Join Date: Mar 2007
Member Number: 5117
Thanked 4,176 Times in 2,148 Posts
Re: NFL Concussion lawsuits
Elliot Pellman, the NFL's top medical adviser, claims it's okay for players with concussions to get back in the game. Time for a second opinion
by Peter Keating
"There's going to be some controversy about you going back to play." Elliot Pellman looks Wayne Chrebet in the eye in the fourth quarter of a tight game, Jets vs. Giants on Nov. 2, 2003, at the Meadowlands. A knee to the back of the head knocked Chrebet stone-cold unconscious a quarter earlier, and now the Jets' team doctor is putting the wideout through a series of mental tests. Pellman knows Chrebet has suffered a concussion, but the player is performing adequately on standard memory exercises. "This is very important for you," the portly physician tells the local hero, as was later reported in the New York Daily News. "This is very important for your career." Then he asks, "Are you okay?" When Chrebet replies, "I'm fine," Pellman sends him back in.
YOU GET KNOCKED DIZZY, maybe you black out, you slowly come to your senses. You feel strangely removed from your surroundings, maybe you have a seizure, maybe you puke. But you put your helmet back on as soon as you can walk straight. Any behavior, no matter how bizarre, becomes routine if someone repeats it often enough. And for decades, professional football players have adapted to concussions, shaking them off, calling them "dings," laughing about how they can't remember the number of blows to the head they have taken.
Only in recent years have scientists started to understand exactly what happens inside a brain when a head gets smashed and to explore why some players get hurt worse or cope better than others. The NFL is among those looking for answers, with good reason: According to league data, about 100 players a year suffer concussions from hits that average 98 times the force of gravity.
Pro football's powers-that-be began to study the subject formally in 1994. Following a rash of
head injuries to stars such as Troy Aikman and Steve Young, then-commissioner Paul Tagliabue established the Mild Traumatic Brain Injury (MTBI) Committee. He named Elliot Pellman, M.D., its chairman.
Since it first published research results in 2003, Pellman's committee has drawn a number of important conclusions about head trauma and how to treat it that contradict the research and experiences of many other doctors who treat sports concussions, not to mention the players who have suffered them. For example, Pellman and his colleagues wrote in January 2005 that returning to play after a concussion "does not involve significant risk of a second injury either in the same game or during the season." But a 2003 NCAA study of 2,905 college football players found just the opposite: Those who have suffered concussions are more susceptible to further head trauma for seven to 10 days after the injury.
Pellman and his group have also stated repeatedly that their work shows "no evidence of worsening injury or chronic cumulative effects of multiple MTBIs in NFL players." But a 2003 report by the Center for the Study of Retired Athletes at the University of North Carolina found a link between multiple concussions and depression among former pro players with histories of concussions. A 2005 follow-up study at the Center showed a connection between concussions and both brain impairment and Alzheimer's disease among retired NFL players.
Several former NFLers who took fierce hits to the head during their playing days have testified to the lasting effects of concussions. "I can't help but look at the concussions I sustained as a reason for the headaches, the depression, the blurred vision, the slurred speech that I might have at some times," Hall of Fame linebacker Harry Carson told Outside the Lines. Carson, who played for the Giants from 1976 to 1988, continued, "When I look back at the many hits I inflicted on people and at some of the hits I have gotten, it becomes clear to me that not only was I abusing my body, I was also abusing the gray matter in my skull."
Former fullback Merril Hoge, who played from 1987 to 1994, had his career ended by repeated concussions. "Six weeks after I was forced to retire, when I had started to feel better, I had an appearance at a wine-tasting event," says the ESPN analyst. "The moment the wine touched my lips, I went blind for the most terrifying 10 seconds of my life. My doctor later explained I had probably suffered trauma in the vision area of my brain. I think that speaks to the cumulative effects."
There are various reasons that the Pellman committee's findings might clash with these accounts and with other research. Recently active NFL players, whom the committee is studying, could differ from the subjects of other studies in some important way, such as their health or their protective equipment. Or one or more of the studies could be flawed. Concussions, after all, are a tricky subject, both because players don't like to report them and because they involve the complicated inner wirings of the brain. But Pellman is steadfast in his unwillingness to accept the work of others. "Pellman's committee has repeatedly questioned and disagreed with the findings of researchers who didn't come from their own injury group," says Julian Bailes, chairman of neurosurgery at West Virginia University. (Tagliabue declined to comment on Pellman or his research, and the NFL referred all questions for this story to Pellman.)
The NFL allows each team to manage concussions as it sees fit. When a player is injured, the team doctor, sometimes with input from trainers and specialists, decides when he can return to the field. In practice, according to Pellman's committee, 51.7% of players who suffer concussions—including a quarter of those who are knocked out—return in the same game. Pellman has written that "many NFL players can be safely allowed to return to play on the day of injury" and that "the current decisionmaking of NFL team physicians seems appropriate for return to the game after a concussion."
Not according to the consensus of experts outside the NFL, it doesn't. The Second International Conference on Concussion in Sport met in Prague in 2004 and released the following statement: "When a player shows ANY symptoms or signs of a concussion … the player should not be allowed to return to play in the current game or practice … When in doubt, sit them out!" That's what the first conference (in Vienna in 2001) found too. All standard U.S. guidelines, such as those first set by the American Academy of Neurology and the Colorado Medical Society, agree that athletes who lose consciousness should never return to play in the same game.
