Letters from Maine

“The doctor won’t see you now.”

The editor of the alumni magazine had succeeded in getting my attention. The shock value of the headline hooked me and I was drawn in to chase down the research. A study by a team of researchers at Harvard Medical School has published a study in the British Medical Journal revealing that “from 2013 to 2019 the share of U.S. health care visits delivered by nonphysicians such as nurse practitioners or physician assistants increased from 14% to 26%.” In other words, at more than a quarter of the health care visits in this country the patient is not seen by a physician. The percent seen by advanced-practice providers varied by complaint and specialty. For example, 47% of patients with a respiratory complaint saw a nurse practitioner or physicians assistant, while for an eye condition only 13% were seen by an advanced-practice provider. However, overall the increase was dramatic.

It doesn’t require much deep thinking to come up with some explanations for this shift in provider involvement. It boils down to supply and demand. Compared with other similar nations, we have fewer physicians. Physicians are leaving the profession for a variety of reasons, including disappointment with their work-life balance and a sense that too much of their day is devoted to meaningless work with user unfriendly computer systems.

The number of nurse practitioners and physician assistants is growing faster than that of physicians. In fact it has been predicted that over the next 2 decades advanced-practice providers will increase by more than 50% while the physician pool will grow by less than 5%.

We can mull over the how-we-got-here ad infinitum, but this recent study suggests that we had better hustle and invest some time rethinking the role of a physician and how we should adapt our education system to better prepare for those choosing the path through medical school. This mirror gazing is particularly critical for those of us doing primary care.

While in years past I often heard a discontented grumble from patients that “I was ‘only’ seen by the nurse practitioner,” this complaint has become much less frequent as patients have gained more experience with advanced-practice providers and have begun to accept the new reality and see the change as inevitable.

When someone tells me that their daughter or nephew or second cousin is planning on becoming a doctor, I pause and listen patiently as they go on proudly about it before asking if the young person has considered becoming a physician assistant. I say, “Ya know, if I were 60 years younger I think I would bypass medical school and become a nurse practitioner because they get to do all the cool things that I enjoyed about seeing patients. Sure, my mother wouldn’t have been able to introduce me as her son the doctor. But, my parents and I would have spent less time and money on my training, and I would have had less administrative hassle heaped on me once I went into practice.”

The essence of good primary care is Availability, Continuity, and Expertise. The first two attributes aren’t taught in medical school and rely on commitment and having enough bodies to deliver the care. When it comes to expertise, how important is the broad and deep education of traditional medical school when the provider is seeing the relatively narrow spectrum of bread-and-butter everyday complaints that fill the day for most primary care providers? Particularly, when the population has already been preselected by age, geography, and socioeconomic factors.

The usual argument against my assertion is that a higher-priced and more arduous education pathway better provides the physician with the tools to deal with the outliers, the diagnostic enigmas. My reply is that any good provider regardless of his or her years spent in training is taught to first admit what they don’t know. When faced with an enigma, call a consultant or, in the near future, access a Chatbot.

If the natural market and economic forces continue to drive the growth of advanced-practice providers, what role(s) remains for the medical school–trained primary care provider? Does she or he remain the leader of a team of providers? Does she or he still see patients and somehow remain the first among equals?

While patients seem to be warming to the notion of seeing a nonphysician provider, I often still hear the complaint but “I see a different provider every time I go to the office.” Continuity is one of those three keystones of quality primary care. It is not incompatible with a team concept of care delivery, but it does require a commitment to the concept and creative scheduling that allows the patient to see the same provider at almost every visit. I’m not sure where having a first-among-equals provider fits into that scheme. Is it just one more “different” provider?

Maybe the medical school–trained provider becomes a consultant physician, much as the British and Canadian systems seem to work. She or he would see patients only after the advanced primary care provider has done an evaluation and is unsure of the next step. Would this be at the same site or electronically? Is there a time lag? In my old-school interpretation, if the visit is not the same day or maybe the next day then it doesn’t satisfy my Availability requirement of primary care.

I’m beginning to believe that the best role for the medical school–trained primary care specialist is someone who has a broad and deep understanding of the organizational issues around primary care. Primarily an educator who generally doesn’t see patients but instead trains advanced primary care providers, organizes them into teams that function to provide care in a timely fashion that emphasizes Continuity, and then performs ongoing, real time assessments to assure that care provided is at the highest level of Expertise.

It sounds like an interesting and challenging job description requiring a deep and broad education. Just not one that appeals to me. I would rather be a nurse practitioner or physician’s assistant who is on the front line and hands on.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com

“The doctor won’t see you now.”

The editor of the alumni magazine had succeeded in getting my attention. The shock value of the headline hooked me and I was drawn in to chase down the research. A study by a team of researchers at Harvard Medical School has published a study in the British Medical Journal revealing that “from 2013 to 2019 the share of U.S. health care visits delivered by nonphysicians such as nurse practitioners or physician assistants increased from 14% to 26%.” In other words, at more than a quarter of the health care visits in this country the patient is not seen by a physician. The percent seen by advanced-practice providers varied by complaint and specialty. For example, 47% of patients with a respiratory complaint saw a nurse practitioner or physicians assistant, while for an eye condition only 13% were seen by an advanced-practice provider. However, overall the increase was dramatic.

It doesn’t require much deep thinking to come up with some explanations for this shift in provider involvement. It boils down to supply and demand. Compared with other similar nations, we have fewer physicians. Physicians are leaving the profession for a variety of reasons, including disappointment with their work-life balance and a sense that too much of their day is devoted to meaningless work with user unfriendly computer systems.

The number of nurse practitioners and physician assistants is growing faster than that of physicians. In fact it has been predicted that over the next 2 decades advanced-practice providers will increase by more than 50% while the physician pool will grow by less than 5%.

We can mull over the how-we-got-here ad infinitum, but this recent study suggests that we had better hustle and invest some time rethinking the role of a physician and how we should adapt our education system to better prepare for those choosing the path through medical school. This mirror gazing is particularly critical for those of us doing primary care.

While in years past I often heard a discontented grumble from patients that “I was ‘only’ seen by the nurse practitioner,” this complaint has become much less frequent as patients have gained more experience with advanced-practice providers and have begun to accept the new reality and see the change as inevitable.

When someone tells me that their daughter or nephew or second cousin is planning on becoming a doctor, I pause and listen patiently as they go on proudly about it before asking if the young person has considered becoming a physician assistant. I say, “Ya know, if I were 60 years younger I think I would bypass medical school and become a nurse practitioner because they get to do all the cool things that I enjoyed about seeing patients. Sure, my mother wouldn’t have been able to introduce me as her son the doctor. But, my parents and I would have spent less time and money on my training, and I would have had less administrative hassle heaped on me once I went into practice.”

The essence of good primary care is Availability, Continuity, and Expertise. The first two attributes aren’t taught in medical school and rely on commitment and having enough bodies to deliver the care. When it comes to expertise, how important is the broad and deep education of traditional medical school when the provider is seeing the relatively narrow spectrum of bread-and-butter everyday complaints that fill the day for most primary care providers? Particularly, when the population has already been preselected by age, geography, and socioeconomic factors.

The usual argument against my assertion is that a higher-priced and more arduous education pathway better provides the physician with the tools to deal with the outliers, the diagnostic enigmas. My reply is that any good provider regardless of his or her years spent in training is taught to first admit what they don’t know. When faced with an enigma, call a consultant or, in the near future, access a Chatbot.

If the natural market and economic forces continue to drive the growth of advanced-practice providers, what role(s) remains for the medical school–trained primary care provider? Does she or he remain the leader of a team of providers? Does she or he still see patients and somehow remain the first among equals?

While patients seem to be warming to the notion of seeing a nonphysician provider, I often still hear the complaint but “I see a different provider every time I go to the office.” Continuity is one of those three keystones of quality primary care. It is not incompatible with a team concept of care delivery, but it does require a commitment to the concept and creative scheduling that allows the patient to see the same provider at almost every visit. I’m not sure where having a first-among-equals provider fits into that scheme. Is it just one more “different” provider?

Maybe the medical school–trained provider becomes a consultant physician, much as the British and Canadian systems seem to work. She or he would see patients only after the advanced primary care provider has done an evaluation and is unsure of the next step. Would this be at the same site or electronically? Is there a time lag? In my old-school interpretation, if the visit is not the same day or maybe the next day then it doesn’t satisfy my Availability requirement of primary care.

I’m beginning to believe that the best role for the medical school–trained primary care specialist is someone who has a broad and deep understanding of the organizational issues around primary care. Primarily an educator who generally doesn’t see patients but instead trains advanced primary care providers, organizes them into teams that function to provide care in a timely fashion that emphasizes Continuity, and then performs ongoing, real time assessments to assure that care provided is at the highest level of Expertise.

It sounds like an interesting and challenging job description requiring a deep and broad education. Just not one that appeals to me. I would rather be a nurse practitioner or physician’s assistant who is on the front line and hands on.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com

“The doctor won’t see you now.”

The editor of the alumni magazine had succeeded in getting my attention. The shock value of the headline hooked me and I was drawn in to chase down the research. A study by a team of researchers at Harvard Medical School has published a study in the British Medical Journal revealing that “from 2013 to 2019 the share of U.S. health care visits delivered by nonphysicians such as nurse practitioners or physician assistants increased from 14% to 26%.” In other words, at more than a quarter of the health care visits in this country the patient is not seen by a physician. The percent seen by advanced-practice providers varied by complaint and specialty. For example, 47% of patients with a respiratory complaint saw a nurse practitioner or physicians assistant, while for an eye condition only 13% were seen by an advanced-practice provider. However, overall the increase was dramatic.

It doesn’t require much deep thinking to come up with some explanations for this shift in provider involvement. It boils down to supply and demand. Compared with other similar nations, we have fewer physicians. Physicians are leaving the profession for a variety of reasons, including disappointment with their work-life balance and a sense that too much of their day is devoted to meaningless work with user unfriendly computer systems.

The number of nurse practitioners and physician assistants is growing faster than that of physicians. In fact it has been predicted that over the next 2 decades advanced-practice providers will increase by more than 50% while the physician pool will grow by less than 5%.

We can mull over the how-we-got-here ad infinitum, but this recent study suggests that we had better hustle and invest some time rethinking the role of a physician and how we should adapt our education system to better prepare for those choosing the path through medical school. This mirror gazing is particularly critical for those of us doing primary care.

While in years past I often heard a discontented grumble from patients that “I was ‘only’ seen by the nurse practitioner,” this complaint has become much less frequent as patients have gained more experience with advanced-practice providers and have begun to accept the new reality and see the change as inevitable.

