Medicare does cover home care services for patients who qualify, but incentives intended to combat fraud and reward high quality care are driving some home health agencies to avoid taking on long-term patients.

This article first appeared January 18, 2018 on Kaiser Health News.

By Susan Jaffe/Photos by Heidi de Marco

Colin Campbell needs help dressing, bathing and moving between his bed and his wheelchair. He has a feeding tube because his partially paralyzed tongue makes swallowing “almost impossible,” he said.

Campbell, 58, spends $4,000 a month on home health care services so he can continue to live in his home just outside Los Angeles. Eight years ago, he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or “Lou Gehrig’s disease,” which relentlessly attacks the nerve cells in his brain and spinal cord and has no cure.

The former computer systems manager has Medicare coverage because of his disability, but no fewer than 14 home health care providers have told him he can’t use it to pay for their services.

That’s an incorrect but common belief. Medicare does cover home care services for patients who qualify, but incentives intended to combat fraud and reward high quality care are driving some home health agencies to avoid taking on long-term patients such as Campbell, who have debilitating conditions that won’t get better, according to advocates for seniors and the home care industry. Rule changes that took effect this month could make the problem worse.

"We feel Medicare coverage laws are not being enforced and people are not getting the care that they need in order to stay in their homes," said Kathleen Holt, an attorney and associate director of the Center for Medicare Advocacy, a nonprofit, nonpartisan law firm. The group is considering legal action against the government.

Federal law requires Medicare to pay indefinitely for home care — with no copayments or deductibles — if a doctor ordered it and patients can leave home only with great difficulty. They must need intermittent nursing, physical therapy or other skilled care that only a trained professional can provide. They do not need to show improvement. Those who qualify can also receive an aide’s help with dressing, bathing and other daily activities. The combined services are limited to 35 hours a week.

Medicare affirmed this policy in 2013 when it settled a key lawsuit brought by the Center for Medicare Advocacy and Vermont Legal Aid. In that case, the government agreed that Medicare covers skilled nursing and therapy services — including those delivered at home —to maintain a patient's abilities or to prevent or slow decline. It also agreed to inform providers, bill auditors and others that a patient's improvement is not a condition for coverage.

Campbell said some home health care agencies told him Medicare would pay only for rehabilitation, "with the idea of getting you better and then leaving," he said. They told him that Medicare would not pay them if he didn’t improve, he said. Other agencies told him Medicare simply did not cover home health care.

Medicaid, the federal-state program for low-income adults and families, also covers home health care and other home services, but Campbell doesn’t qualify for it.

Securing Medicare coverage for home health services requires persistence, said John Gillespie, whose mother has gone through five home care agencies since she was diagnosed with ALS in 2014. He successfully appealed Medicare's decision denying coverage, and afterward Medicare paid for his mother’s visiting nurse as well as speech and physical therapy.

"You have to have a good doctor and people who will help fight for you to get the right company," said Gillespie, of Orlando, Fla. "Do not take no for an answer."

Yet a Medicare official did not acknowledge any access problems. "A patient can continue to receive Medicare home health services as long as he/she remains eligible for the benefit," said spokesman Johnathan Monroe.

But a leading industry group contends that Medicare’s home health care policies are often misconstrued. “One of the myths in Medicare is that chronically ill individuals are not qualified for coverage," said William Dombi, president of the National Association for Home Care and Hospice, which represents nearly half of the nation’s 12,000 home care providers.

Part of the problem is that some agencies fear they won’t be paid if they take on patients who need their services for a long time, Dombi said. Such cases can attract the attention of Medicare auditors who can deny payments if they believe the patient is not eligible or they suspect billing fraud. Rather than risk not getting paid, some home health agencies “stay under the radar” by taking on fewer Medicare patients who need long-term care, Dombi said.

And they may have a good reason to be concerned. Medicare officials have found that about a third of the agency's payments to home health companies in the fiscal year ending last September were improper.

Shortages of home health aides in some areas might also lead an overburdened agency to focus on those who need care for only a short time, Dombi said.

Another factor that may have a negative effect on chronically ill patients is Medicare’s Home Health Compare ratings website. It includes grades on patient improvement, such as whether a client got better at walking with an agency’s help. That effectively tells agencies who want top ratings “to go to patients who are susceptible to improvement,” Dombi said.

This year, some home care agencies will earn more than just ratings. Under a Medicare pilot program, home health firms in nine states will start receiving payment bonuses for providing good care and those who don't will pay penalties. Some criteria used to measure performance depend on patient improvement, Holt said.

