William G. Wilkoff, MD

After 15 years of limping and a gradual downhill slide in mobility, recreational walking had become uncomfortable enough that I’ve decided to shed my proudly worn cloak of denial and seek help. Even I could see that the x-ray made a total knee replacement the only option for some return to near normalcy. Scheduling a total knee replacement became a no-brainer.

My decision to accept the risks to reap the benefits of surgery is small potatoes compared with the decisions that the parents of a child born with a deformed lower extremity must face. In the Family Partnerships section of the February 2021 issue of Pediatrics you will find a heart-wrenching story of a family who embarked on what turned out to be painful and frustrating journey to lengthen their daughter’s congenitally deficient leg. In their own words, the mother and daughter describe how neither of them were prepared for the pain and life-altering complications the daughter has endured. Influenced by the optimism exuded by surgeons, the family gave little thought to the magnitude of the decision they were being asked to make. One has to wonder in retrospect if a well-timed amputation and prosthesis might have been a better decision. However, the thought of removing an extremity, even one that isn’t fully functional, is not one that most of us like to consider.

Over the last several decades I have read stories about people – usually athletes – born with short or deformed lower extremities who have faced the decision of amputation. I recall one college-age young man who despite his deformity and with the help of a prosthesis was a competitive multisport athlete. However, it became clear that his deformed foot was preventing him from accessing the most advanced prosthetic technology. Although he was highly motivated, he described his struggle with the decision to part with a portion of his body that despite its appearance and dysfunction had been with him since birth. On the other hand, I have read stories of young people who had become so frustrated by their deformity that they were more than eager to undergo amputation despite the concerns of their parents.

Early in my career I encountered a 3-year-old with phocomelia whose family was visiting from out of town and had come to our clinic because his older sibling was sick. The youngster, as I recall, had only one complete extremity, an arm. Like most 3-year-olds, he was driven to explore at breakneck speed. I will never forget watching him streak back and forth the length of our linoleum covered hallway like a crab skittering along the beach. His mother described how she and his well-meaning physicians were struggling unsuccessfully to get him to accept prostheses. Later I learned that his resistance is shared by many of the survivors of the thalidomide disaster who felt that the most frustrating period in their lives came when, again well-meaning, caregivers had tried to make them look and function more normally by fitting them with prostheses.

These anecdotal observations make clear a philosophy that we should have already internalized. In most clinic decisions the patient, pretty much regardless of age, should be a full participant in the process. And, to do this the patient and his or her family must be as informed as possible. Managing the aftermath of a traumatic amputation presents it own special set of challenges, but when it comes to elective amputation or prosthetic application for a congenital deficiency it is dangerous for us to insert our personal bias into the decision making.
 

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 [email protected].

After 15 years of limping and a gradual downhill slide in mobility, recreational walking had become uncomfortable enough that I’ve decided to shed my proudly worn cloak of denial and seek help. Even I could see that the x-ray made a total knee replacement the only option for some return to near normalcy. Scheduling a total knee replacement became a no-brainer.

My decision to accept the risks to reap the benefits of surgery is small potatoes compared with the decisions that the parents of a child born with a deformed lower extremity must face. In the Family Partnerships section of the February 2021 issue of Pediatrics you will find a heart-wrenching story of a family who embarked on what turned out to be painful and frustrating journey to lengthen their daughter’s congenitally deficient leg. In their own words, the mother and daughter describe how neither of them were prepared for the pain and life-altering complications the daughter has endured. Influenced by the optimism exuded by surgeons, the family gave little thought to the magnitude of the decision they were being asked to make. One has to wonder in retrospect if a well-timed amputation and prosthesis might have been a better decision. However, the thought of removing an extremity, even one that isn’t fully functional, is not one that most of us like to consider.