When someone tells me that their daughter or nephew or second cousin is planning on becoming a doctor, I pause and listen patiently as they go on proudly about it before asking if the young person has considered becoming a physician assistant. I say, “Ya know, if I were 60 years younger I think I would bypass medical school and become a nurse practitioner because they get to do all the cool things that I enjoyed about seeing patients. Sure, my mother wouldn’t have been able to introduce me as her son the doctor. But, my parents and I would have spent less time and money on my training, and I would have had less administrative hassle heaped on me once I went into practice.”

The essence of good primary care is Availability, Continuity, and Expertise. The first two attributes aren’t taught in medical school and rely on commitment and having enough bodies to deliver the care. When it comes to expertise, how important is the broad and deep education of traditional medical school when the provider is seeing the relatively narrow spectrum of bread-and-butter everyday complaints that fill the day for most primary care providers? Particularly, when the population has already been preselected by age, geography, and socioeconomic factors.

The usual argument against my assertion is that a higher-priced and more arduous education pathway better provides the physician with the tools to deal with the outliers, the diagnostic enigmas. My reply is that any good provider regardless of his or her years spent in training is taught to first admit what they don’t know. When faced with an enigma, call a consultant or, in the near future, access a Chatbot.

If the natural market and economic forces continue to drive the growth of advanced-practice providers, what role(s) remains for the medical school–trained primary care provider? Does she or he remain the leader of a team of providers? Does she or he still see patients and somehow remain the first among equals?

While patients seem to be warming to the notion of seeing a nonphysician provider, I often still hear the complaint but “I see a different provider every time I go to the office.” Continuity is one of those three keystones of quality primary care. It is not incompatible with a team concept of care delivery, but it does require a commitment to the concept and creative scheduling that allows the patient to see the same provider at almost every visit. I’m not sure where having a first-among-equals provider fits into that scheme. Is it just one more “different” provider?

Maybe the medical school–trained provider becomes a consultant physician, much as the British and Canadian systems seem to work. She or he would see patients only after the advanced primary care provider has done an evaluation and is unsure of the next step. Would this be at the same site or electronically? Is there a time lag? In my old-school interpretation, if the visit is not the same day or maybe the next day then it doesn’t satisfy my Availability requirement of primary care.

I’m beginning to believe that the best role for the medical school–trained primary care specialist is someone who has a broad and deep understanding of the organizational issues around primary care. Primarily an educator who generally doesn’t see patients but instead trains advanced primary care providers, organizes them into teams that function to provide care in a timely fashion that emphasizes Continuity, and then performs ongoing, real time assessments to assure that care provided is at the highest level of Expertise.

It sounds like an interesting and challenging job description requiring a deep and broad education. Just not one that appeals to me. I would rather be a nurse practitioner or physician’s assistant who is on the front line and hands on.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com

If you are a pediatrician, babies are your bread and butter. In fact, they are the whole enchilada. Without them you are going to starve. Even if you are an adolescent medicine specialist, the pipeline feeding your business begins with babies. The number of babies entering the conveyor belt that eventually ends up in your office is something that should interest you. It probably doesn’t surprise you to learn that the fertility rate in this country has fallen. In fact, it has now dipped below the “replacement” threshold of 2.1%.

Another number that might interest you is ideal family size. In others words, the number of children American adults consider when they are envisioning the ideal family. You may be surprised to learn that despite the downward dip on the fertility rate during the 2007-2009 recession and the pandemic, a significant number of Americans still believe that the ideal family includes three children. Looking at the broader population, the ideal family is around 2.5 children, which is a number that is up a little from the 1990s but has scarcely changed over the last 5 decades. Obviously, there is a gap between what the population as a whole believes and the reality of how many children the fertile population is producing. And, there is research that suggests that this gap between personal intention and ideal family size is growing. In other words, people may be saying they believe bigger families are a good thing ... if everything is going well in their life.

What is behind this gap and why is it growing? As people are delaying building their families, realities and expectations collide. Some examples? The impact of their student loans is greater than they anticipated. Climate change and news stories focused on political uncertainty can be unsettling. A person may end up marrying someone who doesn’t concur with their view of an ideal family. Fertility problems crop up with advancing age. The first child may have presented more of a challenge both physically, emotionally, and economically than new parents had expected.

If we agree that the fertility rate is an important number for our survival as a profession, can we agree that because of this vested interest we should become involved in helping families widen this growing gap between their view of the ideal family size and the realities of actually producing that family?

Maybe we don’t need to get involved. When the national climate – meteorologically, politically, and economically – improves families will start making more babies. Right now maybe the better option is to adjust our business model to the fluctuations in demand.

On the other hand, we could ask the American Academy of Pediatrics to join with the American Academy of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and hire a big name advertising agency to launch an ad campaign encouraging young and not so young adults to have more children. However, this might appear rather transparent and self-serving.

The best option is probably to continue to do what we are already doing, but try to do it better. If the challenges of having a first child are a major deterrent to having a second child, we should redouble our efforts toward making, if only in retrospect, that first parenting experience rewarding and enjoyable. That could come in the form of speaking out for parental leave, breastfeeding-friendly workplaces, and more affordable daycare. But it could also come in those scores of encounters we have every day in the office where we give solid, realistic, and compassionate advice on breastfeeding, sleep hygiene, and behavior management. If we can make those tough first 6 months of parenting go more smoothly and make the twos seem less terrible, we may see the average family size in our practice grow before our eyes.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

If you are a pediatrician, babies are your bread and butter. In fact, they are the whole enchilada. Without them you are going to starve. Even if you are an adolescent medicine specialist, the pipeline feeding your business begins with babies. The number of babies entering the conveyor belt that eventually ends up in your office is something that should interest you. It probably doesn’t surprise you to learn that the fertility rate in this country has fallen. In fact, it has now dipped below the “replacement” threshold of 2.1%.

Another number that might interest you is ideal family size. In others words, the number of children American adults consider when they are envisioning the ideal family. You may be surprised to learn that despite the downward dip on the fertility rate during the 2007-2009 recession and the pandemic, a significant number of Americans still believe that the ideal family includes three children. Looking at the broader population, the ideal family is around 2.5 children, which is a number that is up a little from the 1990s but has scarcely changed over the last 5 decades. Obviously, there is a gap between what the population as a whole believes and the reality of how many children the fertile population is producing. And, there is research that suggests that this gap between personal intention and ideal family size is growing. In other words, people may be saying they believe bigger families are a good thing ... if everything is going well in their life.

What is behind this gap and why is it growing? As people are delaying building their families, realities and expectations collide. Some examples? The impact of their student loans is greater than they anticipated. Climate change and news stories focused on political uncertainty can be unsettling. A person may end up marrying someone who doesn’t concur with their view of an ideal family. Fertility problems crop up with advancing age. The first child may have presented more of a challenge both physically, emotionally, and economically than new parents had expected.

If we agree that the fertility rate is an important number for our survival as a profession, can we agree that because of this vested interest we should become involved in helping families widen this growing gap between their view of the ideal family size and the realities of actually producing that family?

Maybe we don’t need to get involved. When the national climate – meteorologically, politically, and economically – improves families will start making more babies. Right now maybe the better option is to adjust our business model to the fluctuations in demand.

On the other hand, we could ask the American Academy of Pediatrics to join with the American Academy of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and hire a big name advertising agency to launch an ad campaign encouraging young and not so young adults to have more children. However, this might appear rather transparent and self-serving.

The best option is probably to continue to do what we are already doing, but try to do it better. If the challenges of having a first child are a major deterrent to having a second child, we should redouble our efforts toward making, if only in retrospect, that first parenting experience rewarding and enjoyable. That could come in the form of speaking out for parental leave, breastfeeding-friendly workplaces, and more affordable daycare. But it could also come in those scores of encounters we have every day in the office where we give solid, realistic, and compassionate advice on breastfeeding, sleep hygiene, and behavior management. If we can make those tough first 6 months of parenting go more smoothly and make the twos seem less terrible, we may see the average family size in our practice grow before our eyes.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

If you are a pediatrician, babies are your bread and butter. In fact, they are the whole enchilada. Without them you are going to starve. Even if you are an adolescent medicine specialist, the pipeline feeding your business begins with babies. The number of babies entering the conveyor belt that eventually ends up in your office is something that should interest you. It probably doesn’t surprise you to learn that the fertility rate in this country has fallen. In fact, it has now dipped below the “replacement” threshold of 2.1%.

Another number that might interest you is ideal family size. In others words, the number of children American adults consider when they are envisioning the ideal family. You may be surprised to learn that despite the downward dip on the fertility rate during the 2007-2009 recession and the pandemic, a significant number of Americans still believe that the ideal family includes three children. Looking at the broader population, the ideal family is around 2.5 children, which is a number that is up a little from the 1990s but has scarcely changed over the last 5 decades. Obviously, there is a gap between what the population as a whole believes and the reality of how many children the fertile population is producing. And, there is research that suggests that this gap between personal intention and ideal family size is growing. In other words, people may be saying they believe bigger families are a good thing ... if everything is going well in their life.

What is behind this gap and why is it growing? As people are delaying building their families, realities and expectations collide. Some examples? The impact of their student loans is greater than they anticipated. Climate change and news stories focused on political uncertainty can be unsettling. A person may end up marrying someone who doesn’t concur with their view of an ideal family. Fertility problems crop up with advancing age. The first child may have presented more of a challenge both physically, emotionally, and economically than new parents had expected.

If we agree that the fertility rate is an important number for our survival as a profession, can we agree that because of this vested interest we should become involved in helping families widen this growing gap between their view of the ideal family size and the realities of actually producing that family?

Maybe we don’t need to get involved. When the national climate – meteorologically, politically, and economically – improves families will start making more babies. Right now maybe the better option is to adjust our business model to the fluctuations in demand.

On the other hand, we could ask the American Academy of Pediatrics to join with the American Academy of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and hire a big name advertising agency to launch an ad campaign encouraging young and not so young adults to have more children. However, this might appear rather transparent and self-serving.

The best option is probably to continue to do what we are already doing, but try to do it better. If the challenges of having a first child are a major deterrent to having a second child, we should redouble our efforts toward making, if only in retrospect, that first parenting experience rewarding and enjoyable. That could come in the form of speaking out for parental leave, breastfeeding-friendly workplaces, and more affordable daycare. But it could also come in those scores of encounters we have every day in the office where we give solid, realistic, and compassionate advice on breastfeeding, sleep hygiene, and behavior management. If we can make those tough first 6 months of parenting go more smoothly and make the twos seem less terrible, we may see the average family size in our practice grow before our eyes.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

A few months ago I wrote a column in which I reluctantly supported designating obesity as a disease. My rationale was that in the more than 50 years that I have been watching the ebb and flow of medicine in this country I have seen very little, if any, evidence of success in our attempts to prevent obesity. Given this abysmal track record, the pragmatic side of my brain says why not label it a disease and begin to focus on treatment. However, I closed the column urging that we not lose sight of our core values and completely abandon any attempts at prevention.

