A word about body acceptance and positivity

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I’d like to say a word about weight and body acceptance.  I am so very happy to see that recently there has been so much focus on body positivity and self-love. When I was a teenager I was ridiculed for being a mere size 10-12 and it was really horrible. Nowadays there is so much more variety of shapes and sizes in women all over the media, and I think that is a wonderful thing.  Even when I was my most obese, I could still actually buy fashionable clothes that were comfortable and fit me. I am grateful that those options were available to me.
However, the more obese people there are at younger ages, the more we will have health problems when we are older.  I know many people who say “I am fat (or obese) but I am healthy, I have no other medical problems”.  Yes, when you are young and obese (overweight is BMI up to 30, obese is BMI over 30, morbid obesity BMI over 40) it is less likely to have other medical problems. But the longer you remain obese, the more medical problems will develop.
What I worry about- in myself and all of the children, teens, and millennials out there whose weights are on the rise- is that this generation will be the ones stricken with early onset heart disease, diabetes, high cholesterol, stroke, etc.  In fact, I already see many patients with just those problems who are in their early 20s and 30s or even younger- coming in to the hospital having heart attacks and strokes much earlier than they should be.  My point is: never feel as if you have to hide your body or be ashamed of it- your weight is only one component of your overall being- but still continue to work to be healthier each day.  Obesity is a chronic progressive disease, and treating it as such can help reduce the stigma surrounding weight. The bottom line is it not healthy to be obese, and we can all do a better job taking care of ourselves!

How the Chronic Pain Crisis Feeds the Opiate Crisis

What is it like living in pain? Those of us that have ever experienced unremitting pain for months or years know that it is enveloping and all consuming. I myself struggled with intractable pain for several difficult years, and I am fortunate because my pain finally got better- what if your pain never did?
That is a horrible reality millions of people are living in right now. The chronic pain population in this country is astronomical. Our offices, urgent cares, ERs, and hospitals are being overrun with patients whose pain is out of control.  These patients want a solution to their pain, an end it. But in many cases we do not have a cure, we cannot make the pain go away. So we shift the discussion to managing the pain, and coping with it.
The problem is, many are not coping- they are turning to pain management and chronic narcotic therapy or illegal drugs for the pain numbing effects of opiates. When legal pain management options have failed them, some patients turn to illegally buying pills or using intravenous drugs. In the process many will lose their jobs, their houses, their families, and even their lives. Does this happen to every patient with chronic pain? No, but we are seeing this pattern more and more.
How do we reverse the climate in America which presumes physicians can provide instant or complete pain relief? How do we as providers set the expectation that we very likely cannot rid our patients of pain, but slowly try and manage and reduce it? And do it all without using opiates?
Well, it will take a seismic shift in culture. We as a society are so wired to the mentality of “take a pill and make it better” or “we can operate and fix that” that patients demand this when they come to us. To explain to our patients that we don’t have a quick fix is frustrating not just for them, but for us as well. When a patient is in pain, it can seem impossible to convince them to accept as treatment any of the many proven pain management techniques that aren’t a narcotic pill (including physical therapy, exercise, cognitive behavioral therapy, medication for psychiatric comorbidities, tens units, injections, spinal stimulators, acupuncture and massage etc). Historically, writing a prescription is easier and takes less time than having that kind of difficult discussion with a patient.
With the right approach and buy-in from members of the medical community, we can change this country’s outlook on treating chronic pain. It will take a concerted effort from each of us prescribers to stop utilizing opiates. If we don’t, the opiate addiction plague is going to become even more wide-spread and thousands more will die. One of the barriers to this culture change is that many patients have no faith in non-narcotic pain management. This despite study after study showing that opiate treatment for chronic pain has no benefits long term
with regards to morbidity or mortality. It does have significant risk of harm. That fact is now well known to physicians but not well known or understood by the public. We need to alter the conversation with our patients, and take opiates off the table as a routine treatment option. We can then redirect our efforts to optimizing the modalities that have been shown to have a positive effect on chronic pain. To that end, we need to open more clinics where multidisciplinary non-narcotic treatments can be offered to patients. Here in Ohio, it takes months to get into a pain management specialist, and in the meantime most patients will survive by going to urgent cares and the ER to get short term pain pill prescriptions. What these patients really need is to start PT, behavioral therapy, nutrition and exercise plans- so how can we make that the new expectation?
Since I started medical school I have seen the battle with chronic pain and opioids worsen ever year. We have created a healthcare system in which many patients have been treated for pain with long-term narcotic pain medications, and it is extremely difficult to walk back from this mindset. The consequences have been devastating to see and are continuing to accumulate. Reform is ongoing with more and more regulations over who can prescribe what narcotics and for how long. These regulations will definitely help to decrease use, but we as a medical community have to keep working everyday stop the cycle of opiate prescribing.  The more boundaries we set, and the harder we make it to access opiates the less prevalent they will be in our society and our medical practices.

