that there hasn’t been more careful, controlled study.”

    This lack of clarity can leave doctors in the dark about how to diagnose the condition and leave parents with more questions than answers about how best to treat it.

    When Arnold’s son became sick with CMPA symptoms, it was “really, really stressful,” she told me. Plus, “I didn’t get a lot of support from the doctors, and that was frustrating.”

    Though the gastroenterologist recommended that she switch to formula, Arnold ultimately used a lactation consultant and gave up dairy so she could continue breastfeeding. But she said she can understand why others might not make the same choice: “A lot of moms go to formula because there’s not a lot of support for how to manage the diet.”


    Food allergies primarily come in two forms: One, called an IgE-mediated allergy, has symptoms that appear soon after ingesting a food—such as swelling, hives, or difficulty breathing—and may be confirmed by a skin-prick test. The second, which Arnold’s son was diagnosed with, is a non-IgE-mediated allergy, or food-protein-induced allergic proctocolitis, and is harder to diagnose.

    With non-IgE allergies, symptom onset doesn’t tend to happen immediately after a person eats a triggering food, and there is no definitive test to confirm a diagnosis. (Some specialists don’t like to call the condition an allergy, because it doesn’t present with classic allergy symptoms.) Instead, physicians often rely on past training, online resources, or published guidelines written by experts in the field, which list symptoms and help doctors make a treatment plan.

    Numerous such guidelines exist to help providers diagnose milk allergies, but the process is not always straightforward. “It’s a perfect storm” of vague and common symptoms and no diagnostic test, Adam Fox, a pediatric allergist and a professor at King’s College London, told me, noting that commercial interests such as formula-company marketing can also be misleading. “It’s not really a surprise that you’ve got confused patients and, frankly, a lot of very confused doctors.”

    Fox is the lead author of the International Milk Allergy in Primary Care, or iMAP, guidelines, one of many similar documents intended to help physicians diagnose CMPA. But some guidelines—including iMAP, which was known as the Milk Allergy in Primary Care Guideline until 2017—have been criticized for listing a broad range of symptoms, like colic, nonspecific rashes, and constipation, which can be common in healthy infants during the first year of their life.

    “Lots of babies cry, or they [regurgitate milk], or they get a little minor rash or something,” Michael Perkin, a pediatric allergist based in the U.K., told me. “But that doesn’t mean they’ve got a pathological process going on.”

    In a paper published online in December 2021, Perkin and colleagues found that in a food-allergy trial, nearly three-quarters of the infants’ parents reported at least two symptoms that matched the iMAP guidelines’ “mild-moderate” non-IgE-mediated cow’s-milk-allergy symptoms, such as vomiting. But another study, whose authors included Perkin and Robert Boyle, a children’s-allergy specialist at Imperial College London, reviewed available evidence and found estimated that only about 1 percent of babies have a milk allergy that has been proved by what’s called a “food challenge,” in which a person is exposed to the allergen and their reactions are monitored.

    That same study reported that as many as 14 percent of families believe their baby has a milk allergy. Another study by Boyle and colleagues showed that milk-allergy formula prescriptions increased 2.8-fold in England from 2007 to 2018. Researchers at the University of Rochester found similar trends stateside: Hypoallergenic-formula sales rose from 4.9 percent of formula sold in the U.S. in 2017 to 7.6 percent in 2019.

    Perkin and Boyle suspect that the formula industry has influenced diagnosis guidelines. In their 2020 report, published in JAMA Pediatrics, they found that 81 percent of authors who had worked on various physicians’ guidelines for the condition—including several for iMAP’s 2013 guidance—reported a financial conflict of interest with formula manufacturers.

    The formula industry also sends representatives and promotional materials to some pediatric clinics. One recent study found that about 85 percent of U.S. pediatricians surveyed reported a visit by a representative, some of whom sponsored meals with them.

    Formula companies “like people getting the idea that whenever a baby cries, or does a runny poo, or anything,” it might be a milk allergy, Boyle told me.

    In response to criticism that the guidelines have influenced the increase in specialized-formula sales, Fox, the lead author of the iMap guidelines, noted that the rise began in the early 2000s. One of the first diagnosis guidelines, meanwhile, was published in 2007. He also said that the symptoms listed in the iMAP guidelines are those outlined by the U.K.’s National Institute for Health and Care Excellence and the U.S.’s National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.

    As for the conflicts of interest, Fox said: “We never made any money from this; there was never any money for the development of it. We’ve done this with best intentions. We absolutely recognize where that may not have turned out the way that we intended it; we have tried our best to address that.”

    Following backlash over close ties between the formula industry and health-care professionals, including author conflicts of interest, iMAP updated its guidelines in 2019. The new version responded directly to criticism and said the guidelines received no direct industry funding, but it acknowledged “a potential risk of unconscious bias” related to research funding, educational grants, and consultant fees. The authors noted that the new guidelines had tried to mitigate such influence through independent patient input.

    Fox also said he cut all formula ties in 2018, and led the British Society for Allergy & Clinical Immunology to do the same when he was president.

    I reached out to the Infant Nutrition Council of America, an association of some of the largest U.S. manufacturers of infant formula, multiple times but did not receive any comment in response.