Another new rule, which took effect last Saturday, prohibits agencies from discontinuing services for Medicare and Medicaid patients without a doctor’s order. But that, too, could backfire.

"This is good," Holt said. "But our concern is that some agencies might hesitate to take patients if they don't think they can easily discharge them."

Delays that pose an inconvenience for other commercial goods are existential threats in the daily global relay race of medical isotopes that disappear hour by hour.

This article first appeared January 16, 2018 on Kaiser Health News.

By Sarah Varney

JANESVILLE, Wis. — In a cornfield here, past the shuttered General Motors plant and the Janesville Terrace trailer home park, a facility not seen in the United States in three decades could soon rise: a manufacturing plant that will make a vital radioactive isotope used to detect cancer and other potentially fatal maladies in millions of people every year.

Nuclear medicine imaging, a staple of American health care since the 1970s, runs almost entirely on molybdenum-99, a radioisotope produced by nuclear fission of enriched uranium that decays so rapidly it becomes worthless within days. But moly-99, as it’s called, is created in just six government-owned nuclear research reactors — none in North America — raising concerns about the reliability of the supply and even prompting federal scientists to warn of the possibility of severe shortages.

Some 50,000 Americans each day depend on a strange and precarious supply chain easily disrupted by a variety of menaces: shipments grounded by fog in Dubai, skittish commercial airline pilots who refuse to carry radioactive material and unplanned nuclear reactor shutdowns, including one in South Africa when a mischievous baboon sneaked into a reactor hall.

Delays that pose an inconvenience for other commercial goods are existential threats in the daily global relay race of medical isotopes that disappear hour by hour. “It’s like running through the desert with an ice cream cone,” said Ira Goldman, senior director of global strategic supply at Lantheus Medical Imaging in North Billerica, Mass.

But that race may soon be shortened. Propelled by persistent supply problems and fears that terrorists could seize American uranium en route to foreign facilities, President Barack Obama signed legislation in 2013 prodding American companies into the medical-isotope business.

The $100 million Janesville plant, in the hometown of Rep. Paul Ryan, speaker of the House, is the first construction project to pass through the labyrinthine nuclear regulatory approval process since 1985 and is being built by SHINE Medical Technologies with $25 million in federal funds.

Greg Piefer, the company’s founder and a nuclear engineer (he drives a Tesla with the license plate “NEUTRON”), has big plans for the cornfield: a plant that could manufacture up to 50,000 doses of imaging agent a week. “Ryan called me out of the blue and he said, ‘We really want you here,’” Piefer said.

Still, it could be years before moly-99 is manufactured in the United States. SHINE still needs more money to complete its manufacturing plant, and investors are wary of the many problems that can arise during construction. Already, construction deadlines promised by SHINE have come and gone. Other competitors, meanwhile, that received tens of millions of dollars in federal grants to build their own moly-99 manufacturing plants have been thwarted by protracted drug approvals and nuclear regulatory hurdles, and some have given up.

European rivals have also cautioned the American upstarts. At industry presentations, Goldman said, the producers have warned, “This is more difficult than it looks. You can’t come up with a fancy slide that says, ‘I’m going to be producing moly-99 in a couple of years.’”

Birth Of An Isotope

The radioactive isotope injected into the veins of potential heart attack victims or bone cancer patients begins its journey in the heavily guarded American nuclear stockpile.

The Department of Energy’s National Nuclear Security Administration ships Cold War-era uranium overseas, where the containers — sought by terrorists for dirty bombs — are secretively trucked to government-owned nuclear research reactors in the Netherlands, Belgium, Czech Republic and Poland. (South Africa and Australia also use American uranium to produce moly-99 in research reactors.)

Private companies rent time in the reactors to irradiate enriched uranium targets, producing an atomic alphabet soup. Nearby processing facilities fish out the moly-99, and the radioactive material is loaded onto commercial airline flights bound for the United States in protective containers.

Three companies dominate the American market for moly-99 — Lantheus, Curium and GE Healthcare. They distribute the material to specialized pharmacies around the country, where technicians process it into a diagnostic imaging agent called technetium-99. The companies work against a ticking clock: Because of its short half-life, just 66 hours for moly-99 and six hours for the imaging agent, the material must be quickly delivered to hospitals and administered to patients.