Over the last several decades I have read stories about people – usually athletes – born with short or deformed lower extremities who have faced the decision of amputation. I recall one college-age young man who despite his deformity and with the help of a prosthesis was a competitive multisport athlete. However, it became clear that his deformed foot was preventing him from accessing the most advanced prosthetic technology. Although he was highly motivated, he described his struggle with the decision to part with a portion of his body that despite its appearance and dysfunction had been with him since birth. On the other hand, I have read stories of young people who had become so frustrated by their deformity that they were more than eager to undergo amputation despite the concerns of their parents.

Early in my career I encountered a 3-year-old with phocomelia whose family was visiting from out of town and had come to our clinic because his older sibling was sick. The youngster, as I recall, had only one complete extremity, an arm. Like most 3-year-olds, he was driven to explore at breakneck speed. I will never forget watching him streak back and forth the length of our linoleum covered hallway like a crab skittering along the beach. His mother described how she and his well-meaning physicians were struggling unsuccessfully to get him to accept prostheses. Later I learned that his resistance is shared by many of the survivors of the thalidomide disaster who felt that the most frustrating period in their lives came when, again well-meaning, caregivers had tried to make them look and function more normally by fitting them with prostheses.

These anecdotal observations make clear a philosophy that we should have already internalized. In most clinic decisions the patient, pretty much regardless of age, should be a full participant in the process. And, to do this the patient and his or her family must be as informed as possible. Managing the aftermath of a traumatic amputation presents it own special set of challenges, but when it comes to elective amputation or prosthetic application for a congenital deficiency it is dangerous for us to insert our personal bias into the decision making.
 

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 [email protected].

After 15 years of limping and a gradual downhill slide in mobility, recreational walking had become uncomfortable enough that I’ve decided to shed my proudly worn cloak of denial and seek help. Even I could see that the x-ray made a total knee replacement the only option for some return to near normalcy. Scheduling a total knee replacement became a no-brainer.

My decision to accept the risks to reap the benefits of surgery is small potatoes compared with the decisions that the parents of a child born with a deformed lower extremity must face. In the Family Partnerships section of the February 2021 issue of Pediatrics you will find a heart-wrenching story of a family who embarked on what turned out to be painful and frustrating journey to lengthen their daughter’s congenitally deficient leg. In their own words, the mother and daughter describe how neither of them were prepared for the pain and life-altering complications the daughter has endured. Influenced by the optimism exuded by surgeons, the family gave little thought to the magnitude of the decision they were being asked to make. One has to wonder in retrospect if a well-timed amputation and prosthesis might have been a better decision. However, the thought of removing an extremity, even one that isn’t fully functional, is not one that most of us like to consider.

Over the last several decades I have read stories about people – usually athletes – born with short or deformed lower extremities who have faced the decision of amputation. I recall one college-age young man who despite his deformity and with the help of a prosthesis was a competitive multisport athlete. However, it became clear that his deformed foot was preventing him from accessing the most advanced prosthetic technology. Although he was highly motivated, he described his struggle with the decision to part with a portion of his body that despite its appearance and dysfunction had been with him since birth. On the other hand, I have read stories of young people who had become so frustrated by their deformity that they were more than eager to undergo amputation despite the concerns of their parents.

Early in my career I encountered a 3-year-old with phocomelia whose family was visiting from out of town and had come to our clinic because his older sibling was sick. The youngster, as I recall, had only one complete extremity, an arm. Like most 3-year-olds, he was driven to explore at breakneck speed. I will never forget watching him streak back and forth the length of our linoleum covered hallway like a crab skittering along the beach. His mother described how she and his well-meaning physicians were struggling unsuccessfully to get him to accept prostheses. Later I learned that his resistance is shared by many of the survivors of the thalidomide disaster who felt that the most frustrating period in their lives came when, again well-meaning, caregivers had tried to make them look and function more normally by fitting them with prostheses.

These anecdotal observations make clear a philosophy that we should have already internalized. In most clinic decisions the patient, pretty much regardless of age, should be a full participant in the process. And, to do this the patient and his or her family must be as informed as possible. Managing the aftermath of a traumatic amputation presents it own special set of challenges, but when it comes to elective amputation or prosthetic application for a congenital deficiency it is dangerous for us to insert our personal bias into the decision making.
 