 

Is fat bias affecting your medical care?

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We are all guilty of having biases. Some of them we know about, and even proudly flaunt. Some of them have been ingrained in us so deeply we do not even know they exist. Weight is an issue that brings out strong biases, and multiple studies have demonstrated a high level of bias from physicians against overweight and obese patients. Obese patients are often treated rudely and are not given the same level of medical care as non-obese patients. One study (Huizinga MM, et al. J Gen Intern Med. 2009) even showed that as a patient’s weight increases, physician respect for the patient decreases. Think about that- the more overweight you are, the less value you are perceived to have as a person. As both a physician and someone who has until recently been obese for my entire adult life, I can personally attest to the prejudices which exist within our field.
I myself, even as a doctor, have been fat-shamed by other physicians. (Note: by fat-shamed I do not just mean told to lose weight. Discussing weight loss is part of our jobs! I mean that my treatment as a patient was of poorer quality than if I had been of normal weight). There is so much stigma and negativity around obesity, it leads many care providers to blame every patient complaint on their weight. Let me be very clear: yes, many many complaints and health issues are actually due to obesity and can be improved or cured with weight loss. And absolutely every chance we get we should counsel our patients on weight loss.
But our job as physicians is to help guide patients down the right path with support and encouragement. To individualize recommendations that will help our patients succeed. To give them resources and ideas. To be compassionate. Not to just judge patients at face value and dismiss them. Empathy and understanding go a long way. Even if you find it hard to relate to someone struggling with obesity, treating every patient with respect and dignity is the bare minimum requirement!
In my time during medical school, residency, and now as an attending I have been privy to many discussions among providers about obese patients. A prevailing attitude through the years has been that obese patients “did this to themselves.” Meaning, the patient is at fault for being fat and therefore at fault for having whatever complications and co-morbidities befall them. This is the same attitude I see towards drug abusers and alcoholics- that their medical problems are somehow less important because they are “self inflicted”. Just as many factors contribute to drug and alcohol addiction, so is true of obesity. If we just focus on providing empathetic, non-judgmental care we will have better relationships with our patients and their health outcomes will improve. So let’s all put our biases to the side and focus on providing the best care possible to each and every patient.

How safe are we as healthcare providers?

