Figure 1. Comparison of Nissl stained and Calbindin-D28k immunostained sections. (a) Calbindin immunopositive PCs clearly visible along the PC layer. (b) PCs not visible in Nissl stained section.
Background: Duchenne muscular dystrophy (DMD) is an X-linked recessive disease which causes skeletal muscle wasting in males, resulting in premature death during their early to mid 20s. Males with DMD carry defects in the gene encoding for dystrophin, a protein important in ensuring sarcolemmal stability. Dystrophin has also been implicated in disruption to Purkinje cells in the cerebellum. This disruption to cerebellar Purkinje cells has been proposed to be involved in reducing the IQ of affected boys. Aim: To compare Purkinje cell number and distribution in mutant mdx and normal mice. Methods: Cerebellar slices from both mutant (n=4) and normal (n=4) mice were prepared and stained. The number of Purkinje cells in each slice was estimated by three different cell counting techniques. Counting methods were as follows: firstly, the actual number of Purkinje cells per lobe; secondly, a randomised estimate where five random sections of the Purkinje cells layer were selected, counted and averaged; thirdly, an estimated maximum possible count, where three segments from the Purkinje cell layer with the highest density of cells were used to estimate Purkinje cell population. Results: No statistical significance in Purkinje cell numbers between the two groups was found. However, there was a trend towards a decrease in the median number of Purkinje cells in the mutant group, particularly in lobules 3, 4/5, 6 and 10. Conclusion: The study findings suggest a decrease in Purkinje cell number in mdx mice. The small sample size of this study precludes definitive statistical analysis of Purkinje cell numbers in either group. These findings demonstrate a need for larger mouse-model studies to accurately assess differences in cell numbers between the two groups. Given that the greatest difference in cell numbers was demonstrated in lobules 3 and 4/5, the authors suggest that DMD may affect the cerebellum during the maturation of these lobules. Importantly, a reduced Purkinje cell population may be implicated in the intellectual morbidity in boys with DMD.
Introduction: This case report aims to address the ethical issues and obligations of enforcing medical care onto psychiatric patients under the Queensland Mental Health Act 2000 Involuntary Treatment Order (ITO), and will also present Queensland’s legal standpoint and limitations on providing this care under the Act. Case Presentation: PF, a 47 year old male with a history of depression and recent diagnosis of Gleason 7 prostate cancer was admitted to the acute mental health unit following an intentional overdose of alprazolam. His risk to himself prompted the application of an ITO. Although PF was due for investigation of his recently diagnosed prostate cancer, he refused following his suicide attempt. Conclusion: Although an ITO allows for enforcement of psychiatric treatment, no legal allowances exist for enforcement of medical care. In situations where medical conditions may be indirectly detrimental to a person’s mental health, ethicallyappropriate techniques should be employed.
This case report describes a lady who presented with abdominal pain, hypotension and multiple ovarian follicles following egg collection and embryo transfer. She was provisionally diagnosed with Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS) and managed accordingly. This case study describes her clinical presentation, investigations, progress, management and outcome. No current laboratory diagnostic/prognostic markers are available for OHSS; the condition is currently diagnosed clinically. The subsequent discussion elaborates on the epidemiology, pathophysiology, clinical features, assessment, management and risk factors of OHSS, and aims to increase awareness of this important complication of infertility treatment to assist diagnosis, prevention and early institution of treatment.
Breen KJ, Cordner SM, Thomson CJH, Plueckhahn VD. Good Medical Practice: Professionalism, Ethics and Law. Port Melbourne: Cambridge University Press; 2010.
RRP: $75.00
Anyone brave enough to write a textbook about Australian law quickly runs into an almost insurmountable obstacle: federalism. In effect, Australia has nine jurisdictions. The number of activities that are illegal in one jurisdiction (usually Queensland) whilst positively encouraged in another (usually the ACT) is myriad. Producing a textbook for a national audience that covers these jurisdictional variations comprehensively without boring the reader senseless is a challenge.