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 [email protected].

In a time when this country is struggling to find topics on which we can achieve broad consensus, the question of whether in-class learning is important stands as an outlier. Parents, teachers, students, and pediatricians all agree that having children learn in a social, face-to-face environment is critical to their education and mental health. Because school has become a de facto daycare source for many families, employers have joined in the chorus supporting a return to in-class education.

Of course, beyond that basic point of agreement the myriad of questions relating to when and how that return to the educational norm can be achieved we divide into groups with almost as many answers as there are questions. Part of the problem stems from the national leadership vacuum that fed the confusion. In this void the topic of school reopening has become politicized.

On Jan. 5, 2021, the American Academy of Pediatrics released an updated interim COVID-19 Guidance for Safe Schools at services.aap.org. It is a thorough and well thought out document that should function as a roadmap for communities and pediatricians who serve as official and unofficial advisers to their local school departments. At the very outset it reminds us that “school transmission mirrors but does not drive community transmission.”

Unfortunately, timing is everything and while the document’s salient points received some media attention it was mostly buried by the tsunami of press coverage in the wake of the storming of the Capitol the next day and the postinauguration reshuffling of the federal government. Even if it had been released on one of those seldom seen quiet news days, I fear the document’s message encouraging the return to in-class learning would have still not received the attention it deserved.

The lack of a high-visibility celebrity spokesperson and a system of short-tenure presidencies puts the AAP at a disadvantage when it comes to getting its message across to a national audience. The advocacy role filters down to those of us in our own communities who must convince school boards that not only is in-class learning critical but there are safe ways to do it.

In some communities the timing of return to in-class learning may pit pediatricians against teachers. Usually, these two groups share an enthusiastic advocacy for children. However, facing what has up to this point been a poorly defined health risk, teachers are understandably resistant to return to the classroom although they acknowledge its importance.

Armed with the AAP’s guidance document, pediatricians should encourage school boards and state and local health departments to look closely at the epidemiologic evidence and consider creative ways to prioritize teachers for what currently are limited and erratic vaccine supplies. Strategies might include offering vaccines to teachers based strictly on their age and/or health status. However, teachers and in-class education are so critical to the educational process and the national economy that an open offer to all teachers makes more sense.

While some states have already prioritized teachers for vaccines, the AAP must continue to speak loudly that in-class education is critical and urge all states to do what is necessary to make teachers feel safe to return to the classroom.

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 [email protected].

In a time when this country is struggling to find topics on which we can achieve broad consensus, the question of whether in-class learning is important stands as an outlier. Parents, teachers, students, and pediatricians all agree that having children learn in a social, face-to-face environment is critical to their education and mental health. Because school has become a de facto daycare source for many families, employers have joined in the chorus supporting a return to in-class education.

Of course, beyond that basic point of agreement the myriad of questions relating to when and how that return to the educational norm can be achieved we divide into groups with almost as many answers as there are questions. Part of the problem stems from the national leadership vacuum that fed the confusion. In this void the topic of school reopening has become politicized.

On Jan. 5, 2021, the American Academy of Pediatrics released an updated interim COVID-19 Guidance for Safe Schools at services.aap.org. It is a thorough and well thought out document that should function as a roadmap for communities and pediatricians who serve as official and unofficial advisers to their local school departments. At the very outset it reminds us that “school transmission mirrors but does not drive community transmission.”

Unfortunately, timing is everything and while the document’s salient points received some media attention it was mostly buried by the tsunami of press coverage in the wake of the storming of the Capitol the next day and the postinauguration reshuffling of the federal government. Even if it had been released on one of those seldom seen quiet news days, I fear the document’s message encouraging the return to in-class learning would have still not received the attention it deserved.

The lack of a high-visibility celebrity spokesperson and a system of short-tenure presidencies puts the AAP at a disadvantage when it comes to getting its message across to a national audience. The advocacy role filters down to those of us in our own communities who must convince school boards that not only is in-class learning critical but there are safe ways to do it.