As the months have rolled by, I have become increasingly concerned that preventing obesity is slipping further down the slippery slope to oblivion, greased by the success of semaglutide and the prospect of similar drugs in the pipeline. Before turning in our credentials as card-carrying preventionists, we need to step back and take another look at how we approach obesity from the pediatric side.

The majority of Americans believe that obesity occurs when an individual consumes more calories than he or she burns by being active. Some nutritionists criticize this “energy balance” model view as too simplistic and prefer a carbohydrate insulin model, which considers obesity as a metabolic disorder that is better managed by adjusting what the individual eats with less focus on amounts and the role of exercise. However, while the public may acknowledge that there are some individuals to whom genetics has dealt a more difficult hand, it continues to put a high priority on the dual roles of willpower and exercise. As effective obesity drugs become more available and remain safe, it is likely that willpower will no longer dominate the populous psyche.

But, what about children? At what point, if ever, does willpower enter the obesity discussion? A child may be able to exert some control over his or her diet by eating selectively. But, until the child acquires a certain level of resources and maturity it is parents who should be dictating the volume and variety of available food from which the child can choose. And, on the other side of the energy equation, parents should be playing a significant role in how much or how little physical activity their children engage in.

Of course there are many children whose genes predispose them to obesity when food is cheap and abundant. And, there are numerous families for whom socioeconomic factors limit their ability to control their children’s diet and activity options. However, we mustn’t lose sight of the fact that the majority of families may be making choices for their children that are contributing to the obesity problem in this country.

For example, a recent study published in Pediatrics has found that mean television viewing time during childhood and adolescence was associated with metabolic syndrome at age 45. Is this a failure on our part to anticipate this finding when for decades we as physicians have already seen anecdotal evidence to support it? Or is this another example of a willpower deficit by parents who likewise must have had an inkling that sitting on the couch watching television wasn’t healthy for their children?

Or is this just more evidence that as a nation we lack the political will to enact laws and develop programs aimed at heading off obesity in early childhood before it reaches the point that we have learned, from sad experience, is beyond the reach of dietary change, increased physical activity, and the fragility of normal human willpower. Here I’m talking about the disappearance of meaningful physical education in the schools, the failure to effectively prevent the marketing of poor nutritional foods and beverages to children, and the failure to aggressively promote universal breastfeeding-friendly workplaces and schedules, to name just a few.

As individuals we know all too well the limits of our own willpower. But, collectively as a nation we should be able to pool those fragmentary resources into a force for positive change. We may have thrown in the towel when we have opted to treat obesity as a disease in adults. Let’s find the will to work on prevention in early childhood when the window for change is still open.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

A few months ago I wrote a column in which I reluctantly supported designating obesity as a disease. My rationale was that in the more than 50 years that I have been watching the ebb and flow of medicine in this country I have seen very little, if any, evidence of success in our attempts to prevent obesity. Given this abysmal track record, the pragmatic side of my brain says why not label it a disease and begin to focus on treatment. However, I closed the column urging that we not lose sight of our core values and completely abandon any attempts at prevention.

As the months have rolled by, I have become increasingly concerned that preventing obesity is slipping further down the slippery slope to oblivion, greased by the success of semaglutide and the prospect of similar drugs in the pipeline. Before turning in our credentials as card-carrying preventionists, we need to step back and take another look at how we approach obesity from the pediatric side.

The majority of Americans believe that obesity occurs when an individual consumes more calories than he or she burns by being active. Some nutritionists criticize this “energy balance” model view as too simplistic and prefer a carbohydrate insulin model, which considers obesity as a metabolic disorder that is better managed by adjusting what the individual eats with less focus on amounts and the role of exercise. However, while the public may acknowledge that there are some individuals to whom genetics has dealt a more difficult hand, it continues to put a high priority on the dual roles of willpower and exercise. As effective obesity drugs become more available and remain safe, it is likely that willpower will no longer dominate the populous psyche.

But, what about children? At what point, if ever, does willpower enter the obesity discussion? A child may be able to exert some control over his or her diet by eating selectively. But, until the child acquires a certain level of resources and maturity it is parents who should be dictating the volume and variety of available food from which the child can choose. And, on the other side of the energy equation, parents should be playing a significant role in how much or how little physical activity their children engage in.

Of course there are many children whose genes predispose them to obesity when food is cheap and abundant. And, there are numerous families for whom socioeconomic factors limit their ability to control their children’s diet and activity options. However, we mustn’t lose sight of the fact that the majority of families may be making choices for their children that are contributing to the obesity problem in this country.

For example, a recent study published in Pediatrics has found that mean television viewing time during childhood and adolescence was associated with metabolic syndrome at age 45. Is this a failure on our part to anticipate this finding when for decades we as physicians have already seen anecdotal evidence to support it? Or is this another example of a willpower deficit by parents who likewise must have had an inkling that sitting on the couch watching television wasn’t healthy for their children?

Or is this just more evidence that as a nation we lack the political will to enact laws and develop programs aimed at heading off obesity in early childhood before it reaches the point that we have learned, from sad experience, is beyond the reach of dietary change, increased physical activity, and the fragility of normal human willpower. Here I’m talking about the disappearance of meaningful physical education in the schools, the failure to effectively prevent the marketing of poor nutritional foods and beverages to children, and the failure to aggressively promote universal breastfeeding-friendly workplaces and schedules, to name just a few.

As individuals we know all too well the limits of our own willpower. But, collectively as a nation we should be able to pool those fragmentary resources into a force for positive change. We may have thrown in the towel when we have opted to treat obesity as a disease in adults. Let’s find the will to work on prevention in early childhood when the window for change is still open.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

A few months ago I wrote a column in which I reluctantly supported designating obesity as a disease. My rationale was that in the more than 50 years that I have been watching the ebb and flow of medicine in this country I have seen very little, if any, evidence of success in our attempts to prevent obesity. Given this abysmal track record, the pragmatic side of my brain says why not label it a disease and begin to focus on treatment. However, I closed the column urging that we not lose sight of our core values and completely abandon any attempts at prevention.

As the months have rolled by, I have become increasingly concerned that preventing obesity is slipping further down the slippery slope to oblivion, greased by the success of semaglutide and the prospect of similar drugs in the pipeline. Before turning in our credentials as card-carrying preventionists, we need to step back and take another look at how we approach obesity from the pediatric side.

The majority of Americans believe that obesity occurs when an individual consumes more calories than he or she burns by being active. Some nutritionists criticize this “energy balance” model view as too simplistic and prefer a carbohydrate insulin model, which considers obesity as a metabolic disorder that is better managed by adjusting what the individual eats with less focus on amounts and the role of exercise. However, while the public may acknowledge that there are some individuals to whom genetics has dealt a more difficult hand, it continues to put a high priority on the dual roles of willpower and exercise. As effective obesity drugs become more available and remain safe, it is likely that willpower will no longer dominate the populous psyche.

But, what about children? At what point, if ever, does willpower enter the obesity discussion? A child may be able to exert some control over his or her diet by eating selectively. But, until the child acquires a certain level of resources and maturity it is parents who should be dictating the volume and variety of available food from which the child can choose. And, on the other side of the energy equation, parents should be playing a significant role in how much or how little physical activity their children engage in.

Of course there are many children whose genes predispose them to obesity when food is cheap and abundant. And, there are numerous families for whom socioeconomic factors limit their ability to control their children’s diet and activity options. However, we mustn’t lose sight of the fact that the majority of families may be making choices for their children that are contributing to the obesity problem in this country.

For example, a recent study published in Pediatrics has found that mean television viewing time during childhood and adolescence was associated with metabolic syndrome at age 45. Is this a failure on our part to anticipate this finding when for decades we as physicians have already seen anecdotal evidence to support it? Or is this another example of a willpower deficit by parents who likewise must have had an inkling that sitting on the couch watching television wasn’t healthy for their children?

Or is this just more evidence that as a nation we lack the political will to enact laws and develop programs aimed at heading off obesity in early childhood before it reaches the point that we have learned, from sad experience, is beyond the reach of dietary change, increased physical activity, and the fragility of normal human willpower. Here I’m talking about the disappearance of meaningful physical education in the schools, the failure to effectively prevent the marketing of poor nutritional foods and beverages to children, and the failure to aggressively promote universal breastfeeding-friendly workplaces and schedules, to name just a few.

As individuals we know all too well the limits of our own willpower. But, collectively as a nation we should be able to pool those fragmentary resources into a force for positive change. We may have thrown in the towel when we have opted to treat obesity as a disease in adults. Let’s find the will to work on prevention in early childhood when the window for change is still open.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Pediatric concussion is one of those rare phenomena in which we may be witnessing its emergence and clarification in a generation. When I was serving as the game doctor for our local high school football team in the 1970s, I and many other physicians had a very simplistic view of concussion. If the patient never lost conscious and had a reasonably intact short-term memory, we didn’t seriously entertain concussion as a diagnosis. “What’s the score and who is the president?” Were my favorite screening questions.

Obviously, we were underdiagnosing and mismanaging concussion. In part thanks to some high-profile athletes who suffered multiple concussions and eventually chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) physicians began to realize that they should be looking more closely at children who sustained a head injury. The diagnostic criteria were expanded to include any injury that even temporarily effected brain function.

With the new appreciation for the risk of multiple concussions, the focus broadened to include the question of when is it safe for the athlete to return to competition. What signs or symptoms can the patient offer us so we can be sure his or her brain is sufficiently recovered? Here we stepped off into a deep abyss of ignorance. Fortunately, it became obvious fairly quickly that imaging studies weren’t going to help us, as they were invariably normal or at least didn’t tell us anything that wasn’t obvious on a physical exam.

If the patient had a headache, complained of dizziness, or manifested amnesia, monitoring the patient was fairly straightforward. But, in the absence of symptoms and no obvious way to determine the pace of recovery of an organ we couldn’t visualize, clinicians were pulling criteria and time tables out of thin air. Guessing that the concussed brain was in some ways like a torn muscle or overstretched tendon, “brain rest” was often suggested. So no TV, no reading, and certainly none of the cerebral challenging activity of school. Fortunately, we don’t hear much about the notion of brain rest anymore and there is at least one study that suggests that patients kept home from school recover more slowly.