Not satisfied with simply exploring the complexities of the Australian legal system as it affects medical practice, however, the authors of Good Medical Practice: Professionalism, Ethics and Law decided to examine ethics and professionalism as well. Drawing together these three systems that govern appropriate conduct was surely a Herculean task, but it has resulted in a thoroughly readable and useful book.
The authors’ decision to combine ethical, legal and professional principles has allowed them to distil key concepts and provide comprehensive, practical guidance without overwhelming the reader. For example, a chapter on the complex legislative regimes surrounding the issue of privacy could usually be expected to leave the reader confused, or possibly even sobbing. Here, the heavy legal content of the chapter is rendered almost redundant by the authors’ perceptive preface that doctors who adhere to ethical principles of preserving patient confidentiality are unlikely to fall foul of privacy law. If you choose to stop reading after that point is made, you probably already know enough to avoid a major problem.
This “all-in-one” approach acknowledges the interaction between law, ethics and being a good doctor. It is the key to the success of this book. Complex legal and ethical ideas are conveyed succinctly, within the framework of practical advice on how to conduct oneself professionally. The authors’ tips on preventing unfortunate outcomes – such as formal complaints, lawsuits or drug-fuelled meltdowns – are sensible and worth reading even if you skip just about everything else.
First-year medical students and international graduates will find the chapter explaining the ins and outs of Australia’s health system valuable; a chapter on the professional responsibilities and regulation of other health care workers is also useful for those experiencing their first exposure to multi-disciplinary teams. Chapters covering issues relevant to clinical research, prescribing, entering practice, and the ethical allocation of health care resources are likely to be useful to later-year students and junior doctors.
There are a few problems with the text, however. For example the chapter on the Australian legal system appears towards the end of the book. I’d suggest reading it first, to avoid confusion when legal terms are encountered. In addition, unfortunate timing has meant that the chapter on the regulation of the profession does not address the new regime of national registration, but the general principles it outlines are still relevant.
Overall, the book is well-structured, easy to use, and succinct without sacrificing clarity. For those who would like more information, there are some good resources suggested at the end of each chapter. For the most part, however, it will be unnecessary to consult an additional text if one requires simply a good working knowledge of relevant ethical and legal principles.
It is perhaps disappointing that a book exploring ethical concepts is not more thought-provoking (in this line, I’d recommend Annas’ excellent, if somewhat dated, book [1]), but it seems that the authors have elected to guide rather than challenge their readers. In this they have been successful.
In short, Good Medical Practice delivers exactly what its title promises: succinct information about the ethical and legal responsibilities of medical practitioners (and students) within a broader professional context. The intended audience of medical students and junior doctors is likely to benefit from some time spent reading this book.
Conflicts of Interest
None declared.
Reference
[1] Annas GJ. Standard of Care: The Law of American Bioethics. New York: Oxford University Press; 1997.
Many physiological changes in pregnancy may affect the presentation of abdominal pain in the pregnant patient. Rapid diagnosis and management is required to prevent dire complications for both mother and fetus. Most radiological investigations are not harmful to the developing fetus and can avoid unnecessary and potentially detrimental explorative surgery. The role of laparoscopy in the pregnant patient is increasingly being established, particularly in centres with this surgical expertise.
Aphasia associated with brain tumours has previously been regarded as essentially equivalent to the aphasia of stroke, and as a deficit unlikely to affect a patient’s prognosis. Recent research challenges such hypotheses. Tumour-related aphasias are commonly anomic aphasias, and hence pathologically distinct from classic post-stroke aphasias. Accordingly, many rules from the world of stroke cannot be readily translated to the management of tumour-related aphasia. Furthermore, aphasia may be an important clinical prognostic parameter in neuro-oncology. Tumour-related aphasia is associated with an increased risk for developing depression, poorer coping and reduced survival time. It is important that health professionals are aware of the unique pathology and prognostic significance of neuro-oncological aphasia, and of strategies available for its relief.