Sports doctors generally believe concussions make people more vulnerable to future damage, especially in the period closely following the injury. That's because head trauma sets off a storm of chemical changes in the brain that can affect reflexes even if outward symptoms have subsided. And plenty of players know what it's like to be vulnerable. "I took a blow to the head during a Monday-night game for the Bears against the Chiefs, and I had amnesia on the plane ride home five or six hours later," Hoge says. "That's when the team doctors decided my return-to-play date. Four days later I was practicing, and I realized I was struggling with learning new plays." Five weeks into the 1994 season, Hoge took another hit, walked off the field and into the locker room, and passed out. For about 15 seconds, he even stopped breathing. "I had to learn how to read again," he says. "You could take me around the block and I'd never get home." (Hoge sued John Munsell, then Chicago's team doctor, and won $1.55 million in 2000, a verdict that was later overturned.)
Several of the country's preeminent neurosurgeons and neuropsychologists have grown increasingly concerned that the league is putting players at risk by following Pellman's lead. They've had their doubts since the early days of his appointment to lead the committee. For one thing, Pellman is a rheumatologist by training—a specialist in the treatment of joints and muscles—not a neurologist. For another, when he started out, he often professed ignorance about the subject in question. "I would hear him say things in speeches like, 'I don't know much about concussions, I learn from my players,' and, 'We as a field don't know much about concussions,' and it used to bother me," says one doctor. "We knew what to do about concussions, but he was acting like it was new ground." Their dismay has only increased since The New York Times revealed last year that Pellman attended medical school in Guadalajara, Mexico, and does not hold a medical degree from SUNY Stony Brook, as he once claimed. "When neuropsychologists sit around telling jokes, we call him 'Mr. Pellman,' " says a colleague.
As a biology major at NYU, Pellman worked his way through college, holding jobs at his family's flower shop in the Bronx and as a cabdriver. Low grades led him to go to medical school at the Universidad Autonoma de Guadalajara in 1975. After a one-year residency at Stony Brook, Pellman received his medical degree from the New York State Department of Education. He was hired by the Jets in 1988 and has been medical director of the Islanders since 1996 and of Arena Football's Dragons since 2000. The NFL named him medical liaison to the commissioner in 2001, and two years later, MLB hired him as its medical adviser. The gregarious 52-year-old also runs ProHealth Care Associates, a private medical practice in Lake Success, N.Y.
Now there are questions not only about Pellman's résumé and conclusions but about his methods, too. It turns out that when he and his collaborators assembled data for a crucial part of their ongoing study, they didn't include results from hundreds of NFL players, some of whom had had concussions. Says Kevin Guskiewicz, director of the Sports Medicine Research Laboratory at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill: "The data that hasn't shown up makes their work questionable industry-funded research."
WILLIAM BARR is a neuropsychologist, which means he studies the relationship between how the brain functions and how the mind works. He's also a lifelong Detroit sports fan who keeps a photo of Gordie Howe on his office wall. In 1992, Barr was running a lab at Long Island Jewish Hospital in New Hyde Park, N.Y., when his phone rang. It was Elliot Pellman.
"I don't know who any neuropsychologists are, I've never worked with one," Barr recalls Pellman saying. "But somebody said Al Toon should see a neuropsychologist, so I asked around and I'm calling you."
Barr had treated plenty of brain injuries. He thought it was pretty cool that his medical and sports interests might converge, so he agreed to see the Jets receiver, who had suffered a series of serious head injuries. After testing by Barr and encouragement by Pellman, Toon retired.
In 1995, Pellman called Barr again, this time to see Boomer Esiason after a skull-crunching hit by Bruce Smith. With that, Barr became the Jets' neuropsychology consultant. Over the next nine years, he saw a series of Jets with concussions and conducted baseline tests on 382 players.
Baselines are a series of mental tasks, such as remembering words or designs, that an athlete completes while he is in an uninjured state. A doctor can then compare a concussed player's performance on the tests to his initial results. "After" scores make sense only in the context of "before" scores.
As Barr collected his data, Pellman told him there was one rule: "Don't talk to the press."
A couple of days after Wayne Chrebet is knocked senseless by the Giants, he is sluggish and tired, and his head aches. "It was stupid, trying to get back out there," he says. "That's just me trying to convince them and myself that everything is all right." The Jets staff, including Pellman and Barr, diagnose Chrebet with postconcussion syndrome. Ten days after the game, the Jets place Chrebet on injured reserve.
Pellman makes no apologies. "Wayne returned and was fine," he tells the media. "He did not suffer additional injury. If he had suffered additional injury, his prognosis would be no different.
"Let's say I didn't allow him to return to play, and he played the following week," he continues. "The same thing could have happened. The decision about Wayne returning to play was based on scientific evaluation. As we stand now, that decision made no difference as to what's happening today.
"This decision is so that I can sleep well at night and so Wayne's wife can sleep well at night," he says about ending Chrebet's season.
"Nobody gets second-guessed."
IN OCTOBER 2003, Pellman and members of his committee published the first of a long-running series on concussions in Neurosurgery, a scholarly journal edited by Mike Apuzzo, the New York Giants' neurosurgical consultant. The committee's earliest studies used crash test dummies to reenact helmet blows. Later, the group decided to explore the ill effects of multiple concussions, and Pellman charged one of its members, Mark Lovell, head of the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center's Sports Medicine Concussion Program, to oversee the collection and analysis of leaguewide data. Pellman chose Lovell because he had conducted neuropsychological tests for the Steelers as early as 1993. And in 1995, Lovell began to run the NFL's neuropsychology program, which encouraged teams to gather data to help decide when to return players to games.
All generalizations are dangerous.