Being a healthcare provider has always come with personal risk. We care for all patients, which includes patients agitated due to psychiatric issues, dementia, acute medical illness, alcohol or drug intoxication, or simply anger. Patients can be extremely volatile and lash out unexpectedly, causing physical injury to their doctor, nurse, or other provider. Besides the physical risk, patients can be emotionally and verbally abusive as well- both types of violence take their toll. Workplace violence is on the rise and OSHA reports indicate that only 70% of violent encounters are ever reported upwards to a supervisor. The NEJM published a review article last year on workplace violence calling it a “problem that had been tolerated and largely ignored”. Healthcare has the highest incidence of workplace violence outside of law enforcement.
Recently the dangers of patients unhappy and dissatisfied with their care, particularly as it pertains to obtaining controlled substances, have been making the news. This danger has been increasingly apparent since we as providers have been scaling back on prescriptions of controlled substances, but reports of abusive opioid seeking patients were readily available years ago (http://www.businessinsurance.com/article/20131020/NEWS08/310209959). A most extreme example recently occurred in Indiana where a patient’s husband shot and killed her doctor for not giving her an opiate prescription (https://www.google.com/amp/www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/midwest/indiana/ct-indiana-doctor-killed-opioids-20170729-story,amp.html). This was the first time the patient had seen this physician, and this single patient encounter led to his death. Several years ago, another irate patient in Kentucky murdered his doctor for not prescribing him opiates- he was sentenced to 40 years in prison (https://insurancenewsnet.com/oarticle/Combs-sentenced-to-40-years-for-doctors-murder-%5BThe-Hazard-Herald-Ky%5D-a-403071). Both these physicians were killed for practicing good medicine, and this is a heartbreaking, frightening reality.
As we as a medical community continue to grapple with the risk of workplace violence, is there anything that we as individual providers can help to prevent protect ourselves? I would offer the following:
1. Be clear immediately and up front with the patient what his or her expectations should be. Many PCP offices have instituted policies where they never prescribe controlled substances, or at least never on the first visit. Knowing this information as soon as possible, ideally before the appointment, can help to diffuse the tension or lead the patient to seek care elsewhere.
2. In the hospital setting, there are on call police and security teams and special codes to raise the alert for violent patients and trigger a response team- know what your policies are! In the office where this response team is usually not possible, have a clear safety plan in place with your staff and a pre-planned method to alert them to your situation.
3. Be alert to the risk of violence before you enter the room. Has the patient been violent in the past? Do they have mental health, addiction, or chronic pain issues that place them at a higher risk for violent behavior? Consider tagging patients’ medical records to alert the staff of the risk for violence. If you know that risk is present, do not go into the patient’s room unattended.
4. Either in the hospital or office setting, when a patient starts to become agitated and violent, do the following: a. speak softly and do not raise your voice b. listen actively and maintain positive nonverbal communication with eye contact and nodding c. acknowledge that you can see the patient is frustrated and upset d. reassure the patient you are listening to his or her concerns e. let the patient talk without interrupting them f. ask what you can do to help resolve the issue
5. If you sense the situation is going to escalate, and cannot be resolved, move slowly toward the exit. Keep as much physical distance between yourself and the patient as possible. Alert the surrounding staff and call the police as soon as is feasible.
6. Report any violent encounter according to your hospital or clinic protocol.
7. Talk to your administrators about workplace violence policies that are in place or under development at your hospital or practice.
Violence in our workplace is an ongoing issue. We can each help by reporting all violent incidents as they occur, and having firm policies and procedures in place.

