William G. Wilkoff, MD

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.

The recent decisions by the United States Supreme Court (SCOTUS) declaring the current admission policies at Harvard and the University of North Carolina illegal have sent shock waves through the university and graduate school communities. In the minds of many observers, these decisions have effectively eliminated affirmative action as a tool for leveling the playing field for ethnic minorities.

However, there are some commentators who feel that affirmative action has never been as effective as others have believed. They point out that the number of students admitted to the most selective schools is very small compared with the entire nation’s collection of colleges and universities. Regardless of where you come down on the effectiveness of past affirmative action policies, the SCOTUS decision is a done deal. It’s time to move on and begin anew our search for inclusion-promoting strategies that will pass the Court’s litmus test of legality.

I count myself among those who are optimistic that there are enough of us committed individuals that a new and better version of affirmative action is just over the horizon. Some of my supporting evidence can be found in a New York Times article by Stephanie Saul describing the admissions policy at the University of California Davis Medical School. The keystone of the university’s policy is a “socioeconomic disadvantage scale” that takes into account the applicant’s life circumstances, such as parental education and family income. This ranking – on a scale of 0 to 99 – is tossed into the standard mix of grades, test scores, essays, interviews, and recommendations. It shouldn’t surprise that UC Davis is now one of the most diverse medical schools in the United States despite the fact that California voted to ban affirmative action in 1996.

The socioeconomic disadvantage scale may, in the long run, be more effective than the current affirmative action strategies that have been race based. It certainly makes more sense to me. For example, in 2020 the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) made a significant philosophical change by broadening and deepening its focus on the social sciences. To some extent, this refocusing may have reflected the American Association of Medical Colleges’ search for more well-rounded students and, by extension, more physicians sensitive to the plight of their disadvantaged patients. By weighting the questions more toward subjects such as how bias can influence patient care, it was hoped that the newly minted physicians would view and treat patients not just as victims of illness but as multifaceted individuals who reside in an environment that may be influencing their health.

While I agree with the goal of creating physicians with a broader and more holistic view, the notion that adding questions from social science disciplines is going to achieve this goal never made much sense to me. Answering questions posed by social scientists teaching in a selective academic setting doesn’t necessarily guarantee that the applicant has a full understanding of the real-world consequences of poverty and bias.

On the other hand, an applicant’s responses to a questionnaire about the socioeconomic conditions in which she or he grew up is far more likely to unearth candidates with a deep, broad, and very personal understanding of the challenges that disadvantaged patients face. It’s another one of those been-there-know-how-it-feels kind of things. Reading a book about how to ride a bicycle cannot quite capture the challenge of balancing yourself on two thin wheels.

Whether an affirmative action plan that includes a socioeconomic scale will indeed spawn a crop of physicians who will practice customer-friendly, understanding, and sensitive medicine remains to be seen. The pathway to becoming a practicing physician takes a minimum of 6 or 7 years. Much of that education comes in the form of watching and listening to physicians who, in turn, modeled their behavior after the cohort that preceded them in a very old system, and so on. There is no guarantee that even the most sensitively selected students will remain immune to incorporating into their practice style some of the systemic bias that will inevitably surround them. But a socioeconomic disadvantage scale is certainly worth a try.

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 recent decisions by the United States Supreme Court (SCOTUS) declaring the current admission policies at Harvard and the University of North Carolina illegal have sent shock waves through the university and graduate school communities. In the minds of many observers, these decisions have effectively eliminated affirmative action as a tool for leveling the playing field for ethnic minorities.

However, there are some commentators who feel that affirmative action has never been as effective as others have believed. They point out that the number of students admitted to the most selective schools is very small compared with the entire nation’s collection of colleges and universities. Regardless of where you come down on the effectiveness of past affirmative action policies, the SCOTUS decision is a done deal. It’s time to move on and begin anew our search for inclusion-promoting strategies that will pass the Court’s litmus test of legality.

I count myself among those who are optimistic that there are enough of us committed individuals that a new and better version of affirmative action is just over the horizon. Some of my supporting evidence can be found in a New York Times article by Stephanie Saul describing the admissions policy at the University of California Davis Medical School. The keystone of the university’s policy is a “socioeconomic disadvantage scale” that takes into account the applicant’s life circumstances, such as parental education and family income. This ranking – on a scale of 0 to 99 – is tossed into the standard mix of grades, test scores, essays, interviews, and recommendations. It shouldn’t surprise that UC Davis is now one of the most diverse medical schools in the United States despite the fact that California voted to ban affirmative action in 1996.

The socioeconomic disadvantage scale may, in the long run, be more effective than the current affirmative action strategies that have been race based. It certainly makes more sense to me. For example, in 2020 the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) made a significant philosophical change by broadening and deepening its focus on the social sciences. To some extent, this refocusing may have reflected the American Association of Medical Colleges’ search for more well-rounded students and, by extension, more physicians sensitive to the plight of their disadvantaged patients. By weighting the questions more toward subjects such as how bias can influence patient care, it was hoped that the newly minted physicians would view and treat patients not just as victims of illness but as multifaceted individuals who reside in an environment that may be influencing their health.

While I agree with the goal of creating physicians with a broader and more holistic view, the notion that adding questions from social science disciplines is going to achieve this goal never made much sense to me. Answering questions posed by social scientists teaching in a selective academic setting doesn’t necessarily guarantee that the applicant has a full understanding of the real-world consequences of poverty and bias.

On the other hand, an applicant’s responses to a questionnaire about the socioeconomic conditions in which she or he grew up is far more likely to unearth candidates with a deep, broad, and very personal understanding of the challenges that disadvantaged patients face. It’s another one of those been-there-know-how-it-feels kind of things. Reading a book about how to ride a bicycle cannot quite capture the challenge of balancing yourself on two thin wheels.

