Keeping Up in a Grand Manner

While in the past I have criticized the American Board of Pediatrics for adopting a proctored, closed-book exam format, I remain deeply appreciative of the board's decision to “grandfather” me and excuse me from the burden of recertification.

Although I suspect that the decision is based primarily on the old-dog-new-tricks myth, I hope the board also is giving me some partial credit for maturity. Maturity that might allow me to be trusted to keep my clinical skills current without the threat of recertification. Likewise, I hope that my choice of continuing education activities supports the wisdom of the board's decision.

Although the Bureau of Licensure here in Maine requires me to participate in 50 hours of category I educational experiences each year, it doesn't seem to care whether I am learning anything relevant to my practice. In fact, I am sure the bureau would be ecstatic if I went to Fiji and took a 2-week course in the Cosmetic Botoxification of Septuagenarians.

But, as a conscientious grandfather, I have tried to choose activities that are relevant to my daily clinical challenges. However, I am also a bit of a tightwad and hence don't want to invest much money or time in my continuing education activities. Expensive junkets to beautiful vacation spots to sit inside taking classes that may or may not be well taught have lost their appeal.

Being a rather distractible sort as well, I have learned that I can't tolerate the pain and frustration of being cooped up in a classroom (with or without windows) when I know there are recreational activities waiting outside just a few steps away. The odds that I won't stick around after the first coffee break are too high to make traveling for CME courses worth the time and expense.

The three CME activities I have chosen for myself are cheap, handy, and focused. The backbone of my curriculum is Pediatric Notes, the bimonthly letter founded by the late Dr. Sydney Gellis. In its well-chosen and smoothly written abstracts and commentary, I usually find one or two articles that are very relevant to my clinical situation. The open-book tests at the end of the year aren't painless, but at least I can work at my own pace in the comfort of my favorite rocker.

More painful and less relevant are my monthly copies of the American Academy of Pediatrics' Pediatrics in Review. I know that it is important to refresh the withering roots of my basic science education, but it hurts.

As soon as they arrive, I toss them in an old wooden bucket next to my rocker until it's time to subject myself to the torture of modern air travel. The accumulated Reviews give me something to read during those long airport layovers.

On one hand, I view reading them as a masochistic combination of more pain on top of pain. On the other, I see it as paying my dues for the privilege of bicycling on the quiet country roads of southern France.

The newest addition to my CME curriculum doesn't earn me any reportable credits. But, it is probably the most relevant and the most fun. The class meets once a week on Tuesday, when I have a standing invitation to visit my granddaughter, Hannah, who lives a short 10-minute walk away.

There also are numerous unscheduled seminar and lab sessions that meet throughout the week.

Although I see scores of little children each week in the office, it's been 30 years since I have had the chance to observe an infant in the relaxed atmosphere of a home environment.

Last month I relearned how infants learn to solve the problem of getting small bits of food into their mouths. This week's class is dealing with the advanced infantry crawl.

Because I am still struggling not to impose my parenting philosophy on my son and his wife, class participation is limited to tickling, knee-bouncing, and a wide variety of animal sound imitations. Each session is a wonderful opportunity to see if my timeworn advice to other parents still makes sense. And I've discovered some of it doesn't.

I don't know whether the American Board of Pediatrics would consider the changes I have made in my practice style as the result of my CME sessions with little Hannah to be “evidence based.” But then, I don't really care because I've truly been grandfathered.

While in the past I have criticized the American Board of Pediatrics for adopting a proctored, closed-book exam format, I remain deeply appreciative of the board's decision to “grandfather” me and excuse me from the burden of recertification.

Although I suspect that the decision is based primarily on the old-dog-new-tricks myth, I hope the board also is giving me some partial credit for maturity. Maturity that might allow me to be trusted to keep my clinical skills current without the threat of recertification. Likewise, I hope that my choice of continuing education activities supports the wisdom of the board's decision.

Although the Bureau of Licensure here in Maine requires me to participate in 50 hours of category I educational experiences each year, it doesn't seem to care whether I am learning anything relevant to my practice. In fact, I am sure the bureau would be ecstatic if I went to Fiji and took a 2-week course in the Cosmetic Botoxification of Septuagenarians.

But, as a conscientious grandfather, I have tried to choose activities that are relevant to my daily clinical challenges. However, I am also a bit of a tightwad and hence don't want to invest much money or time in my continuing education activities. Expensive junkets to beautiful vacation spots to sit inside taking classes that may or may not be well taught have lost their appeal.

Being a rather distractible sort as well, I have learned that I can't tolerate the pain and frustration of being cooped up in a classroom (with or without windows) when I know there are recreational activities waiting outside just a few steps away. The odds that I won't stick around after the first coffee break are too high to make traveling for CME courses worth the time and expense.

The three CME activities I have chosen for myself are cheap, handy, and focused. The backbone of my curriculum is Pediatric Notes, the bimonthly letter founded by the late Dr. Sydney Gellis. In its well-chosen and smoothly written abstracts and commentary, I usually find one or two articles that are very relevant to my clinical situation. The open-book tests at the end of the year aren't painless, but at least I can work at my own pace in the comfort of my favorite rocker.