The agony of being a patient

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We have all heard that old saying “doctors make the worst patients”. It always uncomfortable and humbling to give up control and be a patient. I’ve been a patient in various capacities throughout my medical training. With my primary care doctor, who knows to reign in my gut reaction for always thinking the worse-case zebra diagnosis scenario. With several trips to the ER for such human ailments as severe dehydration causing fainting or intractable migraine… where the ER staff was always polite, efficient, and preserved my dignity. And in Mexico where I spoke little of the language and spent 12 hours in a hyperbaric chamber with a lovely man named Juan watching Miss Congeniality during a frightful episode of the bends.
My biggest trial as a patient began one innocent night playing indoor soccer. I recently had been getting back into shape so I thought our residency soccer team would be a great way to elevate my fitness level. Alas, a mere 5 minutes into the game I collided with the ball at the same time as a player on the other team. In a split second I was on the ground. I heard a loud “pop” and felt a sudden excruciating pain in my right knee. Instantly, I knew I had torn my ACL, maybe done even more damage. There was a constant string of profanities coming from my mouth as my husband and friends helped me off the floor. I sat in shock icing my knee for the rest of the game. Stunned, I hobbled to the car and made a call to get in the next day with a sports medicine doctor I knew and trusted.
In my sports medicine doctor’s office I sat numbly waiting for a few minutes. He couldn’t do all the components of a standard knee exam due to the significant swelling and my pain. He tried to reassure me that perhaps I only tore my MCL, but we needed the MRI to know. Of course the MRI showed the more difficult to treat scenario of a torn ACL, torn lateral meniscus, and tibial plateau fracture. Quickly resigned to my new reality, I went to see an orthopedic surgeon. This was a physician I had spent time rotating with during my medical school. I didn’t know him well personally, but he had a good reputation with other doctors I knew. At my appointment he reiterated the diagnoses and then we discussed surgical options. His recommendation was for a patellar tendon graft from my “good leg” to repair my torn ACL. The surgery would be scheduled in a month due to the severe edema still present from my initial insult.
At the time of my injury, I was in my second year of residency training in family medicine. Instantly I was back in the clinic seeing patients on crutches until my surgery date. The day of surgery, I was fairly nonplussed and told my husband to go home and take care of our dogs and tidy up the house while I was in the OR. The last thing I remember was transferring from the gurney to the freezing operating table. I was mortified that the doctors and staff would see my underwear more than anything. I woke up in the PACU with my husband by my side. The meds were still in full effect from the surgery, so the pain was tolerable. A physical therapist got me set up with my ice machine and quad exercises to start at home and I was wheeled to our car. Somehow we got me home and into the house before I collapsed onto the guest bed and slept till the next day.
The first 2-3 days after surgery were excruciating. I awoke on the guest bed only to find I couldn’t stand up. I tried and tried, each time screaming out in pain. Finally, with my husband’s help I propelled myself upwards so I could go pee and move to the couch. As I had surgery on both my legs, due to the graft harvest site, I no longer had a “good leg” and was struggling to maneuver with each step. I spent those first few days on the couch with my paralyzed beagle-basset Beau faithfully by my side for company. Spinning in a Percocet induced haze, I forced myself to get up and move and do my exercises.
After a week, I was ready to start my rehab in earnest. I was getting around better and the pain had manageably subsided. I only needed the Percocet before therapy sessions and at bedtime, preferring ibuprofen instead. I was excited to get going with my physical therapy, to get back to normal. Everything went well for the first month, and I was diligent and worked hard. Then one day after my therapy session, I noticed my knee felt very stiff. The next morning I couldn’t straighten my knee all the way, it’s like something was blocking its path.
Frustrated, I went back to my orthopedic surgeon. He examined me and said that I just needed to keep working through it and I would regain my range of motion. So that’s what I did. For weeks, with no improvement, I worked and worked to get better. After some time my surgeon decided that we needed to force my leg into full extension or I would lose my range of motion permanently and always have a limp. This process involved what is called extension casting. Basically, this form of treatment involved a resident or my surgeon and nurse standing above me and pushing down as hard as they could in my leg until it straightened while another resident put a cast on the straight leg. I cannot fully summon the memories of those casting sessions. I remember only screaming and swearing at the doctors and nurses and thinking that I may pass out from the pain. It felt like a form of medieval torture, not treatment.