Whether an affirmative action plan that includes a socioeconomic scale will indeed spawn a crop of physicians who will practice customer-friendly, understanding, and sensitive medicine remains to be seen. The pathway to becoming a practicing physician takes a minimum of 6 or 7 years. Much of that education comes in the form of watching and listening to physicians who, in turn, modeled their behavior after the cohort that preceded them in a very old system, and so on. There is no guarantee that even the most sensitively selected students will remain immune to incorporating into their practice style some of the systemic bias that will inevitably surround them. But a socioeconomic disadvantage scale is certainly worth a try.

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 recent decisions by the United States Supreme Court (SCOTUS) declaring the current admission policies at Harvard and the University of North Carolina illegal have sent shock waves through the university and graduate school communities. In the minds of many observers, these decisions have effectively eliminated affirmative action as a tool for leveling the playing field for ethnic minorities.

However, there are some commentators who feel that affirmative action has never been as effective as others have believed. They point out that the number of students admitted to the most selective schools is very small compared with the entire nation’s collection of colleges and universities. Regardless of where you come down on the effectiveness of past affirmative action policies, the SCOTUS decision is a done deal. It’s time to move on and begin anew our search for inclusion-promoting strategies that will pass the Court’s litmus test of legality.

I count myself among those who are optimistic that there are enough of us committed individuals that a new and better version of affirmative action is just over the horizon. Some of my supporting evidence can be found in a New York Times article by Stephanie Saul describing the admissions policy at the University of California Davis Medical School. The keystone of the university’s policy is a “socioeconomic disadvantage scale” that takes into account the applicant’s life circumstances, such as parental education and family income. This ranking – on a scale of 0 to 99 – is tossed into the standard mix of grades, test scores, essays, interviews, and recommendations. It shouldn’t surprise that UC Davis is now one of the most diverse medical schools in the United States despite the fact that California voted to ban affirmative action in 1996.

The socioeconomic disadvantage scale may, in the long run, be more effective than the current affirmative action strategies that have been race based. It certainly makes more sense to me. For example, in 2020 the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) made a significant philosophical change by broadening and deepening its focus on the social sciences. To some extent, this refocusing may have reflected the American Association of Medical Colleges’ search for more well-rounded students and, by extension, more physicians sensitive to the plight of their disadvantaged patients. By weighting the questions more toward subjects such as how bias can influence patient care, it was hoped that the newly minted physicians would view and treat patients not just as victims of illness but as multifaceted individuals who reside in an environment that may be influencing their health.

While I agree with the goal of creating physicians with a broader and more holistic view, the notion that adding questions from social science disciplines is going to achieve this goal never made much sense to me. Answering questions posed by social scientists teaching in a selective academic setting doesn’t necessarily guarantee that the applicant has a full understanding of the real-world consequences of poverty and bias.

On the other hand, an applicant’s responses to a questionnaire about the socioeconomic conditions in which she or he grew up is far more likely to unearth candidates with a deep, broad, and very personal understanding of the challenges that disadvantaged patients face. It’s another one of those been-there-know-how-it-feels kind of things. Reading a book about how to ride a bicycle cannot quite capture the challenge of balancing yourself on two thin wheels.

Whether an affirmative action plan that includes a socioeconomic scale will indeed spawn a crop of physicians who will practice customer-friendly, understanding, and sensitive medicine remains to be seen. The pathway to becoming a practicing physician takes a minimum of 6 or 7 years. Much of that education comes in the form of watching and listening to physicians who, in turn, modeled their behavior after the cohort that preceded them in a very old system, and so on. There is no guarantee that even the most sensitively selected students will remain immune to incorporating into their practice style some of the systemic bias that will inevitably surround them. But a socioeconomic disadvantage scale is certainly worth a try.

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.

Many decades ago I wrote a book I brazenly titled: “The Good Grandmother Handbook.” I had been a parent for a scant 7 or 8 years but based on my experiences in the office I felt I had accumulated enough wisdom to suggest to women in their fifth to seventh decades how they might conduct themselves around their grandchildren. Luckily, the book never got further than several hundred pages of crudely typed manuscript. This was before word processing programs had settled into the home computer industry, which was still in its infancy.

But I continue find the subject of grandparents interesting. Now, with grandchildren of my own (the oldest has just graduated from high school) and scores of peers knee deep in their own grandparenting adventures, I hope that my perspective now has a bit less of a holier-than-thou aroma.

My most recent muse-prodding event came when I stumbled across an article about the epidemiology of unintentional pediatric firearm fatalities. Looking at 10 years of data from the National Violent Death Reporting System, the investigators found that in 80% of the cases the firearm owner was a relative of the victim; in slightly more than 60% of the cases the event occurred in the victim’s home.

The data set was not granular enough to define the exact relationship between the child and relative who owned the gun. I suspect that most often the relative was a parent or an uncle or aunt. However, viewed through my septuagenarian prism, this paper prompted me to wonder in how many of these fatalities the firearm owner was a grandparent.

I have only anecdotal observations, but I can easily recall situations here in Maine in which a child has been injured by his or her grandfather’s gun. The data from the study show that pediatric fatalities are bimodal, with the majority occurring in the 1- to 5-year age group and a second peak in adolescence. The grandparent-involved cases I can recall were in the younger demographic.

Unfortunately, firearms aren’t the only threat that other grandparents and I pose to the health and safety of our grandchildren. I can remember before the development of, and the widespread use of, tamper-proof pill bottles, “grandma’s purse” overdoses were an unfortunately common occurrence.

