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Drug Bites Man: Most
Arthritic Dogs Do Great on This Pill, Except Those That Die
A Surprised FDA and
Pfizer Strive for Right Response for Remedy Gone Awry
What to Say in the TV Ads
By Chris Adams,
Staff Reporter of The Wall Street Journal
The Wall Street
Journal, 3/13/00
You might call it a
made-for-TV drug. Approved for human use in the U.S. but not
marketed that way, an arthritis medicine called Rimadyl
languished for nearly 10 years in developmental limbo, then
emerged in a surprising new form: Instead of a human drug, it
was now a drug for arthritic dogs. And it became a hit.
With the aid of slick commercials featuring once-lame dogs
bounding happily about, Rimadyl changed the way veterinarians
treated dogs. "Clients would walk in and say, `What about
this Rimadyl?'" says George Siemering, who practices in
Springfield, Va.
Today, those TV spots are gone. The reason has to do with dogs
like Montana.
A six-year-old Siberian husky with stiff back legs, Montana
hobbled out of a vet's office in Brooklyn, N.Y., six months
ago accompanied by his human, Angela Giglio, and a supply of
Rimadyl pills. At first, the drug appeared to work. But then
Montana lost his appetite. He went limp, wobbling instead of
walking. Finally he didn't walk at all. He ate leaves,
vomited, had seizures and, eventually, was put to sleep. An
autopsy showed the sort of liver damage associated with a bad
drug reaction.
Pet drugs are big business -- an estimated $3 billion
world-wide -- and Rimadyl is one of the bestsellers. It has
been given to more than four million dogs in the U.S. and more
abroad, brought Pfizer Inc. tens of millions of dollars in
sales, and pleased many veterinarians and dog owners. But the
drug has also stirred a controversy, with other pet owners
complaining that nobody warned them of its risks.
Montana's owner, Ms. Giglio, is among them. After she informed
Pfizer and the Food and Drug Administration of her relatively
youthful dog's death, Pfizer offered her $440 "as a
gesture of good will" and to cover part of the medical
costs. Insulted by the offer and a stipulation that she agree
to tell no one about the payment except her tax preparer, she
refused to sign and didn't take the money. "There's just
no way in my conscience or heart I can release them from
blame," she says.
After reports of bad reactions and deaths started streaming in
to the FDA, the agency suggested that Pfizer mention
"death" as a possible side effect in a warning
letter to vets, on labels and in TV ads. Pfizer eventually did
use the word with vets and on labels, but when given an
ultimatum about the commercials -- mention "death"
in the audio or end the ads -- Pfizer chose to drop them.
Pfizer's director of animal-products technical services,
Edward W. Kanara, says that when reports started coming in,
"we acted extremely promptly based on the information we
had." Pfizer points out that reported adverse events
involve less than 1% of treated dogs.
Since Rimadyl's 1997 launch, the FDA has received reports of
about 1,000 dogs that died or were put to sleep and 7,000 more
that had bad reactions after taking the drug, records and
official estimates indicate. The FDA says such events are
significantly underreported.
While the numbers include cases "possibly" related
to Rimadyl, it is hard to be sure. Many dogs given the
arthritis drug are older, and few are autopsied after they
die. Pfizer says it analyzed cases of Rimadyl-treated dogs
that died in 1998 and found a link to Rimadyl to be
"likely" in 12% of cases and "not likely"
in 22%; it says there was too little information for a
judgment about the others.
Despite these problems, the FDA says Rimadyl deserves to be on
the market, provided vets take the proper precautions. These
include advising dog owners what bad reactions to watch for
and periodically doing liver-function or other lab tests.
Within a few weeks, Pfizer will begin affixing a safety sheet
directly to packages of Rimadyl pills. It is the first time
either FDA officials or Pfizer can recall such a step being
taken in the world of animal drugs.
Rimadyl -- generically carprofen -- is an anti-inflammatory
medicine. Developer Roche Laboratories expected to market it
for people in 1988 and received FDA approval, but shelved the
plan after concluding the market for such drugs was too
crowded. In addition, some outside experts expressed concerns;
a commentary in a pharmaceutical journal noted unusual
liver-function readings in 14% to 20% of test subjects and
opined that "until additional data on carprofen are
available, older compounds should probably be tried
initially."
The idea of switching the product to the animal-drug track
soon arose. A couple of corporate transactions later, it ended
up in the hands of Pfizer's animal-drug unit. There, it was
treated to the kind of sophisticated marketing Pfizer does
well. A survey of 885 dog owners was done. Besides shedding
light on favorite dog names (Jake, Ginger, Lady), the poll
revealed that one-fifth of dog owners would be willing to
spend "whatever it took" to buy an aging dog an
extra year or two of life. No fewer than 53% agreed that
"my dog is a better companion than other members of my
family."
The FDA requires safety and efficacy testing for animal drugs
just as for human ones, but animal-drug tests are smaller.
Pfizer says about 500 dogs got Rimadyl in various trials,
which is no more than a fifth of the number of subjects in
comparable human-drug trials. Some dogs showed unusual
liver-function readings and one young beagle on a high dose
died, but for the most part, the FDA and Pfizer didn't find
side effects alarming. The drug was approved for an early-1997
launch. That same year, the FDA made it easier to market drugs
directly to consumers on TV.
Soon, Pfizer was running commercials in which a once-stiff
yellow Labrador retriever named Lady bounded over a fallen
tree as she fetched tennis balls beside a lake. In another ad,
a dog leapt through a window and slid down a banister. There
were also full-page magazine ads and a public-relations
campaign, whose results, the PR firm later said, included
1,785 print stories, 856 radio reports and 245 TV news reports
"generating 25.5 million positive impressions on the
product." Early on, vets were floored by the drug's
effects.