“The whole industry is like a duck going on a fast-flowing river,” said Kevin Charlton, an analyst at the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development’s Nuclear Energy Agency in Paris. “On the surface, it looks like things are going very smoothly, but under the water, their legs are going really fast.”

Countless things can go wrong, starting with the first step.

The worldwide supply of moly-99 relies on a fleet of government-subsidized nuclear research reactors built mostly during the Khrushchev-Eisenhower era.

Regular maintenance and major repairs can shutter the reactors, sometimes for months, and so-called scrams — caused by anything from a hiccup in a reactor’s cooling system to an errant lightning strike — frequently halt production. “It’s a nuclear reactor,” Charlton said. “The only thing you can do is shut it off.”

Even the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., a prestigious cancer treatment center, can be left waiting for shipments of the generators that contain the imaging agent. “We’ve had days when no generator comes in at all, or it’s been cut in half,” said Andrew Paulsen, supervisor of the clinic’s radiopharmaceutical laboratory.

And the ephemeral nature of moly-99 always looms. On a recent afternoon, inside a locked laboratory at Stanford Hospital’s nuclear medicine department in Palo Alto, Calif., a technician held a lead-lined, plastic cylinder containing a syringe of fragile atoms that had traveled around the globe.

Once the imaging agent is injected into a patient’s body, it emits gamma rays that can be detected by gamma cameras that look like X-ray machines. The radioactive tracer lights up on a computer monitor wherever the heart’s blood vessels are blocked or bones are riddled with potentially cancerous tumors. The imaging agent was first used in medical applications in the 1960s because its short half-life meant that patients were getting less exposure to radioactivity than from other diagnostic tracers.

But at Stanford’s nuclear medicine department that day, a patient had missed his appointment. This meant the dose — which cost the hospital an irretrievable $500 — had decayed and was now useless. The technician threw the syringe in the trash.

The supply chain’s vulnerability, acutely felt during a severe worldwide shortage in 2009 and 2010 when two reactors shut down unexpectedly, has led some doctors to shift to more dependable, but more toxic, imaging agents. “For cardiac imaging, we had to shift to a more expensive agent and expose patients to more radiation,” said Dr. Andrei Iagaru, chief of the division of nuclear medicine at Stanford Health Care.

After the worldwide shortage, the volume of nuclear medicine tests went down, and stayed down. “It definitely had an impact on the way many practices run their cardiac stress tests,” Iagaru said.

Depending On Other Countries

American patients consume nearly half of the world’s supply of moly-99. And despite plans to ramp up production in Australia, reactor construction is notoriously tricky. In addition, reactors that are converting for security reasons to low-enriched uranium have lower yields and more waste, according to nuclear scientists.

Concerns about moly-99 shortages heightened in October 2016, when the Canadian government mothballed a reactor in Chalk River, Ontario, that supplied about 40 percent of the American market. The government’s decision to shutter the plant was, in part, due to frustration that Canada had had to spend $70 million in 2009 to repair the facility — in effect, subsidizing the American health care industry. That is a complaint of European governments as well.

William Magwood, director of the Nuclear Energy Agency in Paris, said that moly-99 production at Chalk River “went from being incidental to being the only reason to operate the reactor.”

“Canadians didn’t want to continue to operate a high-cost reactor to sell isotopes to the U.S.,” he said.

Some European governments have begun charging moly-99 producers higher rates to rent reactor time, and prices are expected to rise sharply when governments strip for-profit companies of subsidies originally meant to support academic research.

“How much will get passed on to the health care providers?” said Leah Gannon, senior portfolio executive of radiopharmaceutical distribution sourcing for Vizient, a company that negotiates contracts for hospitals. “Probably almost all of it.”

With no source of moly-99 anywhere in North America, American nuclear medicine specialists appointed by the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering and Medicine warned in a 2016 report commissioned by Congress of a more than 50 percent likelihood of another severe shortage in the coming years.

Moly-99 suppliers refute the report’s findings, a position echoed by the Nuclear Energy Agency, which has fostered closer ties among producing nations. Reactor operators, the suppliers say, work closely to stagger maintenance shutdowns to minimize shortages and respond to disruptions in production, and producers have increased the number of uranium targets.

“We’re describing a glass that is half-full,” Charlton said, “whereas the National Academy of Sciences sees the glass looking half empty.”

Still, nuclear medicine physicians and nuclear pharmacists charged with filling patient orders each day say the supply remains fragile, especially for smaller pharmacies where the moly-99 imaging agent can account for 95 percent of their business. “It is inconceivable to believe that an outage will never occur on any of these old reactors in the future,” said Dr. Joseph Hung, director of radiopharmaceutical operations at the Mayo Clinic and a member of the government committee.