More recently, at least here in Maine, we have been hearing more about motorized vehicle–related injuries and fatalities – grandparents backing over their grandchildren in the driveway or, more often, grandfathers (usually) taking their young grandchildren for rides on their snowmobiles, ATVs, lawn tractors, (fill in the blank). Whenever one of these events occurs, my mind quickly jumps beyond the tragic loss of life to imagining what terrible and long-lasting emotional chaos these incidents have spawned in those families.

During the pandemic, many parents and grandparents became aware of the threat that viral-spewing young children pose to the older and more vulnerable generation. On the other hand, many parents have been told that having a grandparent around can present a risk to the health and safety of their grandchildren. It can be a touchy subject in families, and grandparents may bristle at “being treated like a child” when they are reminded that children aren’t small adults and that their own behavior may be setting a bad example or putting their grandchildren at risk.

My generation had to learn how to buckle infants and toddlers into car seats because it was something that wasn’t done for our children. Fortunately, most new grandparents now already have those buckle-and-click skills and mindset. But, there are still many aspects of child safety, including firearms availability, that we must address, and our messages of caution should also target grandparents.

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.

Many decades ago I wrote a book I brazenly titled: “The Good Grandmother Handbook.” I had been a parent for a scant 7 or 8 years but based on my experiences in the office I felt I had accumulated enough wisdom to suggest to women in their fifth to seventh decades how they might conduct themselves around their grandchildren. Luckily, the book never got further than several hundred pages of crudely typed manuscript. This was before word processing programs had settled into the home computer industry, which was still in its infancy.

But I continue find the subject of grandparents interesting. Now, with grandchildren of my own (the oldest has just graduated from high school) and scores of peers knee deep in their own grandparenting adventures, I hope that my perspective now has a bit less of a holier-than-thou aroma.

My most recent muse-prodding event came when I stumbled across an article about the epidemiology of unintentional pediatric firearm fatalities. Looking at 10 years of data from the National Violent Death Reporting System, the investigators found that in 80% of the cases the firearm owner was a relative of the victim; in slightly more than 60% of the cases the event occurred in the victim’s home.

The data set was not granular enough to define the exact relationship between the child and relative who owned the gun. I suspect that most often the relative was a parent or an uncle or aunt. However, viewed through my septuagenarian prism, this paper prompted me to wonder in how many of these fatalities the firearm owner was a grandparent.

I have only anecdotal observations, but I can easily recall situations here in Maine in which a child has been injured by his or her grandfather’s gun. The data from the study show that pediatric fatalities are bimodal, with the majority occurring in the 1- to 5-year age group and a second peak in adolescence. The grandparent-involved cases I can recall were in the younger demographic.

Unfortunately, firearms aren’t the only threat that other grandparents and I pose to the health and safety of our grandchildren. I can remember before the development of, and the widespread use of, tamper-proof pill bottles, “grandma’s purse” overdoses were an unfortunately common occurrence.

More recently, at least here in Maine, we have been hearing more about motorized vehicle–related injuries and fatalities – grandparents backing over their grandchildren in the driveway or, more often, grandfathers (usually) taking their young grandchildren for rides on their snowmobiles, ATVs, lawn tractors, (fill in the blank). Whenever one of these events occurs, my mind quickly jumps beyond the tragic loss of life to imagining what terrible and long-lasting emotional chaos these incidents have spawned in those families.

During the pandemic, many parents and grandparents became aware of the threat that viral-spewing young children pose to the older and more vulnerable generation. On the other hand, many parents have been told that having a grandparent around can present a risk to the health and safety of their grandchildren. It can be a touchy subject in families, and grandparents may bristle at “being treated like a child” when they are reminded that children aren’t small adults and that their own behavior may be setting a bad example or putting their grandchildren at risk.

My generation had to learn how to buckle infants and toddlers into car seats because it was something that wasn’t done for our children. Fortunately, most new grandparents now already have those buckle-and-click skills and mindset. But, there are still many aspects of child safety, including firearms availability, that we must address, and our messages of caution should also target grandparents.

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.

Many decades ago I wrote a book I brazenly titled: “The Good Grandmother Handbook.” I had been a parent for a scant 7 or 8 years but based on my experiences in the office I felt I had accumulated enough wisdom to suggest to women in their fifth to seventh decades how they might conduct themselves around their grandchildren. Luckily, the book never got further than several hundred pages of crudely typed manuscript. This was before word processing programs had settled into the home computer industry, which was still in its infancy.

But I continue find the subject of grandparents interesting. Now, with grandchildren of my own (the oldest has just graduated from high school) and scores of peers knee deep in their own grandparenting adventures, I hope that my perspective now has a bit less of a holier-than-thou aroma.

My most recent muse-prodding event came when I stumbled across an article about the epidemiology of unintentional pediatric firearm fatalities. Looking at 10 years of data from the National Violent Death Reporting System, the investigators found that in 80% of the cases the firearm owner was a relative of the victim; in slightly more than 60% of the cases the event occurred in the victim’s home.

The data set was not granular enough to define the exact relationship between the child and relative who owned the gun. I suspect that most often the relative was a parent or an uncle or aunt. However, viewed through my septuagenarian prism, this paper prompted me to wonder in how many of these fatalities the firearm owner was a grandparent.

I have only anecdotal observations, but I can easily recall situations here in Maine in which a child has been injured by his or her grandfather’s gun. The data from the study show that pediatric fatalities are bimodal, with the majority occurring in the 1- to 5-year age group and a second peak in adolescence. The grandparent-involved cases I can recall were in the younger demographic.