    Though the guidelines have issues, Nigel Rollins, a pediatrician and researcher at the World Health Organization, told me, he sees the rise in diagnoses as driven by formula-industry marketing to parents, which can fuel the idea that fussiness or colic might be signs of a milk allergy. Parents then go to their pediatrician to talk about milk allergy, Rollins said, and “the family doctor isn’t actually well positioned to argue otherwise.”

    Rollins led much of the research in the 2022 report from the WHO and UNICEF, which surveyed more than 8,500 pregnant and postpartum people in eight countries (not including the U.S.). Of those participants, 51 percent were exposed to aggressive formula-milk marketing, which the report states “represents one of the most underappreciated risks to infants and young children’s health.”

    Amy Burris, a pediatric allergist and immunologist at the University of Rochester Medical Center, told me that there are many likely causes of overdiagnosis: “I don’t know that there’s one particular thing that stands out in my head as the reason it’s overdiagnosed.”

    Some physicians rely on their own criteria, rather than the guidelines, to diagnose non-IgE milk allergy—for instance, conducting a test that detects microscopic blood in stool. But Burris and Rollins both pointed out that healthy infants, or infants who have recently had a virus or stomach bug, can have traces of blood in their stool too.

    Martin, the allergy researcher at Massachusetts General Hospital, said the better way to confirm an infant dairy allergy is to reintroduce milk about a month after it has been eliminated: If the symptoms reappear, then the baby most likely has the allergy. The guidelines say to do this, but both Martin and Perkin told me that this almost never happens; parents can be reluctant to reintroduce a food if their baby seems better without it.

    “I wish every physician followed the guidelines right now, until we write better guidelines, because, unequivocally, what folks are doing not following the guidelines is worse,” Martin said, adding that kids are on a restricted diet for a longer time than they should be.


    Giving up potentially allergenic foods, including dairy, isn’t without consequences. “I think there’s a lot of potential risk in having moms unnecessarily avoid cow’s milk or other foods,” Burris said. “Also, you’re putting the breastfeeding relationship at risk.”

    By the time Burris sees a baby, she said, the mother has in many cases already given up breastfeeding after a primary-care provider suggested a food allergy, and “at that point, it’s too late to restimulate the supply.” It also remains an open question whether allergens in breast milk actually trigger infant allergies. According to Perkin, the amount of cow’s-milk protein that enters breast milk is “tiny.”

    For babies, Martin said, dietary elimination may affect sensitivity to other foods. She pointed to research indicating that early introduction of food allergens such as peanuts can reduce the likelihood of developing allergies.

    Martin also said that some babies with a CMPA diagnosis may not have to give up milk entirely. She led a 2020 study suggesting that even when parents don’t elect to make any dietary changes for babies with a non-IgE-mediated food-allergy diagnosis, they later report an improvement in their baby’s symptoms by taking other steps, such as acid suppression. But when parents do make changes to their baby’s diet, in Martin’s experience, if they later reintroduce milk, “the vast majority of them do fine,” she said. “I think some people would argue that maybe you had the wrong diagnosis initially. But I think the other possibility is that it’s the right diagnosis; it just turns around pretty fast.”

    Still, many parents who give up dairy or switch to a hypoallergenic formula report an improvement in their baby’s symptoms. Arnold said her son’s symptoms improved when she eliminated dairy. But when he was about eight months old, they reintroduced the food group to his diet, and he had no issues.

    Whether that’s because the cow’s-milk-protein allergy was short-lived or because his symptoms were due to something else is unclear. But Arnold sees moms self-diagnosing their baby with food allergies on social media, and believes that many are experiencing a placebo effect when they say their baby improves. “Nobody’s immune to that. Even me,” she said. “There’s absolutely a chance that that was the case with my baby.”

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    Christina Szalinski

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  • New Book Explores Why Medicine Doesn’t Always Work

    New Book Explores Why Medicine Doesn’t Always Work

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    Jan. 31, 2023 –In How Medicine Works and When It Doesn’t, F. Perry Wilson, MD, guides readers through the murky and often treacherous landscape of modern medicine. The book could well have been titled Marcus Welby Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. In Wilson’s view, Americans no longer trust their doctors the way they once did, and that lack of trust can have life-threatening consequences.

    But patients aren’t to blame. Wilson – a kidney specialist at Yale University and a frequent contributor to Medscape, the sister company of WebMD – explains how charlatans have managed to blur the line between quackery and solid science-based advice, leaving Americans in a relentless tug-of-war for their attention, dollars, and, ultimately, their well-being. 

    Meanwhile, he argues, doctors have created a “vacuum” for misinformation to fill by not working hard enough to build relationships of trust with their patients. Crucially, he says, that means being transparent with people, even when the answer to their question is “I don’t know.” Certainty may be reassuring, but it’s the exception in medicine, not the rule. Anyone who says otherwise – well, they’re selling something.

    The good news, according to Wilson, is that with the right tools, people can immunize themselves against misinformation, inflated claims, and bogus miracle cures.

    Below is an excerpt from How Medicine Works and When It Doesn’t: Learning Who to Trust to Get and Stay Healthy (copyright 2023 by F. P. Wilson, MD. Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing).