Wendy Galbraith, a clinical associate professor at the University of Oklahoma College of Pharmacy in Oklahoma City who runs the university’s pharmacy, said she frequently doesn’t know if moly-99 is going to be available until the wee hours of the morning. Even when there are no major outages, she said, “it’s a scramble.”

That uncertainty means delays and on-the-fly triage for patients. “If we have a patient who can wait two days for their cardiac stress test, we’ll put them off,” Galbraith said.

Suppliers want to tamp down fears about reliability, physicians and pharmacists say, to dissuade them from seeking alternative imaging methods when possible, like positron emission tomography, a costly and complex type of medical scan.

“It’s hard to stay relevant in an environment when things are not available every now and then,” said Iagaru at Stanford.

Even more troubling, critics say, is the lack of redundancy in the supply chain. Of the four global suppliers, two rely on a single reactor. “If anything goes wrong with the reactors in South Africa and Australia,” Dr. Hung said, “it will be déjà vu again like in 2009.”

The Wisconsin Project

If the United States is to grow a domestic moly-99 supply, it will probably rise from the corn and soybean fields in America’s Dairyland.

Rock County, Wis., has become the unexpected home to two of the three companies vying for control: NorthStar Medical Radioisotopes in Beloit, which has been awarded $50 million in federal grants, and SHINE, or Subcritical Hybrid Intense Neutron Emitter, in Janesville.

Backed by $25 million in federal support, Piefer, SHINE’s chief executive, has promised to build a nuclear accelerator and produce moly-99 by 2020. (The previous deadline was 2015.) In early 2017, the company opened its headquarters in Janesville above the Time Out Pub & Eatery and down the street from a fishing tackle shop and Speaker Ryan’s district office.

Nuclear engineers have moved en masse to Janesville in recent months, decorating their cubicles with hand-painted signs with sayings like, “Think like a proton, stay positive.”

Piefer zips along Highway 90 in his Model S Tesla between Janesville and Monona, a Madison suburb where his research lab, Phoenix Nuclear Labs is located. There, engineers have built a ghostly particle beam that looks like a giant, purple lightsaber.

Eight particle accelerators have been designed for the Janesville plant, which the Nuclear Regulatory Agency approved for construction in 2016. Piefer still needs to raise considerable private capital, a challenge with eager entrants like NorthStar and Nordion, an Ottawa-based company also with aggressive plans to enter the Moly-99 market.

“If we don’t have significant production soon, we will continue to export highly enriched uranium,” Piefer said. “And the National Nuclear Security Administration will have failed their mission.”

The city of Janesville is banking on Piefer. Its economy reeling from the closing of the General Motors plant in 2008, the City Council aggressively pursued SHINE with a generous economic development package, besting two other Wisconsin cities.

In 2011, over the objections of some residents opposed to a nuclear facility in the town, the council authorized $1.53 million to buy 84 acres of farmland, which it has agreed to turn over to SHINE for $1. The city has also agreed to pay $345,000 to extend utilities to the site, provide $2 million in forgivable loans and co-sign a bank loan with SHINE for up to $4 million that it would have to pay should the company fail, a first for the city.

Gale Price, economic development director for the city of Janesville, said that although it was unusual to put public money into a startup, the city expected to recoup its investment within 10 years. “That’s how we measure whether we’re giving away the farm,” he said.

Ryan has championed the project and spoke at a celebration marking nuclear regulatory approval. But Piefer said, except for the initial phone call urging him to come to Janesville, Ryan has played no part in the federal grant and construction approvals.

SHINE jumped at the chance at federal money for the private plant. But Piefer isn’t solely focused on the need in American hospitals. The company has already announced lucrative deals to ship moly-99 to Chinese hospitals.

But first, it needs to start producing.

“You cannot just open a shop down the street and start nuclear medicine,” said Iaragu, of Stanford. “The public comes with an expectation that if my oncologist wants me to get a bone scan, it’s not big deal. But the truth is, it’s a big deal.”

The largest private U.S. hospital chain is rolling out a new protocol prior to surgery. It includes a warning that patients should expect to feel some pain.

This article first appeared January 12, 2018 on Kaiser Health News.