But there remains a significant number of patients who have persistent symptoms and are unable to resume their usual activities, including school and sports. Sometimes they describe headache or dizziness but often they complain of a vague mental unwellness. “Brain fog,” a term that has emerged in the wake of the COVID pandemic, might be an apt descriptor. Management of these slow recoverers has been a challenge.

However, two recent articles in the journal Pediatrics may provide some clarity and offer guidance in their management. In a study coming from the psychology department at Georgia State University, researchers reported that they have been able to find “no evidence of clinical meaningful differences in IQ after pediatric concussion.” In their words there is “strong evidence against reduced intelligence in the first few weeks to month after pediatric concussion.”

While their findings may simply toss the IQ onto the pile of worthless measures of healing, a companion commentary by Talin Babikian, PhD, a psychologist at the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, provides a more nuanced interpretation. He writes that if we are looking for an explanation when a patient’s recovery is taking longer than we might expect we need to look beyond some structural damage. Maybe the patient has a previously undiagnosed premorbid condition effecting his or her intellectual, cognitive, or learning abilities. Could the stall in improvement be the result of other symptoms? Here fatigue and sleep deprivation may be the culprits. Could some underlying emotional factor such as anxiety or depression be the problem? For example, I have seen patients whose fear of re-injury has prevented their return to full function. And, finally, the patient may be avoiding a “nonpreferred or challenging situation” unrelated to the injury.

In other words, the concussion may simply be the most obvious rip in a fabric that was already frayed and under stress. This kind of broad holistic (a word I usually like to avoid) thinking may be what is lacking as we struggle to understand other mysterious and chronic conditions such as Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome.

While these two papers help provide some clarity in the management of pediatric concussion, what they fail to address is the bigger question of the relationship between head injury and CTE. The answers to that conundrum are enshrouded in a mix of politics and publicity that I doubt will clear in the near future.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Pediatric concussion is one of those rare phenomena in which we may be witnessing its emergence and clarification in a generation. When I was serving as the game doctor for our local high school football team in the 1970s, I and many other physicians had a very simplistic view of concussion. If the patient never lost conscious and had a reasonably intact short-term memory, we didn’t seriously entertain concussion as a diagnosis. “What’s the score and who is the president?” Were my favorite screening questions.

Obviously, we were underdiagnosing and mismanaging concussion. In part thanks to some high-profile athletes who suffered multiple concussions and eventually chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) physicians began to realize that they should be looking more closely at children who sustained a head injury. The diagnostic criteria were expanded to include any injury that even temporarily effected brain function.

With the new appreciation for the risk of multiple concussions, the focus broadened to include the question of when is it safe for the athlete to return to competition. What signs or symptoms can the patient offer us so we can be sure his or her brain is sufficiently recovered? Here we stepped off into a deep abyss of ignorance. Fortunately, it became obvious fairly quickly that imaging studies weren’t going to help us, as they were invariably normal or at least didn’t tell us anything that wasn’t obvious on a physical exam.

If the patient had a headache, complained of dizziness, or manifested amnesia, monitoring the patient was fairly straightforward. But, in the absence of symptoms and no obvious way to determine the pace of recovery of an organ we couldn’t visualize, clinicians were pulling criteria and time tables out of thin air. Guessing that the concussed brain was in some ways like a torn muscle or overstretched tendon, “brain rest” was often suggested. So no TV, no reading, and certainly none of the cerebral challenging activity of school. Fortunately, we don’t hear much about the notion of brain rest anymore and there is at least one study that suggests that patients kept home from school recover more slowly.

But there remains a significant number of patients who have persistent symptoms and are unable to resume their usual activities, including school and sports. Sometimes they describe headache or dizziness but often they complain of a vague mental unwellness. “Brain fog,” a term that has emerged in the wake of the COVID pandemic, might be an apt descriptor. Management of these slow recoverers has been a challenge.

However, two recent articles in the journal Pediatrics may provide some clarity and offer guidance in their management. In a study coming from the psychology department at Georgia State University, researchers reported that they have been able to find “no evidence of clinical meaningful differences in IQ after pediatric concussion.” In their words there is “strong evidence against reduced intelligence in the first few weeks to month after pediatric concussion.”

While their findings may simply toss the IQ onto the pile of worthless measures of healing, a companion commentary by Talin Babikian, PhD, a psychologist at the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, provides a more nuanced interpretation. He writes that if we are looking for an explanation when a patient’s recovery is taking longer than we might expect we need to look beyond some structural damage. Maybe the patient has a previously undiagnosed premorbid condition effecting his or her intellectual, cognitive, or learning abilities. Could the stall in improvement be the result of other symptoms? Here fatigue and sleep deprivation may be the culprits. Could some underlying emotional factor such as anxiety or depression be the problem? For example, I have seen patients whose fear of re-injury has prevented their return to full function. And, finally, the patient may be avoiding a “nonpreferred or challenging situation” unrelated to the injury.

In other words, the concussion may simply be the most obvious rip in a fabric that was already frayed and under stress. This kind of broad holistic (a word I usually like to avoid) thinking may be what is lacking as we struggle to understand other mysterious and chronic conditions such as Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome.

While these two papers help provide some clarity in the management of pediatric concussion, what they fail to address is the bigger question of the relationship between head injury and CTE. The answers to that conundrum are enshrouded in a mix of politics and publicity that I doubt will clear in the near future.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Pediatric concussion is one of those rare phenomena in which we may be witnessing its emergence and clarification in a generation. When I was serving as the game doctor for our local high school football team in the 1970s, I and many other physicians had a very simplistic view of concussion. If the patient never lost conscious and had a reasonably intact short-term memory, we didn’t seriously entertain concussion as a diagnosis. “What’s the score and who is the president?” Were my favorite screening questions.

Obviously, we were underdiagnosing and mismanaging concussion. In part thanks to some high-profile athletes who suffered multiple concussions and eventually chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) physicians began to realize that they should be looking more closely at children who sustained a head injury. The diagnostic criteria were expanded to include any injury that even temporarily effected brain function.

With the new appreciation for the risk of multiple concussions, the focus broadened to include the question of when is it safe for the athlete to return to competition. What signs or symptoms can the patient offer us so we can be sure his or her brain is sufficiently recovered? Here we stepped off into a deep abyss of ignorance. Fortunately, it became obvious fairly quickly that imaging studies weren’t going to help us, as they were invariably normal or at least didn’t tell us anything that wasn’t obvious on a physical exam.

If the patient had a headache, complained of dizziness, or manifested amnesia, monitoring the patient was fairly straightforward. But, in the absence of symptoms and no obvious way to determine the pace of recovery of an organ we couldn’t visualize, clinicians were pulling criteria and time tables out of thin air. Guessing that the concussed brain was in some ways like a torn muscle or overstretched tendon, “brain rest” was often suggested. So no TV, no reading, and certainly none of the cerebral challenging activity of school. Fortunately, we don’t hear much about the notion of brain rest anymore and there is at least one study that suggests that patients kept home from school recover more slowly.

But there remains a significant number of patients who have persistent symptoms and are unable to resume their usual activities, including school and sports. Sometimes they describe headache or dizziness but often they complain of a vague mental unwellness. “Brain fog,” a term that has emerged in the wake of the COVID pandemic, might be an apt descriptor. Management of these slow recoverers has been a challenge.

However, two recent articles in the journal Pediatrics may provide some clarity and offer guidance in their management. In a study coming from the psychology department at Georgia State University, researchers reported that they have been able to find “no evidence of clinical meaningful differences in IQ after pediatric concussion.” In their words there is “strong evidence against reduced intelligence in the first few weeks to month after pediatric concussion.”

While their findings may simply toss the IQ onto the pile of worthless measures of healing, a companion commentary by Talin Babikian, PhD, a psychologist at the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, provides a more nuanced interpretation. He writes that if we are looking for an explanation when a patient’s recovery is taking longer than we might expect we need to look beyond some structural damage. Maybe the patient has a previously undiagnosed premorbid condition effecting his or her intellectual, cognitive, or learning abilities. Could the stall in improvement be the result of other symptoms? Here fatigue and sleep deprivation may be the culprits. Could some underlying emotional factor such as anxiety or depression be the problem? For example, I have seen patients whose fear of re-injury has prevented their return to full function. And, finally, the patient may be avoiding a “nonpreferred or challenging situation” unrelated to the injury.

In other words, the concussion may simply be the most obvious rip in a fabric that was already frayed and under stress. This kind of broad holistic (a word I usually like to avoid) thinking may be what is lacking as we struggle to understand other mysterious and chronic conditions such as Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome.

While these two papers help provide some clarity in the management of pediatric concussion, what they fail to address is the bigger question of the relationship between head injury and CTE. The answers to that conundrum are enshrouded in a mix of politics and publicity that I doubt will clear in the near future.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I was probably about 9 or 10 and I am assuming it was early winter when my mother took me aside and said in her usual quiet tone, “Willy, don’t ever stick your tongue on a metal pipe when it is cold outside.”

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I was probably about 9 or 10 and I am assuming it was early winter when my mother took me aside and said in her usual quiet tone, “Willy, don’t ever stick your tongue on a metal pipe when it is cold outside.”

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I was probably about 9 or 10 and I am assuming it was early winter when my mother took me aside and said in her usual quiet tone, “Willy, don’t ever stick your tongue on a metal pipe when it is cold outside.”

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In case you are looking for a place to park your discretionary funds, I have recently learned that nonalcoholic beer is the fastest-growing segment of the beer industry. It is just barely outperforming the strong beer market while the standard beer market is flat. The reasons behind this surge in popularity are unclear. While the general population doesn’t seem to grasp the importance of diet and exercise, there seem to be enough folks who are health conscious to support a demand.

Possibly more important has been the emergence of a couple of small breweries that have been able to produce a nonalcoholic product that actually tastes as good as regular beer, and in some cases even better than the real stuff. In Europe, nonalcoholic beer has become popular as a rehydration drink among athletes. We recently found it everywhere we looked while bicycling in France. The large breweries have taken notice and it is hard to find a restaurant here in Maine that doesn’t offer nonalcoholic beer on its menu.

My history with beer goes back to preadolescence, when my father offered me a sip of his beer. I was never sure of his motive but that taste did not immediately whet my appetite for more. However, when I was in high school, New York State’s drinking age was 18 and beer just became part of growing up.

When I went into practice, my routine of having a can or bottle of beer with dinner presented a problem. When I was on call the odds of having to leave the house and see a patient or two was substantial. Back at the beginning I was never much concerned about having alcohol circulating through my brain but I didn’t want to be exhaling its vapors as I interacted with the parents and nurses. As I got older I became more aware that when I was tired, which was always the case at the end of a long office day, even just a glass of beer might impair my decision making. As a result, I drank only nonalcoholic beer when I was on call. Were I still practicing today this wouldn’t have represented a sacrifice on my part. However, until 5 years ago the nonalcoholic beer was not even a close approximation of the alcohol-containing product.