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The next few months were a step and repeat of extension casts. I diligently followed all instructions and hoped each time the cast came off my knee would be improved. It wasn’t. It came to the point where I would start to panic before appointments with my surgeon. At this time, I had missed months of my residency training and I was falling further and further behind my peers. I worried everyday that I may be fired for being unable to complete my job. The pain continued to be nearly intolerable, but I pushed through it because I had to.
Worse than the physical pain was the emotional toil this process took. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t walk without pain, without a limp, without crutches. Each time I would see my surgeon I‘d become more desperate. I’d beg him to consider other options, mainly arthroscopy to find out what was blocking my extension from being normal. These discussions were harder and more painful than every single cast I was put into. Each time I saw my surgeon I would start off by having a rational discussion as a doctor who also happens to be a patient. As the weeks wore on, my ability to regulate myself and be clinical about my situation lessened drastically. After a few months, I barely wanted to speak to my surgeon. When I did speak I inevitably would start to cry and lose control of my composure. I was a doctor myself, yet my surgeon was not taking my opinions seriously and was not listening to me. I felt like I was a broken record and that no matter what I said, he wouldn’t hear me.
Eventually, I had to return to my residency training. I was no better than I had been that day my knee seized up on me months before. I wore one of my extensions casts all day at work that had been cut into halves so I could remove it when needed. Part of my job as a resident on call was to respond to and run any “code blue”. I adapted to this by calling the nurse on my way across the hospital while I wheeled myself there in a wheelchair. It was very difficult to complete the physical demands of medicine with a significant physical disability. At the end of each day I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I stopped even thinking about not being and pain or walking regularly and tried to focus on just getting by. The last time I saw my orthopedic surgeon, he asked how I was doing. I was an empty shell of myself, depressed and in despair. I barely looked him in the eye and resigned myself to the forgone conclusion of his advice: “there’s nothing else we can do now. Keep doing your therapy. Your quad strength isn’t good enough. If you get stronger you should improve your extension and mobility.” I felt so insignificant, like nothing I could say or do would ever get through to him. He wasn’t listening. He didn’t see me. He talked “at” me and not to me. Most hurtfully, he placed the blame on me for my failure to get better. I wasn’t doing a good enough job with my therapy and exercises, therefore if I didn’t improve I had no one to blame but myself.
At this point it had been nearly a year since my original injury. I had not improved and remained in constant pain with a terrible limp and needed a crutch to get around. I made the decision to go to another surgeon, in a different group, for a second opinion. I sought the recommendations of another local doctor and one at Ohio State University. At my initial visit with the local doctor he listened to me, heard my concerns, and then recommended continued conservative therapy for now. We agreed on a steroid injection into my knee to see if that improved my condition. We discussed at length that another surgery may only make things even worse, but it may be the only option if the injection didn’t help. The surgeon at OSU had agreed with this plan, so we proceeded to carry it out.
The injection did help for awhile, it improved my pain and I could walk slightly better without a crutch. It’s effects lasted for about 2 months before I regressed. At that time I met back with my new surgeon and we agreed to proceed to arthroscopy. There were no guarantees made, and I understood that if no mechanical cause was found I would be left with no recourse but to hope the physical therapy and time would eventually help. I had communicated with my initial surgeon on and off via email, and with my next surgery approaching, this is the last email I wrote to him:

Dr. X,
I stopped coming in to see you when I felt the doctor/patient relationship wasn’t working any longer.  Honestly I was very frustrated, as you know, and I couldn’t hear another platitude without a contingency plan for what we would do if my knee did not improve. I felt like there was an absolute communication breakdown between us. In late summer I finally was able to wean off my crutch but still had persistent pain and limp. My physical therapist discharged me as she said there was nothing else she could do to help me, we had done it all. I saw several other physicians for their opinions and continue to see Dr. K now.  I had a steroid shot which was a helpful band aid for awhile allowing me to do my job during some busy months, but it has now worn off and I am back to limping constantly and being in pain. As such, I regrettably am going to have a scope done in the near future. I do not know why my knee is the way it is, hopefully there will be an answer in the surgery, but I am not a fool to pin my hopes to it. Thankfully I am in a residency program that supports me as I would have long ago been fired if I were a resident in many other specialties, including orthopedics. I look forward to putting this behind me so I can graduate and get a job as an attending.