The internet has woven itself into the fabric of society, by offering a plethora of services which have evolved from luxuries to necessities.
Telemedicine – the use of the internet to transmit information for diagnosis and management – has garnered recent attention because of the Federal Government’s promise to provide AU$392million for its development, and the proposed national broadband network which may increase the efficiency of telemedical services. [1,2] Telemedicine, endorsed by the Australian Medical Association, [3] has a number of applications; however, the most highly publicised of these is the concept of online interactive consultations with a specialist practitioner in real-time, potentially using a Skype™-like platform.
In the coming years, telemedicine will likely play a significant role in our careers and as such, we must have an understanding of both its benefits and limitations. Despite the obvious potential of telemedicine, several questions remain in the minds of the public, doctors and also medical students. The first is: do we really require telemedicine? The costs are significant, but so is the need for the 12% of Australia’s population inhabiting outer regional and remote locales – data travels significantly faster over hundreds of kilometres than patients and their families. For example, geriatric patients even in the relatively large Queensland town of Rockhampton may need to travel over 600 kilometres to their nearest geriatrician. [4] For frail elderly patients, this is hardly practical. To help address this, the University of Queensland’s Centre for Online Health currently provides approximately 2,200 inpatient and outpatient consultations annually, primarily for geriatric and paediatric patients. A designated outpatient clinic exists at the Royal Children’s Hospital, Brisbane, and the transmission of video, radiological images, laboratory data and medical records allow distant consultants to conduct ‘video ward rounds’ for their inpatients. [4,5]
Nonetheless, even if there is a need for telemedicine, is it effective? Can doctors really diagnose and treat patients they are not in the physical presence of? Although telemedicine has been studied in several ways, two particular studies investigated these questions. A Canadian randomised controlled trial found that telepsychiatry and face-to-face psychiatry produced equivalent clinical outcomes [n = 495]. Further, when comparing the travel and accommodation costs of patients versus the cost of videoconferencing technology, the authors found the costs of the latter to be 10% cheaper. [6] Similarly, a Scottish study which compared 44 outpatient diagnoses and management plans made by a neurologist in a face-to-face…
Since 1999, the number of Australian medical schools has doubled.
While this has brought about diversity, it has arguably also created a worrying lack of standardisation in the skills of graduates. National curricula are currently a hot topic, with the development of a standardised Australian curriculum for Kindergarten to Year 12 well underway. Is it time to rekindle a similar debate within Australia’s medical education sector?
Presently, the only force acting to maintain a degree of standardisation between Australian medical curricula is the Australian Medical Council (AMC) and its accreditation processes. The AMC accreditation standards guide, while laudable, does not direct the specific structure or content of curricula, leaving the door open for the veritable potpourri of programs that we now have across the country. For example, the guideline for curriculum content of the basic biomedical sciences, which occupies one line of the document, does not even mention the names of the various biomedical disciplines: “[t]he course provides a comprehensive coverage of … basic biomedical sciences, sufficient to underpin clinical studies.” [1] Either the AMC is not prepared to put more specific guidelines in the public domain, or little guidance exists to direct curriculum development. The open-ended regulatory framework has seemingly acted for more than a decade to feed a process of medical schools constantly reinventing the wheel with ‘revolutionary’ medical programs.
Of all the medical science disciplines, the teaching of anatomy has been the most criticised in recent times. Anatomy provides a case study in teaching disparities between universities. In a recent national survey, striking differences were demonstrated between medical schools in several areas, including the amount of hours dedicated to formalised anatomy teaching, the delivery of lessons, the use of cadavers, and the manner of assessment of anatomy knowledge. [2] For example, eleven of the nineteen medical schools surveyed have no specific requirement that student demonstrate sufficient anatomical knowledge at examination. Most medical schools pool anatomy questions with those of other disciplines, and calculate an overall passing grade. Thus, a student could be considered competent in basic clinical sciences without passing anatomy. These and other findings have prompted recent calls for a national curriculum for anatomy. [3] However, despite being extremely topical of late, anatomy is but one example of the heterogeneity in teaching across Australia. It would be difficult to make a strong case for having a standard curriculum for one subject and not others.