"The results in some cases have been pretty darn close to
miraculous," says David Whitten of the Hilldale
Veterinary Hospital in Southfield, Mich. "I'm using this
drug on my own dog. It has been effective. But as with all
medications, side effects are certainly a problem."
Indeed, within months of the launch, vets at Colorado State
University in Fort Collins noticed troubling reactions.
Labrador retrievers seemed particularly affected. Since the
safety studies for Rimadyl had emphasized testing on young
beagles, Pfizer went back to conduct another, small test just
on Labs; it says that test showed no particular problem.
Bill Keller, an FDA veterinary-medicine official, notes that
"any time you take a product from the investigation and
put it into actual practice, you're going to see things you
didn't expect." But reports about Rimadyl came in by the
hundreds. The FDA had received just over 3,000 animal-drug
bad-reaction reports in 1996, the year before Rimadyl's
launch; in 1998, the drug's first full year, Rimadyl alone
produced more than that many. They swamped the FDA's tiny
Center for Veterinary Medicine in Rockville, Md. Pfizer was
scrambling as well. "Basically, their response,"
says Dr. Keller, " was `Tell us what you want us to do.
We love the fact that it's selling so well, but we don't know
what to do with all these adverse reactions.'"
The FDA and Pfizer discussed a "Dear Doctor" letter
to be sent to vets. FDA records show the agency found parts of
an early Pfizer draft "unacceptable as they are
promotional in tone. . . ." It was revised. The records
also show Pfizer disagreed with the FDA's suggestion that the
letter cite "death" as a possible side effect. To
get the letter out, the FDA told Pfizer it was "agreeing
to your exclusion of the 'death' syndrome from the letter at
this time. However, we will revisit the 'death' syndrome issue
and other potential side effects for possible inclusion in
labeling at a later date." So the term didn't appear in
the first warning Pfizer sent, in mid-1997.
Meanwhile, dog owners were asking for Rimadyl. "It was
their advertising that sold me on the drug," says
Michelle Walsh, a Phoenix woman who says her miniature
schnauzer was given it and later died. Not that vets needed
much convincing. They saw clear benefits from the drug. On top
of that, they could get points from Pfizer for each Rimadyl
purchase they made; points were redeemable for PalmPilots, Zip
drives for PCs and other equipment.
Although Pfizer's letter told vets to explain to owners the
signs of a bad reaction to Rimadyl, such as vomiting, lethargy
or diarrhea, it is evident that a great many didn't. The FDA's
Dr. Keller says, "There are a lot of veterinarians who
don't think they need to take the time, or who forget, or for
whatever reason are not providing animal owners with this
information."
Donna Allen, whose chow-mix, Maggie, started on Rimadyl last
summer, says, " All my vet did was give me this little
bag of pills, with no information." She says Maggie
"didn't want to take it, but I made her." After four
weeks, Maggie began to vomit violently, Ms. Allen says. The
dog vanished from their home outside Birmingham, Ala., and
later was found lying in a ditch. Ms. Allen loaded her into a
truck and sped 35 miles to a veterinary clinic, but the
five-year-old dog died. Her vet wouldn't implicate Rimadyl in
the death until Ms. Allen urged him to send the dog's internal
organs to the University of Illinois vet school, where an
examination showed liver toxicity. Maggie was buried under a
marker adorned with the figure of an angel. And Ms. Allen took
to the streets, delivering a letter to all the vets in the
area urging them to "understand that Rimadyl helps
certain dogs, but it is poison to other dogs."
As the complaints poured in, the FDA told Pfizer it would have
to revisit the label issue. Pfizer had referred to "fatal
outcomes" on the label as a possible effect of the drug
class to which Rimadyl belonged, but not specifically of this
drug. Now the agency asked that Pfizer cite "death"
prominently as a possible side effect of the drug. Describing
the back and forth with Pfizer, the FDA's Dr. Keller says,
"They did it. They weren't enthusiastic about it, but
they have always been cooperative. And that's part of the
nature of the game we play with industry."
But the FDA also wanted the word "death" in the
audio of commercials. Pfizer indicated this "would be
devastating to the product," FDA minutes of a February
1999 meeting show. A company spokesman says that "putting
'death' on a 30-second commercial and in proper context was
something we didn't think was possible." Rather than do
so, it eventually pulled the commercials. Pfizer says it now
will do traditional marketing to vets, making sure they know
the proper way to use the drug.
Another "Dear Doctor" letter will soon go out, and
the company will start attaching a safety sheet to pill
packages. Pfizer acknowledges it has a perception problem with
some dog owners; a consumer group, for instance, has mounted a
campaign dubbed BARKS, for Be Aware of Rimadyl's Known
Side-effects. The company is contacting dog owners who have
told their stories on the Internet, and it is offering to pay
medical and diagnostic expenses for some dogs who may have
been harmed by Rimadyl.
But Pfizer stands firmly behind the value of the drug, of
which it says sales have continued to grow. Most vets also
remain strongly behind Rimadyl. Owners, too, generally say
they think the drug is important -- they just want to know the
risks. Atlantan Roger Williams gave his mixed-breed terrier,
William, Rimadyl for more than a year and believes it
contributed to the dog's death. "But if I had to do it
all over, I would give my dog Rimadyl again," he says.
"The difference is I would have known what to expect.
Without Rimadyl, William was miserable. And what's the point
of living another three years if you're miserable?"
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