|
 |
| The
heartburn drug Nexium, the object of a half-billion-dollar
marketing campaign to move people off the
prescription medications predecessor, Prilosec. |
|
| Top
10 Pharmaceuticals |
|
Prilosec
slipped from the number-one to the number-two
selling prescription drug last year after its
patent was about to expire and maker AstraZeneca
shifted its promotional muscle to the "new
Purple Pill," Nexium.
|
|
Drug |
Treatment |
U.S.
Sales |
| 1 |
Lipitor |
Cholesterol
|
$5.22b |
| 2 |
Prilosec |
Heartburn |
$4.61b |
| 3 |
Zocor |
Cholesterol |
$3.68b |
| 4 |
Prevacid |
Heartburn |
$3.55b |
| 5 |
Celebrex |
Arthritis |
$2.61b |
| 6 |
Epogen |
Anemia |
$2.56b |
| 7 |
Procrit |
Anemia |
$2.55b |
| 8 |
Zyprexa |
Schizophrenia |
$2.51b |
| 9 |
Zoloft |
Depression |
$2.27b |
| 10 |
Paxil |
Depression |
$2.15b |
|
The
Life Cycle of the
Purple Pill |
|
Worldwide
earnings from the Purple Pill grew annually from
the time it was introduced in 1988 until just
before its patent expired last year.
|
|
By
Neil Swidey
Part
2 of 2 (Continued from last
issue)
To those who question
how a company like AstraZeneca can justify the staggering
profits it collects from a drug like Prilosec, Nilsson again
points to his sketch. "This is the answer." AstraZeneca
spent $2.7 billion on R&D last year. Then again, the company
also reported profits of $4.2 billion.
Still, all the
competition from the me-too drugs should bring down overall
health care costs, right? Maybe in any other world. But the
exorbitant marketing campaigns used to launch competitors,
like Prilosec me-too Prevacid, tend to drive up costs. They
increase the patient population, sucking up customers who
might do fine on 50-cents-a-day generic H2 blockers and moving
them into the new, more powerful PPI club, whose daily admission
fee runs seven to eight times higher.
James Richter,
the longtime Massachusetts General Hospital gastroenterologist
who last month became chief medical officer of Caritas Christi
Health Care System, puts it this way: "You go to the
rental car counter, and the company's paid for it, and you
can get a Hyundai or a Cadillac. So you take the Cadillac
even though the other would be sufficient."
There's a phenomenon
associated with PPIs called acid rebound. Because the medicine
puts a brake on the acid-producing pumps in your stomach,
when you stop taking it, that built-up acid can be unleashed,
says Ferris.
Even if there's
no full-scale rebound, most people have some recurrence of
symptoms because the PPIs were powerful enough to let them
resume bad habits, such as eating fatty foods. When that power's
gone, they start paying for their sins. Ferris and his associates
recommended extra doses of the H2 blockers at the beginning,
knowing that rebound is usually temporary. But few people
made it that far.
What's clear is
that if you want to restrict this expensive drug to only those
people who really need it, you have to start at the beginning,
before they've test-driven the Cadillac. But all those TV
commercials make that next to impossible. Most people have
a spouse or a cousin or a mechanic who's on the Purple Pill
and speaks evangelically about it ("I can eat chili again!"),
so they enter the doctor's office knowing what they want.
Richter explains how it works: "They come in and say:
'My husband takes Nexium. Do you think that would work well
for me?' I say, 'Yes, but have you tried Tagamet? It doesn't
appear that you're having symptoms that frequently.' But they
say, 'Nexium and Prilosec seem to work really well.' So I
say, 'Fine.' "
Besides cost, there's
no downside to taking Nexium or Prilosec. But if it takes
a doctor 15 minutes to talk a patient out of a more expensive
drug - and that's pretty much all the time the doctor has
with the patient to begin with - it's not a practical investment.
And this calculation
comes from Richter, who for 20 years has refused to meet with
drug company sales representatives, on principle. Think about
how much more quickly a doctor might offer up the new drug
if he had the Nexium golf-scoring software loaded onto his
Palm Pilot or if the Nexium drug rep had just brought by lunch
for the staff when he arrived to restock the sample cabinet.
Throughout the
summer and fall, David Calabrese had a ritual to start his
day. He would walk into his Roxbury office and check his e-mail
in search of an announcement that the generic Prilosec had
finally been launched. Calabrese is the pharmacy director
for a network of 2,500 doctors associated with Beth Israel
Deaconess Medical Center and several other medical facilities.