The Royal Australasian College of Physicians’ (RACP) Clinical Examination takes a full day and for medical registrars is the barrier between basic and advanced training, including subspecialty training. My experience was as an ‘examination assistant’ (or ‘bulldog’ in colloquial terms) for the candidates. I had been on my general medicine rotation and the consultant of my medical unit was looking for volunteers.
The clinical examination day comprises a morning and an afternoon session. Each session is comprised of two short cases and one long case. Short cases each take fifteen minutes. Candidates have three minutes before they enter the station to read one sentence which provides the name of the patient, presenting complaint and body system to examine. The candidate introduces themselves, examines the patient, presents their findings, is questioned by two examiners and walks out at the bell, remembering to wash their hands before they leave. In contrast to medical school OSCEs, candidates do not speak to the examiners while examining the patient. Instead they present afterwards, which is when they start scoring marks. My candidate asked me to signal him at six minutes (by tapping on my watch, coughing or clearing my throat) so he could spend the next nine minutes presenting and thus scoring marks. The examiners can also ask for investigations to be interpreted. For example, “What would you like to order for his murmur?” or, “You said ECG, tell us about this ECG and chest x-ray.” Fortunately, the short cases are assessed ‘blind’ by the examiners who have not examined the patients themselves. This is not so for the long cases.
For the long case, the candidate spends one hour alone with the patient. During this time, they take a thorough history, perform an examination, determine the patient’s medical and psychosocial issues and construct a management plan. After this, candidates have ten minutes before seeing the examiners. In these ten minutes, the candidate can think of potential questions and collect their thoughts. The long case assessment occurs over 25 minutes with two examiners. The candidate begins by presenting the case followed by non-stop questioning on anything from the history (“What were the circumstances of the fall you mentioned?”), physical examination (“What do you mean by nerve compression, what level?”), investigations (“How do you determine if the asthma is mild, moderate or severe?”), and management (“What if this person were to go to surgery?” or, “How might you educate this patient?”).
While the examination represents an artificial construct, particularly in respect to the short cases, the format does allow for assessment of a candidate’s ability to perform at a physician level, to analyse, interpret information and to deal with the inevitable dilemmas presented by real patients. “Under the pressure of the exam, candidates generally revert to their normal level of everyday practice,” says successful candidate Dr Luke Vos of Launceston General Hospital.
He advises budding physicians, “Preparation for clinical examinations really begins as soon as you enter physician training. The essential elements of history taking, physical examination, construction of a differential diagnosis and the establishment of a plan for the investigation and management of each clinical problem are skills you can continue to refine from day one. While somewhat daunting, a willingness to expose yourself to constructive criticism from colleagues and mentors will help improve your approach and can prove invaluable. The skills you develop in preparation for the clinical exams will continue to serve you throughout your career.”
From a bulldog’s perspective, I could see how medical school trains us for these types of exams, but also prepares us for days when we just need to remain calm and focused on the next patient. And given that the clinical examination fee was $3,780 this year, there was definitely good motivation to pass!
More information can be found at the RACP PREP Basic Training Program website: http:// www.racp.edu.au/page/basic-training / examinations/clinical-examination.
Healthcare provision and access to effective healthcare for young people (aged fifteen to 24 years) has long been a debated issue. [1,2]
The law is clear regarding the conditions under which a person under the age of eighteen (a ‘minor’) may consent to medical treatment. Yet there is a remarkable lack of clarity, and lack of legal precedent, over the right of minors to control the confidentiality of their medical information. This deficiency includes the extent to which disclosure should occur between medical professionals and the parents or guardians of the minor in question.
