Healthcare Violence: Doctors and Nurses Are Bearing the Brunt of Business Pressures

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

This is Dr Mark Lewis for Medscape Oncology. This month, I want to tackle the difficult subject of violence toward healthcare workers. There's a reason this is top of mind for me in my practice, but I want to start by acknowledging that this has been a much larger issue for our profession and one that has been growing for a number of years now.

The US Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that medical professionals are fivefold more likely than members of other industries to suffer workplace violence. They also estimate that that rate doubled between 2011 and 2018. I think that range is important because it proves this was a problem, and a crescendoing problem, even before COVID.

Another thing I think is relevant is to look at where in the healthcare system are these attacks most likely. In the emergency room, ER staff have seen hostility toward them rise by at least 25% over the past several years. Some of the seeds of mistrust that were sown between the general public and the scientific and medical communities around the pandemic. I think there's some explanation there for why that might be a particular crucible.

Perhaps most disturbingly of all, 60% of the victims of healthcare workplace violence are bedside nurses. There is something about the intensity of the inpatient setting that makes nerves particularly frayed and unfortunately makes patients and family members more likely to lash out. I think it's actually the heightened sense of mortality.

I'm not excusing any of these behaviors, but maybe it's akin to road rage. On the road, behind the wheel, tiny gestures can actually be, on some level, perceived as threats to our survival. Another driver swerving into your lane activates a fight-or-flight response, you feel threatened, and you might respond in the moment very rashly. I wonder if we're not seeing that, quite unfairly, play out against bedside staff in our hospitals.

Here's the thing. Those of us who practice in the outpatient setting — 95% of my work, for instance, happens in clinic — are not immune to this either. There are some very harrowing recent examples of physicians being killed, typically at gunpoint, often by patients, sometimes by aggrieved family members, in their offices. An orthopedist in Tennessee, a back surgeon in Tulsa, along with three of their colleagues. In the latter case, the assailant specifically blamed the surgeon for their pain.

This is where I think things get even more scary. We have to be the bearers of bad news in our profession. This has long been the task of the oncologist, in particular, to convey things that people don't want to hear.

I think what brought this to my mind in terms of my reading was an incredible article in The ASCO Post and also in the Journal of Clinical Oncology by Dr Noelle LoConte, who's a medical oncologist in Wisconsin. The article is called, "I Want to Kill You," and it recounts her telling a previously stage III colon cancer patient, with whom she thought she had good rapport, that their disease had recurred. Their immediate reaction in the heat of that moment was to say, Dr LoConte, I want to kill you. I want to blow your face off.

Already, there's clearly tension when we are telling people what they don't want to hear. I think the final piece of the puzzle goes back to the intrusion of the business of healthcare on the practice of medicine. This is what I witnessed very recently. One of the things that's interesting to think about is how what we do is now framed as customer service. I know there's deriding of this model, but if perception is reality, we have a system where patients are set up to view themselves as consumers.

Let's say, for instance, you're in the unfortunate circumstance of being diagnosed with cancer and your insurer gives you the option to go to multiple oncologists. If you're online browsing for oncologists, how do you differentiate me from some of my colleagues? The answer on these rating websites often has to do with domains that are about the overall experience — not just the patient-doctor interaction but also things like wait time, friendliness of staff, and promptness of care delivery.

That, I think, is the final piece of the puzzle, because what I really risk when I sit down with a patient and lay out a treatment plan is overpromising and underdelivering. I am long used to citing median overall survival for expectation of outcome. Of course, every patient wants to be an exceptional responder. Most patients want to be on the latter half of median survival. No one wants to be on the disappointingly shorter half.

My point is that I've long been able to mitigate that uncertainty for patients. What is getting harder and harder to explain away is the delay incurred between someone's diagnosis, my meeting them and laying out a treatment plan, and their actual initiation of that therapy.

This finally brings me to my recent personal encounter. I have long taken care of a patient, much like Dr LoConte's, with an extremely calm demeanor. I thought we had a great therapeutic alliance. I had tell them that their disease had recurred, and then I laid out a treatment plan. It took weeks and then months for their insurer to approve this plan despite my providing my note in a timely fashion with a mountain of evidence behind the regimen that I'd selected.

This is where I think insurers — when they deny, deflect, and delay — are not taking adequate responsibility for the impact that has on the therapeutic alliance between a patient and their doctor. These people are trusting us with their lives. As an oncologist, I've already told them something they didn't want to hear, and now I'm compounding that with the uncertainty of when we can actually begin treatment.

This gentleman — who, again, is normally extremely kind and affable — showed up at my office and was incredibly hostile toward me and my staff because of the delay that he was encountering. We literally couldn't tell him when his insurer was going to approve his treatment, which would have been financially disastrous if he had tried to pay for it himself out of pocket. He needed his insurer's approval before we could start, but we didn't know when he could start. That uncertainty and not knowing was gnawing away at him until he was at the end of his rope.

What I'm here to say is that this has been a difficult couple of years in healthcare. I'm well aware that our ER staff are on the front lines, as are our bedside and inpatient teams. Even in the outpatient setting, I think we're seeing this crucible and we're seeing the pressure just grow, and grow, and grow. It's like fracking. The more you increase the pressure, the more eventually you're going to find out where the cracks are.

These patients are the ultimate stakeholders. It's their lives on the line, and we should be concerned, but perhaps ultimately not surprised, that they're lashing out to be heard. Given no other resort, they are taking out their frustration and their aggression on us. It's not fair, but I am newly aware of it because, in a patient with whom I thought we had a superb rapport, I saw that vanish. As soon as he thought that his life was at risk, his fight-or-flight response kicked in. I was not dealing with the same man I knew. I was dealing with someone who was desperate and who just wanted to know when they could get their treatment.

I think this has taken the likelihood of workplace hostility to a whole other level for those of us in healthcare.

For any patients listening, I beg of you, please don't shoot the messenger. We are here to serve you the best we can, but there are many external factors at play. We are doing our best to mitigate those for you so we can deliver the care that we promised in as timely a fashion as we can.

I'm Mark Lewis for Medscape. I hope everyone out there can stay safe. Thank you.

Mark A. Lewis, MD, is director of gastrointestinal oncology at Intermountain Healthcare in Salt Lake City, Utah. He has an interest in neuroendocrine tumors, hereditary cancer syndromes, and patient-physician communication.

Follow Medscape on Facebook, X (formerly known as Twitter), Instagram, and YouTube