    How Medicine Works and When It Doesn’t

    I lost Ms. Meyer twenty-five minutes into her first visit.

    Doctors are often a bit trepidatious meeting a patient for the first time. By the time we open the door to the exam room, we’ve read through your chart, looked at your blood work, and made some mental notes of issues we want to address. Some of the more sophisticated practices even have a picture of you in the electronic medical record, so we have a sense of what you look like. I usually take a beat before I open the door, a quick moment to forget my research lab, my paperwork, a conversation with a coworker, to turn my focus to you, the patient, waiting in that room. It is my hope, standing just on the other side of an inch of wood, that you and I will form a bond, or, more aptly, a “therapeutic alliance.” I’ve always liked that term – the idea that you and I are on the same side of some great war, that together we can overcome obstacles. But that alliance doesn’t come easily. And lately, it has been harder to forge than ever.

    Ms. Meyer was standing in the center of the room, arms crossed. Smartly dressed and thin, she lived in one of the affluent Philadelphia suburbs – on “the Main Line” – and it showed, in her subtle but clearly expensive jewelry as well as her demeanor. She looked out of place in my resident-run medical clinic, which primarily catered to less wealthy inhabitants of West Philadelphia. But what struck me most was the emotion that radiated from her. Ms. Meyer was angry. “What brought you here today?” I asked her, using my standard first question. Later in my career, I would learn to replace that line with something more open: “How can I help you?” or even “Tell me about yourself.” But it hardly mattered.

    She was exhausted, she said. Almost no energy. So drained she could barely get out of bed. Unable to focus during the day, she tossed and turned all night and repeated the cycle day in and day out. It was, she said, simply untenable. I asked how long it had been happening.

    “Months,” she said. “Years, actually. You are literally the sixth doctor I’ve seen about this.” Her anger broke to reveal desperation. Second opinions are common enough in medical practice. Third opinions, for difficult cases, are not unheard of. But I had never been a sixth opinion before, and I felt immediately uncomfortable. Notbecause I wasn’t confident in my diagnostic abilities – like all young doctors I hadn’t yet learned how much I didn’t know – but because I was worried that whatever thoughts I had about her possible ailment would not be enough. What could I offer that all these others couldn’t?

    I kept my poker face firmly intact and waited.

    Eleven seconds. That’s how long the typical doctor waits before interrupting a patient, according to a study in the Journal of General Internal Medicine. Determined to not be a typical doctor, I let her talk, in her own words and in her own time. I thought my attentive listening would frame our relationship differently – that she might see me as a physician who was conscientious, methodical. But it backfired. It was clear she resented the fact that she had to relay the same information to me that she had already told to the five doctors that came before me.

    One of the most important skills a doctor has is to read the room. So I switched from respectful listening to diagnosing. I tried to troubleshoot symptoms of possible thyroid dysfunction, anemia, sleep apnea, lymphoma and other cancers. I asked about her family history, her history of drug or alcohol abuse, her sexual history. I even made sure I didn’t miss questions pertaining to pregnancy, because (this one comes from experience) you should never assume someone isn’t pregnant. I reviewed her lab work: Pages upon pages of blood and urine tests. Even CT scans of the head, chest, abdomen, and pelvis. Nothing was out of order. Nothing that we can measurein a lab or in the belly of a CT scanner, at least.

    But her affect was off, and her mood was sad. Ms. Meyer seemed, frankly, depressed. There is a formal way to diagnose major depressive disorder; a patient must display five of nine classic symptoms (such as loss of interest in activities they used to enjoy, fatigue, or weight changes). Ms. Meyer had eight of nine, a clear-cut case of major depression, according to the diagnostic manuals. But was it depression? Or was it something else, and the frustration of living with that something else had led to depression?

    The nine classic symptoms are far from the only way depression can manifest. As a disease that lives in the brain, the symptoms can be legion – and can lead doctors and patients on costly, and often fruitless, wild-goose chases.

    “Listen,” I said, “not everything is super-clear-cut in Medicine. I think part of this might be a manifestation of depression. It’s really common. Maybe we should try treating that and seeing if your energy improves.”

    Right there. That’s when I lost her.

    I could tell from the set of her jaw, the way her eyes stopped looking directly at mine and flickered off a bit, centering on my forehead. I could tell from her silence, and from the slight droop in her posture, that she had lost hope. We talked some more, but the visit was over. There would be no therapeutic alliance. I asked her to call the number on the back of her insurance card to set up a consultation with a mental health professional and made her a follow-up appointment with me in a month, which she, unsurprisingly, missed. My rush to a diagnosis – in this case a diagnosis that comes with a stigma (unwarranted, but a stigma nonetheless) – drove her away from both me and from conventional medicine. And had she even heard a diagnosis at all? Or had she heard, like so many women have about so many concerns over so many years, “It’s all in your head”?