By Blake Farmer, Nashville Public Radio

Doctors at some of the largest U.S. hospital chains admit they went overboard with opioids to make people as pain-free as possible, and now they shoulder part of the blame for the nation's opioid crisis. In an effort to be part of the cure, they've begun to issue an uncomfortable warning to patients: You're going to feel some pain.

Even for people who've never struggled with drug abuse, studies are finding that patients are at risk of addiction anytime they go under the knife.

"I had the C-section, had the kiddo," said Michelle Leavy of Las Vegas. "And then they tell me, ‘It's OK, you can keep taking the pain medications, it's fine.'"

Leavy is a mother of three and a paramedic who has dealt with many patients coping with addiction. She welcomed the high-dose intravenous narcotics while in the hospital and, upon her release, gladly followed doctors' orders to keep ahead of the pain with Percocet pills.

But then she needed stronger doses. Soon, she realized, she was no longer treating pain.

"Before I went to work, I took them, and to get the kids after school, I had to take them," she said. "Then I was taking them just to go to bed. I didn't really realize I had a problem until the problem was something more than I could have taken care of myself."

She said she was becoming like the patients with addiction problems that she transported by ambulance, lying to emergency room doctors to con a few extra doses.

Soon she lost her job and her fiancé, before going to rehab through American Addiction Centers and stitching her life back together.

A 180 On Opioids

Opioid addiction is a reality that has been completely disconnected from where it often starts — in a hospital. Anesthesiologist David Alfery said he was rarely stingy with the pain medicine.

"If I could awaken them without any pain whatsoever, I was the slickest guy on the block, and it was a matter of enormous pride," he said.

Alfery is part of a working group at the Nashville-based consulting firm Health Trust behind hospital efforts to set aside rivalry and swap ideas about a top priority: reducing opioid use.

"It starts with patient expectations, and I think, over the years, patients have come to expect more and more in terms of, ‘I don't want any pain after surgery,' and it's an unrealistic expectation," Alfery said.

That expectation exists in part because pain treatment was institutionalized. Hospitals are graded on how well they keep someone's pain at bay. And doctors can feel institutional pressure, and on a personal level.

"I just wanted my patient not to be in pain, thinking I was doing the right thing for them and certainly not an outlier among my colleagues," said Mike Schlosser, chief medical officer for a division of HCA, the nation's largest private hospital chain.

Schlosser spent a decade as a spinal surgeon putting his patients at HCA's flagship facility in Nashville through some of the most painful procedures in medicine, like correcting back curvature. He said he genuinely wanted to soothe the hurt he caused.

"But now looking back on it, I was putting them at significant risk for developing an addiction to those medications," he said.

Using HCA's vast trove of data, he found that for orthopedic and back surgeries, the greatest risk isn't infection or some other complication — it's addiction.

So the nation's largest private hospital chain is rolling out a new protocol prior to surgery. It includes a conversation Schlosser basically never had when he was practicing medicine.

"We will treat the pain, but you should expect that you're going to have some pain. And you should also understand that taking a narcotic [dose so high] that you have no pain, really puts you at risk of becoming addicted to that narcotic," Schlosser said, recounting the new recommended script for surgeons speaking to their patients.

Besides issuing the uncomfortable warning, sparing use of opioids also takes more work on the hospital's part — trying nerve blocks and finding the most effective blend of non-narcotic medicine. Then after surgery, the nursing staff has to stick to it. If someone can get up and walk and cough without doubling over, maybe they don't need potentially addictive drugs, or at least not in high dosage, he said.

There are potential benefits aside from avoiding addiction.

"I've had people tell me that the constipation [resulting from opioid use] was way worse than the kidney stone," said Valerie Norton, head of the pharmacy and therapeutics council for Scripps Health System in San Diego, which is participating in the Health Trust working group.

"There are lots of other complications from opioids — severe constipation, nausea, itching, hallucinations, sleepiness. We really need to treat these drugs with respect and give people informed consent. And let people know these are not benign drugs."

Managing The Optics

Of course, business-wise, no one wants to be known as the hospital where treatment hurts more.

"You don't want to portray the fact that you're not going to treat people appropriately," said John Young, national medical director of cardiovascular services for LifePoint Health, another player at the table with Health Trust. The Nashville-based hospital chain is putting special emphasis on how it handles people coming into the ER looking for pain medicine.

Young said tightening up on opioids becomes a delicate matter but it's the right thing to do.

"We really do have a lot of responsibility and culpability and this burden, and so we have to make sure we do whatever we can to stem this tide and turn the ship in the other direction," he said.

