Commentators tout the societal benefits of research to conclude that people have a civic duty to participate in it. A review of several problems in research demonstrate the contrary and reveal why claims we are duty-bound to participate in research deter urgently needed efforts to tackle multiple entrenched deficiencies in it.

The recent Minnesota case of In re Emergency Guardianship of Albert Barnes illustrates an emerging class of cases where a dispute between a family proxy and a hospital over “medical futility” requires legal resolution. The case was further complicated by the patient’s spouse who fraudulently claimed to be the patient’s designated health care proxy and who misrepresented the patient’s previously expressed treatment preferences. Barnes demonstrates the degree of significant administrative and institutional support to the health care team, ethics consultants, and futility committees that is required when a futility dispute escalates to the need for judicial resolution. An institutional futility policy, especially one that is endorsed by other regional medical centers and organizations, is an important foundation for a hospital that seeks judicial support in a dispute over medical futility in end of life care.

One of the most challenging and rewarding roles for in-house hospital attorneys is serving as a member of their hospital’s Bioethics Committee (the “Committee”). As a member of the Committee, an attorney assists in developing institutional ethics policies and guidelines, and also participates in ethics consultations involving disputes about patient care. Institutions such as the Author’s employer, Texas Children’s Hospital, promote open and honest communications between members of a patient’s health care team and the patient’s parents and family; however, when communications break down, the Committee’s goal is to provide an objective forum where disputes can be discussed and hopefully resolved in a professional, ethical manner.

Consider the thought experiment offered at the conference that generated this collection of essays: in this fantasy, face transplants are safe and effective. A young woman is the victim of a devastating accident. A face transplant will enable her to live a completely normal life. But, say she is African American, or Asian. Would it be ethically permissible to allow her to take the face of a Caucasian woman? Or, say you have a child with a muscle wasting disorder. Would it be permissible to alter his muscle repair system so that he not only does not have the genetic variation that causes the disease, but he has the capacity for enhanced muscular strength, beyond that of his peers, such that he could become a big league pitcher?

E-cigarettes, sometimes referred to as ENDS (Electronic Nicotine Delivery Systems), include a broad range of products that deliver nicotine via heating and aerosolization of the drug. ENDS come in a variety of forms, but regardless of form generally consist of a solution containing humectant (e.g., propylene glycol or glycerol), flavorings, and usually nicotine (some solutions do not contain nicotine); a battery-powered coil that heats the solution into an aerosol (usually referred to as vapor) in an atomizing chamber; and a mouthpiece through which the user draws the vapor into the mouth and lungs. The devices may be closed systems containing prefilled cartridges, or open systems, where the user manually refills a 1-2 ml. tank with solution. What started as closed-system cigarette-shaped devices marketed as an adjunct for smoking cessation, has transitioned rapidly to literally thousands of hip and funky-designed open-system hookah pens, vape pens, and modifiable devices. For younger people, these forms are the “in” thing, while traditional cigarette-shaped devices are “out.”

Proposed changes to the Common Rule would require publicly funded researchers to disclose whether a subject's biospecimens could be used for commercial profit and whether the subject will share in those proceeds. Disclosing commercial interests will inform research participants that their tissue may have commercial value, a possibility that those individuals might not have previously considered. The proposed changes may then provide people with an opportunity to negotiate commercial rights in their biospecimens despite the well-accepted legal precedent that individuals maintain no interests in their excised tissue.

The chair of the ethics committee of a major medical center agonized over how he, as a physician, and his organization should deal with Initiative 119, which, if passed, would legalize physician involvement in active, voluntary euthanasia in Washington State. In the end, he said, he could not vote for aid-in-dying because, “However much I want to reduce suffering, I myself just couldn’t do it to one of my patients.” He spoke of a personal distaste for the potential act, of a profound desire not to have to do it. It was not an ethical argument, but an honest and compelling expression of feelings.

Why can’t this sincere man do it, even for patients who request such aid? In a 1991 poll, taken in Washington State prior to the vote on Initiative 119, 49 percent of the physicians surveyed supported the initiative, but 75 percent did not want to participate in aid-in-dying.

What has happened to death? Why is this subject—virtually taboo in social and even in medical conversations a few decades ago—now so much a matter of debate in public policy settings, especially the courts? Four factors are primarily responsible, in my view. The first two—changes in the locale of death and development of ever more sophisticated forms of life-support—are by now familiar. Of growing significance are two further factors: increased fear of liability and the polarization of decisions about life-support as those decisions get swept up (at least in the United States) in the ferocious battles between freedom-of-choice and right-to-life supporters.

This paper attempts to analyze these four factors and, I hope, to uncover some of the confusion they have produced. I will then argue that despite consistent judicial endorsement of the right of competent adults to decide what medical care they wish to receive—even if they decide to forgo life-sustaining treatment, that is, to die—legal (like medical) attitudes are in fact ambivalent.

Physicians have long aided their patients in dying in an effort to ease human suffering. It is only in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that the prolongation of life has taken on new meaning due to the powers now available to physicians, through new drugs and high technology interventions. Whereas earlier physicians and patients could readily acknowledge that nothing further could be done, today that judgment is problematic.