In some communities the timing of return to in-class learning may pit pediatricians against teachers. Usually, these two groups share an enthusiastic advocacy for children. However, facing what has up to this point been a poorly defined health risk, teachers are understandably resistant to return to the classroom although they acknowledge its importance.

Armed with the AAP’s guidance document, pediatricians should encourage school boards and state and local health departments to look closely at the epidemiologic evidence and consider creative ways to prioritize teachers for what currently are limited and erratic vaccine supplies. Strategies might include offering vaccines to teachers based strictly on their age and/or health status. However, teachers and in-class education are so critical to the educational process and the national economy that an open offer to all teachers makes more sense.

While some states have already prioritized teachers for vaccines, the AAP must continue to speak loudly that in-class education is critical and urge all states to do what is necessary to make teachers feel safe to return to the classroom.

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 [email protected].

In a time when this country is struggling to find topics on which we can achieve broad consensus, the question of whether in-class learning is important stands as an outlier. Parents, teachers, students, and pediatricians all agree that having children learn in a social, face-to-face environment is critical to their education and mental health. Because school has become a de facto daycare source for many families, employers have joined in the chorus supporting a return to in-class education.

Of course, beyond that basic point of agreement the myriad of questions relating to when and how that return to the educational norm can be achieved we divide into groups with almost as many answers as there are questions. Part of the problem stems from the national leadership vacuum that fed the confusion. In this void the topic of school reopening has become politicized.

On Jan. 5, 2021, the American Academy of Pediatrics released an updated interim COVID-19 Guidance for Safe Schools at services.aap.org. It is a thorough and well thought out document that should function as a roadmap for communities and pediatricians who serve as official and unofficial advisers to their local school departments. At the very outset it reminds us that “school transmission mirrors but does not drive community transmission.”

Unfortunately, timing is everything and while the document’s salient points received some media attention it was mostly buried by the tsunami of press coverage in the wake of the storming of the Capitol the next day and the postinauguration reshuffling of the federal government. Even if it had been released on one of those seldom seen quiet news days, I fear the document’s message encouraging the return to in-class learning would have still not received the attention it deserved.

The lack of a high-visibility celebrity spokesperson and a system of short-tenure presidencies puts the AAP at a disadvantage when it comes to getting its message across to a national audience. The advocacy role filters down to those of us in our own communities who must convince school boards that not only is in-class learning critical but there are safe ways to do it.

In some communities the timing of return to in-class learning may pit pediatricians against teachers. Usually, these two groups share an enthusiastic advocacy for children. However, facing what has up to this point been a poorly defined health risk, teachers are understandably resistant to return to the classroom although they acknowledge its importance.

Armed with the AAP’s guidance document, pediatricians should encourage school boards and state and local health departments to look closely at the epidemiologic evidence and consider creative ways to prioritize teachers for what currently are limited and erratic vaccine supplies. Strategies might include offering vaccines to teachers based strictly on their age and/or health status. However, teachers and in-class education are so critical to the educational process and the national economy that an open offer to all teachers makes more sense.

While some states have already prioritized teachers for vaccines, the AAP must continue to speak loudly that in-class education is critical and urge all states to do what is necessary to make teachers feel safe to return to the classroom.

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 [email protected].

The big news in the Wilkoff household is that Marilyn and I will be celebrating the arrival of a granddog into our nuclear family. Our younger daughter and her husband will be welcoming into their home a golden retriever puppy the first week in March. This may not seem like big news to some families and is certainly a step down on the priority list to the arrival of the four grandchildren that we already claim on our resume. But, you must understand that no one in our family has ever owned a dog.

Although my wife’s family had a dog, she apparently never really bonded with the canine. My pleas and occasional whining from our three children to get a dog were always met with my wife’s concerns about cleanliness and hygiene. We did have an antisocial cat who lived under a bed in the guest room or in the basement. His passing after 16 years when the kids were in college was not an event marked with any emotion beyond relief.