While hospitals get their ship in order, some patients are taking personal responsibility.

Now that she's in recovery, Michelle Leavy won't touch opioids. That meant she had emergency gallbladder surgery in 2017 without any narcotics. Leavy said she was nervous about telling her doctors about her addiction, but they were happy to find opioid alternatives.

"I mean, it hurt," she said. "But I lived."

'I basically got in a month's supply of potassium iodide and I sold out in 48 hours,' a top U.S. distributor said.

This article first appeared January 11, 2018 on Kaiser Health News.

By JoNel Aleccia

A Twitter battle over the size of each “nuclear button” possessed by President Donald Trump and North Korea’s Kim Jong-un has spiked sales of a drug that protects against radiation poisoning.

Troy Jones, who runs the website www.nukepills.com, said demand for potassium iodide soared last week, after Trump tweeted that he had a “much bigger & more powerful” button than Kim — a statement that raised new fears about an escalating threat of nuclear war.

“On Jan. 2, I basically got in a month’s supply of potassium iodide and I sold out in 48 hours,” said Jones, 53, who is a top distributor of the drug in the United States. His Mooresville, N.C., firm sells all three types of the product approved by the Food and Drug Administration. No prescription is required.

In that two-day period, Jones said, he shipped about 140,000 doses of potassium iodide, also known as KI, which blocks the thyroid from absorbing radioactive iodine and protects against the risk of cancer. Without the tweet, he typically would have sent out about 8,400 doses to private individuals, he said.

Jones also sells to government agencies, hospitals and universities, which aren’t included in that count.

Alan Morris, president of the Williamsburg, Va.-based pharmaceutical firm Anbex Inc., which distributes potassium iodide, said he’s seen a bump in demand, too.

“We are a wonderful barometer of the level of anxiety in the country,” said Morris.

A spokeswoman for a third firm, Recipharm AB, which sells low-dose KI tablets, declined to comment on recent sales.

Jones said this is not the first time in recent months that jitters over growing nuclear tensions have boosted sales of potassium iodide, which comes in tablet and liquid form and should be taken within hours of exposure to radiation.

It's the same substance often added to table salt to provide trace amounts of iodine that ensure proper thyroid function. Jones sells his tablets for about 65 cents each, though they're cheaper in bulk. Morris said he sells the pills to the federal government for about 1 penny apiece.

Yet, neither the FDA nor the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends that families stockpile potassium iodide as an antidote against nuclear emergency.

“KI (potassium iodide) cannot protect the body from radioactive elements other than radioactive iodine — if radioactive iodine is not present, taking KI is not protective and could cause harm,” the CDC’s website states.

The drug, which has a shelf life of up to seven years, protects against absorption of radioactive iodine into the thyroid. But that means that it protects only the thyroid, not other organs or body systems, said Dr. Anupam Kotwal, an endocrinologist speaking for the Endocrine Society.

“This is kind of mostly to protect children, people ages less than 18 and pregnant women,” Kotwal said.

States with nuclear reactors and populations within a 10-mile radius of the reactors stockpile potassium iodide to distribute in case of an emergency, according to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. An accident involving one of those reactors is far more likely than any nuclear threat from Kim Jong-un, Anbex’s Morris said.

Still, the escalating war of words between the U.S. and North Korea has unsettled many people, Jones said. Although some of his buyers may hold what could be regarded as fringe views, many others do not.

“It’s moms and dads,” he said. “They’re worried and they find that these products exist.”

Such concern was underscored last week, when the CDC announced a briefing on the “Public Health Response to a Nuclear Detonation.” One of the planned sessions is titled “Preparing for the Unthinkable.”

Hundreds of people shared the announcement on social media, with varying degrees of alarm that it could have been inspired by the presidential tweet.

A CDC spokeswoman, however, said the briefing had been “in the works” since last spring. The agency held a similar session on nuclear disaster preparedness in 2010.

“CDC has been active in this area for several years, including back in 2011, when the Fukushima nuclear power plant was damaged during a major earthquake,” the agency’s Kathy Harben said in an email.

Indeed, Jones saw big spikes in potassium iodide sales after the Fukushima Daichii disaster, after North Korea started launching missiles — and after Trump was elected.

“I now follow his Twitter feed just to gauge the day’s sales and determine how much to stock and how many radiation emergency kits to prep for the coming week,” Jones said, adding later:

“I don’t think he intended to have this kind of effect.”