Dr. Oz's Very Bad Day

If you haven’t heard much about "Dr. Oz's Very Bad Day" in 2014, you’re not alone. Dr. Mehmet Oz—poised to become the new administrator of the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services (CMS)—probably doesn’t want to relive the day Senator Claire McCaskill (D-MO) made him "choke on his own vitamins." But in case he’s forgotten, let’s remind him.

A history of selling questionable products

Dr. Oz, who has amassed a fortune promoting "miracle" cures on daytime TV, walked headfirst into trouble when he agreed to testify before McCaskill's Senate Commerce, Science, and Transportation Committee. The hearing was meant to address a "crisis in consumer protection"—a phrase that should have set off warning bells for anyone in the snake oil industry. Though his testimony was voluntary, Oz probably regrets walking into McCaskill’s verbal buzzsaw. [1] The outcome? A public evisceration

Why Bring This Up Now?

The head of CMS holds enormous power, making it fair game to scrutinize their integrity. Should it matter if the nominee spent years peddling pseudoscience for profit? Absolutely.

Sure, quacks like Joe Mercola (there are plenty of them) flood the internet with nonsensical therapies, but at least they don’t run one of the nation's most important regulatory agencies. One could reasonably argue that "caveat emptor" applies to Mercola’s customers—if someone wants to waste money at the expense of their health, that’s their prerogative. But this argument fails when considering the head of CMS. He doesn’t just influence gullible supplement buyers—he regulates and oversees the policies (created by Congress) that dictate access to healthcare for millions of Americans.

Quotes from Dr. Oz: The magic three.

Here are select moments from the McCaskill hearings, which were televised live. Dr. Oz promoted about 40 products during his tenure as the host, but three stood out—touted as "magical" and "miraculous."  Did the good doctor intentionally make false claims? You decide.

• "Garcinia cambogia: It may be the simple solution you've been looking for to bust your body fat for good."
• "You may think magic is make believe, but this little bean has scientists saying they've found the magic weight loss cure for every body type. It's green coffee extract."
• "I've got the number one miracle in a bottle to burn your fat. It's raspberry ketone." [2]

Some of Sen. McCaskill's comments from the hearing

• "The scientific community is almost monolithic against you in terms of the efficacy of the three products you called "miracles."
• “I don’t get why you need to say this stuff because you know it’s not true...[when] you call a product a miracle and it's something you can buy and it's something that gives people false hope."
• Why when you have this amazing megaphone and this amazing ability to communicate, why would you cheapen your show by saying things like that?"
• I'm concerned that you are melding medical advice, news, and entertainment in a way that harms consumers."

Dr. Oz's response

• "In 2012, we aired a show on a little-known supplement called Green Coffee Extract. This is the supplement that is so prevalent in all the ads that are being exhibited today. In this show, I used the word ‘miracle’ when referring to how green coffee could melt fat, and I explored a new study on the supplement."
• "After the show aired, an explosion of ads and marketing followed, along with criticism that our characterization went too far in describing green coffee. My way of dealing with it was to construct a second show and answer the criticism of our original segment."
• "When we write a script, we need to generate enthusiasm and engage the viewer. Viewers do not watch our show because they are seeking our dry clinical language. Viewers watch because we use language that is familiar to them, which they would use when speaking to friends and loved ones."
• "I actually do personally believe in the items I talk about in the show. I passionately study them. I recognize that often times they don't have the scientific muster to present as fact."

He may not have outright called his show "entertainment," but his defense—that he was merely engaging viewers with familiar language—suggests exactly that. Add to this the fact he wore a surgical gown and it can reasonably be assumed that the average viewer would see him as an expert.

Bottom line

Oz wants to have it both ways—to be a trusted doctor when it suits him but an entertainer when called out for bad medical advice. His testimony fails to address the damage caused by his exaggerated claims, and his reluctance to change suggests he values TV ratings over consumer protection. 

But a bigger question remains: Can a man who knowingly made false claims to extract money from his audience be trusted to oversee healthcare benefits for the poor and elderly—some of whom likely fell for his scams? Should we entrust the well-being of vulnerable Americans to someone who once sold them "miracles?"

When supplement peddlers who knowingly promote useless products become regulators, we’re in trouble. Maybe we should start asking a simple question: Is Oz really just a celebrity doctor—or is he a snake oil salesman in a lab coat?

[1] Of all the products Oz has promoted, as a chemist, "raspberry ketone" is arguably the worst. I'll be writing about it soon.