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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of physical illness, mental illness, description of surgical procedures, and death.
For many decades, the FDA did not regulate medical devices like those J&J manufactures. This changed after the Dalkon Shield, an intrauterine contraceptive device, caused severe side effects. In 1976, Congress gave the FDA the power to regulate medical devices. However, they also created a loophole called the 510(k) process that stated companies would not need to seek approval for “small modifications” to already-existing devices.
As a result, most complex medical devices are never tested in human trials before going to market: Companies simply claim the new devices are not substantially different from those already on the market before 1976. Further, the FDA is reluctant to aggressively regulate manufacturers because they rely on companies like J&J for their funding. In 2011, CEO of J&J Alex Gorsky agreed to expand FDA funding. In 2012, the FDA agreed not to issue recalls or bans of two J&J medical devices then under scrutiny, the Pinnacle metal-on-metal hip implant and Prolift vaginal mesh.
In 1998, J&J purchased DePuy Orthopaedics, a company that was pursuing a metal-on-metal hip implant. Previous attempts at metal-on-metal implants had failed because the rubbing between the metal cup and ball components caused metal shards to grind off and migrate through the body, causing infection and implant failure. Hip implant makers typically use plastic liners to prevent these kinds of problems. However, in the 1990s, surgeons theorized that a metal-on-metal implant with a narrow gap between cup and ball could prevent the failure of previous devices because “bodily fluids would work themselves into the divide and never allow the two sides to touch” (272).
On November 10th, 2000, J&J was planning on submitting its metal-on-metal hip implant Pinnacle to the FDA for approval in three days when a research engineer raised concerns that one of the implants being tested “was falling apart in the simulator” (270). The engineer suggested they increase the gap between the cup and the ball in the metal joint to avoid this failure. J&J widened the gap in its device, but it submitted the narrow-gapped design to the FDA for approval.
In 2004, J&J submitted a wide-gapped implant design to the FDA for approval called the ASR XL. In 2005, the FDA responded with concerns about the wide-gapped design because it was believed that was what had caused failure in previous metal-on-mental implants. In response, J&J pointed out that its Pinnacle design had the same wide gap as its ASR XL—admitting it had lied on its initial proposal in 2000.
Although the FDA was concerned, they approved the ASR XL wide-gapped design because it believed the Pinnacle already on the market was safe. However, J&J had illegally not disclosed “dozens” of adverse events related to Pinnacle to the FDA. Further, it considered directing its sales team not to report “every revision” or corrective surgery related to its Pinnacle implants.
In September 2007, J&J/DePuy and “every major orthopedic device company” agreed to pay a fine for “brib[ing] orthopedic surgeons to use their contracts” (277). Prior to this, the practice of providing financial incentives was rampant in the industry.
In December 2000, the FDA approved Pinnacle for the market. J&J created incentive schemes to encourage use of its Pinnacle implants, notably “seeding trials,” a process whereby J&J sponsored “trials” of its implants. However, unlike scientific trials where the company pays for patient care, in seeding trials, the patients pay for their own care. These so-called PIN studies often skirted the Internal Review Board (IRB) requirements typical for scientific studies. For instance, PIN studies did not collect patient consent forms until 2003. The purpose of these studies was not scientific study, but rather to provide financial kickbacks to surgeons to encourage them to use Pinnacle implants. Three IRBs refused to provide clearance for PIN studies. One PIN orthopedic surgeon at Baptist Medical Center continued his PIN study even after IRB refused to clear the work and he was directed to stop the study by the hospital IRB chairperson.
In 2007, J&J used the “data” from its PIN studies in marketing materials at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons to emphasize the quality of its Pinnacle implants. However, internal studies showed that Pinnacle implants had a failure rate 10 times higher than typical metal-on-plastic implants. A subsequent trial revealed that J&J PIN surgeons hid failures from regulators, and that J&J claims they were unaware of these failures were untrue.
In 2008, J&J launched a massive marketing campaign for Pinnacle implants featuring basketball coach Mike “Coach K” Krzyzewski. However, accounts of “revisions” or subsequent surgical interventions to repair or replace Pinnacle implants were growing. The company capitalized on these problems by selling replacement parts, thus profiting from its failures.
The company also launched a modified version of the ASR XL implant called the aSphere to address surgeons’ growing concerns. To further head off complaints, J&J focused on convincing surgeons that the failures were due to the surgeons’ techniques rather than product failure. Meanwhile, the implants were “ruin[ing]” the lives of patients. One testified to the FDA that she was left in constant pain after metal debris from the implant caused muscle weakness. Many surgeons paid by J&J/DePuy stopped using the implants in 2009 or 2010.
In 2009, Australian authorities halted sales of the ASR metal implant. In 2010, the ASR was recalled in the US. In 2013, J&J/DePuy pulled Pinnacle metal-on-metal implants from the market in the US following stricter FDA hip implant regulations and declining sales.
Harris describes how J&J brought a vaginal mesh product to market without FDA approval. Vaginal mesh was inserted “to address urinary problems caused by sagging bladders pressing against the vagina” (293). However, the product had terrible side effects, including incontinence and painful sex, leading to a mass tort litigation against J&J and manufacturers of similar products.
Typically, doctors used “women’s own tissue to strap organs down within their abdomens” (294). However, this tissue could dissolve, requiring further surgeries. In the 1990s, surgeons began experimenting with plastic mesh for pelvic organ prolapse (POP) and urinary incontinence surgeries (SUI). In 1996, the FDA approved the first mesh. However, these products, like J&J’s Gynemesh, had problems because the plastic mesh could erode thin vagina walls, causing infection, pain, and even damage to a penis inserted into the vagina.
