Have a Heart

“We have Mr. Jordan, a 35-year-old African-American man with a past medical history significant for recurrent syncope admitted for further management of critical aortic stenosis with a mean gradient of 100 mm Hg. He has no medical insurance, is unemployed, and has a history of recreational drug abuse. His COVID-19 testing is pending.”

This was the “one-liner” presentation of Mr. Jordan by the medical intern to me, the service attending on our cardiology hospital service at the start of our morning wards rounds. The astronomically high gradient of his aortic valve stenosis was undoubtedly the cause of his syncopal episodes—the highest I had ever seen in my clinical training and career. The severity of his valvular heart disease was overshadowed only by the severity of his negative social factors.

As our team went in to speak with Mr. Jordan to apprise him of his diagnosis and our care plan, I could not help but notice his lack of eye contact and rather curt responses to questioning. I initially thought it was because of our donning of seemingly sterile personal protective equipment that created a barrier to communication or the mere presence of the medical team towering over his bed. But I came to find that there was much more to the story. With further questioning, he indicated that over the past 2 years he had experienced more than 10 episodes of complete loss of consciousness but had not sought medical care because he attributed his symptoms to stress. He revealed reluctance to seek care given his lack of health insurance from unemployment and indicated that he just “didn’t have the best experiences” with the healthcare system in the past. As is common on rounds, we reviewed our plan of action inclusive of additional cardiac imaging and blood tests. We also explained that the state of his heart valve was life-threatening from a condition he was born with—bicuspid aortic valve—and that he would need open heart surgery to replace his valve. Appearing very subdued, he said, “Can you call my wife and tell her?” Given the coronavirus disease-2019 (COVID-19) pandemic, no visitors were allowed. As we exited the room, he called out and made what the team thought was an unusual request, “Can you all bring me a picture of Scrappy Doo? I really want to draw today.”

Afterwards, the team and I reflected, why would he not seek care after his repeated syncopal episodes? Why is he uninsured in the Obamacare era? I asked my team to continue to reflect on these issues and seek ways to better understand the context of his situation. We discussed the importance of exploring and addressing his psychosocial factors or social determinants of health (SDOH) (1) and how best to consider the patient as a whole to tailor care plans to meet his multidimensional needs. This brought us back to the resounding values instilled into our medical institution that “the needs of the patient come first.”

Unfortunately, a patient’s SDOH are often considered only as an afterthought by clinicians and other healthcare team members, if they are addressed at all. Ignoring the primacy of the patient sociocultural context for healthcare delivery can lead to detrimental downstream effects—the creation and exacerbation of health disparities and, in Mr. Jordan’s case, with a potentially fatal outcome resulting from a late diagnosis. This is especially important for cardiovascular disease (CVD) outcomes in African-American men because they have the highest overall CVD death rate among racial and ethnic minority groups (2). He also fell into the “COVID-19–increased risk” group given his pre-existing CVD and—for being a Black individual (3). These disparities are even greater among persons of lower socioeconomic status who are faced with high burdens of pre-existing negative SDOH, such as adverse childhood experiences, criminalization, institutional or structural racism, and income inequality. SDOH are well defined by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services as “conditions in the environments in which people are born, live, learn, work, play, and worship” that affect health outcomes (1). Examples of negative SDOH include greater exposure to crime and violence and reduced access to educational opportunities, employment, and health care.

One could argue that clinicians are extremely busy and have so many competing demands, how could we impose on them such a challenging task of addressing the plethora of psychosocial issues of their patients? Clinicians are faced with increasing time constraints with higher patient volumes and are challenged by pressures to meet quality and productivity metrics that increase health system financial gains. These challenges inherently hinder their ability to foster the patient-provider relationship, so this additional “burden” could surely lead to provider burnout. Further, during the COVID-19 pandemic, many argue that there should be a primary focus on treating the acute illness and maintenance of patient and staff safety. However, this viewpoint is unacceptable and truly undermines the core covenant of the Hippocratic Oath that physicians pledge to their patients. There are 3 key reasons that addressing the SDOH is so crucial in underserved, socioeconomically disadvantaged patients: 1) these patients have an overwhelmingly high burden of negative SDOH; 2) these patients are disproportionately affected by health and healthcare disparities leading to shortened life spans and reduced quality of life; and 3) it is the only way that we will truly achieve health equity. We must use a systems approach to these issues. The provision of high-quality patient care should not be viewed as the sole responsibility of an individual clinician confined to the walls of a clinic or hospital, but as a commitment of a collaborative multidisciplinary team, including social workers, community health workers, and public health and community stakeholders. This responsibility should not fall on community health centers and underresourced clinics primarily serving vulnerable populations as if somehow these issues are not relevant to larger, more resourced medical institutions. It is imperative not only that clinicians at all levels be trained to identify and address the SDOH as a professional competency, but also that health systems purposefully embed mechanisms and policies within practice to allow clinicians to translate these actions easily and meaningfully within the communities they serve (4). This system-wide solution can counteract burnout, avoid schisms in clinician values, and promote professional well-being (5).

Aligned with this patient-centered and contextually relevant approach, we worked to develop a genuine rapport with Mr. Jordan through open communication, transparency, and empathy. As he became more comfortable with our team, he expressed that he had endured significant childhood trauma that left him in a state of posttraumatic stress that affected his sleep patterns and thrusted him into substance abuse. He found sketching cartoon characters as a means to relieve his anxiety and pain. He shared that he had experienced judgmental attitudes in prior clinical interactions that dismissed the effects of his experiences on his well-being. He had never been formally evaluated by a psychiatrist but was open to seeing one while hospitalized. We also garnered that he had low health literacy and self-efficacy to participate actively in his care. With this in mind, we deployed our off-site, on-call social work and case management teams to assist him directly with completing the seemingly endless and daunting medical insurance paperwork. We advocated for and secured on his behalf charity coverage of his medical expenses by our institution, given that his insurance would not be instated during his hospitalization. Further, we recognized the exceedingly difficult situation of not having loved ones present at a time of greatest need—before undergoing a major surgical procedure. To adjust to the visitor restriction policy, we held a Zoom video conference with his wife to discuss his diagnosis, hospital course, and anticipated surgery. Mr. Jordan and his wife expressed sincere gratitude for our time because they had not previously perceived that level of attentiveness by clinicians. Fortunately, his COVID-19 test result was negative. He subsequently underwent a successful aortic valve replacement. Our team reflected on how gratifying and humbling it was that we had the opportunity not only to help alleviate his high aortic valve gradient but also, at least in part, to reduce his high gradient of adverse SDOH—even with limited staffing and resources during the COVID-19 pandemic. In this case, Mr. Jordan had clearly called out his needs to us as we first exited his room and emblematically drew out the importance of our call and purpose as his healthcare team.

We as clinicians must “have a heart”—take our own empathy pulse and take a more active role in addressing the SDOH in patients from socially disadvantaged populations because this is a form of health justice to achieve health equity. This will allow us to better meet the needs of these most vulnerable patients, enhance the patient-provider relationship, and ultimately improve population health outcomes. It is essential that medical institutions and health systems better support clinicians in accomplishing this goal by directly investing in initiatives designed to address these determinants on a community level and providing assistance to socioeconomically disadvantaged patients in profound ways beyond traditional provision of medical services. This is critical now, in the COVID-19 era, when these patients are faced with an even greater burden of negative SDOH.

Author Relationship With Industry

The authors have reported that they have no relationships relevant to the contents of this paper to disclose.