Why you can't trust medical journals anymore

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[sSRI-Research] Why you can't trust medical journals anymore

April 2004

 

Why you can't trust medical journals anymore

Doctors Without Borders

 

By Shannon Brownlee

Source: Washington Monthly

 

http://www.washingtonmonthly.com/features/2004/0404.brownlee.html

 

With financial ties to nearly two dozen drug and biotech companies,

Dr. Charles B. Nemeroff may hold some sort of record among academic

clinicians for the most conflicts of interest. A psychiatrist, a

prominent researcher, and chairman of the department of psychiatry and

behavioral science at Emory University in Atlanta, Nemeroff receives

funding for his academic research from Eli Lilly, AstraZeneca, Pfizer,

Wyeth-Ayerst--indeed from virtually every pharmaceutical house that

manufactures a drug to treat mental illness. He also serves as a

consultant to drug and biotech companies, owns their stocks, and is a

member of several speakers' bureaus, delivering talks--for a fee--to

other physicians on behalf of the companies' products.

 

But it was just three of Nemeroff's many financial entanglements that

caught the eye of Dr. Bernard J. Carroll last spring while reading a

paper by the Emory doctor in the prominent scientific journal, Nature

Neuroscience. In that article, Nemeroff and a co-author reviewed

roughly two dozen experimental treatments for psychiatric disorders,

opining that some of the new treatments were disappointing, while

others showed great promise in relieving symptoms. What struck

Carroll, a psychiatrist in Carmel, Calif., was that three of the

experimental treatments praised in the article were ones that Nemeroff

stood to profit from--including a transdermal patch for the drug

lithium, for which Nemeroff holds the patent.

 

Carroll and a colleague, Dr. Robert T. Rubin, wrote to the editor of

Nature Neuroscience, which is just one of a family of journals owned

by the British firm, Nature Publishing Group, pointing out the

journal's failure to disclose Nemeroff's interests in the products he

praised. They asked the editor to publish their letter, so that

readers could decide for themselves whether or not the author's

financial relationships might have tainted his opinion. After waiting

five months for their letter to appear, the doctors went to The New

York Times with their story--a move that sparked a furor in academic

circles, and offered the public yet another glimpse into conflict of

interest, one of the most contentious and bitter debates in medicine.

 

In his defense, Nemeroff told the Times he would have been happy to

list his (many) relationships with private industry--if only the

journal had asked. " If there is a fault here, " he said, " it is with

the journal's policy, " which did not require authors of review

articles to disclose their conflicts of interest.

 

And that is pretty much where the debate over conflict of interest in

medical journals stands: Should research scientists who have financial

stakes in the products they are writing about be forced to disclose

those ties? To which the average person might reasonably respond, of

course they should. But the more pertinent question is why scientists

with financial stakes in the outcome of scientific studies are allowed

anywhere near those studies, much less reviewing them in elite journals.

 

The answer to that question is at once both predictable and shocking:

For the past two decades, medical research has been quietly corrupted

by cash from private industry. Most doctors and academic researchers

aren't corrupt in the sense of intending to defraud the public or harm

patients, but rather, more insidiously, guilty of allowing the

pharmaceutical and biotech industries to manipulate medical science

through financial relationships, in effect tainting the system that is

supposed to further the understanding of disease and protect patients

from ineffective or dangerous drugs. More than 60 percent of clinical

studies--those involving human subjects--are now funded not by the

federal government, but by the pharmaceutical and biotech industries.

That means that the studies published in scientific journals like

Nature and The New England Journal of Medicine--those critical

reference points for thousands of clinicians deciding what drugs to

prescribe patients, as well as for individuals trying to educate

themselves about conditions and science reporters from the popular

media who will publicize the findings--are increasingly likely to be

designed, controlled, and sometimes even ghost-written by marketing

departments, rather than academic scientists. Companies routinely

delay or prevent the publication of data that show their drugs are

ineffective. The majority of studies that found such popular

antidepressants as Prozac and Zoloft to be no better than placebos,

for instance, never saw print in medical journals, a fact that is

coming to light only now that the Food and Drug Administration has

launched a reexamination of those drugs.