I think I harbored an unspoken concern about how I and our children might respond emotionally and psychologically to the inevitable death of what would likely have become our family’s best friend. Dispatching a belly-up goldfish after a month or two is small potatoes compared to putting down a tail-wagging, frisbee-catching, four-footed member of the family.

It turns out that my concerns about the mental health of our children may not have been unfounded. A recently published study from the Harvard Medical School and Massachusetts General Hospital found that children who had experienced the death of a loved pet were more likely to exhibit symptoms of psychopathology than were those who had loved a pet who was still alive (Crawford et al. Eur Child Adolesc Psychiatry. 2020 Sep 10. doi: 10.1007/s00787-020-01594-5). The observed effect of the loss was more pronounced in boys. There was also no statistical difference between the psychopathology symptoms of those children who had loved and lost and those children who had never loved a pet.

By the time I left for college I had grown up with five different dogs. I had endured the loss of sweet Mary, the boxer, when we moved to a small apartment and had to send her to a “farm.” I had watched 2-year-old Blackie experience a seizure that heralded his fatal bout with distemper. I shared the struggle with my parents as we made the decision to send my much loved inveterate car chasing “Butch” back to the pound.

However, I survived these losses and wonder whether they in some way prepared me for some of the emotional challenges that would come later in life. This study from Harvard sampled only children from birth to age 8 years. For those of us in primary care a more interesting study might be one that looked for any long-term associations between pet loss as a young child with adolescent and adult mental health. With the surge in pet ownership that has surfaced during the pandemic, there should be an abundance of clinical material to mine. The Harvard researchers’ findings should make us aware of the potential for psychopathology in a child who has suffered the loss of a pet. Each family must decide whether the plusses of pet ownership are worth the risk. However, I side with Tennyson who said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
 

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 [email protected].

The big news in the Wilkoff household is that Marilyn and I will be celebrating the arrival of a granddog into our nuclear family. Our younger daughter and her husband will be welcoming into their home a golden retriever puppy the first week in March. This may not seem like big news to some families and is certainly a step down on the priority list to the arrival of the four grandchildren that we already claim on our resume. But, you must understand that no one in our family has ever owned a dog.

Although my wife’s family had a dog, she apparently never really bonded with the canine. My pleas and occasional whining from our three children to get a dog were always met with my wife’s concerns about cleanliness and hygiene. We did have an antisocial cat who lived under a bed in the guest room or in the basement. His passing after 16 years when the kids were in college was not an event marked with any emotion beyond relief.

I think I harbored an unspoken concern about how I and our children might respond emotionally and psychologically to the inevitable death of what would likely have become our family’s best friend. Dispatching a belly-up goldfish after a month or two is small potatoes compared to putting down a tail-wagging, frisbee-catching, four-footed member of the family.

It turns out that my concerns about the mental health of our children may not have been unfounded. A recently published study from the Harvard Medical School and Massachusetts General Hospital found that children who had experienced the death of a loved pet were more likely to exhibit symptoms of psychopathology than were those who had loved a pet who was still alive (Crawford et al. Eur Child Adolesc Psychiatry. 2020 Sep 10. doi: 10.1007/s00787-020-01594-5). The observed effect of the loss was more pronounced in boys. There was also no statistical difference between the psychopathology symptoms of those children who had loved and lost and those children who had never loved a pet.

By the time I left for college I had grown up with five different dogs. I had endured the loss of sweet Mary, the boxer, when we moved to a small apartment and had to send her to a “farm.” I had watched 2-year-old Blackie experience a seizure that heralded his fatal bout with distemper. I shared the struggle with my parents as we made the decision to send my much loved inveterate car chasing “Butch” back to the pound.