More painful and less relevant are my monthly copies of the American Academy of Pediatrics' Pediatrics in Review. I know that it is important to refresh the withering roots of my basic science education, but it hurts.

As soon as they arrive, I toss them in an old wooden bucket next to my rocker until it's time to subject myself to the torture of modern air travel. The accumulated Reviews give me something to read during those long airport layovers.

On one hand, I view reading them as a masochistic combination of more pain on top of pain. On the other, I see it as paying my dues for the privilege of bicycling on the quiet country roads of southern France.

The newest addition to my CME curriculum doesn't earn me any reportable credits. But, it is probably the most relevant and the most fun. The class meets once a week on Tuesday, when I have a standing invitation to visit my granddaughter, Hannah, who lives a short 10-minute walk away.

There also are numerous unscheduled seminar and lab sessions that meet throughout the week.

Although I see scores of little children each week in the office, it's been 30 years since I have had the chance to observe an infant in the relaxed atmosphere of a home environment.

Last month I relearned how infants learn to solve the problem of getting small bits of food into their mouths. This week's class is dealing with the advanced infantry crawl.

Because I am still struggling not to impose my parenting philosophy on my son and his wife, class participation is limited to tickling, knee-bouncing, and a wide variety of animal sound imitations. Each session is a wonderful opportunity to see if my timeworn advice to other parents still makes sense. And I've discovered some of it doesn't.

I don't know whether the American Board of Pediatrics would consider the changes I have made in my practice style as the result of my CME sessions with little Hannah to be “evidence based.” But then, I don't really care because I've truly been grandfathered.

While in the past I have criticized the American Board of Pediatrics for adopting a proctored, closed-book exam format, I remain deeply appreciative of the board's decision to “grandfather” me and excuse me from the burden of recertification.

Although I suspect that the decision is based primarily on the old-dog-new-tricks myth, I hope the board also is giving me some partial credit for maturity. Maturity that might allow me to be trusted to keep my clinical skills current without the threat of recertification. Likewise, I hope that my choice of continuing education activities supports the wisdom of the board's decision.

Although the Bureau of Licensure here in Maine requires me to participate in 50 hours of category I educational experiences each year, it doesn't seem to care whether I am learning anything relevant to my practice. In fact, I am sure the bureau would be ecstatic if I went to Fiji and took a 2-week course in the Cosmetic Botoxification of Septuagenarians.

But, as a conscientious grandfather, I have tried to choose activities that are relevant to my daily clinical challenges. However, I am also a bit of a tightwad and hence don't want to invest much money or time in my continuing education activities. Expensive junkets to beautiful vacation spots to sit inside taking classes that may or may not be well taught have lost their appeal.

Being a rather distractible sort as well, I have learned that I can't tolerate the pain and frustration of being cooped up in a classroom (with or without windows) when I know there are recreational activities waiting outside just a few steps away. The odds that I won't stick around after the first coffee break are too high to make traveling for CME courses worth the time and expense.

The three CME activities I have chosen for myself are cheap, handy, and focused. The backbone of my curriculum is Pediatric Notes, the bimonthly letter founded by the late Dr. Sydney Gellis. In its well-chosen and smoothly written abstracts and commentary, I usually find one or two articles that are very relevant to my clinical situation. The open-book tests at the end of the year aren't painless, but at least I can work at my own pace in the comfort of my favorite rocker.

More painful and less relevant are my monthly copies of the American Academy of Pediatrics' Pediatrics in Review. I know that it is important to refresh the withering roots of my basic science education, but it hurts.

As soon as they arrive, I toss them in an old wooden bucket next to my rocker until it's time to subject myself to the torture of modern air travel. The accumulated Reviews give me something to read during those long airport layovers.

On one hand, I view reading them as a masochistic combination of more pain on top of pain. On the other, I see it as paying my dues for the privilege of bicycling on the quiet country roads of southern France.

The newest addition to my CME curriculum doesn't earn me any reportable credits. But, it is probably the most relevant and the most fun. The class meets once a week on Tuesday, when I have a standing invitation to visit my granddaughter, Hannah, who lives a short 10-minute walk away.

There also are numerous unscheduled seminar and lab sessions that meet throughout the week.

Although I see scores of little children each week in the office, it's been 30 years since I have had the chance to observe an infant in the relaxed atmosphere of a home environment.

Last month I relearned how infants learn to solve the problem of getting small bits of food into their mouths. This week's class is dealing with the advanced infantry crawl.

Because I am still struggling not to impose my parenting philosophy on my son and his wife, class participation is limited to tickling, knee-bouncing, and a wide variety of animal sound imitations. Each session is a wonderful opportunity to see if my timeworn advice to other parents still makes sense. And I've discovered some of it doesn't.

I don't know whether the American Board of Pediatrics would consider the changes I have made in my practice style as the result of my CME sessions with little Hannah to be “evidence based.” But then, I don't really care because I've truly been grandfathered.