 

Today, private industry has unprecedented leverage to dictate what

doctors and patients know--and don't know--about the $160 billion

worth of pharmaceuticals Americans consume each year. This is an

unsettling charge that many (if not a majority) of doctors and

academic researchers don't want to acknowledge. Once grasped, however,

the full scope and consequences of medical conflict of interest beget

grave doubts about the veracity of wide swaths of medical science. As

Dr. Drummond Rennie, deputy editor of The Journal of the American

Medical Association (JAMA), puts it, " This is all about bypassing

science. Medicine is becoming a sort of Cloud Cuckoo Land, where

doctors don't know what papers they can trust in the journals, and the

public doesn't know what to believe. "

 

Clinical trial and error

 

How did we get to this point? What effect is industry influence having

on the treatment of patients? And why are the medical journals not

more vigilant to weed out papers that have been distorted by conflict

of interest? The answers to these questions begin, oddly enough, with

an amendment to U.S. patent law called the Bayh-Dole Act. Passed in

1980, Bayh-Dole for the first time permitted universities to

commercialize products and inventions without losing their federal

research funding, the seed money for innovative research. The

brainchild of George Keyworth II, President Reagan's science advisor,

who was watching the United States get beaten in world markets by the

Japanese, Bayh-Dole was intended to stimulate advanced technological

invention and speed its transfer from university labs into private

industry, where it could be put to work spurring U.S. productivity.

 

It seemed like a win-win proposition. Indeed, Bayh-Dole has helped

launch the biotech industry and has propelled several life-saving

products to market. The basic research behind Gleevec, for instance,

an incredibly effective new anti-cancer drug, was done by a university

scientist. The drug's manufacturer, Novartis, stepped in and provided

additional funding for development. In 1984, private companies

contributed a mere $26 million to university research budgets. By

2000, they were ponying up $2.3 billion, an increase of 9,000 percent

that provided much needed funds to universities at a time when the

cost of doing medical research was skyrocketing.

 

That's the upside. The downside is that Bayh-Dole has also fostered

increasingly cozy relationships between the academics upon whom the

nation depends for unbiased medical information and Big Pharma,

private companies whose main goal, let's face it, is making a profit.

And we're talking serious money here. In addition to the salaries

built into company-sponsored research grants, academic clinicians at

medical schools can pad their already decent incomes with $1,000-a-day

consulting contracts with pharmaceutical companies, patent royalties,

licensing fees, and big-payoff stock options. Nemeroff stood to reap

as much as $1 million in stock from a company that manufactured one of

the products in his Nature Neuroscience paper. At many of the top

research universities and medical schools around the country, a

substantial percentage of the faculty enjoys the perks of industry

relationships. At MIT, 31 percent of the science and engineering

faculty has outside income; at Stanford Medical School, it's 20 percent.

 

What's in it for the pharmaceutical companies? Simple economics. It's

Marketing 101. By penetrating the wall that once existed around

academic researchers, drug companies have gained access to the

" thought leaders " in medicine, the big names whose good opinion of an

idea or a product carries enormous weight with other physicians.

Companies target academic KOLs, or Key Opinion Leaders, in the lexicon

of marketing, and woo them with invitations to sit on scientific

advisory committees, or to serve as members of speakers' bureaus,

which offer hefty fees for lending their prestige to a company and

touting its products at scientific meetings and continuing medical

education conferences. Of course, KOLs must be convinced of their own

impartiality, says Carl Elliott, a moral philosopher at the University

of Minnesota and author of Better Than Well: American Medicine Meets

the American Dream. " If they understood that they were being used as

industry mouthpieces, they would probably pull the plug on the whole

enterprise. " Drug companies encourage their KOLs to consult for

multiple companies so the appearance of objectivity can be maintained.

But the drug industry's most powerful means of boosting the bottom

line is funding research, which allows companies to control, or at

least influence, a great deal of what gets published in the medical

journals, effectively turning supposedly objective science into a

marketing tool.

 

" These are not benign people who are interested in helping people with

their new wonder drugs, " says Drummond Rennie. " The drug companies are

run by hard-nosed marketers, not by the physicians and the scientists.

They use what works, and money works. " Rennie, who has a thatch of

unkempt white hair and remnants of the accent of his native Leeds,

England, got a clear picture of the extent to which drug companies

will go to control the results of studies they fund in 1993, when a

colleague at University of California San Francisco tried to publish a

paper in JAMA in 1993 on the metabolic activity of four different

forms of thyroid hormone. Betty J. Dong, a pharmacologist, had been

contracted in 1987 by Flint Laboratories to run a clinical trial

comparing Synthroid, Flint's synthetic version of thyroid hormone, to

that of three competing formulations. At the time, Synthroid was the

market leader and the most expensive drug in its class. Dong and Flint

signed a lengthy agreement detailing the design of the study, and both

sides fully expected the results would show that Synthroid was superior.