    I didn’t see her for another year. When I did, she was having a seizure in the emergency room, the result of a “water cleanse,” anaturopathic practitioner had prescribed. Forcing herself to drink gallons of water a day, she had diluted the sodium content in her blood. When her sodium level got too low, her brain could not appropriately send electrical signals, and seizures ensued. She would survive, thankfully, and tell me later that she had never feltbetter. She had been told all her problems were due to heavy metal toxicity. (Lab work would not confirm this.) This diagnosis had led her into a slew of questionable medical practices, including regular “cleanses” and chelation therapy – where substances similar to what you might find in water softening tablets are injected into the blood to bind harmful metals. Chelation therapy runs around $10,000 to $20,000 per year and is not covered by insurance.

    The striking thing was that she positively shone with confidence and hope. Lying in a hospital bed, recovering from life-threatening seizures, she was, in a word, happy.

    And I felt … Well, to be honest, I think the emotion I felt was jealousy. It would be one thing if no one could help poor Ms. Meyer, depressed and unwilling to even entertain the diagnosis, but someone did help her. Someone whose worldview was, in my mind, irrational at best and exploitative at worst. My instinct was to dismissMs. Meyer as another victim of an industry of hucksters, as a rube. She had been taken in with empty promises and false hope, and some grifter had extracted cash from her in the manner of televangelists and late-night psychic hotlines. His “treatment” landed herin the emergency room with generalized tonic-clonic seizures that could have killed her. This was bad medicine, plain and simple.

    But – and this “but” was why I continue to think about Ms. Meyer – in the way that mattered to her, she got better. The huckster helped.

    It took me a long time to figure out why – fifteen years, actually. In that time, I finished my residency and fellowship at the University of Pennsylvania. I got a master’s degree in clinical epidemiology (the study of how diseases affect a population). I was brought ontothe faculty at Yale University and started a research lab running clinical trials to try and generate the hard data that would really save lives. I became a scientist and a researcher, and a physician caring for the sickest of the sick. I lectured around the world on topics ranging from acute kidney injury to artificial intelligence and published more than one hundred peer-reviewed medical manuscripts. And yet, somehow, I knew that all the research studies I did would be for nothing if I couldn’t figure out how I – how Medicine – had failed Ms. Meyer and all the people out there who feel abandoned, ignored by the system, or overwhelmed by medical information.

    Why were people turning to their family and friends or social media for medical advice when physicians are willing and able to provide the best possible information? Was it simply the cost of healthcare? Or was something deeper going on? And though it took time, what I figured out will shine a light on why doctors have lost touch with their patients, why patients have lost faith in their doctors, and how we can get back to that therapeutic alliance that we all need in order to be truly healthy. That is what this book is all about.

    It turns out the most powerful force in Medicine is not an antibiotic. It isn’t stem cell therapy, genetic engineering, or robotic surgery. The most powerful force in Medicine is trust. It is the trust that lives between a patient and a physician, and it goes both ways. I trust you to tell me the truth about how you feel and what you want. You trust me to give you the best advice I can possibly give. We trust each other to fight against whatever ails you, physical or mental, to the best of our abilities. Ms. Meyer did not trust me. That was my failure, not hers. And that personal failure is a mirror of the failure of Medicine writ large – our failure to connect with patients, to empathize, to believe that their ailment is real and profound, and to honestly explain how medical science works and succeeds, and why it sometimes doesn’t. We doctors have failed to create an environment of trust. And into that vacuum, others have stepped.

    It’s not entirely doctors’ fault, of course. The average primary care physician has less than fifteen minutes to conduct a typical new-patient visit. If the doctor doesn’t stick to that time, the practice will go out of business – overwhelmed by payments for malpractice insurance, overhead, and dwindling reimbursements from insurers. It’s hard to create trust in fifteen minutes. Combine our limited schedules with a seemingly unfeeling healthcare system, which sometimes charges thousands of dollars for an ambulance ride to the hospital and tens of thousands of dollars for even routine care, and it is no wonder why, according to a study in the New England Journal of Medicine, trust in physicians is lower in the United States than in twenty-three other economically developed countries.

    While the healthcare system and physicians are not synonymous, physicians are the face of that system. In earlier times, we ran that system. It is no longer the case. Most physicians haven’t realized this yet, but we are no longer a managerial class. We are labor, plain and simple, working for others who, without medical training but with significant business acumen, use our labor to generate profit for companies and shareholders. Part of the key torestoring trust between patients and doctors is for all of us to start fighting to reform the system. And doctors should be on the front line of that battle.

    There is a right way and a wrong way to earn someone’s trust.One key lesson in this book is that it takes a keen observer to tell thedifference. Honesty, integrity, transparency, validation: These are good ways to create trust, and physicians need to commit to them wholeheartedly if we ever want our patients to take us seriously. Patients need to commit to honesty and transparency as well, even when the truth is painful. But less-than-scrupulous individuals can also leverage certain cognitive biases to create trust in ways that are manipulative. Trust hacking like this is a central reason modern medicine has lost ground to others who promise a quick fix for what ails you. It’s important not only to evaluate your own methods, but also to be able to spot whether someone is trying to earn your trust in an ethical way, to spot bad actors whose intentions may have little to do with actually helping you.