Unfortunately, firearms aren’t the only threat that other grandparents and I pose to the health and safety of our grandchildren. I can remember before the development of, and the widespread use of, tamper-proof pill bottles, “grandma’s purse” overdoses were an unfortunately common occurrence.

More recently, at least here in Maine, we have been hearing more about motorized vehicle–related injuries and fatalities – grandparents backing over their grandchildren in the driveway or, more often, grandfathers (usually) taking their young grandchildren for rides on their snowmobiles, ATVs, lawn tractors, (fill in the blank). Whenever one of these events occurs, my mind quickly jumps beyond the tragic loss of life to imagining what terrible and long-lasting emotional chaos these incidents have spawned in those families.

During the pandemic, many parents and grandparents became aware of the threat that viral-spewing young children pose to the older and more vulnerable generation. On the other hand, many parents have been told that having a grandparent around can present a risk to the health and safety of their grandchildren. It can be a touchy subject in families, and grandparents may bristle at “being treated like a child” when they are reminded that children aren’t small adults and that their own behavior may be setting a bad example or putting their grandchildren at risk.

My generation had to learn how to buckle infants and toddlers into car seats because it was something that wasn’t done for our children. Fortunately, most new grandparents now already have those buckle-and-click skills and mindset. But, there are still many aspects of child safety, including firearms availability, that we must address, and our messages of caution should also target grandparents.

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.

Abdominal pain has always been among the most common complaints fielded by primary care pediatricians. Much has been written about how we clinicians should respond when one of these patients presents in our office. Obviously, we start with a good history and physical exam and then progress to whatever laboratory or imaging tests we believe will yield the most accurate diagnosis in the shortest amount of time and with the minimum risk to the patient.

However, the number of children complaining of abdominal pain who arrive at clinicians’ offices is but a mere fraction of the youngsters who have shared the complaint with their parents or caregivers. Little has been written about what is going on beneath the surface of this monstrous iceberg of pediatric abdominal pain.

A recent poll commissioned by C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital at the University of Michigan attempts to determine how Doctor Moms and Dads are handling their children’s belly pain complaints on what is truly the frontline of health care. Using a national panel of more than 2,000 parents, the investigators reviewed the responses of more than 1,000 individuals who had at least one child age 3-10.

Seventeen percent of the parents reported that their children complained of abdominal pain at least once a month. Only a bit more than 50% of these parents say they have discussed this frequent pain with their children’s providers. Less than a third of parents reported their children complain of abdominal pain only a few times a year and half the parents responded that their children rarely or never complained of a bellyache.

The survey drilled a little deeper and discovered that for the most part, parents took a thoughtful history and did a reasonably focused physical exam. More than a third of respondents felt “very confident” in their ability to recognize a serious problem. A third of parents reported that they would treat the symptoms with an over-the-counter product.

About a quarter of the parents attributed their children’s complaints to anxiety or to gain attention. In these situations, more than half of the parents said they would talk to the child about his/her concerns and/or suggest relaxation techniques or employ distraction. Only a few would allow the child to stay home from school or miss other activities. In general, it feels like Dr. Moms and Dads in the trenches are doing a pretty good job evaluating, triaging, and managing most children with abdominal pain. At least in my experience, unfortunate outcomes of pediatric abdominal pain as the result of home mismanagement are rare.

This is a nice little survey, but I don’t think it tells us much we haven’t already suspected. What we really want to know more about are those exceedingly rare but avoidable situations when parents have not managed their children’s belly pain well and the results have been tragic. Why did they wait so long to call the physician? What signs did they miss? What symptoms did they ignore or discount? Are there patterns we can better address with education?

Just as in cases of Sudden Unexplained Infant Death, investigating with sensitivity can be extremely difficult. Interviewing parents who are still processing the unexpected death of their child is something that must be done without the slightest hint of assessing blame. Sometimes that is just plain impossible. Fortunately, these cases are rare.

If we are considering launching the study that I have proposed, we must also embark on a parallel study that asks what are the systemic conditions that may have led to the tragic mismanagement of pediatric abdominal pain? When parents have been alert to children’s complaints and appearance and attempted to seek medical care, what impediments did they encounter? Was there a triage nurse or on call physician who didn’t listen, or failed to ask the right questions? Was the emergency room just too busy to allow a proper evaluation? Was there a communication problem? And, of course, there is always the money. Did the parents’ concern about paying for the evaluation blind them to their instinct to call? These are not easy questions to ask ourselves but they must be asked if we wish to bring our failure rate closer to zero and retain the trust of our patients.

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.

Abdominal pain has always been among the most common complaints fielded by primary care pediatricians. Much has been written about how we clinicians should respond when one of these patients presents in our office. Obviously, we start with a good history and physical exam and then progress to whatever laboratory or imaging tests we believe will yield the most accurate diagnosis in the shortest amount of time and with the minimum risk to the patient.

However, the number of children complaining of abdominal pain who arrive at clinicians’ offices is but a mere fraction of the youngsters who have shared the complaint with their parents or caregivers. Little has been written about what is going on beneath the surface of this monstrous iceberg of pediatric abdominal pain.

A recent poll commissioned by C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital at the University of Michigan attempts to determine how Doctor Moms and Dads are handling their children’s belly pain complaints on what is truly the frontline of health care. Using a national panel of more than 2,000 parents, the investigators reviewed the responses of more than 1,000 individuals who had at least one child age 3-10.

Seventeen percent of the parents reported that their children complained of abdominal pain at least once a month. Only a bit more than 50% of these parents say they have discussed this frequent pain with their children’s providers. Less than a third of parents reported their children complain of abdominal pain only a few times a year and half the parents responded that their children rarely or never complained of a bellyache.