 

But all four drugs turned out to be essentially equivalent. In 1990,

as Dong prepared a paper for JAMA, the company that was at first so

eager to solicit her help, launched a vigorous campaign to discredit

the study. Flint then rushed its own paper into press at a less

prestigious journal, concluding--surprise!--that Synthroid was

superior. After numerous attempts to address the company's criticisms,

Dong finally submitted her paper to JAMA, only to withdraw it three

months later when the firm threatened to sue for breach of contract.

It took the FDA and U.S. Department of Health and Human Services to

get the company to back down. Dong's paper did not see print in JAMA

until 1997.

 

In this case, it might seem as if the only real harm to the public

during the seven years that elapsed from the time Dong completed her

study to its publication was higher prices to patients and insurers.

To Rennie's way of thinking, the Dong imbroglio and others like it

have a more insidious effect by sending a chilling message to

scientists, namely, don't bite the hand that feeds you. In a recent

survey of clinical researchers, nearly 20 percent of respondents

admitted to delaying publication of their results by more than six

months at least once in the last three years to allow for patent

application, protect their scientific lead, or to slow the

dissemination of results that would hurt sales of their sponsor's

product--often without overt pressure from the company. " If you're

getting a lot of money from a corporate sponsor, it's easy to get the

impression that you'll get even more for future research if you don't

write up the negative results, " says Rennie--and that your funds will

dry up if you do.

 

The bottom line is that articles appearing in medical journals contain

a lot of happy talk about medical products. At least eight studies

have shown that industry-sponsored research that gets published tends

to produce pro-industry conclusions, according to a review by Yale

University researchers that appeared last year in JAMA. By reanalyzing

data from eight separate studies of the effect of conflict of interest

on 1,140 published scientific papers, the researchers found that

papers based on industry-sponsored research are significantly more

likely to reflect favorably on a sponsoring company's drug or device

than research that is supported by a non-profit entity or the federal

government.

 

How can this be? Isn't science, well, scientific, an objective search

for the truth? That's what many academic clinicians, especially those

who are mixed up with corporate sponsors, would have the public

believe. A typical comment comes from Niels Reimers, an early promoter

of industry-university ties, who told the Hartford Courant, " You may

think I'm a Pollyanna or something, but most people are honest. It's

sort of the ethos of academic research. " Here's Dr. Irwin Goldstein, a

Boston University urologist who has consulted for at least seven

companies developing impotence therapies: " Science is science. It

comes down to the bottom line. What the data shows, the data shows. "

 

Such statements reflect the ideal of science, not the reality, says

Dr. Marcia Angell, former editor in chief of The New England Journal

of Medicine. Public protestations aside, she says, " Clinicians know

privately that results can be jiggered. You can design studies to come

out the way you want them to. You can control what data you look at,

control the analysis, and then shade your interpretation of the

results. " Even the most careful research can be fraught with murky

results that require sifting and weighing, a measure of judgment that

the researcher hopes will bring him closer to the truth. Was this

patient's headache caused by the antibiotic you gave her, or does she

have a history of migraines? Is that patient's depression lifting

because of the drug you are testing, or because a kindly doctor is

actually listening to him?

 

Sometimes there isn't much that journal editors can do to separate

good science from that which has been weighed, sifted, and jiggered

according to a corporate sponsor's needs. Increasing numbers of

studies that get published are actually written by PR firms, " medical

communications " specialists, who then go out and recruit an academic

willing to put his name on the paper, for a fee. Other studies simply

omit data that detract from the sponsor's message. In September 2000,

for example, JAMA published a paper comparing the prescription

painkiller Celebrex to over-the-counter ibuprofen. The manufacturer of

the prescription drug, known as a selective Cox-2 inhibitor, launched

the study in order to show that Cox-2 inhibitors, a class that also

includes the prescription drug Vioxx and was already worth $3.5

billion a year, cause fewer instances of bleeding in the stomach and

intestine than either aspirin or ibuprofen. The huge study, which

looked at six months of data from more than 8,000 patients, produced

unambiguous results: There were fewer side effects among patients on

the Cox-2 drug.