However, I survived these losses and wonder whether they in some way prepared me for some of the emotional challenges that would come later in life. This study from Harvard sampled only children from birth to age 8 years. For those of us in primary care a more interesting study might be one that looked for any long-term associations between pet loss as a young child with adolescent and adult mental health. With the surge in pet ownership that has surfaced during the pandemic, there should be an abundance of clinical material to mine. The Harvard researchers’ findings should make us aware of the potential for psychopathology in a child who has suffered the loss of a pet. Each family must decide whether the plusses of pet ownership are worth the risk. However, I side with Tennyson who said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
 

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 [email protected].

The big news in the Wilkoff household is that Marilyn and I will be celebrating the arrival of a granddog into our nuclear family. Our younger daughter and her husband will be welcoming into their home a golden retriever puppy the first week in March. This may not seem like big news to some families and is certainly a step down on the priority list to the arrival of the four grandchildren that we already claim on our resume. But, you must understand that no one in our family has ever owned a dog.

Although my wife’s family had a dog, she apparently never really bonded with the canine. My pleas and occasional whining from our three children to get a dog were always met with my wife’s concerns about cleanliness and hygiene. We did have an antisocial cat who lived under a bed in the guest room or in the basement. His passing after 16 years when the kids were in college was not an event marked with any emotion beyond relief.

I think I harbored an unspoken concern about how I and our children might respond emotionally and psychologically to the inevitable death of what would likely have become our family’s best friend. Dispatching a belly-up goldfish after a month or two is small potatoes compared to putting down a tail-wagging, frisbee-catching, four-footed member of the family.

It turns out that my concerns about the mental health of our children may not have been unfounded. A recently published study from the Harvard Medical School and Massachusetts General Hospital found that children who had experienced the death of a loved pet were more likely to exhibit symptoms of psychopathology than were those who had loved a pet who was still alive (Crawford et al. Eur Child Adolesc Psychiatry. 2020 Sep 10. doi: 10.1007/s00787-020-01594-5). The observed effect of the loss was more pronounced in boys. There was also no statistical difference between the psychopathology symptoms of those children who had loved and lost and those children who had never loved a pet.

By the time I left for college I had grown up with five different dogs. I had endured the loss of sweet Mary, the boxer, when we moved to a small apartment and had to send her to a “farm.” I had watched 2-year-old Blackie experience a seizure that heralded his fatal bout with distemper. I shared the struggle with my parents as we made the decision to send my much loved inveterate car chasing “Butch” back to the pound.

However, I survived these losses and wonder whether they in some way prepared me for some of the emotional challenges that would come later in life. This study from Harvard sampled only children from birth to age 8 years. For those of us in primary care a more interesting study might be one that looked for any long-term associations between pet loss as a young child with adolescent and adult mental health. With the surge in pet ownership that has surfaced during the pandemic, there should be an abundance of clinical material to mine. The Harvard researchers’ findings should make us aware of the potential for psychopathology in a child who has suffered the loss of a pet. Each family must decide whether the plusses of pet ownership are worth the risk. However, I side with Tennyson who said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
 

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 [email protected].

Does the name Bruce Lipton sound familiar to you? Until a few years ago the only bell that it rang with me was that I had a high school classmate named Bruce Lipton. I recall that his father owned the local grocery store and he was one of the most prolific pranksters in a class with a long history of prank playing. If the name dredges up any associations for you it may because you have heard of a PhD biologist who has written and lectured extensively on epigenetics. You may have even read his most widely published book, “The Biology of Belief.” It turns out the Epigenetics Guy and my high school prankster classmate are one and the same.

After decades of separation – he is in California and I’m here in Maine – we have reconnected via Zoom mini reunions that our class has organized to combat the isolation that has descended on us with the pandemic. While I haven’t read his books, I have watched and listened to some of his podcasts and lectures. The devilish twinkle in his eye in the 1950s and 1960s has provided the scaffolding on which he has built a charismatic and persuasive presentation style.

Bruce was no dummy in school but his early career as a cell biologist doing research in stem-cell function was a surprise to all of us. But then high school reunions are often full of surprises and should serve as good reminders of the danger of profiling and pigeon-holing adolescents.