So this brings me to my question. Do you share any of my concerns about practicing under the influence of alcohol (P.U.I.)? And, if you have any concerns, how do you deal with them?

Do you make a distinction between physical and mental impairment? Would you have a drink if you were only fielding phone calls? Would your decision change if you knew you might be called in to perform surgery or start an intravenous on a premie?

Does the prospect of meeting face to face with your patient/parents change your decision? Is practicing telemedicine under the influence any less concerning to you than seeing patients in your office or the emergency room?

Can you imagine any extenuating circumstances? For example, let’s say you are the only pediatric ENT in your county. While you have office hours 4½ days per week, in effect you are on call 24/7 for emergencies. If you made a decision to never practice under the influence, does that mean you will never drink alcohol?

Am I making too big of a thing out of a can of beer or a glass of wine? We have certainly read concerns about patient safety when cared for by house officers working on schedules that leave them practicing while sleep deprived (P.W.S.D.) You don’t hear anything about physicians’ P.U.I. Is it a real problem? Certainly, with marijuana becoming legal in more states alcohol may not be the only influencer to consider.

In the bigger picture I suspect that P.W.S.D. is the bigger problem both for house officers and practicing physicians but it is time we swept away the cloud of silence around P.U.I and had a frank discussion about both among ourselves.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In case you are looking for a place to park your discretionary funds, I have recently learned that nonalcoholic beer is the fastest-growing segment of the beer industry. It is just barely outperforming the strong beer market while the standard beer market is flat. The reasons behind this surge in popularity are unclear. While the general population doesn’t seem to grasp the importance of diet and exercise, there seem to be enough folks who are health conscious to support a demand.

Possibly more important has been the emergence of a couple of small breweries that have been able to produce a nonalcoholic product that actually tastes as good as regular beer, and in some cases even better than the real stuff. In Europe, nonalcoholic beer has become popular as a rehydration drink among athletes. We recently found it everywhere we looked while bicycling in France. The large breweries have taken notice and it is hard to find a restaurant here in Maine that doesn’t offer nonalcoholic beer on its menu.

My history with beer goes back to preadolescence, when my father offered me a sip of his beer. I was never sure of his motive but that taste did not immediately whet my appetite for more. However, when I was in high school, New York State’s drinking age was 18 and beer just became part of growing up.

When I went into practice, my routine of having a can or bottle of beer with dinner presented a problem. When I was on call the odds of having to leave the house and see a patient or two was substantial. Back at the beginning I was never much concerned about having alcohol circulating through my brain but I didn’t want to be exhaling its vapors as I interacted with the parents and nurses. As I got older I became more aware that when I was tired, which was always the case at the end of a long office day, even just a glass of beer might impair my decision making. As a result, I drank only nonalcoholic beer when I was on call. Were I still practicing today this wouldn’t have represented a sacrifice on my part. However, until 5 years ago the nonalcoholic beer was not even a close approximation of the alcohol-containing product.

So this brings me to my question. Do you share any of my concerns about practicing under the influence of alcohol (P.U.I.)? And, if you have any concerns, how do you deal with them?

Do you make a distinction between physical and mental impairment? Would you have a drink if you were only fielding phone calls? Would your decision change if you knew you might be called in to perform surgery or start an intravenous on a premie?

Does the prospect of meeting face to face with your patient/parents change your decision? Is practicing telemedicine under the influence any less concerning to you than seeing patients in your office or the emergency room?

Can you imagine any extenuating circumstances? For example, let’s say you are the only pediatric ENT in your county. While you have office hours 4½ days per week, in effect you are on call 24/7 for emergencies. If you made a decision to never practice under the influence, does that mean you will never drink alcohol?

Am I making too big of a thing out of a can of beer or a glass of wine? We have certainly read concerns about patient safety when cared for by house officers working on schedules that leave them practicing while sleep deprived (P.W.S.D.) You don’t hear anything about physicians’ P.U.I. Is it a real problem? Certainly, with marijuana becoming legal in more states alcohol may not be the only influencer to consider.

In the bigger picture I suspect that P.W.S.D. is the bigger problem both for house officers and practicing physicians but it is time we swept away the cloud of silence around P.U.I and had a frank discussion about both among ourselves.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

In case you are looking for a place to park your discretionary funds, I have recently learned that nonalcoholic beer is the fastest-growing segment of the beer industry. It is just barely outperforming the strong beer market while the standard beer market is flat. The reasons behind this surge in popularity are unclear. While the general population doesn’t seem to grasp the importance of diet and exercise, there seem to be enough folks who are health conscious to support a demand.

Possibly more important has been the emergence of a couple of small breweries that have been able to produce a nonalcoholic product that actually tastes as good as regular beer, and in some cases even better than the real stuff. In Europe, nonalcoholic beer has become popular as a rehydration drink among athletes. We recently found it everywhere we looked while bicycling in France. The large breweries have taken notice and it is hard to find a restaurant here in Maine that doesn’t offer nonalcoholic beer on its menu.

My history with beer goes back to preadolescence, when my father offered me a sip of his beer. I was never sure of his motive but that taste did not immediately whet my appetite for more. However, when I was in high school, New York State’s drinking age was 18 and beer just became part of growing up.

When I went into practice, my routine of having a can or bottle of beer with dinner presented a problem. When I was on call the odds of having to leave the house and see a patient or two was substantial. Back at the beginning I was never much concerned about having alcohol circulating through my brain but I didn’t want to be exhaling its vapors as I interacted with the parents and nurses. As I got older I became more aware that when I was tired, which was always the case at the end of a long office day, even just a glass of beer might impair my decision making. As a result, I drank only nonalcoholic beer when I was on call. Were I still practicing today this wouldn’t have represented a sacrifice on my part. However, until 5 years ago the nonalcoholic beer was not even a close approximation of the alcohol-containing product.

So this brings me to my question. Do you share any of my concerns about practicing under the influence of alcohol (P.U.I.)? And, if you have any concerns, how do you deal with them?

Do you make a distinction between physical and mental impairment? Would you have a drink if you were only fielding phone calls? Would your decision change if you knew you might be called in to perform surgery or start an intravenous on a premie?

Does the prospect of meeting face to face with your patient/parents change your decision? Is practicing telemedicine under the influence any less concerning to you than seeing patients in your office or the emergency room?

Can you imagine any extenuating circumstances? For example, let’s say you are the only pediatric ENT in your county. While you have office hours 4½ days per week, in effect you are on call 24/7 for emergencies. If you made a decision to never practice under the influence, does that mean you will never drink alcohol?

Am I making too big of a thing out of a can of beer or a glass of wine? We have certainly read concerns about patient safety when cared for by house officers working on schedules that leave them practicing while sleep deprived (P.W.S.D.) You don’t hear anything about physicians’ P.U.I. Is it a real problem? Certainly, with marijuana becoming legal in more states alcohol may not be the only influencer to consider.

In the bigger picture I suspect that P.W.S.D. is the bigger problem both for house officers and practicing physicians but it is time we swept away the cloud of silence around P.U.I and had a frank discussion about both among ourselves.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Burnout continues to be a hot topic in medicine. It seems like either you are a victim or are concerned that you may become one. Does the solution lie in a restructuring of our health care nonsystem? Or do we need to do a better job of preparing physicians for the realities of an increasingly challenging profession?

Which side of the work/life balance needs adjusting?

Obviously, it is both and a recent article in the Journal of the American Informatics Association provides some hints and suggests where we might begin to look for workable solutions. Targeting a single large university health care system, the investigators reviewed the answers provided by more than 600 attending physicians. Nearly half of the respondents reported symptoms of burnout. Those physicians feeling a higher level of EHR (electronic health record) stress were more likely to experiencing burnout. Interestingly, there was no difference in the odds of having burnout between the physicians who were receiving patient emails (MyChart messages) that had been screened by a pool support personnel and those physicians who were receiving the emails directly from the patients.

While this finding about delegating physician-patient communications may come as a surprise to some of you, it supports a series of observations I have made over the last several decades. Whether we are talking about a physicians’ office or an insurance agency, I suspect most business consultants will suggest that things will run more smoothly and efficiently if there is well-structured system in which incoming communications from the clients/patients are dealt with first by less skilled, and therefore less costly, members of the team before they are passed on to the most senior personnel. It just makes sense.

But, it doesn’t always work that well. If the screener has neglected to ask a critical question or anticipated a question by the ultimate decision-makers, this is likely to require another interaction between the client and then screener and then the screener with the decision-maker. If the decision-maker – let’s now call her a physician – had taken the call directly from the patient, it would have saved three people some time and very possibly ended up with a higher quality response, certainly a more patient-friendly one.

I can understand why you might consider my suggestion unworkable when we are talking about phone calls. It will only work if you dedicate specific call-in times for the patients as my partner and I did back in the dark ages. However, when we are talking about a communication a bit less time critical (e.g. an email or a text), it becomes very workable and I think that’s what this recent paper is hinting at.

Too many of us have adopted a protectionist attitude toward our patients in which somehow it is unprofessional or certainly inefficient to communicate with them directly unless we are sitting down together in our offices. Please, not in the checkout at the grocery store. I hope this is not because, like lawyers, we feel we can’t bill for it. The patients love hearing from you directly even if you keep your responses short and to the point. Many will learn to follow suit and adopt your communication style.

You can argue that your staff is so well trained that your communication with the patients seldom becomes a time-gobbling ping-pong match of he-said/she-said/he-said. Then good for you. You are a better delegator than I am.

If this is your first foray into Do-It-Yourself medicine and it works, I encourage you to consider giving your own injections. It’s a clear-cut statement of the importance you attach to immunizations. And ... it will keep your staffing overhead down.

Finally, I can’t resist adding that the authors of this paper also found that physicians sleeping less than 6 hours per night had a significantly higher odds of burnout. While we’re waiting for our health care nonsystem to straighten out, we need to take better care of ourselves.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Burnout continues to be a hot topic in medicine. It seems like either you are a victim or are concerned that you may become one. Does the solution lie in a restructuring of our health care nonsystem? Or do we need to do a better job of preparing physicians for the realities of an increasingly challenging profession?

Which side of the work/life balance needs adjusting?

Obviously, it is both and a recent article in the Journal of the American Informatics Association provides some hints and suggests where we might begin to look for workable solutions. Targeting a single large university health care system, the investigators reviewed the answers provided by more than 600 attending physicians. Nearly half of the respondents reported symptoms of burnout. Those physicians feeling a higher level of EHR (electronic health record) stress were more likely to experiencing burnout. Interestingly, there was no difference in the odds of having burnout between the physicians who were receiving patient emails (MyChart messages) that had been screened by a pool support personnel and those physicians who were receiving the emails directly from the patients.