The survey drilled a little deeper and discovered that for the most part, parents took a thoughtful history and did a reasonably focused physical exam. More than a third of respondents felt “very confident” in their ability to recognize a serious problem. A third of parents reported that they would treat the symptoms with an over-the-counter product.

About a quarter of the parents attributed their children’s complaints to anxiety or to gain attention. In these situations, more than half of the parents said they would talk to the child about his/her concerns and/or suggest relaxation techniques or employ distraction. Only a few would allow the child to stay home from school or miss other activities. In general, it feels like Dr. Moms and Dads in the trenches are doing a pretty good job evaluating, triaging, and managing most children with abdominal pain. At least in my experience, unfortunate outcomes of pediatric abdominal pain as the result of home mismanagement are rare.

This is a nice little survey, but I don’t think it tells us much we haven’t already suspected. What we really want to know more about are those exceedingly rare but avoidable situations when parents have not managed their children’s belly pain well and the results have been tragic. Why did they wait so long to call the physician? What signs did they miss? What symptoms did they ignore or discount? Are there patterns we can better address with education?

Just as in cases of Sudden Unexplained Infant Death, investigating with sensitivity can be extremely difficult. Interviewing parents who are still processing the unexpected death of their child is something that must be done without the slightest hint of assessing blame. Sometimes that is just plain impossible. Fortunately, these cases are rare.

If we are considering launching the study that I have proposed, we must also embark on a parallel study that asks what are the systemic conditions that may have led to the tragic mismanagement of pediatric abdominal pain? When parents have been alert to children’s complaints and appearance and attempted to seek medical care, what impediments did they encounter? Was there a triage nurse or on call physician who didn’t listen, or failed to ask the right questions? Was the emergency room just too busy to allow a proper evaluation? Was there a communication problem? And, of course, there is always the money. Did the parents’ concern about paying for the evaluation blind them to their instinct to call? These are not easy questions to ask ourselves but they must be asked if we wish to bring our failure rate closer to zero and retain the trust of our patients.

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.

Abdominal pain has always been among the most common complaints fielded by primary care pediatricians. Much has been written about how we clinicians should respond when one of these patients presents in our office. Obviously, we start with a good history and physical exam and then progress to whatever laboratory or imaging tests we believe will yield the most accurate diagnosis in the shortest amount of time and with the minimum risk to the patient.

However, the number of children complaining of abdominal pain who arrive at clinicians’ offices is but a mere fraction of the youngsters who have shared the complaint with their parents or caregivers. Little has been written about what is going on beneath the surface of this monstrous iceberg of pediatric abdominal pain.

A recent poll commissioned by C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital at the University of Michigan attempts to determine how Doctor Moms and Dads are handling their children’s belly pain complaints on what is truly the frontline of health care. Using a national panel of more than 2,000 parents, the investigators reviewed the responses of more than 1,000 individuals who had at least one child age 3-10.

Seventeen percent of the parents reported that their children complained of abdominal pain at least once a month. Only a bit more than 50% of these parents say they have discussed this frequent pain with their children’s providers. Less than a third of parents reported their children complain of abdominal pain only a few times a year and half the parents responded that their children rarely or never complained of a bellyache.

The survey drilled a little deeper and discovered that for the most part, parents took a thoughtful history and did a reasonably focused physical exam. More than a third of respondents felt “very confident” in their ability to recognize a serious problem. A third of parents reported that they would treat the symptoms with an over-the-counter product.

About a quarter of the parents attributed their children’s complaints to anxiety or to gain attention. In these situations, more than half of the parents said they would talk to the child about his/her concerns and/or suggest relaxation techniques or employ distraction. Only a few would allow the child to stay home from school or miss other activities. In general, it feels like Dr. Moms and Dads in the trenches are doing a pretty good job evaluating, triaging, and managing most children with abdominal pain. At least in my experience, unfortunate outcomes of pediatric abdominal pain as the result of home mismanagement are rare.

This is a nice little survey, but I don’t think it tells us much we haven’t already suspected. What we really want to know more about are those exceedingly rare but avoidable situations when parents have not managed their children’s belly pain well and the results have been tragic. Why did they wait so long to call the physician? What signs did they miss? What symptoms did they ignore or discount? Are there patterns we can better address with education?

Just as in cases of Sudden Unexplained Infant Death, investigating with sensitivity can be extremely difficult. Interviewing parents who are still processing the unexpected death of their child is something that must be done without the slightest hint of assessing blame. Sometimes that is just plain impossible. Fortunately, these cases are rare.

If we are considering launching the study that I have proposed, we must also embark on a parallel study that asks what are the systemic conditions that may have led to the tragic mismanagement of pediatric abdominal pain? When parents have been alert to children’s complaints and appearance and attempted to seek medical care, what impediments did they encounter? Was there a triage nurse or on call physician who didn’t listen, or failed to ask the right questions? Was the emergency room just too busy to allow a proper evaluation? Was there a communication problem? And, of course, there is always the money. Did the parents’ concern about paying for the evaluation blind them to their instinct to call? These are not easy questions to ask ourselves but they must be asked if we wish to bring our failure rate closer to zero and retain the trust of our patients.

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.

Although we continue to hear a chorus of cautions from the wise folks in the public health community, most of us and our political leaders have allowed the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic to slip quietly into the dark recesses of our been-there-done-that pile. Obviously, this failure to continue learning from our mistakes is an oversight for which we will pay dearly the next time a public health crisis requiring a coordinated effort on a national and international scale raises its ugly head.