In the end, my knee arthroscopy showed a “Cyclops lesion,” a small piece of scar tissue preventing my knee from extending fully. Dr. K removed the scar tissue and I went back into physical therapy. It took time, but with persistence I was able to regain nearly all the range of motion in my knee. I stopped limping and put away my crutch for good. I went on to graduate from my residency training and am a happy and successful Hospitalist physician now.
My experiences with injury, surgery, and rehabilitation changed me. I had firsthand knowledge of how it felt to be repeatedly ignored and brushed off by my doctor. I had put my trust into this man, and he had repaid me by belittling me and painting me as the quintessential weak and histrionic woman. It took me years to recover emotionally from what happened. I lived in constant fear of hurting myself again and being unable to walk. I restricted my activities to only safe and low impact exercises to protect myself.
More than that, it changed how I saw and treated my own patients. I do not pretend to be able to help or fix all of my patients. Many conditions are chronic and debilitating, and I do my best to help my patients manage them. What I can do differently is listen to my patients. Truly hear there concerns, fears, frustrations and acknowledge them. Even if I cannot fix them, I do not brush away their complaints, and I try to give them hope. Hope is a factor I was sorely lacking while I attempted to get better. I essentially gave in to my injury and pain and was resigned to it. It was not until several years later that I regained my hope. I finally stopped living in fear and started to just live. I learned to run and jump and dance again. I stopped letting my past injury hold me back, and kept pushing my physical limits. As I write this I am training to run my first half-marathon, a remarkable feat I could never have dreamed even a year ago. The difference from then to now? Hope.
As physicians, we can lose sight of the power we hold over our patients. Our recommendations and decisions can determine the course of someone’s life. When we stop hearing our patients, we lose the ability to connect with them and give them hope. Without hope there is no chance to overcome the obstacles we face in life. I will carry these experiences with me, and I am grateful they have shaped me into the physician I am today.

 

How a patient with a kidney stone changed how I treat all my patients

Early in my career I was working on a routine Sunday at my job as a hospitalist. I had picked up an extra shift and came in to start rounding and seeing patients. I took over care from my partner and reviewed my list of patients; then I got to work seeing them. It was a standard variety of diagnoses… sepsis, renal failure, COPD exacerbations, and one patient with ureterolithiasis. I went from room to room seeing patients. Eventually in late morning I made my way in to see the patient with the stone that had migrated from her kidney down to her ureter. It was stuck there causing a blockage and back up of urine flow.
I introduced myself and quickly launched into the plan of waiting for the urologist to come in and do a cystoscopy and possible stent. I checked the patient over and told her because it was the weekend we weren’t sure when urology would be in to see her. And I left.
I went about my day and eventually urology came in and did put in a stent into her ureter. The nurse let me know the patient was done with her procedure and cleared to be discharged, and so I wrote the orders and she left.
After discharge the patient’s family called to the hospital to say they were very unhappy with their care. They had seen four doctors, from the ER to time of discharge, and not one had explained what a kidney stone was, what the treatments were, and what the patient should expect going home. The patient herself was upset and scared and still in pain, which no one had told her was normal. She told us that we had all treated her as is her condition were no big deal, when to her it was a painful, terrifying, once in a lifetime experience.
The patient was right. Each of her doctors had seen so many kidney stones come and go they barely registered on our radar anymore. To us it was a common, simple, quick diagnosis and easy treatment plan. To the patient it was a waking nightmare of being in constant severe pain, not understanding what was happening or going to happen next, and being sent home with no idea what would happen when she got there. I had failed this patient, we had all failed her.
Most people will only see the inside of a hospital if they or a loved one are seriously ill and in need of immediate treatment. Hospitals are intimidating and frightening to the average person. It’s easy to lose sight of that when you’ve been in and out of hospitals your entire adult life. To us practitioners, a simple diagnosis like kidney stone, pneumonia, or pancreatitis is routine. Something we see all the time and are so familiar we we could treat it with our eyes closed. To a patient, those same conditions can cause severe physical discomfort and emotional distress.
When we stop putting ourselves in our patients shoes, we lose the ability to empathize with them. It puts us at risk for becoming callous and uncaring. This patient taught me that every complaint and diagnosis should be given my full attention. That I should be ready and willing to answer any and all questions until my patients understand their condition. That there is no “routine” diagnosis or hospital admission to a patient. Even though it was difficult, I am so grateful to that patient and her family for the feedback. It has helped to shape me into the doctor I am today… one who takes her time and listens and engages patients in their care.