While this finding about delegating physician-patient communications may come as a surprise to some of you, it supports a series of observations I have made over the last several decades. Whether we are talking about a physicians’ office or an insurance agency, I suspect most business consultants will suggest that things will run more smoothly and efficiently if there is well-structured system in which incoming communications from the clients/patients are dealt with first by less skilled, and therefore less costly, members of the team before they are passed on to the most senior personnel. It just makes sense.

But, it doesn’t always work that well. If the screener has neglected to ask a critical question or anticipated a question by the ultimate decision-makers, this is likely to require another interaction between the client and then screener and then the screener with the decision-maker. If the decision-maker – let’s now call her a physician – had taken the call directly from the patient, it would have saved three people some time and very possibly ended up with a higher quality response, certainly a more patient-friendly one.

I can understand why you might consider my suggestion unworkable when we are talking about phone calls. It will only work if you dedicate specific call-in times for the patients as my partner and I did back in the dark ages. However, when we are talking about a communication a bit less time critical (e.g. an email or a text), it becomes very workable and I think that’s what this recent paper is hinting at.

Too many of us have adopted a protectionist attitude toward our patients in which somehow it is unprofessional or certainly inefficient to communicate with them directly unless we are sitting down together in our offices. Please, not in the checkout at the grocery store. I hope this is not because, like lawyers, we feel we can’t bill for it. The patients love hearing from you directly even if you keep your responses short and to the point. Many will learn to follow suit and adopt your communication style.

You can argue that your staff is so well trained that your communication with the patients seldom becomes a time-gobbling ping-pong match of he-said/she-said/he-said. Then good for you. You are a better delegator than I am.

If this is your first foray into Do-It-Yourself medicine and it works, I encourage you to consider giving your own injections. It’s a clear-cut statement of the importance you attach to immunizations. And ... it will keep your staffing overhead down.

Finally, I can’t resist adding that the authors of this paper also found that physicians sleeping less than 6 hours per night had a significantly higher odds of burnout. While we’re waiting for our health care nonsystem to straighten out, we need to take better care of ourselves.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Burnout continues to be a hot topic in medicine. It seems like either you are a victim or are concerned that you may become one. Does the solution lie in a restructuring of our health care nonsystem? Or do we need to do a better job of preparing physicians for the realities of an increasingly challenging profession?

Which side of the work/life balance needs adjusting?

Obviously, it is both and a recent article in the Journal of the American Informatics Association provides some hints and suggests where we might begin to look for workable solutions. Targeting a single large university health care system, the investigators reviewed the answers provided by more than 600 attending physicians. Nearly half of the respondents reported symptoms of burnout. Those physicians feeling a higher level of EHR (electronic health record) stress were more likely to experiencing burnout. Interestingly, there was no difference in the odds of having burnout between the physicians who were receiving patient emails (MyChart messages) that had been screened by a pool support personnel and those physicians who were receiving the emails directly from the patients.

While this finding about delegating physician-patient communications may come as a surprise to some of you, it supports a series of observations I have made over the last several decades. Whether we are talking about a physicians’ office or an insurance agency, I suspect most business consultants will suggest that things will run more smoothly and efficiently if there is well-structured system in which incoming communications from the clients/patients are dealt with first by less skilled, and therefore less costly, members of the team before they are passed on to the most senior personnel. It just makes sense.

But, it doesn’t always work that well. If the screener has neglected to ask a critical question or anticipated a question by the ultimate decision-makers, this is likely to require another interaction between the client and then screener and then the screener with the decision-maker. If the decision-maker – let’s now call her a physician – had taken the call directly from the patient, it would have saved three people some time and very possibly ended up with a higher quality response, certainly a more patient-friendly one.

I can understand why you might consider my suggestion unworkable when we are talking about phone calls. It will only work if you dedicate specific call-in times for the patients as my partner and I did back in the dark ages. However, when we are talking about a communication a bit less time critical (e.g. an email or a text), it becomes very workable and I think that’s what this recent paper is hinting at.

Too many of us have adopted a protectionist attitude toward our patients in which somehow it is unprofessional or certainly inefficient to communicate with them directly unless we are sitting down together in our offices. Please, not in the checkout at the grocery store. I hope this is not because, like lawyers, we feel we can’t bill for it. The patients love hearing from you directly even if you keep your responses short and to the point. Many will learn to follow suit and adopt your communication style.

You can argue that your staff is so well trained that your communication with the patients seldom becomes a time-gobbling ping-pong match of he-said/she-said/he-said. Then good for you. You are a better delegator than I am.

If this is your first foray into Do-It-Yourself medicine and it works, I encourage you to consider giving your own injections. It’s a clear-cut statement of the importance you attach to immunizations. And ... it will keep your staffing overhead down.

Finally, I can’t resist adding that the authors of this paper also found that physicians sleeping less than 6 hours per night had a significantly higher odds of burnout. While we’re waiting for our health care nonsystem to straighten out, we need to take better care of ourselves.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Until the 19th century there was nothing even resembling our current conception of the medical record. A few physicians may have kept personal notes, observations, and some sketches of their patients primarily to be used in teaching medical students or as part of their own curiosity-driven research. However, around 1800 the Governor Council of the State of New York adopted a proposition that all home doctors should register their medical cases again to be used as an educational tool. By 1830 these registries became annual reporting requirements that included admissions and discharges, treatment results, and expenditures. It shouldn’t surprise you learn that a review of these entries could be linked to a doctor’s prospects for promotion.

In 1919 the American College of Surgeons attempted to standardize its members’ “treatment diaries” to look something more like our current medical records with a history, lab tests, diagnosis, treatment plan, and something akin to daily progress notes. However, as late as the 1970s, when I began primary care practice, there were very few dictates on what our office notes should contain. A few (not including myself) had been trained to use a S.O.A.P. format (Subjective, Objective, Assessment, and Plan) to organize their observations. Back then I viewed my office records as primarily a mnemonic device and only because I had a partner did I make any passing attempt at legibility.

With AI staring us in the face and threatening to expand what has become an already bloated medical record, it may be time to reconsider the purpose of the medical record.

Although there was a time when a doctor’s notes simply functioned as a mnemonic, few physicians today practice in isolation and their records must now serve as a vehicle to communicate with covering physicians and consultants.

How detailed do those notes need to be? Do we need more than the hard data – the numbers, the prescriptions, the biometrics, the chronology of the patient’s procedures? As a covering physician or consultant, I’m not really that interested in your subjective observations. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but like any good physician I’m going to take my own history directly from the patient and do my own physical exam. You may have missed something and I owe the patient a fresh look and listen before I render an opinion or prescribe a management plan.

The medical record has become a detailed invoice to be attached to your bill to third-party payers. You need to prove to them that your service has some value. It’s not that the third-party payers don’t trust you ... well maybe that’s the issue. They don’t. So you have to prove to them that you really did something. Since they weren’t in the exam room, you must document that you asked the patient questions, did a thorough exam, and spent a specified amount of time at it. Of course that assumes that there is a direct correlation between the amount of time you spent with the patient and the quality of care. Which isn’t always the case. One sentence merely stating that you are a well-trained professional and did a thorough job doesn’t seem to be good enough. It works for the plumber and the electrician. But again, it’s that trust thing.

Of course there are the licensing and certification organizations that have a legitimate interest in the quality of your work. Because having an observer following you around for a day or two is impractical (which I still think is a good idea), you need to include evidence in your chart that you practice the standard of care by following accepted screening measures and treating according to standard guidelines.

And finally, while we are talking about trust, there is the whole risk management thing – maybe the most potent inflater of medical records. The lawyer-promoted myth “if you didn’t document it, it didn’t happen” encourages doctors to use voluminous verbiage merely to give your lawyer ammunition when you find yourself in a he-said/she-said situation.

Of course all of this needs to be carefully worded because the patient now has and deserves the right to review his or her medical records. And this might be the only good news. AI can be taught to create a medical record that is complete and more easily read and digested by the patient. This could make the records even more voluminous and as more patients become familiar with their own health records they may begin to demand that they become more concise and actually reflect what went on in the visit.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Until the 19th century there was nothing even resembling our current conception of the medical record. A few physicians may have kept personal notes, observations, and some sketches of their patients primarily to be used in teaching medical students or as part of their own curiosity-driven research. However, around 1800 the Governor Council of the State of New York adopted a proposition that all home doctors should register their medical cases again to be used as an educational tool. By 1830 these registries became annual reporting requirements that included admissions and discharges, treatment results, and expenditures. It shouldn’t surprise you learn that a review of these entries could be linked to a doctor’s prospects for promotion.

In 1919 the American College of Surgeons attempted to standardize its members’ “treatment diaries” to look something more like our current medical records with a history, lab tests, diagnosis, treatment plan, and something akin to daily progress notes. However, as late as the 1970s, when I began primary care practice, there were very few dictates on what our office notes should contain. A few (not including myself) had been trained to use a S.O.A.P. format (Subjective, Objective, Assessment, and Plan) to organize their observations. Back then I viewed my office records as primarily a mnemonic device and only because I had a partner did I make any passing attempt at legibility.

With AI staring us in the face and threatening to expand what has become an already bloated medical record, it may be time to reconsider the purpose of the medical record.

Although there was a time when a doctor’s notes simply functioned as a mnemonic, few physicians today practice in isolation and their records must now serve as a vehicle to communicate with covering physicians and consultants.

How detailed do those notes need to be? Do we need more than the hard data – the numbers, the prescriptions, the biometrics, the chronology of the patient’s procedures? As a covering physician or consultant, I’m not really that interested in your subjective observations. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but like any good physician I’m going to take my own history directly from the patient and do my own physical exam. You may have missed something and I owe the patient a fresh look and listen before I render an opinion or prescribe a management plan.

The medical record has become a detailed invoice to be attached to your bill to third-party payers. You need to prove to them that your service has some value. It’s not that the third-party payers don’t trust you ... well maybe that’s the issue. They don’t. So you have to prove to them that you really did something. Since they weren’t in the exam room, you must document that you asked the patient questions, did a thorough exam, and spent a specified amount of time at it. Of course that assumes that there is a direct correlation between the amount of time you spent with the patient and the quality of care. Which isn’t always the case. One sentence merely stating that you are a well-trained professional and did a thorough job doesn’t seem to be good enough. It works for the plumber and the electrician. But again, it’s that trust thing.