A J&J abdominal surgeon in Germany, Dr. Klinge, discovered that the body “inevitably” attacked the plastic meshes as “invaders,” resulting in an inflammatory response and scarring. Klinge reported his findings to J&J and published them. He argued J&J’s UltraPro, a mesh with larger pores than the Gynemesh, was a safer product. However, the company deemphasized UltraPro because it was cheaper than the Gynemesh and made J&J less money.
In 2002, J&J got FDA approval for Gynemesh to be used in prolapse repair. With a French team, J&J developed a kit for OB-GYNs to insert Gynemesh called Prolift. However, before it went to market, European doctors raised concerns about Gynemesh’s side effects. Nevertheless, in 2005, J&J brought the Prolift to market without FDA approval. That same year, the French team released findings showing that upwards of 25% of women who had Gynemesh had to have surgery for repairs or removals.
In 2007, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) issued a warning about vaginal mesh. In response, J&J lobbied the group to reverse its warning. In 2008, at an ACOG meeting, doctors and surgeons raised concerns about vaginal mesh. One surgeon, Peggy Norton, reported her practice was “flooded with women [who] needed to have their mesh removed” (303). Despite studies and accounts pointing to the dangers, sales of Prolift “surged.”
In 2011, a clinical study found 15% of people with Prolift “had seen the plastic erode through their vaginal walls” (305) and that the cohort had no better outcomes than those who did not use Prolift. In July 2011, the FDA issued a warning that vaginal mesh could result in “serious adverse events” (305). However, J&J insisted to the FDA that it was safe by pointing to a study that suggested it was beneficial, although it was later revealed that J&J had overseen and funded the study.
In January 2012, the FDA ordered J&J to undertake a formal study of vaginal mesh. In June 2012, J&J pulled Prolift and other vaginal meshes from the market. In 2019, the FDA banned all vaginal meshes for prolapse repair.
J&J and other vaginal mesh manufacturers were sued for the pain and suffering caused by the product. They settled most of those cases, but others are still pending.
In Part 3, Gardiner Harris describes J&J’s role in the vaginal mesh and metal-on-metal hip implant medical device scandals. A key focus in this section of No More Tears is Regulatory Challenges and Governmental Oversight. Harris emphasizes this with the title of the chapter that opens Part 3, “The FDA Goes Looking for a Savior.” In this chapter, Harris describes how small medical device makers began negotiating for the FDA to lower its fees for approvals. In response, the FDA reached out to executive Alex Gorsky at J&J, a giant in the medical device industry. At the behest of the FDA, Gorsky “browbeat” the small device manufacturers into accepting a higher fee schedule. Soon after, the FDA “decided against banning or recalling” (269) Prolift or Pinnacle. Although Harris does not spell it out, he strongly implies that the FDA’s lack of regulation of these devices was a result of a quid-pro-quo agreement between J&J and the FDA: In exchange for intervening to secure them funding, the FDA would not remove the devices from the market immediately.
Throughout the rest of Part 3, Harris emphasizes the FDA’s failures to effectively regulate the medical device market. As elsewhere, Harris largely relies on existing reporting to illustrate his claims about the dangers of these products and J&J’s knowledge of them. For example, Although not mentioned in No More Tears, the vaginal mesh and metal-on-metal hip implant scandals and the flaws of the 510(k) process were also covered in the 2018 Netflix documentary The Bleeding Edge. While highlighting the FDA’s failures, Harris minimizes when they do take action against J&J and other medical companies rather than celebrating those decisions. He implicitly explains this framing when discussing the FDA’s ban on vaginal mesh in 2019: “Had the agency agreed with Public Citizen’s petition in 2011 seeking this very result, hundreds of thousands more women might have been spared life-altering injuries” (307). In other words, Harris argues, because the FDA acts so slowly, what good it does is mitigated by the harm it permits.
Another focus of Part 3 is on The Disparity Between Public Image and Internal Practices. A company’s public image is often driven by advertising campaigns like the one for Pinnacle featuring beloved basketball coach, Coach K. However, Harris also emphasizes the much more insidious and subtle network of company-funded continuing education classes, studies, journals, and other points of influence targeted at doctors. For instance, he notes that the “PIN” study to show the supposed benefits of the Pinnacle implants “was conceived by the company’s marketing department, because payoffs were its primary purpose” (277). He also notes that “the company paid [surgeons] to give speeches and participate in other marketing activities” (278). This highlights a minor theme that runs through No More Tears: The complicity of doctors and medical practitioners in enabling J&J’s rosy public image in exchange for monetary rewards.
This minor theme resonates with another thread that runs through the work: The differences between medical regulatory and incentive structures in the United States and Europe. Europe has public healthcare, meaning that it is in the state’s interests to keep its populace healthy: The healthier the population is, the less the state will spend on health care provision. In the United States, the incentives run the other way, as the sicker people are, the more medical companies can make from their treatment. This dynamic is well-illustrated in the case of revisions of metal-on-metal hip implants. Harris notes that when surgeons “replaced the metal ball, liner, or both […] the surgeons purchased new parts from J&J / DePuy as well,” allowing the company to “profit from its own disaster” (287). These structural challenges show how some issues with J&J’s unethical practices extend across the medical sector.



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