 

A year later, news surfaced that patients had actually been followed

for 12-15 months at the time the JAMA paper came out, not six, and

that during the second half of the study, the group taking the Cox-2

drug suffered higher rates of gastrointestinal side-effects than

patients on the over-the-counter painkiller. To make matters worse,

patients on the Cox-2 developed serious heart problems three times

more often than those on ibuprofen. The authors of the paper--all of

them either consultants to the manufacturer or employees " defended

their decision to report only the first, positive, half of their

study, saying several patients who weren't taking the Cox-2 drugs

dropped out after six months, making the statistics more difficult to

analyze. But Dr. Catherine D. DeAngelis, JAMA's editor in chief, told

The Washington Post: " I am disheartened. We are functioning on a level

of trust that was, perhaps, broken. "

 

Disheartened? Not furious? No, because DeAngelis could not know for

certain whether or not the authors held back half the data in order to

make their sponsor's drug look better " no matter how likely that

explanation may seem. When researchers submit papers to a journal, the

editor has little choice but to trust the authors have employed a

ruthless skepticism when viewing their own results, that they have

bent over backwards to minimize self-delusion. Editors and peer

reviewers can ferret out sloppy reasoning, look at how an author has

designed and executed a study, and correct faulty statistics, but as

Angell remarked, " We don't put bamboo slivers under their nails. If

they wanted to lie, they could lie. "

 

Articles of faith

 

Dr. Arnold Relman began worrying about this problem way back in 1977,

when he became editor-in-chief of The New England Journal. That year,

Relman got a call from a reporter about a paper that was due to appear

in the next issue, discussing serious side effects--including lowering

a man's testosterone and sperm counts--of a popular antacid. The

reporter wanted to know what Relman intended to do about the fact that

Wall Street analysts had acquired early copies of the paper and now

the stock of the company that made the drug was falling.

 

Relman, who began practicing medicine in the 1950s and calls himself a

" relic, " says before that reporter's call, it had never occurred to

him that medical research could have financial consequences for

industry. But the more he thought about it, he told me recently, " The

more I became convinced that the commercialization of medical practice

and medical research, and the use of the information for commercial

purposes, was a major threat to the integrity of the whole system. " He

recognized that medical researchers, being only human, would have

trouble applying that ruthless skepticism that was so necessary to

good science when there was money at stake.

 

The obvious solution to Relman and Angell, who was by then a deputy

editor at The New England Journal of Medicine, was disclosure. Forcing

authors to tell the world they were taking industry money, the editors

reasoned, would prompt a little soul-searching among researchers who

might otherwise be inclined to turn a blind eye to negative results or

shade conclusions in favor of a corporate sponsor. It would put them

on notice that readers would be watching. The editors also figured

that disclosure would help readers judge the validity of an author's

conclusions. " They could evaluate the data for themselves, " Relman

told me recently. " But the discussion, the interpretation by the

author can be slanted . . . it was still important for readers to know

when articles were sponsored by industry. " JAMA, largely at Rennie's

urging, followed suit soon after.

 

Six years later, Relman upped the ante by barring researchers with

conflicts of interest from writing editorials or review articles--like

the one penned in Nature Neuroscience by Charles Nemeroff " because they

carry great weight with doctors in private practice. Angell explains

their decision like this: " Imagine a judge who has before him a case

involving two companies suing each other--and he owns one of the

companies. And he says, 'Not to worry. I'm a judge and I learned how

to evaluate things in a dispassionate way.' He'd be laughed out of

court. " She and Relman argued that just as judges must recuse

themselves from cases in which they have financial ties to a litigant,

editorialists and review authors with conflicts of interest should

refrain from offering medical opinions.

 

Angell was still defending that decision a decade later, as editor in

chief at the Journal, when she wrote in 2000 that disclosure was not

sufficient to preserve the integrity of the science that appeared in

her journal's pages: " We believe that a policy of caveat emptor is not

enough for readers who depend on the opinion of editorialists. " Why

was it necessary to defend the Journal's policies? Partly because

authors were ignoring them. In 1997, when Sheldon Krimsky, a professor

of public policy at Tufts University, surveyed 61,134 articles in some

181 journals, he found that only 0.5 percent disclosed a conflict of

interest related to the topic of the article, an impossibly low number

given the fact that a quarter of biomedical researchers at the time

were receiving funding from industry. The reason for this low rate of

disclosure, as Krimsky notes dryly in his book, Science in the Private

Interest, is that " author compliance is not especially high. "

 

" Lots of eminent people took great offense at being accused of being

influenced, " Relman told me recently. " 'What an insulting thing to

say. I value my reputation; doctors and scientists know best. Trust

us.' I spent the first 25 years of my career doing clinical research

and being one of them, and I know the feeling. " As Harvey Lodish,

professor of biology at MIT, huffed to Technology Review in 1984, when

Relman first required disclosure at the Journal, " Scientists have all

kinds of private consulting arrangements with biotechnology companies

and many own stock in these companies, but that's nobody's business.