    There are several ways to hack trust. One is to give an impression of certainty. The naturopath who treated Ms. Meyer was unambivalent. He told her exactly what was wrong with her: heavy metal toxicity. There was no long list of potential alternative diagnoses, no acknowledgment of symptoms that were typical or atypical for that diagnosis. He provided clarity and, through that, an impression of competence. To know who you can truly trust, you have to learn to recognize this particular trick – you have to be skeptical of people who are overly certain, overly confident. Health is never clear-cut; nothing is 100 percent safe and nothing is 100 percent effective.

    Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something. This book will show you how to grapple with medical uncertainty and make rational decisions in the face of risk.

    Traditional doctors like me are trained early on to hedge their bets. Patients hate this. Ask a doctor if the medication you are being prescribed will work, and they will say something like “For most people, this is quite effective” or “I think there’s a good chance” or (my personal pet peeve) “I don’t have a crystal ball.” This doctorly ambivalence is born out of long experience. We all have patients who do well, and we all have patients who do badly. We don’t want to lie to you. We’re doing the best we can. And, look, I know that this is frustrating.

    Neil deGrasse Tyson, the astronomer and brilliant science communicator, once wrote, “The good thing about Science is that it’s true, whether or not you believe in it.” When it comes to the speed of light, the formation of nebulae, and the behavior of atoms, this is true. The laws of the universe are the laws of the universe; they “change” only insofar as our tools to study them have improved. But Medicine is not astrophysics. It is not an exact science. Or if it is, we have not yet explored enough of the nooks and crannies of the human machine to be able to fix it perfectly.

    Physicians, if we are being honest, will admit that their best advice is still a guess. A very good guess – informed by years of training and centuries of trial and error. But we are still playing the odds. Trust hackers, though, are never so equivocal. Ask your local homeopath how to cure your headaches, and you will be told they have just the thing.

    You can also hack trust by telling people what they want to hear. For someone who is sick, tell them they will be cured. For someone who is dying, tell them they will live. For someone who feelsa stigma surrounding their depression, tell them it is not their own brain, but an external toxin, that is wreaking havoc. To know who to trust with your health, you need to first know yourself. You need to know, deep down, what you want to be true. And be careful of those who tell you it is true.

    This skill, consciously avoiding the cognitive bias known as “motivated reasoning” (the tendency to interpret facts in a way that conforms with your desired outcome), is challenging for all of us – doctors included. But it is probably the most critical skill to have ifyou want to make the best, most rational choices about your health. The answer you are looking for might not be the right answer. That’s why we will discuss, right in the first chapter, how before you know who else to trust, you have to learn to trust yourself.

    The community of people vying for your trust is truly massive. It spans individuals from your neighbors and your friends on social media to the talking heads on the nightly news. All of them are competing in a trust marketplace, and not all of them are playing fair. A smattering of recent headlines illustrates the overwhelming amount of medical-sounding “facts” you may have been exposed to: coffee cures cancer; depressed mothers give birth to autistic children; marijuana is a gateway to opiate abuse; eggs increase the risk of heart disease; eggs decrease the risk of heart disease. Each day, we are inundated with confusing and conflicting headlines like these, designed more to shock, sell, and generate clicks than to inform. I will give you the skills to figure out what health information can be trusted and what is best left unliked and unretweeted.

    The information age brought with it the promise of democratization of truth, where knowledge could be accessed and disseminated at virtually no cost by anyone in the world. But that promisehas been broken. Instead, the information age has taught us that data is cheap but good data is priceless. We are awash in bad data, false inference, and “alternative facts.” In that environment, we are all – doctors and patients alike – subject to our deepest biases. We are able to look for “facts” that fit the narrative of our lives, and never forced to question our own belief systems. If we can’t interrogate the quality of the information we’re consuming, we can’t make the best choices about our health. It’s that simple.

    When you read this book, you’ll learn that doctors aren’t perfect. As humans, we have our own biases. Rigorous studies have shown that those biases lead to differential treatment by race, sexual orientation, and body mass index. While most physicians are worthy of your trust, not all of them are. I’ll teach you how to recognize those who aren’t putting your interests first.

    It’s not wrong to be skeptical of Medicine. Medical science has been developing, evolving, and advancing for the past one hundred years, and has had many stumbles along the way. Scandals from the repressing of information about harms linked to Vioxx (a drug that was supposed to relieve pain), to the effects of thalidomide in pregnancy (which was designed to reduce nausea but led to severe birth defects), to the devastating heart problems caused by the diet pill fen-phen remind us that the profit motive can corrupt the bestscience. Alleged frauds like the linking of the measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR) vaccine to autism diagnoses pollute the waters of inquiry, launch billion-dollar businesses, and leave the public unsure of what to really believe.

    Why would I, a physician and researcher, highlight the failures of medical research? Because Medicine isn’t perfect or complete. It is also, in terms of the alleviation of human suffering, the single greatest achievement of humankind. But you need to understand Medicine, warts and all, to make the right choices about your own health. We must be skeptical, but never cynical.