However, there is a significant portion of the population for whom the pandemic is fresh in their minds because they are experiencing the symptoms of what they have been told is long COVID. In January 2023 the Kaiser Family Foundation reported that 15% of the U.S. population feels that at some point they have experienced the symptoms of long COVID. And 6% report that they believe they currently have long COVID.

As long ago as February of 2021, Congress gave the National Institutes of Health $1.5 billion to fund a 4-year study of the prolonged health consequence of SARS-CoV-2. Sadly, 2 years into the study we aren’t too much further along in our search for answers. The Post Acute Sequelae of SARS-CoV-2 has earned an acronym, PASC, but it continues to be little more than a laundry list of vague symptoms including shortness of breath, fatigue, fever, headaches, “brain fog,” and a variety of other neurologic problems. We seem to have slipped into the same trap we find ourselves in with conditions such as chronic Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome that lack workable diagnostic criteria.

However, I have just stumbled across a study in the JAMA Network Open that hints at a partial answer. Using data collected from a prospective study of nurses, investigators based at the T.H. Chan School of Public Health at Harvard found that adherence to healthy sleep prior to infection with COVID was inversely related to PCC, or Post COVID Condition, their chosen acronym for long COVID.

After taking into account a long list of covariants, the investigators found that women with consistently healthy sleep before and after their infection had the lowest risk of PCC when compared with women with consistently unhealthy sleep.

This finding seems to be telling us is that we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that folks who were relatively less healthy prior to contracting COVID are more likely to report feeling unhealthy after the acute phase of the illness has passed. It is unclear whether this observation is because their suboptimal health prior to the infection made them more vulnerable to its aftereffects or whether this is a return to their baseline for which we have labeled long COVID.

The results of this study are particularly important because it highlights our continued failure to acknowledge the critical role of sleep in the entire wellness picture. The broader message is of equal importance and that is when we are trying to discover what is making our patients sick, we must adhere to our traditional practice of taking a good and thorough history. When a patient asks the surgeon whether he will be able to play the violin after surgery, the prudent physician will always ask whether the patient has ever played the instrument.

As with any good study, it leaves more questions than it answers. While this study addresses the vague and neurologically based symptoms of long COVID, many of which are known symptoms associated with sleep deprivation, it doesn’t address the patients with more organically based symptoms such as those who have pulmonary or renal damage acquired during the acute phase of the illness. Many of these unfortunate individuals may have entered the pandemic with already damaged or vulnerable organ systems.

Finally, it leaves a very interesting question unanswered: Can we help the long COVID patients suffering with primarily neurologic symptoms by aggressively managing their preexisting unhealthy sleep habits? Or, has the damage already been done? I suspect and certainly hope it is the former.
 

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.

Although we continue to hear a chorus of cautions from the wise folks in the public health community, most of us and our political leaders have allowed the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic to slip quietly into the dark recesses of our been-there-done-that pile. Obviously, this failure to continue learning from our mistakes is an oversight for which we will pay dearly the next time a public health crisis requiring a coordinated effort on a national and international scale raises its ugly head.

However, there is a significant portion of the population for whom the pandemic is fresh in their minds because they are experiencing the symptoms of what they have been told is long COVID. In January 2023 the Kaiser Family Foundation reported that 15% of the U.S. population feels that at some point they have experienced the symptoms of long COVID. And 6% report that they believe they currently have long COVID.

As long ago as February of 2021, Congress gave the National Institutes of Health $1.5 billion to fund a 4-year study of the prolonged health consequence of SARS-CoV-2. Sadly, 2 years into the study we aren’t too much further along in our search for answers. The Post Acute Sequelae of SARS-CoV-2 has earned an acronym, PASC, but it continues to be little more than a laundry list of vague symptoms including shortness of breath, fatigue, fever, headaches, “brain fog,” and a variety of other neurologic problems. We seem to have slipped into the same trap we find ourselves in with conditions such as chronic Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome that lack workable diagnostic criteria.

However, I have just stumbled across a study in the JAMA Network Open that hints at a partial answer. Using data collected from a prospective study of nurses, investigators based at the T.H. Chan School of Public Health at Harvard found that adherence to healthy sleep prior to infection with COVID was inversely related to PCC, or Post COVID Condition, their chosen acronym for long COVID.

After taking into account a long list of covariants, the investigators found that women with consistently healthy sleep before and after their infection had the lowest risk of PCC when compared with women with consistently unhealthy sleep.

This finding seems to be telling us is that we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that folks who were relatively less healthy prior to contracting COVID are more likely to report feeling unhealthy after the acute phase of the illness has passed. It is unclear whether this observation is because their suboptimal health prior to the infection made them more vulnerable to its aftereffects or whether this is a return to their baseline for which we have labeled long COVID.

The results of this study are particularly important because it highlights our continued failure to acknowledge the critical role of sleep in the entire wellness picture. The broader message is of equal importance and that is when we are trying to discover what is making our patients sick, we must adhere to our traditional practice of taking a good and thorough history. When a patient asks the surgeon whether he will be able to play the violin after surgery, the prudent physician will always ask whether the patient has ever played the instrument.

As with any good study, it leaves more questions than it answers. While this study addresses the vague and neurologically based symptoms of long COVID, many of which are known symptoms associated with sleep deprivation, it doesn’t address the patients with more organically based symptoms such as those who have pulmonary or renal damage acquired during the acute phase of the illness. Many of these unfortunate individuals may have entered the pandemic with already damaged or vulnerable organ systems.

Finally, it leaves a very interesting question unanswered: Can we help the long COVID patients suffering with primarily neurologic symptoms by aggressively managing their preexisting unhealthy sleep habits? Or, has the damage already been done? I suspect and certainly hope it is the former.
 

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.