It has nothing to do with the quality of their research. "

 

" They actually believe that they aren't influenced, " says Angell.

Aside from the fact that it's not in physicians' self-interest to

acknowledge the effects of corporate money, they may have a hard time

seeing the problem for the same reason fish don't know they're

swimming in water: Doctors are surrounded by conflicts of interest

almost from the moment they arrive at medical school. Pharmaceutical

companies begin wooing young doctors with small tokens at first, pens

and coffee mugs emblazoned with drug logos, then escalating to pizza

night for medical residents, dinners at expensive restaurants and

tickets to sporting events. Most schools offer a class in medical

ethics, but there's no requirement that they discuss conflict of

interest. Besides, a few lectures can't outweigh the message young

doctors absorb every day, as they watch the icons in their

profession--their professors, visiting lecturers, heads of

departments--taking gifts, speaking on behalf of companies, flying

first-class to medical meetings in Paris and Honolulu. By the time

medical residents enter private practice or the lab, the gifts from

industry no longer seem like gifts, but entitlements " just another way

to be compensated for all those brutal, slogging years of lousy pay

and long nights.

 

A journalist friend of mine recently told me about the day his

then-girlfriend, who was a neurosurgeon, received a check for several

hundred dollars in the mail, along with a note from a drug company

representative. It seemed his girlfriend had made favorable mention of

a particular drug during a lecture she delivered a few days earlier,

and the money was just a little thank you from the manufacturer. When

my friend told her she could not in good conscience cash the

check--that it was a conflict of interest--she looked at him, he said,

as if he were speaking in some unintelligible language.

 

This deafness to the power of money to corrupt medical science leads

physicians and scientists to display an arrogance and a remarkable

naïvete, both of which were very much in evidence in a snippy

editorial entitled, " Avoid Financial 'Correctness,' " written in 1997

by the editors at Nature. They derided disclosure as a waste of time,

writing, " This journal will persist in its stubborn belief that the

research as we publish it is indeed research, not business. " The

Nemeroff case has not changed the editors' view substantially,

although they did alter their policy after it broke. Nature Publishing

now requires editorial and review writers, along with the authors of

original research papers, to inform readers whether or not they have

conflicts of interest, or to say they decline to declare. Charles

Jennings, executive editor of Nature, says they have no intention of

following the New England Journal in barring editorialists who have

conflicts. " I flatly disagree with that policy, " he told me. " That

would exclude many of the leading experts. You don't want a policy

that prevents Thomas Edison from writing about the future of

electricity. Our position is for readers to decide for themselves

about whether an author is biased. "

 

Of course, most readers, especially practicing physicians, don't have

the expertise or the resources to decide for themselves--to know how

the studies might have been constructed differently, whether the

conclusions have been shaded to favor the author's sponsor, or which

data the author decided conveniently to leave out of the article.

Knowing that an author might be biased doesn't aid in determining the

extent and nature of the bias. It's not as though there will be two

articles, one by a biased writer and one by an unbiased writer,

published side by side to allow readers to identify the differences.

Besides, conflicts of interest are now so pervasive, says Rennie, many

readers scarcely take note, even when they're disclosed.

 

Race for the cure?

 

It's tempting to wonder what medical research would look like if

universities and medical associations and editors of journals stopped

talking about how to manage conflict of interest and started thinking

about how to expunge it. Just say no. Proponents of Bayh-Dole will

object, claiming the pace of medical advances will slow to a crawl,

but bear with me for a moment and just imagine a different universe.

Let's start with the medical schools " those temples of higher learning.

They would be the first to cast out the drug merchants. Hospitals

would pay their medical residents a decent wage so they can afford to

buy their own beer and pizza. FDA advisory panelists who have a

financial stake in the drug being considered would not be allowed to

vote. And if the journals stopped publishing papers and editorials

penned by academic clinicians with conflicts of interest, authors

would be forced to choose between taking scientific credit and taking

the money.

 

Of course, that's not going to happen unless academic clinicians

somehow decide there's something wrong with the status quo. In Sheldon

Krimsky's view, the only way to deter conflict of interest is for

academics to feel shame. Maybe so, but as a journalist who has spent a

decade and a half peering at medicine from the outside, nose pressed

to the glass, I'm struck more than anything by the apparent lack of

shame among clinicians when it comes to this issue.