Of course there are the licensing and certification organizations that have a legitimate interest in the quality of your work. Because having an observer following you around for a day or two is impractical (which I still think is a good idea), you need to include evidence in your chart that you practice the standard of care by following accepted screening measures and treating according to standard guidelines.

And finally, while we are talking about trust, there is the whole risk management thing – maybe the most potent inflater of medical records. The lawyer-promoted myth “if you didn’t document it, it didn’t happen” encourages doctors to use voluminous verbiage merely to give your lawyer ammunition when you find yourself in a he-said/she-said situation.

Of course all of this needs to be carefully worded because the patient now has and deserves the right to review his or her medical records. And this might be the only good news. AI can be taught to create a medical record that is complete and more easily read and digested by the patient. This could make the records even more voluminous and as more patients become familiar with their own health records they may begin to demand that they become more concise and actually reflect what went on in the visit.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Until the 19th century there was nothing even resembling our current conception of the medical record. A few physicians may have kept personal notes, observations, and some sketches of their patients primarily to be used in teaching medical students or as part of their own curiosity-driven research. However, around 1800 the Governor Council of the State of New York adopted a proposition that all home doctors should register their medical cases again to be used as an educational tool. By 1830 these registries became annual reporting requirements that included admissions and discharges, treatment results, and expenditures. It shouldn’t surprise you learn that a review of these entries could be linked to a doctor’s prospects for promotion.

In 1919 the American College of Surgeons attempted to standardize its members’ “treatment diaries” to look something more like our current medical records with a history, lab tests, diagnosis, treatment plan, and something akin to daily progress notes. However, as late as the 1970s, when I began primary care practice, there were very few dictates on what our office notes should contain. A few (not including myself) had been trained to use a S.O.A.P. format (Subjective, Objective, Assessment, and Plan) to organize their observations. Back then I viewed my office records as primarily a mnemonic device and only because I had a partner did I make any passing attempt at legibility.

With AI staring us in the face and threatening to expand what has become an already bloated medical record, it may be time to reconsider the purpose of the medical record.

Although there was a time when a doctor’s notes simply functioned as a mnemonic, few physicians today practice in isolation and their records must now serve as a vehicle to communicate with covering physicians and consultants.

How detailed do those notes need to be? Do we need more than the hard data – the numbers, the prescriptions, the biometrics, the chronology of the patient’s procedures? As a covering physician or consultant, I’m not really that interested in your subjective observations. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but like any good physician I’m going to take my own history directly from the patient and do my own physical exam. You may have missed something and I owe the patient a fresh look and listen before I render an opinion or prescribe a management plan.

The medical record has become a detailed invoice to be attached to your bill to third-party payers. You need to prove to them that your service has some value. It’s not that the third-party payers don’t trust you ... well maybe that’s the issue. They don’t. So you have to prove to them that you really did something. Since they weren’t in the exam room, you must document that you asked the patient questions, did a thorough exam, and spent a specified amount of time at it. Of course that assumes that there is a direct correlation between the amount of time you spent with the patient and the quality of care. Which isn’t always the case. One sentence merely stating that you are a well-trained professional and did a thorough job doesn’t seem to be good enough. It works for the plumber and the electrician. But again, it’s that trust thing.

Of course there are the licensing and certification organizations that have a legitimate interest in the quality of your work. Because having an observer following you around for a day or two is impractical (which I still think is a good idea), you need to include evidence in your chart that you practice the standard of care by following accepted screening measures and treating according to standard guidelines.

And finally, while we are talking about trust, there is the whole risk management thing – maybe the most potent inflater of medical records. The lawyer-promoted myth “if you didn’t document it, it didn’t happen” encourages doctors to use voluminous verbiage merely to give your lawyer ammunition when you find yourself in a he-said/she-said situation.

Of course all of this needs to be carefully worded because the patient now has and deserves the right to review his or her medical records. And this might be the only good news. AI can be taught to create a medical record that is complete and more easily read and digested by the patient. This could make the records even more voluminous and as more patients become familiar with their own health records they may begin to demand that they become more concise and actually reflect what went on in the visit.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Despite my best efforts to cultivate acquaintances across a broader age group, my social circle still has the somewhat musty odor of septuagenarians. We try to talk about things beyond the weather and grandchildren but pain scenarios surface with unfortunate frequency. Arthritic joints ache, body parts wear out or become diseased and have to be removed or replaced. That stuff can hurt.

There are two pain-related themes that seem to crop up more frequently than you might expect. The first is the unfortunate side effects of opioid medication – most often gastric distress and vomiting, then of course there’s constipation. They seem so common that a good many of my acquaintances just plain refuse to take opioids when they have been prescribed postoperatively because of their vivid memories of the consequences or horror stories friends have told.

The second theme is the general annoyance with the damn “Please rate your pain from one to ten” request issued by every well-intentioned nurse. Do you mean the pain I am having right now, this second, or last night, or the average over the last day and a half? Or should I be comparing it with when I gave birth 70 years ago, or when I stubbed my toe getting out of the shower last week? And then what are you going to do with my guesstimated number?

It may surprise some of you that 40 years ago there wasn’t a pain scale fetish. But a few observant health care professionals realized that many of our patients were suffering because we weren’t adequately managing their pain. In postoperative situations this was slowing recovery and effecting outcomes. Like good pseudoscientists, they realized that we should first quantify the pain and the notion that no pain should go unrated came into being. Nor should pain go untreated, which is too frequently interpreted as meaning unmedicated.

Pain is a complex, multifaceted phenomenon. Distilling a person’s pain experience to a single number doesn’t make sense, nor does reflexly reaching for a prescription.

For example a systematic review of 61 studies of juvenile idiopathic arthritis (JIA) published in the journal Pediatric Rheumatology found that there was positive relationship between pain and a child’s belief that pain causes harm, disability, and lack of control. Not surprisingly, stress was also associated with pain intensity.

It is a long paper and touches on numerous other associations of varying degrees of strength between parental, social, and other external factors. But, in general, they were not as consistent as those related to a child’s beliefs.

Before, or at least at the same time, we treat a patient’s pain, we should learn more about that patient – his or her concerns, beliefs, and stressors. You and I may have exactly the same hernia operation, but if you have a better understanding of why you are going to feel uncomfortable after the surgery, and understand that not every pain is the result of a complication, I suspect you are more likely to complain of less pain.

The recent JIA study doesn’t claim to suggest therapeutic methods. However, one wonders what the result would be if we could somehow alter a patient’s belief system so that he or she no longer sees pain as always harmful, nor does the patient see himself or herself as powerless to do anything about the pain. To do this experiment we must follow up our robotic request to “rate your pain” with a dialogue in which we learn more about the patient. Which means probing believes, fears, and stressors.

You can tell me this exercise would be unrealistic and time consuming. But I bet in the long run it will save time. Even if it doesn’t it is the better way to manage pain.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Despite my best efforts to cultivate acquaintances across a broader age group, my social circle still has the somewhat musty odor of septuagenarians. We try to talk about things beyond the weather and grandchildren but pain scenarios surface with unfortunate frequency. Arthritic joints ache, body parts wear out or become diseased and have to be removed or replaced. That stuff can hurt.

There are two pain-related themes that seem to crop up more frequently than you might expect. The first is the unfortunate side effects of opioid medication – most often gastric distress and vomiting, then of course there’s constipation. They seem so common that a good many of my acquaintances just plain refuse to take opioids when they have been prescribed postoperatively because of their vivid memories of the consequences or horror stories friends have told.

The second theme is the general annoyance with the damn “Please rate your pain from one to ten” request issued by every well-intentioned nurse. Do you mean the pain I am having right now, this second, or last night, or the average over the last day and a half? Or should I be comparing it with when I gave birth 70 years ago, or when I stubbed my toe getting out of the shower last week? And then what are you going to do with my guesstimated number?

It may surprise some of you that 40 years ago there wasn’t a pain scale fetish. But a few observant health care professionals realized that many of our patients were suffering because we weren’t adequately managing their pain. In postoperative situations this was slowing recovery and effecting outcomes. Like good pseudoscientists, they realized that we should first quantify the pain and the notion that no pain should go unrated came into being. Nor should pain go untreated, which is too frequently interpreted as meaning unmedicated.

Pain is a complex, multifaceted phenomenon. Distilling a person’s pain experience to a single number doesn’t make sense, nor does reflexly reaching for a prescription.

For example a systematic review of 61 studies of juvenile idiopathic arthritis (JIA) published in the journal Pediatric Rheumatology found that there was positive relationship between pain and a child’s belief that pain causes harm, disability, and lack of control. Not surprisingly, stress was also associated with pain intensity.

It is a long paper and touches on numerous other associations of varying degrees of strength between parental, social, and other external factors. But, in general, they were not as consistent as those related to a child’s beliefs.

Before, or at least at the same time, we treat a patient’s pain, we should learn more about that patient – his or her concerns, beliefs, and stressors. You and I may have exactly the same hernia operation, but if you have a better understanding of why you are going to feel uncomfortable after the surgery, and understand that not every pain is the result of a complication, I suspect you are more likely to complain of less pain.

The recent JIA study doesn’t claim to suggest therapeutic methods. However, one wonders what the result would be if we could somehow alter a patient’s belief system so that he or she no longer sees pain as always harmful, nor does the patient see himself or herself as powerless to do anything about the pain. To do this experiment we must follow up our robotic request to “rate your pain” with a dialogue in which we learn more about the patient. Which means probing believes, fears, and stressors.

You can tell me this exercise would be unrealistic and time consuming. But I bet in the long run it will save time. Even if it doesn’t it is the better way to manage pain.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Despite my best efforts to cultivate acquaintances across a broader age group, my social circle still has the somewhat musty odor of septuagenarians. We try to talk about things beyond the weather and grandchildren but pain scenarios surface with unfortunate frequency. Arthritic joints ache, body parts wear out or become diseased and have to be removed or replaced. That stuff can hurt.

There are two pain-related themes that seem to crop up more frequently than you might expect. The first is the unfortunate side effects of opioid medication – most often gastric distress and vomiting, then of course there’s constipation. They seem so common that a good many of my acquaintances just plain refuse to take opioids when they have been prescribed postoperatively because of their vivid memories of the consequences or horror stories friends have told.

The second theme is the general annoyance with the damn “Please rate your pain from one to ten” request issued by every well-intentioned nurse. Do you mean the pain I am having right now, this second, or last night, or the average over the last day and a half? Or should I be comparing it with when I gave birth 70 years ago, or when I stubbed my toe getting out of the shower last week? And then what are you going to do with my guesstimated number?