    This book will also detail some of the astounding successes and breakthroughs that medical science has made possible. For the vast majority of human history, life-or-death issues were determined by randomness or chance. Maybe it was a broken bone that prevented someone from hunting and gathering, or a cut on the arm that got infected, or a childbirth that developed complications for the mother and her child. It’s no mystery why before the modern era, one in four babies died before their first birthday. And those who survived their first year had only a fifty-fifty chance of reaching adulthood. These days, the script has been flipped. Ninety-five percent of humans born on Earth today will reach adulthood, and life expectancy has more than doubled in the last two hundred years. We’ve witnessed the near eradication of diseases like smallpox, rubella, and polio, which would have easily killed or disabled our ancestors, and we’ve achieved major advances in drug treatment and medical procedures that can prolong our lives despite the onset of deadly diseases. Medical science, translated from lab bench to bedside to the doctor’s prescription pad, has been nothing short of miraculous. It has transformed the human experience from lives that are, to steal from Thomas Hobbes, “nasty, brutish and short,” to the lives we live today, which, while not without their troubles, would be unrecognizable to our ancestors.

    Here we stand, in the midst of a torrent of information that would have been inconceivable thirty years ago. Some of it is good, some is bad, but all is colored by our own biases and preconceptions. Decisions about your health happen every single day. If you want to be in control, you need to know how to separate the good from the bad, whether it comes from someone sitting atop the ivory tower, or from your friend on Facebook. This book is about medical science. But it’s really about learning to trust again. When you finish reading it, you will no longer be swayed by the loudest voice, the most impassioned plea, or the most retweeted article. You will be able to trust your doctor, trust yourself, and trust Medicine – our imperfect science and the single greatest force for good in the world today.

    Excerpted from the book How Medicine Works And When It Doesn’t: Learning Who to Trust to Get and Stay Healthy by F. Perry Wilson, MD. Copyright 2023 by F. P. Wilson, MD. Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved.

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  • Long COVID Has Forced a Reckoning for One of Medicine’s Most Neglected Diseases

    Long COVID Has Forced a Reckoning for One of Medicine’s Most Neglected Diseases

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    Kira Stoops lives in Bozeman, Montana—a beautiful mountain town where it sometimes feels like everyone regularly goes on 50-mile runs. Stoops, however, can’t walk around her own block on most days. To stand for more than a few minutes, she needs a wheeled walker. She reacts so badly to most foods that her diet consists of just 12 ingredients. Her “brain fog” usually lifts for a mere two hours in the morning, during which she can sometimes work or, more rarely, see friends. Stoops has myalgic encephalomyelitis, or chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). “I’m considered a moderate patient on the mild side,” she told me.

    ME/CFS involves a panoply of debilitating symptoms that affect many organ systems and that get worse with exertion. The Institute of Medicine estimates that it affects 836,000 to 2.5 million people in the U.S. alone, but is so misunderstood and stigmatized that about 90 percent of people who have it have never been diagnosed. At best, most medical professionals know nothing about ME/CFS; at worst, they tell patients that their symptoms are psychosomatic, anxiety-induced, or simply signs of laziness. While ME/CFS patients, their caregivers, and the few doctors who treat them have spent years fighting for medical legitimacy, the coronavirus pandemic has now forced the issue.

    A wide variety of infections can cause ME/CFS, and SARS-CoV-2, the coronavirus that causes COVID-19, is no different: Many cases of long COVID are effectively ME/CFS by another name. The exact number is hard to define, but past studies have shown that 5 to 27 percent of people infected by various pathogens, including Epstein-Barr virus and the original SARS, develop ME/CFS. Even if that proportion is 10 times lower for SARS-CoV-2, the number of Americans with ME/CFS would still have doubled in the past three years. “We’re adding an immense volume of patients to an already dysfunctional and overburdened system,” Beth Pollack, a scientist at MIT who studies complex chronic illnesses, told me.

    The U.S. has so few doctors who truly understand the disease and know how to treat it that when they convened in 2018 to create a formal coalition, there were only about a dozen, and the youngest was 60. Currently, the coalition’s website lists just 21 names, of whom at least three have retired and one is dead, Linda Tannenbaum, the CEO and president of the Open Medicine Foundation, told me. These specialists are concentrated on the coasts; none work in the Midwest. American ME/CFS patients may outnumber the population of 15 individual states, but ME/CFS specialists couldn’t fill a Major League Baseball roster. Stoops, who is 39, was formally diagnosed with ME/CFS only four years ago, and began receiving proper care from two of those specialists—Lucinda Bateman of the Bateman Horne Center and David Kaufman from the Center for Complex Diseases. Bateman told me that even before the pandemic, she could see fewer than 10 percent of the patients who asked for a consultation. “When I got into those practices, it was like I got into Harvard,” Stoops told me.

    ME/CFS specialists, already overwhelmed with demand for their services, now have to decide how to best use and spread their knowledge, at a time when more patients and doctors than ever could benefit from it. Kaufman recently discharged many of the more stable ME/CFS patients in his care—Stoops among them—so that he could start seeing COVID long-haulers who “were just making the circuit of doctors and getting nowhere,” he told me. “I can’t clone myself, and this was the only other way to” make room for new patients.