Last year, Prilosec was the biggest item ($6 million) on his
outpatient drug budget. A generic offers the promise of cutting
that tab by a third in the first year and much more in subsequent
years.
AstraZeneca's Prilosec
patent expired in October 2001. So Calabrese and many pharmacy
directors like him across the country - for HMOs, physician
groups, and hospitals - built those expected savings into
their drug budgets this year. The fact that they have not
materialized may well help drive up everyone's insurance premiums
next year, he says. It doesn't matter if you never get heartburn.
You could be one of those people who can guzzle a whole bottle
of Tabasco sauce and not so much as burp. You're still affected
by the Purple Pill. The overall costs to the system are that
big.
Late one Friday
night last month, Calabrese got the e-mail message, but it
didn't say what he had expected. He quickly forwarded it to
a few co-workers, putting "Ugh" in the heading.
AstraZeneca had
long ago filed suit against four companies planning to produce
generic Prilosec, claiming infringement not on the main patent
but on secondary ones. The trial began last December in a
federal court in New York and dragged on until June. Most
analysts expected AstraZeneca to lose, and the company's stock
took a beating. But after the judge issued her ruling on October
11, the company's stock shot up.
She ruled that
three of the four generic companies had infringed on AstraZeneca's
patented method for inserting a "subcoating" between
the main Prilosec molecule and its purple shell. Critics had
scoffed at this claim, pointing to a host of drugs that have
similar subcoatings. But a patent is a patent, the judge ruled,
and this one doesn't expire until 2007.
AstraZeneca spokesman
Jim Coyne called the decision a "vindication." The
case, he said, "has always been about defending our intellectual
property." The company's chief executive, Tom McKillop,
told The Financial Times of London that the court action clearly
paid off for his company: "Our defense strategy has already
given us longer exclusivity over the last few months. And
now it is likely to give us some months more and maybe even
a lot longer than that."
The two generic
companies poised for a quick, aggressive launch were shut
out. Earlier this month, they announced that, in exchange
for a share of the profits, they would assist the one tiny
firm that the judge said could launch a generic Prilosec.
Still, AstraZeneca may appeal the part of the ruling that
gave that firm the green light. Says Calabrese: "There's
a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel, but I'm not very
confident we'll see a generic Prilosec anytime soon."
The world's other
big pharmaceutical companies cheered the ruling, and their
stock responded accordingly. Most are in the same patent boat
as AstraZeneca. The 1984 Hatch-Waxman Act awarded drug makers
17 years of patent protection (later extended to 20 years)
for drugs they create. The clock usually starts ticking long
before a drug is launched. These days, when the 20 years is
up, brand-name drug makers do not allow their blockbusters
to go off patent quietly into the night. They file for all
sorts of extensions.
And they have become
increasingly savvy in obtaining patents for every conceivable
feature of a drug, from its coating to how it combines with
other drugs to its color. Other brand-name companies, like
the makers of Prozac, lost their patent infringement cases.
But AstraZeneca's victory is a strong sign that it can pay
to take generics to court.
Meanwhile, all
the court delays have given AstraZeneca time to move market
share to Nexium, and that's where hospitals like Mass. General
and Brigham and Women's come in. In exchange for getting Nexium
at a fantastic discount, the hospitals agreed to make it their
primary PPI. The switch will save Mass. General alone more
than $300,000 a year. And the price discount is clearly worth
it for AstraZeneca, since patients will be discharged on Nexium,
residents will be trained on Nexium, and doctors across the
country will be told that Nexium is the first choice of world-famous
Mass. General.
AstraZeneca spent
$478 million last year on its Nexium promotional campaign,
according to IMS Health, and hired an additional 1,300 sales
reps just for the new Purple Pill, according to Scott-Levin
Consulting, a health care research firm. The push has been
incredibly effective. Some 42 percent of Prilosec prescriptions
have been converted to Nexium, according to data from the
investment firm Dresdner Kleinwort Wasserstein.
Nexium is actually
just one-half of the molecule that makes up Prilosec. The
theory is that it improves the efficacy of a drug when its
most effective part is isolated, in this case the "S
isomer." Many specialists doubt this claim. Nonetheless,
this route to a new product is becoming more common in the
industry.