In Australia, adults have a right to complete confidentiality of all of their health information. The few exceptions to this occur when the doctor does not identify the person, when disclosure is in the public interest or in the case of forced disclosure. The right to confidentiality is a cornerstone of the nature of healthcare provision in Australia: if it did not exist, it is likely that the confidence of the public in seeking health care would be diminished. So why is it that minors are not afforded this right?
Ethically, the focus must be the minor’s interests, not those of the parent, and it should be remembered that the treating doctor is the final judge of a minor’s capacity to consent. In some cases, the doctor will maintain a minor’s confidentiality in accordance with their wishes, but also encourage them to involve their parents in their treatment. This approach often leads to improved outcomes for the minor, as parent involvement is on the minor’s agenda (and not that of the parent or doctor). It also establishes a more effective ‘team’ (the family-doctor unit) approach to their ongoing healthcare.
Of particular concern, parents and guardians are now able to access Medicare and pharmaceutical benefits scheme (PBS) claims for minors under the age of sixteen. [3] This allows parents to access information outlining when and from whom minors have received medical treatment, and what medications have been prescribed. If the minor is aged fourteen or fifteen, a form must be signed by the minor in order to release the information to the parent or guardian. Despite this, the ability of parents to potentially access the Medicare and PBS records of their child creates a potential deterrent for the minor to access future healthcare. Children under fourteen years, who may be deemed capable of consenting to a medical treatment, are not able to restrict parental access to their Medicare and PBS record at all. This situation also places the healthcare provider in a difficult situation.
There is little legal clarity as to the point at which a young person gains the right to confidentiality. Should a young person’s ability to gain confidential healthcare be linked to their ability to consent to their own treatment (the Gillick competence)? There is a strong argument for this case. Research into minors with chronic ongoing illnesses such as diabetes has found that they may be Gillick competent from as young as the age as six. [4] Many of these minors self-manage complex conditions with little parental involvement, and perhaps should, in some cases, also have the right to confidentiality if deemed appropriate by the doctor, the minor and the parent. However, there are situations where confidentiality is not in the best interest of the minor. This may occur, for example, when a minor refuses treatment or is unable to comply with an agreed treatment without external assistance.
Perhaps the nature of health information should be an important consideration in this discussion of confidentiality? A minor may regard some types of health information as ‘private,’ while considering other issues to be suitable to discuss with their parents. For example, vaccination records would likely fit into the latter category, whilst a prescription for the oral contraceptive pill may be a more sensitive area over which the minor may wish to retain confidentiality. The difficulty with such a requirement, whereby the law is to classify the nature of the information and whether it should be confidential, is to effectively apply criterion to different ‘types’ of healthcare information. Furthermore, different minors are likely to have different opinions about what types of information could be freely ‘shared.’
Alternatively, should privacy be linked to a specific request not to disclose that information? This may be an effective way of balancing individual opinions and relationships between minors and their guardians. Should the expectation be, however, that for every piece of information shared the doctor asks the minor whether they wish it to remain confidential, or vice versa? What about information that the doctor may assume not to be private? Of course, in many ways this is the system currently in place, with doctors respecting minors’ decisions to maintain privacy, with several notable exceptions as previously discussed.
This issue will continue to be a topic of debate and discussion within the community. Ultimately it is fundamental to put the best interest of the minor first, ensuring the best possible health outcomes. If the importance of privacy is not appreciated, we create the risk of discouraging young people from seeking healthcare – which is usually contrary to the intention of the parent or guardian in the first place. Current policy and medical practice should be evaluated to ensure that doctors have appropriate guidelines surrounding when privacy should be maintained with respect to minors. Finally, it is crucial to communicate to young people seeking care their right to privacy (and the limitations upon this right), in an upfront and honest way. This will ideally result in optimum healthcare provision for young Australians.
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to thank Sara Bird, Emily Jenkins and David Taylor for their general assistance.