 

8 things I want my patients to know

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1. I am human, too

You forgot to take your medications? You picked up fast food on the way home? You skipped your exercise because you were too busy and exhausted? You had one two many drinks when out with your friends? You only get a few hours of reliable sleep a night?
Guess what? Me, too. Being a doctor doesn’t make me immune to messing up and not doing what I’m supposed to do. I personally have struggled with obesity my whole adult life, and I am going through many of the same struggles you are. Don’t be afraid to open up and let me know what you are having a hard time with. I don’t expect you to be perfect because I am most certainly not perfect myself.

 

2. Out of sight does not mean out of mind

When I round to see you in the hospital, you may only see me for 5-10 minutes a day. This is not because you are not important. Before and after I enter your room I will have reviewed your chart, ordered tests and medications, consulted with appropriate specialists, discussed your case with your nurse and our unit staff, and have a plan outlined. You may only see me for a few minutes face to face, but I am constantly working behind the scenes to improve your condition and your care.

 

3.Don’t apologize for your body

Many of us hate going to the doctor and getting examined. Be it just a general physical or a more invasive exam like a breast exam, vaginal or rectal exam. You do not have to be ashamed and apologize for any perceived shortcomings. These exams are routine for me, and I am not here to judge you. And guess what? I hate getting these exams done, too! Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and power through it.

 

4. I am a physician because I love it, not for money

Doctors are fortunate to make good salaries. This day in age, most physicians like myself are employed by healthcare systems and are on a fixed salary. This means most of the dollars that come out of your pocket don’t make their way to me. I am also bogged down in loans, many hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical school debt, and it will take me a lifetime to be able to pay them off. So while I can live comfortably, I cannot afford a lavish lifestyle. Medicine is a lifelong career, not a quick way to make a buck.

 

5. I stay up at night worrying about you

When you are under my care, I constantly think about how you are doing. If you were having a bad day when I rounded on you in the hospital, I’m likely to be mulling your case over as I try to sleep. Your health and your safety keep me up at night, and I will do everything within my means to help you. Your worries are my worries, too, and I carry the names and faces of my patients with me for years.

 

6. I get stressed out, too

Part of being a physician is learning to leave our personal lives at the door. When I enter your room, I may have just suffered a terrible personal loss, be feeling unwell m, or just stressed with run of the mill life issues. I do my absolute best to make sure that none of those stressors come into the exam room with me, but I’m not perfect. If I seem tired or sad or grouchy, I may be having a bad day, too. If you notice this, try to give me the benefit of the doubt because I’m probably trying my best. If you are worried my stress is affecting your care, let me know. I may not realize just how much my own stressors are coming across to you.

 

7. I am on your side, but we may not always agree

Many times it can feel like patients and doctors have a different opinion on what constitutes the best plan of care. If you have pain, I may not think giving you strong opiate pain medications is the right treatment. You may think you need surgery or a procedure to fix your medical issue, and I may think you need medication treatment or to give it time and see what progresses. I may not be able to offer you a quick fix for your problem, or a fix at all, but I will always prioritize your goals of care. If I don’t think I can meet those goals, I will be direct and tell you.

 

8. I don’t always have the answer

Doctors hate having to say “I don’t know,” but the truth is we often don’t. Saying “I don’t know” does not mean that I haven’t given your concerns full consideration. In medicine, absolute certainty is not the norm. A lot of conditions like abdominal pain, headaches, fatigue, joint aches and pains, viral symptoms cannot be attributed to any one cause, they just get better and go away by themselves. Some chronic conditions, like chronic pain, we may never be able to define well or understand the underlying cause. If I don’t know I will give you my best and honest professional opinion, but I may not always be able to give you a definite answer.
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