Although we continue to hear a chorus of cautions from the wise folks in the public health community, most of us and our political leaders have allowed the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic to slip quietly into the dark recesses of our been-there-done-that pile. Obviously, this failure to continue learning from our mistakes is an oversight for which we will pay dearly the next time a public health crisis requiring a coordinated effort on a national and international scale raises its ugly head.

However, there is a significant portion of the population for whom the pandemic is fresh in their minds because they are experiencing the symptoms of what they have been told is long COVID. In January 2023 the Kaiser Family Foundation reported that 15% of the U.S. population feels that at some point they have experienced the symptoms of long COVID. And 6% report that they believe they currently have long COVID.

As long ago as February of 2021, Congress gave the National Institutes of Health $1.5 billion to fund a 4-year study of the prolonged health consequence of SARS-CoV-2. Sadly, 2 years into the study we aren’t too much further along in our search for answers. The Post Acute Sequelae of SARS-CoV-2 has earned an acronym, PASC, but it continues to be little more than a laundry list of vague symptoms including shortness of breath, fatigue, fever, headaches, “brain fog,” and a variety of other neurologic problems. We seem to have slipped into the same trap we find ourselves in with conditions such as chronic Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome that lack workable diagnostic criteria.

However, I have just stumbled across a study in the JAMA Network Open that hints at a partial answer. Using data collected from a prospective study of nurses, investigators based at the T.H. Chan School of Public Health at Harvard found that adherence to healthy sleep prior to infection with COVID was inversely related to PCC, or Post COVID Condition, their chosen acronym for long COVID.

After taking into account a long list of covariants, the investigators found that women with consistently healthy sleep before and after their infection had the lowest risk of PCC when compared with women with consistently unhealthy sleep.

This finding seems to be telling us is that we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that folks who were relatively less healthy prior to contracting COVID are more likely to report feeling unhealthy after the acute phase of the illness has passed. It is unclear whether this observation is because their suboptimal health prior to the infection made them more vulnerable to its aftereffects or whether this is a return to their baseline for which we have labeled long COVID.

The results of this study are particularly important because it highlights our continued failure to acknowledge the critical role of sleep in the entire wellness picture. The broader message is of equal importance and that is when we are trying to discover what is making our patients sick, we must adhere to our traditional practice of taking a good and thorough history. When a patient asks the surgeon whether he will be able to play the violin after surgery, the prudent physician will always ask whether the patient has ever played the instrument.

As with any good study, it leaves more questions than it answers. While this study addresses the vague and neurologically based symptoms of long COVID, many of which are known symptoms associated with sleep deprivation, it doesn’t address the patients with more organically based symptoms such as those who have pulmonary or renal damage acquired during the acute phase of the illness. Many of these unfortunate individuals may have entered the pandemic with already damaged or vulnerable organ systems.

Finally, it leaves a very interesting question unanswered: Can we help the long COVID patients suffering with primarily neurologic symptoms by aggressively managing their preexisting unhealthy sleep habits? Or, has the damage already been done? I suspect and certainly hope it is the former.
 

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.

Unlike many of you, maybe even most of you, I can recall when my office records were handwritten, some would say scribbled, on pieces of paper. They were decipherable by a select few. Some veteran assistants never mastered the skill. Pages were sometimes lavishly illustrated with drawings of body parts, often because I couldn’t remember or spell the correct anatomic term. When I needed to send a referring letter to another provider I typed it myself because dictating never quite suited my personality.

When I joined a small primary care group, the computer-savvy lead physician and a programmer developed our own homegrown EHR. It relied on scanning documents, as so many of us still generated handwritten notes. Even the most vociferous Luddites among us loved the system from day 2.

However, for a variety of reasons, some defensible some just plain bad, our beloved system needed to be replaced after 7 years. We then invested in an off-the-shelf EHR system that promised more capabilities. We were told there would be a learning curve but the plateau would come quickly and we would enjoy our new electronic assistant.

You’ve lived the rest of the story. The learning curve was steep and long and the plateau was a time gobbler. I was probably the most efficient provider in the group, and after 6 months I was leaving the office an hour later than I had been and was seeing the same number of patients. Most of my coworkers were staying and/or working on the computer at home for an extra 2 hours. This change could be easily documented by speaking with our spouses and children. I understand from my colleagues who have stayed in the business that over the ensuing decade and a half since my first experience with the EHR, its insatiable appetite for a clinician’s time has not abated.

The authors of a recent article in Annals of Family Medicine offer up some advice on how this tragic situation might be brought under control. First, the investigators point out that the phenomenon of after-hours EHR work, sometimes referred to as WOW (work outside of work), has not gone unnoticed by health system administrators and vendors who develop and sell the EHRs. However, analyzing the voluminous data necessary is not any easy task and for the most part has resulted in metrics that cannot be easily applied over a variety of practice scenarios. Many health care organizations, even large ones, have simply given up and rely on the WOW data and recommendations provided by the vendors, obviously lending the situation a faint odor of conflict of interest.

The bottom line is that after a couple of decades, there is no well defined way of quantifying the time-gobbling effect of an EHR system. It would seem to me just asking the spouses and significant others of the clinicians would be sufficient. But, authors of the paper have more specific recommendations. First, they suggest that time working on the computer outside of scheduled time with patients should be separated from any other calculation of EHR usage. They encourage vendors and time-management researchers to develop standardized and validated methods for measuring active EHR use. And, finally they recommend that all EHR work done outside of time scheduled with patients be attributed to WOW. They feel that clearly labeling it work outside of work offers health care organizations a better chance of developing policies that will address the scourge of burnout.