It may surprise some of you that 40 years ago there wasn’t a pain scale fetish. But a few observant health care professionals realized that many of our patients were suffering because we weren’t adequately managing their pain. In postoperative situations this was slowing recovery and effecting outcomes. Like good pseudoscientists, they realized that we should first quantify the pain and the notion that no pain should go unrated came into being. Nor should pain go untreated, which is too frequently interpreted as meaning unmedicated.

Pain is a complex, multifaceted phenomenon. Distilling a person’s pain experience to a single number doesn’t make sense, nor does reflexly reaching for a prescription.

For example a systematic review of 61 studies of juvenile idiopathic arthritis (JIA) published in the journal Pediatric Rheumatology found that there was positive relationship between pain and a child’s belief that pain causes harm, disability, and lack of control. Not surprisingly, stress was also associated with pain intensity.

It is a long paper and touches on numerous other associations of varying degrees of strength between parental, social, and other external factors. But, in general, they were not as consistent as those related to a child’s beliefs.

Before, or at least at the same time, we treat a patient’s pain, we should learn more about that patient – his or her concerns, beliefs, and stressors. You and I may have exactly the same hernia operation, but if you have a better understanding of why you are going to feel uncomfortable after the surgery, and understand that not every pain is the result of a complication, I suspect you are more likely to complain of less pain.

The recent JIA study doesn’t claim to suggest therapeutic methods. However, one wonders what the result would be if we could somehow alter a patient’s belief system so that he or she no longer sees pain as always harmful, nor does the patient see himself or herself as powerless to do anything about the pain. To do this experiment we must follow up our robotic request to “rate your pain” with a dialogue in which we learn more about the patient. Which means probing believes, fears, and stressors.

You can tell me this exercise would be unrealistic and time consuming. But I bet in the long run it will save time. Even if it doesn’t it is the better way to manage pain.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The American Academy of Pediatrics’ (AAP) Community Access to Child Health is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. Known by the acronym CATCH, this program provides seed funding to chapters and pediatricians at all stages of their training and practice trajectories to assist in the planing and development of community-based initiatives aimed at increasing children’s access to a variety of health services. While relatively modest in its scale and profile, the CATCH-funded recipients have a strong track record of creating effective and often sustainable projects serving children in historically underserved segments of the community.

In a recent article by Rupal C. Gupta, MD, FAAP, I encountered a quote attributed to Benjamin D. Hoffman, MD, president-elect of the AAP, who served as a chapter CATCH facilitator. Dr. Hoffman observed that “part of the solution to burnout is doing meaningful work, and CATCH allows you to do that.” I couldn’t agree more with Dr. Hoffman’s claim. There is no question that viewing your professional activities as meaningless can be a major contributor to burnout. And, community involvement can certainly provide ample opportunities to do meaningful work.

As a pediatrician who worked, lived, and raised his children in the same small community, I found that seeing and interacting with my patients and their families outside the office in a variety of environments, from the grocery store to the soccer field, and a variety of roles, from coach to school physician, added a richness to my professional life.

I suspect that living in and serving the community where I practiced may have helped provide some meaning on those very rare occasions when I wondered why I was heading off to work in the morning ... or in the middle of the night. But, 90% of the time I felt what I was doing as a physician was somehow making a difference. Nothing earth shaking or worthy of sainthood mind you, but if I were to take the time to look back on my day and weighed the meaningful against the meaningless activities it would almost always tip the scales toward meaningful. But, I seldom had the time to engage in such retrospection.

It seems that many physicians today are not finding that same meaningful versus meaningless balance that I enjoyed. Is it because they are spending too little of their time doing meaningful work? Has the management of the more common illnesses become too routine or so algorithm-driven that it is no longer challenging? One solution to that problem is to shift our focus from the disease to the patient. Diagnosing and managing strep throat is not a terribly challenging intellectual exercise until you realize it is the unique way in which each patient presents and tolerates the illness.

I think the answer is not that there is too little meaningful work for physicians today, and I suspect that you would agree. We are all lucky to have jobs that almost by definition offer an abundance of meaningful activities. There are situations in which it may require a bit of an attitude change to see the meaningfulness, but the opportunities are there. No, the problem seems to be that there is an overabundance of meaningless tasks that confront physicians. Clunky, time-gobbling medical record systems, fighting with insurance companies, chasing down prior authorizations, attending committee meetings in a top-heavy organization with too many meetings, _____________. You can fill in the blank with your favorite. Every job has its meaningful and meaningless components. The problem is that we in primary care medicine are facing a landscape in which the meaningless seems to be dominating our days.

The CATCH program can offer you a way to rebalance that imbalance, and, by all means, consider applying for a grant. But, where we need to put our energies is in the search for solutions to the glut of meaningless tasks that are burning us out. We shouldn’t have to seek meaningful experiences outside of our offices. They have always been there, hidden under the mountain of meaningless chores.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The American Academy of Pediatrics’ (AAP) Community Access to Child Health is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. Known by the acronym CATCH, this program provides seed funding to chapters and pediatricians at all stages of their training and practice trajectories to assist in the planing and development of community-based initiatives aimed at increasing children’s access to a variety of health services. While relatively modest in its scale and profile, the CATCH-funded recipients have a strong track record of creating effective and often sustainable projects serving children in historically underserved segments of the community.

In a recent article by Rupal C. Gupta, MD, FAAP, I encountered a quote attributed to Benjamin D. Hoffman, MD, president-elect of the AAP, who served as a chapter CATCH facilitator. Dr. Hoffman observed that “part of the solution to burnout is doing meaningful work, and CATCH allows you to do that.” I couldn’t agree more with Dr. Hoffman’s claim. There is no question that viewing your professional activities as meaningless can be a major contributor to burnout. And, community involvement can certainly provide ample opportunities to do meaningful work.

As a pediatrician who worked, lived, and raised his children in the same small community, I found that seeing and interacting with my patients and their families outside the office in a variety of environments, from the grocery store to the soccer field, and a variety of roles, from coach to school physician, added a richness to my professional life.

I suspect that living in and serving the community where I practiced may have helped provide some meaning on those very rare occasions when I wondered why I was heading off to work in the morning ... or in the middle of the night. But, 90% of the time I felt what I was doing as a physician was somehow making a difference. Nothing earth shaking or worthy of sainthood mind you, but if I were to take the time to look back on my day and weighed the meaningful against the meaningless activities it would almost always tip the scales toward meaningful. But, I seldom had the time to engage in such retrospection.

It seems that many physicians today are not finding that same meaningful versus meaningless balance that I enjoyed. Is it because they are spending too little of their time doing meaningful work? Has the management of the more common illnesses become too routine or so algorithm-driven that it is no longer challenging? One solution to that problem is to shift our focus from the disease to the patient. Diagnosing and managing strep throat is not a terribly challenging intellectual exercise until you realize it is the unique way in which each patient presents and tolerates the illness.

I think the answer is not that there is too little meaningful work for physicians today, and I suspect that you would agree. We are all lucky to have jobs that almost by definition offer an abundance of meaningful activities. There are situations in which it may require a bit of an attitude change to see the meaningfulness, but the opportunities are there. No, the problem seems to be that there is an overabundance of meaningless tasks that confront physicians. Clunky, time-gobbling medical record systems, fighting with insurance companies, chasing down prior authorizations, attending committee meetings in a top-heavy organization with too many meetings, _____________. You can fill in the blank with your favorite. Every job has its meaningful and meaningless components. The problem is that we in primary care medicine are facing a landscape in which the meaningless seems to be dominating our days.

The CATCH program can offer you a way to rebalance that imbalance, and, by all means, consider applying for a grant. But, where we need to put our energies is in the search for solutions to the glut of meaningless tasks that are burning us out. We shouldn’t have to seek meaningful experiences outside of our offices. They have always been there, hidden under the mountain of meaningless chores.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The American Academy of Pediatrics’ (AAP) Community Access to Child Health is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. Known by the acronym CATCH, this program provides seed funding to chapters and pediatricians at all stages of their training and practice trajectories to assist in the planing and development of community-based initiatives aimed at increasing children’s access to a variety of health services. While relatively modest in its scale and profile, the CATCH-funded recipients have a strong track record of creating effective and often sustainable projects serving children in historically underserved segments of the community.

In a recent article by Rupal C. Gupta, MD, FAAP, I encountered a quote attributed to Benjamin D. Hoffman, MD, president-elect of the AAP, who served as a chapter CATCH facilitator. Dr. Hoffman observed that “part of the solution to burnout is doing meaningful work, and CATCH allows you to do that.” I couldn’t agree more with Dr. Hoffman’s claim. There is no question that viewing your professional activities as meaningless can be a major contributor to burnout. And, community involvement can certainly provide ample opportunities to do meaningful work.

As a pediatrician who worked, lived, and raised his children in the same small community, I found that seeing and interacting with my patients and their families outside the office in a variety of environments, from the grocery store to the soccer field, and a variety of roles, from coach to school physician, added a richness to my professional life.

I suspect that living in and serving the community where I practiced may have helped provide some meaning on those very rare occasions when I wondered why I was heading off to work in the morning ... or in the middle of the night. But, 90% of the time I felt what I was doing as a physician was somehow making a difference. Nothing earth shaking or worthy of sainthood mind you, but if I were to take the time to look back on my day and weighed the meaningful against the meaningless activities it would almost always tip the scales toward meaningful. But, I seldom had the time to engage in such retrospection.

It seems that many physicians today are not finding that same meaningful versus meaningless balance that I enjoyed. Is it because they are spending too little of their time doing meaningful work? Has the management of the more common illnesses become too routine or so algorithm-driven that it is no longer challenging? One solution to that problem is to shift our focus from the disease to the patient. Diagnosing and managing strep throat is not a terribly challenging intellectual exercise until you realize it is the unique way in which each patient presents and tolerates the illness.

I think the answer is not that there is too little meaningful work for physicians today, and I suspect that you would agree. We are all lucky to have jobs that almost by definition offer an abundance of meaningful activities. There are situations in which it may require a bit of an attitude change to see the meaningfulness, but the opportunities are there. No, the problem seems to be that there is an overabundance of meaningless tasks that confront physicians. Clunky, time-gobbling medical record systems, fighting with insurance companies, chasing down prior authorizations, attending committee meetings in a top-heavy organization with too many meetings, _____________. You can fill in the blank with your favorite. Every job has its meaningful and meaningless components. The problem is that we in primary care medicine are facing a landscape in which the meaningless seems to be dominating our days.

The CATCH program can offer you a way to rebalance that imbalance, and, by all means, consider applying for a grant. But, where we need to put our energies is in the search for solutions to the glut of meaningless tasks that are burning us out. We shouldn’t have to seek meaningful experiences outside of our offices. They have always been there, hidden under the mountain of meaningless chores.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.