 

Here's a little thought experiment. Imagine that a medical

journalist " me, for instance " makes a tidy sum writing press releases

for, say Pfizer, the manufacturer of Viagra. I don't make a fortune,

maybe just enough to cover a year's tuition for my son's private high

school. And let's say for the sake of argument I also buy a few dozen

Pfizer shares. Then I turn around and write a story for The New York

Times about several new drugs for treating erectile dysfunction.

 

What would you think, dear reader, should my financial relationship

with the pharmaceutical company that makes one of the drugs featured

in my story come to light? Would you have reason to doubt its

objectivity and accuracy? Of course you would. Not only that, I would

be ashamed to show my face in any newsroom, and I would not be writing

for the Times again. I'm not trying to claim that journalists are

paragons of virtue, but we have no illusions about our ability to

withstand temptation and avoid shading what we say when faced with a

wad of cash.

 

Not so in medical research. In that world, the author of a review

article can have direct financial relationships with the manufacturers

of drugs he is critiquing and still argue he has done nothing

unsavory. What that suggests is a sense of fiduciary responsibility is

not built into the professional code of medicine, a doctor's internal

compass of right and wrong.

 

And of course there are also pecuniary reasons not to acknowledge the

power of money. The fact is, universities and doctors have become so

dependent on industry largesse they can't even imagine disentangling

themselves. Repeal the Bayh-Dole Act? Not on your life. Kick the drug

representatives who wheel their little carts filled with sample

packets of drugs out of your office? Who would pay for all those trips

to medical meetings in exotic locales?

 

Company line

 

And so they try to manage it. About half of universities require that

faculty disclose their conflicts of interest. A scant 19 percent set

limits on the outside financial interests faculty may hold. Harvard

University, long considered a paragon of scientific virtue, is now

considering relaxing its rules governing industry collaborations. Now

that Angell is gone, even the once-starchy New England Journal has

loosened its restrictions on editorialists and review writers, who are

now free to enjoy some corporate largesse, just not too much. " They

think it's possible to be virtuous and rich at the same time, to take

money from companies and then manage it, " says Angell. " They come up

with rules that are so complicated in order to give the appearance of

worrying about this, when what they are really worried about is the

money might go away. "

 

All their managing doesn't seem to be working, and we are the ones who

will suffer the consequences. In March 2000, the FDA yanked a diabetes

drug called Rezulin off the market after it had been linked to at

least 90 cases of liver failure and 63 deaths. The withdrawal came

three years after the agency had approved the drug to great fanfare.

Articles in the popular media quoted diabetes experts who praised

Rezulin, calling it " a truly novel approach, " and the manufacturer,

Warner-Lambert, enjoyed a spectacular 144 percent rise in its stock price.

 

By the fall of 1997, however, the FDA had already begun to receive

reports of patients on Rezulin suffering liver failure, a side-effect

that the agency's advisory panel glossed over during its

deliberations. A paper published in the New England Journal also made

scant reference to liver toxicity, saying the drug was " well

tolerated, and most adverse events were considered to be related to

the underlying diabetes. " Several clinicians with ties to the company

subsequently urged the FDA not to withdraw the drug, even as the body

count was rising. According to a Los Angeles Times investigation, at

least 12 of 22 scientists who played a central role in the

federally-funded study of Rezulin received research funding or other

compensation from Warner Lambert, while four of the 12 voting members

of the FDA advisory panel that approved Rezulin, and kept it on the

market an extra 30 months, had financial ties to the company.

 

When industry has penetrated every level of medicine from the lab

bench to the FDA advisory panels, from the pages of the medical

journals to your doctor's prescription pad, how are physicians to make

decisions about treating their patients? How are they to know whether

or not expensive calcium channel blockers are really better than

over-the-counter diuretics for high blood pressure? (They're not.)

Should you take a mildly depressed teenager to a psychotherapist, or

put him on an antidepressant and risk sending him into a suicidal

tailspin? Maybe a cholesterol-lowering statin drug will prevent this

patient from suffering a heart attack, as the studies claim. Then

again, maybe it will simply cause her muscles to break down and

destroy her kidneys, one of the drug's side effects.

 

And what about us patients? What are we to do with the knowledge that

much of what passes as science in medicine is little more than

gussied-up marketing? There isn't much we can do. And so, I say if

you're ill, if you are ailing, or just sick at heart, go find a doctor

who listens, who holds your hand. Just make sure you find a doctor who

looks at evidence, not opinion, and when she pulls out the

prescription pad, start asking a lot of questions.

 

Shannon Brownlee is a fellow at the New America Foundation.