This, unfortunately, is another tragic example of how clinicians have lost control of our work environments. The fact that 20 years have passed and there is still no standardized method for determining how much time we spend on the computer is more evidence we need to raise our voices.
 

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.

Unlike many of you, maybe even most of you, I can recall when my office records were handwritten, some would say scribbled, on pieces of paper. They were decipherable by a select few. Some veteran assistants never mastered the skill. Pages were sometimes lavishly illustrated with drawings of body parts, often because I couldn’t remember or spell the correct anatomic term. When I needed to send a referring letter to another provider I typed it myself because dictating never quite suited my personality.

When I joined a small primary care group, the computer-savvy lead physician and a programmer developed our own homegrown EHR. It relied on scanning documents, as so many of us still generated handwritten notes. Even the most vociferous Luddites among us loved the system from day 2.

However, for a variety of reasons, some defensible some just plain bad, our beloved system needed to be replaced after 7 years. We then invested in an off-the-shelf EHR system that promised more capabilities. We were told there would be a learning curve but the plateau would come quickly and we would enjoy our new electronic assistant.

You’ve lived the rest of the story. The learning curve was steep and long and the plateau was a time gobbler. I was probably the most efficient provider in the group, and after 6 months I was leaving the office an hour later than I had been and was seeing the same number of patients. Most of my coworkers were staying and/or working on the computer at home for an extra 2 hours. This change could be easily documented by speaking with our spouses and children. I understand from my colleagues who have stayed in the business that over the ensuing decade and a half since my first experience with the EHR, its insatiable appetite for a clinician’s time has not abated.

The authors of a recent article in Annals of Family Medicine offer up some advice on how this tragic situation might be brought under control. First, the investigators point out that the phenomenon of after-hours EHR work, sometimes referred to as WOW (work outside of work), has not gone unnoticed by health system administrators and vendors who develop and sell the EHRs. However, analyzing the voluminous data necessary is not any easy task and for the most part has resulted in metrics that cannot be easily applied over a variety of practice scenarios. Many health care organizations, even large ones, have simply given up and rely on the WOW data and recommendations provided by the vendors, obviously lending the situation a faint odor of conflict of interest.

The bottom line is that after a couple of decades, there is no well defined way of quantifying the time-gobbling effect of an EHR system. It would seem to me just asking the spouses and significant others of the clinicians would be sufficient. But, authors of the paper have more specific recommendations. First, they suggest that time working on the computer outside of scheduled time with patients should be separated from any other calculation of EHR usage. They encourage vendors and time-management researchers to develop standardized and validated methods for measuring active EHR use. And, finally they recommend that all EHR work done outside of time scheduled with patients be attributed to WOW. They feel that clearly labeling it work outside of work offers health care organizations a better chance of developing policies that will address the scourge of burnout.

This, unfortunately, is another tragic example of how clinicians have lost control of our work environments. The fact that 20 years have passed and there is still no standardized method for determining how much time we spend on the computer is more evidence we need to raise our voices.
 

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.

Unlike many of you, maybe even most of you, I can recall when my office records were handwritten, some would say scribbled, on pieces of paper. They were decipherable by a select few. Some veteran assistants never mastered the skill. Pages were sometimes lavishly illustrated with drawings of body parts, often because I couldn’t remember or spell the correct anatomic term. When I needed to send a referring letter to another provider I typed it myself because dictating never quite suited my personality.

When I joined a small primary care group, the computer-savvy lead physician and a programmer developed our own homegrown EHR. It relied on scanning documents, as so many of us still generated handwritten notes. Even the most vociferous Luddites among us loved the system from day 2.

However, for a variety of reasons, some defensible some just plain bad, our beloved system needed to be replaced after 7 years. We then invested in an off-the-shelf EHR system that promised more capabilities. We were told there would be a learning curve but the plateau would come quickly and we would enjoy our new electronic assistant.

You’ve lived the rest of the story. The learning curve was steep and long and the plateau was a time gobbler. I was probably the most efficient provider in the group, and after 6 months I was leaving the office an hour later than I had been and was seeing the same number of patients. Most of my coworkers were staying and/or working on the computer at home for an extra 2 hours. This change could be easily documented by speaking with our spouses and children. I understand from my colleagues who have stayed in the business that over the ensuing decade and a half since my first experience with the EHR, its insatiable appetite for a clinician’s time has not abated.

The authors of a recent article in Annals of Family Medicine offer up some advice on how this tragic situation might be brought under control. First, the investigators point out that the phenomenon of after-hours EHR work, sometimes referred to as WOW (work outside of work), has not gone unnoticed by health system administrators and vendors who develop and sell the EHRs. However, analyzing the voluminous data necessary is not any easy task and for the most part has resulted in metrics that cannot be easily applied over a variety of practice scenarios. Many health care organizations, even large ones, have simply given up and rely on the WOW data and recommendations provided by the vendors, obviously lending the situation a faint odor of conflict of interest.

The bottom line is that after a couple of decades, there is no well defined way of quantifying the time-gobbling effect of an EHR system. It would seem to me just asking the spouses and significant others of the clinicians would be sufficient. But, authors of the paper have more specific recommendations. First, they suggest that time working on the computer outside of scheduled time with patients should be separated from any other calculation of EHR usage. They encourage vendors and time-management researchers to develop standardized and validated methods for measuring active EHR use. And, finally they recommend that all EHR work done outside of time scheduled with patients be attributed to WOW. They feel that clearly labeling it work outside of work offers health care organizations a better chance of developing policies that will address the scourge of burnout.

This, unfortunately, is another tragic example of how clinicians have lost control of our work environments. The fact that 20 years have passed and there is still no standardized method for determining how much time we spend on the computer is more evidence we need to raise our voices.
 

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.