Dr. Doug Levine,
AstraZeneca's executive director for gastrointestinal clinical
research, says Nexium represents a clear improvement over
Prilosec. But in most of the company's trials, the effects
of 40 milligrams of Nexium were compared against 20 milligrams
of Prilosec. In the two instances where they were compared
at equal strength, only one showed a statistical difference,
and that was a 3 percent shorter healing time.
Dr. Jerry Avorn,
chief of the Brigham's pharmacoepidemiology division, says
flatly, "Nexium is not at all better in any meaningful
way than Prilosec." One of the nation's leading experts
in the study of physician prescribing patterns, Avorn has
made it his life's work to try to outsmart the drug companies.
Asked why his hospital
decided to take the Nexium deal, he leans back in his chair,
scratches his Abe Lincoln-style beard, and sighs. Noting that
he didn't make the decision, he says he does understand it.
Hospitals are under incredible pressure to keep their costs
down.
A deal like this
could prevent the Brigham from having to lay off nurses. "It's
not like anybody is taking home extra money in a valise at
the end of the month by doing this," Avorn says. But
he acknowledges the "bad outcome" it produces: a
new cycle of patients with unnecessarily higher drug tabs.
It's yet another
sign of what's wrong with our health care system, he says,
and why fixing it seems so hopeless. "You've got hospitals
doing what's good for hospitals, HMOs doing what's good for
HMOs, and drug companies doing what's good for them,"
Avorn says. "We've got this crazy patchwork, with everyone
against everyone else, and you end up with these paradoxes
like Nexium."
So
How Do We Stop This Drug Cycle From Truly Spiraling Out Of
Control?
For insurers, the
answer seems to be learning to say no a lot more. Most are
implementing aggressive cost-control programs, such as "prior
authorization," in which doctors have to obtain approval
from the insurer before putting a patient on a particularly
expensive drug when there are comparable, cheaper drugs available.
MassHealth, the
state's Medicaid program for the poor, spent $25 million on
Prilosec last year. In August, it stopped paying for the drug
unless a doctor could prove that a patient needed it over
a cheaper alternative. Harvard-Pilgrim Health Care, Tufts
Health Plan, and Blue Cross Blue Shield have all introduced
their own prior authorization programs. But in a system already
larded with excessive bureaucracy, few see this as the right
way out. Avorn calls it the "1-800-NO-YOU-CAN'T"
route.
Also, because each
insurer is out there cutting its own deals with all the various
drug manufacturers and pharmacy benefits managers, there's
little consistency in restrictions. Tufts, for instance, drew
fire from many of its members a few years ago when it said
no to Claritin. But because it got a good deal on Nexium,
the new Purple Pill is not on Tufts's prior authorization
list.
What seems clear
is that consumers will soon be much more aware of what drugs
actually cost, because insurers and employers will be passing
on a much bigger chunk of the bill. It won't be a matter of
a $25 copay rather than $10. They will either have to be prepared
to pay full freight for the Cadillac or get used to riding
in the Hyundai.
Some answers may
lie in Washington, D.C. For years, the drug manufacturers
have protected their interests by sharing their wealth with
congressional campaign committees. But in the face of public
anger - anger that will only intensify as premiums continue
to rise and insurers say "No" more often - such
protection only goes so far.
Federal regulators
recently announced a plan to crack down on the most flagrant
wining and dining of doctors by drug companies. But it's not
at all clear that anyone has the stomach for real revolution,
such as having an independent body with the consumers' interests
in mind take over the entire testing process for new drugs.
There is momentum
elsewhere, though. Last month, President Bush proposed new
rules aimed at limiting the ability of brand-name drug makers
to stall generics. And last year, John McCain and Charles
Schumer persuaded colleagues in the US Senate to pass an even
tougher measure designed to curb all those patent lawsuits
that the Hatch-Waxman Act unwittingly spawned.
Though it's been
stalled in the House, the measure is being pushed aggressively
by a coalition of consumer groups and some of Big Business's
biggest guns - General Motors, Wal-Mart, Motorola - which
bear much of today's health care costs. "We've zeroed
in on Prilosec," says Brad Cameron, a Washington lobbyist
leading the charge on behalf of the coalition. "We've
got to find a way to close these most egregious loopholes."
Then again, it
may not be wise to bet against the purple powerhouse that
has defied every expectation since its launch 13 years ago.
The 39-year-old Cameron has had heartburn since he was in
college. He confesses that when his symptoms got worse recently,
he went to see his doctor. "My best friend's on Prilosec,"
he told his doctor. "It works for him. How about Prilosec
for me?"
Boston
Globe November 17, 2002
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