Most often, aiding the dying took the form of not doing anything further to prolong life. Morally, this act of restraint was not difficult, because few options could have been considered. However, some physicians, rarely, would help patients die either by hastening death directly or by increasing pain control with the risk of hastening death, the so-called double effect. When directly hastening death, physicians either directly caused the death of the patient through euthansia, or supplied the means to the patient to bring about death with or without encouragement to use these means. The latter is physician-assisted suicide (PAS).

Patients living with chronic pain require appropriate access to opioid therapy along with improved access to pain care and additional therapeutic options. It's both medically reasonable and ethical to consider opioid therapy as a treatment option in the management of chronic, non-cancer pain for a subset of patients with severe pain that is unresponsive to other therapies (e.g., injections, other medications, integrative strategies), negatively impacts function or quality of life, and will likely outweigh the potential harms. This paper will examine opioid therapy in the setting of the opioid epidemic, why critics feel that the CDC guideline has resulted in harsh consequences for patients and their physicians, and the rationale for opioid therapy as a means of providing ethical and compassionate pain care.

That cacophony you hear is coming from the growing number of commentators addressing ethical, social, and policy issues raised by nanotechnology. Like many novel technologies that disturb the status quo, nanotechnologies raise questions about the adequacy of oversight systems; the extent to which the technologies push legal, moral, and political boundaries; and ultimately, the implications for human health and well-being. Because nanoscale techniques and products challenge our ways of thinking about biology, physics, and chemistry, nanotechnology forces us to reconsider accepted wisdom on toxicity, mutagenicity, contamination, biocompatibility, and other interactions among humans, the environment, and technologies. The sheer scale and reach of nanotechnologies demands institutions, collaborations, and conventions that can cross-link knowledge across organizations, disciplines, and locales. If ever there was an occasion to rethink the limits of disciplinary-specific knowledge, norms about regulatory processes, and societal implications of new technologies, nanotechnologies provide the opportunity.

In the past two decades, courts and scholars have grappled with the appropriateness of pre-abortion disclosures mandated by the state. Statutes requiring physicians to recite a specific script, often detailing potential psychological “risks” of choosing to terminate a pregnancy, have proliferated nationwide over the past decade. Opponents of such laws have sometimes characterized the requirement of a procedurespecific disclosure as unnecessary and unique to the abortion context. In recent years, however, state legislatures supportive of abortion rights have legislated procedure-specific mandatory disclosures in the context of assisted reproduction and other health care procedures with reproductive health impacts.

About a week after Maran Wolston was prescribed Copaxone, a drug for multiple sclerosis (MS), she got a phone call from a nurse at an organization called Shared Solutions. The organization was familiar to Wolston; when her neurologist had asked permission to share her health information with Shared Solutions, Wolston had agreed, assuming it was connected to her health insurance.

The nurse who called Wolston was checking in to see how the treatment was going. It was not going well. While Copaxone is not typically associated with some of the unpleasant side effects of other MS drugs, it does have at least one serious drawback: the drug must be injected every day. The injections can be brutally painful. “No matter where I injected the drug each day, the injection site swelled up into a huge welt and felt like a gigantic bee sting,” Wolston writes.

A substantial portion of biomedical R&D is publicly funded. But resulting medicines are typically covered by patents held by private firms, and priced without regard to the public’s investment. The Bayh-Dole Act provides a possible remedy, but its scope is limited.

A serious risk associated with some treatments for infertility is multiple birth pregnancy. The term “supernumerary pregnancy” aptly conveys the idea of too much or too many in this context: too many fetuses developing in the womb to secure a reasonable probability of a good outcome for each. A supernumerary pregnancy can occur, for example, when infertility is treated by the aggressive use of ovulation-stimulating hormones. If pregnancy is then achieved either naturally or artificially, or if large numbers of eggs are retrieved, fertilized in vitro, and then transferred to the uterus in a single cycle, the risk of supernumerary pregnancy is increased. Egg donation coupled with artificial insemination, or straight embryo donation, followed in each case by the transfer of more than two or three embryos to the uterus can also increase the risk for supernumerary pregnancy.

Stigma is a factor of diseases of craniofacial disfigurement, associated with negative health outcomes. Psychosocial interventions can improve the “illness” experience. The law can improve care by framing patients' rights, defining physicians' obligations to make psychological referrals, and fostering an activist orientation among patients.

This paper highlights the need to apply an equity lens when assessing the impact of preemption and related legal doctrines on community health. Community autonomy to set and pursue public health priorities is an essential part of achieving health equity. Unfortunately, the priorities of organized industry interest groups often conflict with health equity goals. These groups have a history of successfully using law to limit community autonomy to pursue public health measures, most notably through preemption and related legal doctrines. We examine this phenomenon using two examples. First, we look at dental association efforts to block the spread of dental therapists in Indian Country. Native dental therapists have been improving the oral health of native people in Alaska for over a decade; yet the national and state dental associations have sought with mixed success to leverage state and federal laws to hinder other tribal governments from utilizing these providers. We compare these efforts with a restaurant association-led movement to limit what municipal governments can do to address food-based health inequities, focusing on a “model” ALEC bill that started in Ohio. Finally, we discuss how municipalities and Tribes are fighting back and continuing to pursue health equity for their communities.