    Bateman, meanwhile, is feverishly focused on educating other clinicians. The hallmark symptom of ME/CFS—post-exertional malaise, or PEM—means even light physical or mental exertion can trigger major crashes that exacerbate every other symptom. Doctors who are unfamiliar with PEM, including many now running long-COVID clinics, can unwittingly hurt their patients by encouraging them to exercise. Bateman is racing to spread that message, and better ways of treating patients, but that means she’ll have to reduce her clinic hours.

    These agonizing decisions mean that many existing ME/CFS patients are losing access to the best care they had found so far—what for Stoops meant “the difference between being stuck at home, miserable and in pain, and actually going out once or twice a day, seeing other humans, and breathing fresh air,” she told me. But painful trade-offs might be necessary to finally drag American medicine to a place where it can treat these kinds of complex, oft-neglected conditions. Kaufman is 75 and Bateman is 64. Although both of them told me they’re not retiring anytime soon, they also won’t be practicing forever. To make full use of their expertise and create more doctors like them, the medical profession must face up to decades spent dismissing illnesses such as ME/CFS—an overdue reckoning incited by long COVID. “It’s a disaster possibly wrapped up in a blessing,” Stoops told me. “The system is cracking and needs to crack.”


    Many ME/CFS specialists have a deep knowledge of the disease because they’ve experienced it firsthand. Jennifer Curtin, one of the youngest doctors in the field, has two family members with the disease, and had it herself for nine years. She improved enough to make it through medical school and residency training, which showed her that ME/CFS “just isn’t taught,” she told me. Most curricula don’t include it; most textbooks don’t mention it.

    Even if doctors learn about ME/CFS, America’s health-care system makes it almost impossible for them to actually help patients. The insurance model pushes physicians toward shorter visits; 15 minutes might feel luxurious. “My average visit length is an hour, which doesn’t include the time I spend going over the patient’s 500 to 1,700 pages of records beforehand,” Curtin said. “It’s not a very scalable kind of care.” (She works with Kaufman at the Center for Complex Diseases, which bills patients directly.) This also explains why the cohort of ME/CFS clinicians is aging out, with little young blood to refresh them. “Hospital systems want physicians to see lots of patients and they want them to follow the rules,” Kaufman said. “There’s less motivation for moving into areas of medicine that are more unknown and challenging.”

    ME/CFS is certainly challenging, not least because it’s just “one face of a many-sided problem,” Jaime Seltzer, the director of scientific and medical outreach at the advocacy group MEAction, told me. The condition’s root causes can also lead to several distinct but interlocking illnesses, including mast cell activation syndrome, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, fibromyalgia, dysautonomia (usually manifesting as POTS), and several autoimmune and gastrointestinal disorders. “I’m still amazed at how often patients come in with Complaint No. 1, and then I find five to seven of the other things,” Kaufman said. These syndromes collectively afflict many organ systems, which can baffle doctors who’ve specialized in just one. Many of them disproportionately affect women, and are subject to medicine’s long-standing tendency to minimize or psychologize women’s pain, Pollack told me: An average woman with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome typically spends 16 years getting a diagnosis, while a man needs only four.

    People with long COVID might have many of these conditions and not know about any—because their doctors don’t either. Like ME/CFS, they rarely feature in medical training, and it’s hard to “teach someone about all of them when they’ve never heard of any of them,” Seltzer said. Specialists like Bateman and Kaufman matter because they understand not just ME/CFS but also the connected puzzle pieces. They can look at a patient’s full array of symptoms and prioritize the ones that are most urgent or foundational. They know how to test for conditions that can be invisible to standard medical techniques: “None of my tests came back abnormal until I saw an ME/CFS doctor, and then all my tests came back abnormal,” said Hannah Davis of the Patient-Led Research Collaborative, who has had long COVID since March 2020.

    ME/CFS specialists also know how to help, in ways that are directly applicable to cases of long COVID with overlapping symptoms. ME/CFS has no cure but can be managed, often through “simple, inexpensive interventions that can be done through primary care,” Bateman told me. Over-the-counter antihistamines can help patients with inflammatory problems such as mast cell activation syndrome. Low doses of naltrexone, commonly used for addiction disorders, can help those with intense pain. A simple but rarely administered test can show if patients have orthostatic intolerance—a blood-flow problem that worsens other symptoms when people stand or sit upright. Most important, teaching patients about pacing—carefully sensing and managing your energy levels—can prevent debilitating crashes. “We don’t go to an ME/CFS clinic and walk out in remission,” Stoops told me. “You go to become stabilized. The ship has 1,000 holes, and doctors can patch one before the next explodes, keeping the whole thing afloat.”

    That’s why the prospect of losing specialists is so galling. Stoops understands why her doctors might choose to focus on education or newly diagnosed COVID long-haulers, but ME/CFS patients are “just so lost already, and to lose what little we have is a really big deal,” she said. Kaufman has offered to refer her to generalist physicians or talk to primary-care doctors on her behalf. But it won’t be the same: “Having one appointment with him is like six to eight appointments with other practitioners,” she said. He educates her about ME/CFS; with other doctors, it’s often the other way round. “I’m going to have to work much harder to receive a similar level of care.”

