Pharmageddon. David Healy

or bacterial endocarditis. Indeed, they didn’t develop AZT or the other retrovirals for AIDS; these applications were developed elsewhere with public funds. They are not likely to develop better anticonvulsants for epilepsy or bring treatments for multiple sclerosis on the market, since even within the gated communities of the developed world the incidence of these conditions is such that it is not worth their while to make the investment. Return on investment rather than elimination of disease is, after all, what drives a pharmaceutical company.

      This philosophy is as diametrically opposed to that of Philippe Pinel, Alfred Worcester, and Richard Cabot as it is possible to get. For over a century patients have assumed that the knowledge a doctor like Cabot brings to helping them stems primarily from what is known about the condition being treated or that what a doctor like Worcester brings stems from a judicious appraisal of the limits of current knowledge and treatments. But in the past two decades what is “known” has come increasingly to be dominated by the self-interested constructions of the pharmaceutical companies, through the activities they sponsor, the kind of research they promote, and the information they choose to reveal—or conceal. Under siege, doctors like Dr. N have turned to the appearances of science and spend their time filling standardized forms in medication clinics rather than talking to or looking at their patients. In this process they have become the faithful if unwitting collaborators of the pharmaceutical companies, almost as though the debates between Cabot and Worcester about the purpose of medicine had not taken place a century ago—or worse, almost as though Clark Stanley marketing snake oil or Thomas Beecham marketing his pills had not faded away in the face of developments in medical science or a growing commitment to medical care of the type Pinel and Worcester advocated but had instead taken over the health service business.

      In 1909 Beecham’s Pills ran into trouble when their claims to be a cure-all for lifestyle problems included suggestions that this combination of aloes, ginger, and soap, whose retail price was 500 percent of its costs of production, might be useful for “maladies of indiscretion.”³⁵ This claim was read as offering a “morning after” service. In 2009, GSK, whose fortunes at the time of the patent disputes over AZT rested on the SSRI Paxil, a drug a former CEO had derided as a lifestyle drug but which Glaxo had inherited when taking over SmithKline Beecham, lost a legal verdict to Michelle David, who claimed Paxil had caused congenital heart defects in her son Lyam Kilker.³⁶ The evidence in this, and Gina Fromm’s subsequent case, made it clear that in addition to doubling rates of congenital malformations it doubles the rate of miscarriages and increases voluntary terminations of pregnancy.

      Yet extraordinarily in the face of this evidence not only doctors but even ethicists line up to say antidepressants are being underused in pregnancy.³⁷ There is a suspension of common sense here that has been brought about by company marketing of controlled trials and evidence based medicine. Ironically a requirement for controlled trials was built into Senator Kefauver’s 1962 amendments as this seemed a method to limit rather than promote treatments, but these trials have in fact become the primary marketing tool of pharmaceutical companies. The marketers have selected the trials that suit, had them polished by ghostwriters just as much as a political speech might be, before smuggling them past the peer review systems of academic journals and meetings. But none of this would have the power to influence doctors had the very meaning of clinical trials not been turned inside out.

      3

       Follow the Evidence

      When a journalist jumps out from behind a hedge on the eleventh hole of a Caribbean golf course to ambush a professor of medicine from one distinguished university and a professor of psychiatry from another after both gave brief lectures that morning, and he asks the men whether their company-sponsored trip would influence their judgment, the response will be “Of course not!” If asked what does influence them, these academics will confidently point to the published evidence. They follow the evidence, not the money. Even if a doctor is pocketing the lecture fee rather than putting it into a research fund, the answer will still be the same.

      There is a rich literature on how even minor gifts can hugely influence the recipient,¹ and an equally rich literature on how doctors, when asked, readily agree that their colleagues are swayed by favors while still denying that they themselves can be influenced.² That gifts can corrupt seems so obvious to everyone except doctors that in 2009 a Sunshine Act was introduced in the US Senate to mandate disclosure by pharmaceutical companies of money or other gifts given to doctors or medical academics.³

      The response from the medical community to moves like the Senate's bill that seem to impugn medical professionalism is bewilderment. While traditionally doctors have put great store in professionalism, at least as important in their response to this issue is their belief that scientific research is immune to gifts, biases, or conflicts of interest. It's taken for granted that data don't lie, and this leaves medical personnel and their academic colleagues sanguine about gifts, from pens to all-expenses- paid conferences in the Caribbean. If anyone in the media can point to a mismatch between what doctors on the golf course prescribe in their practice and the published evidence, that would be another matter—but until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane there is no reason for concern.

      These days, almost as though Macbeth's witches had invested in the fixedness of Birnam Wood, pharmaceutical companies also take their stand on the published evidence. From senior executives mingling with medical academics to drug reps visiting medical trainees, company personnel tout the virtues of controlled trials and exhort doctors to practice evidence-based medicine at every turn.

      In its first manifestations, controlled trials and evidence-based medicine were known for demonstrating that fashionable treatments did not work. If now pharmaceutical companies invoke what they call evidence- based medicine to justify the status quo, that should at least raise some suspicion about what might be going on. In chapter 4 and 5 we will look at how companies cherry-pick the trial data that suits them, leaving inconvenient data unpublished and making a mockery of science. But in this chapter the focus is on how they have managed to turn controlled trials inside out, neutering their potential to show that some currently fashionable drugs don't work and transforming them into a means to sell worthless remedies.

       THE TURN TO NUMBERS

      Insofar as the Hippocratic dictum of “first do no harm” appears a good idea, we should adopt the view that we know very little. But faced with real diseases from Alzheimer's dementia to malignant cancers to rheumatoid arthritis, when both those affected and their doctors become desperate and vulnerable, remaining calm and skeptical is easier said than done. This is precisely why we need to pin down how much we do know about medical treatments, and for this purpose controlled trials can be a godsend.

      There are many situations where it is not difficult to know when a drug or a medical procedure works. In the case of alcohol, for instance, we comfortably base our judgments on the fact that we can see certain effects occur reliably soon after intake of the drug, with some relationship between how much we imbibe and the effects we experience. We know about the analgesic effect of opium and the sedative effects of the barbiturates in the same way as we know about alcohol and about the benefits of having a dislocated shoulder popped back into place or a kidney stone removed, from the immediate relief.

      Not all treatments have effects that are this clear-cut, though, nor are all the effects even of alcohol or sedatives self-evident. While a sedative may be usefully sedating and in this sense work, it still may not be all that useful in the long run for nervous conditions. Even bigger problems arise when the beneficial effects of a treatment are less immediate than those of alcohol or opiates, or when there are substantial differences in the effect of a treatment from one person to the next, or when the natural history of a condition is such that some people would have recovered anyway. In these cases, treatments may appear to be linked to cures and doctors or patients, who understandably want to see a treatment working, may jump to the conclusion that the treatment has worked when in fact it hasn't. This is a gap that quacks and charlatans exploit. In a world where nothing much worked, the charlatan engendered many false hopes. In today's world, where getting the wrong prescription may mean you