    At least, she will for now. The ME/CFS specialists who are shifting their focus are hoping that they can use this moment of crisis to create more resources for everyone with these diseases. In a few years, Bateman hopes, “there will be 100 times more clinicians who are prepared to manage patients, and many more people with ME/CFS who have access to care.”


    For someone who is diagnosed with ME/CFS today, the landscape already looks very different than it did just a decade ago. In 2015, the Institute of Medicine published a landmark report redefining the diagnostic criteria for the disease. In 2017, the CDC stopped recommending exercise therapy as a treatment. In 2021, Bateman and 20 other clinicians published a comprehensive guide to the condition in the journal of the Mayo Clinic. For any mainstream disease, such events—a report, a guideline revision, a review article—would be mundane. For ME/CFS, they felt momentous. And yet, “the current state of things is simply intolerable,” Julie Rehmeyer, a journalist with ME/CFS, told me. Solving the gargantuan challenge posed by complex chronic diseases demands seismic shifts in research funding, medical training, and public attitudes. “Achieving shifts like that takes something big,” Rehmeyer said. “Long COVID is big.”

    COVID long-haulers have proved beyond any reasonable doubt that acute viral infections can leave people chronically ill. Many health-care workers, political-decision makers, and influencers either know someone with long COVID or have it themselves. Even if they still don’t know about ME/CFS, their heightened awareness of post-viral illnesses is already making a difference. Mary Dimmock’s son developed ME/CFS in 2011, and before the pandemic, one doctor in 10 might take him seriously. “Now it’s the flip: Only one doctor out of 10 will be a real jerk,” Dimmock told me. “I attribute that to long COVID.”

    But being believed is the very least that ME/CFS patients deserve. They need therapeutics that target the root causes of the disease, which will require a clear understanding of those causes, which will require coordinated, well-funded research—three things ME/CFS has historically lacked. But here, too, “long COVID is going to be a catalyst,” Amy Proal, the president of the Polybio Research Foundation, told me. She is leading the Long Covid Research Initiative—a group of scientists, including ME/CFS researchers, that will use state-of-the-art techniques to see exactly how the new coronavirus causes long COVID, and rapidly push potential treatments through clinical trials. The National Institutes of Health has also committed $1.15 billion to long-COVID research, and while some advocates are concerned about how that money will be spent, Rehmeyer notes that the amount is still almost 80 times greater than the paltry $15 million spent on ME/CFS every year—less than any other disease in the NIH’s portfolio, relative to its societal burden. “Even if 90 percent is wasted, we’d be doing a lot better,” she said.

    While they wait for better treatments, patients also need the medical community to heed the lessons that they and their clinicians have learned. For example, the American Academy for Family Physicians website still wrongly recommends exercise therapy and links ME/CFS to childhood abuse. “That group of doctors is very important to these patients,” Dimmock said, “so what does that say to them about what this disease is all about?”

    Despite all evidence to the contrary, many clinicians and researchers still don’t see ME/CFS as a legitimate illness and are quick to dismiss any connection between it and long COVID. To ensure that both groups of patients get the best possible treatments, instead of advice that might harm them, ME/CFS specialists are working to disseminate their hard-won knowledge. Bateman and her colleagues have been creating educational resources for clinicians and patients, continuing-medical-education courses, and an online lecture series. Jennifer Curtin has spent two years mapping all the decisions she makes when seeing a new patient, and is converting those into a tool that other clinicians can use. As part of her new start-up, called RTHM, she’s also trying to develop better ways of testing for ME/CFS and its related syndromes, of visualizing the hefty electronic health records that chronically ill patients accumulate, and of tracking the treatments they try and their effects. “There are a lot of things that need to be fixed for this kind of care to be scalable,” Curtin told me.

    Had such shifts already occurred, the medical profession might have had more to offer COVID long-haulers beyond bewilderment and dismissal. But if the profession starts listening to the ME/CFS community now, it will stand the best chance of helping people being disabled by COVID, and of steeling itself against future epidemics. Pathogens have been chronically disabling people for the longest time, and more pandemics are inevitable. The current one could and should be the last whose long-haulers are greeted with disbelief.

    New centers that cater to ME/CFS patients are already emerging. RTHM is currently focused on COVID long-haulers but will take on some of David Kaufman’s former patients in November, and will open its waiting list to the broader ME/CFS community in December. (It is currently licensed to practice in just five states but expects to expand soon.) David Putrino, who leads a long-COVID rehabilitation clinic in Mount Sinai, is trying to raise funds for a new clinic that will treat both long COVID and ME/CFS. He credits ME/CFS patients with opening his eyes to the connection between long COVID and their condition.

    Every ME/CFS patient I’ve talked with predicted long COVID’s arrival well before most doctors or even epidemiologists started catching up. They know more about complex chronic illnesses than many of the people now treating long COVID do. Despite having a condition that saps their energy, many have spent the past few years helping long-haulers navigate what for them was well-trodden terrain: “I did barely anything but work in 2020,” Seltzer told me. Against the odds, they’ve survived. But the pandemic has created a catalytic opportunity for the odds to finally be tilted in their favor, “so that neither patients nor doctors of any complex chronic illness have to be heroes anymore,” Rehmeyer said.

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    Ed Yong

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