Professor Lipton’s take on epigenetics boils down to the notion that our genome should merely be considered a blueprint and not the final determinant of who we are and what illnesses befall us. His research and observations suggest to him that there are an uncountable number extragenomic factors, including environmental conditions and our belief systems, that can influence how that blueprint is read and the resulting expression of the genes we have inherited.

At face value, Bruce’s basic premise falls very close to some of the conclusions I have toyed with in an attempt to explain what I have observed doing primary care pediatrics. For example, I have trouble blaming the meteoric rise of the ADHD phenomenon on a genetic mutation. I suspect there are likely to be extragenomic forces coming into play, such as sleep deprivation and changing child-rearing practices. In my Oct. 9, 2020, Letters from Maine column I referred to a Swedish twins study that suggested children from a family with a strong history of depression were more likely to develop depression when raised in an adopted family that experienced domestic turmoil. His philosophy also fits with my sense that I have more control over my own health outcomes than many other people.

However, Professor Lipton and I part company (just philosophically that is) when he slips into hyperbole and applies what he terms as the New Biology too broadly. He may be correct that the revolutionary changes which came in the wake of Watson and Crick’s double helix discovery have resulted in a view of pathophysiology that is overly focused on what we are learning about our genome. On the other hand it is refreshing to hear someone with his charismatic and persuasive skills question the status quo.

If you haven’t listened to what he has to say I urge you to browse the Internet and sample some of his talks. I am sure you will find what he has to say stimulating. I doubt you will buy his whole package but I suspect you may find some bits you can agree with.

It still boils down to the old nature versus nurture argument. He’s all in for nurture. I’m still more comfortable straddling the fence.
 

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 [email protected].

Does the name Bruce Lipton sound familiar to you? Until a few years ago the only bell that it rang with me was that I had a high school classmate named Bruce Lipton. I recall that his father owned the local grocery store and he was one of the most prolific pranksters in a class with a long history of prank playing. If the name dredges up any associations for you it may because you have heard of a PhD biologist who has written and lectured extensively on epigenetics. You may have even read his most widely published book, “The Biology of Belief.” It turns out the Epigenetics Guy and my high school prankster classmate are one and the same.

After decades of separation – he is in California and I’m here in Maine – we have reconnected via Zoom mini reunions that our class has organized to combat the isolation that has descended on us with the pandemic. While I haven’t read his books, I have watched and listened to some of his podcasts and lectures. The devilish twinkle in his eye in the 1950s and 1960s has provided the scaffolding on which he has built a charismatic and persuasive presentation style.

Bruce was no dummy in school but his early career as a cell biologist doing research in stem-cell function was a surprise to all of us. But then high school reunions are often full of surprises and should serve as good reminders of the danger of profiling and pigeon-holing adolescents.

Professor Lipton’s take on epigenetics boils down to the notion that our genome should merely be considered a blueprint and not the final determinant of who we are and what illnesses befall us. His research and observations suggest to him that there are an uncountable number extragenomic factors, including environmental conditions and our belief systems, that can influence how that blueprint is read and the resulting expression of the genes we have inherited.

At face value, Bruce’s basic premise falls very close to some of the conclusions I have toyed with in an attempt to explain what I have observed doing primary care pediatrics. For example, I have trouble blaming the meteoric rise of the ADHD phenomenon on a genetic mutation. I suspect there are likely to be extragenomic forces coming into play, such as sleep deprivation and changing child-rearing practices. In my Oct. 9, 2020, Letters from Maine column I referred to a Swedish twins study that suggested children from a family with a strong history of depression were more likely to develop depression when raised in an adopted family that experienced domestic turmoil. His philosophy also fits with my sense that I have more control over my own health outcomes than many other people.

However, Professor Lipton and I part company (just philosophically that is) when he slips into hyperbole and applies what he terms as the New Biology too broadly. He may be correct that the revolutionary changes which came in the wake of Watson and Crick’s double helix discovery have resulted in a view of pathophysiology that is overly focused on what we are learning about our genome. On the other hand it is refreshing to hear someone with his charismatic and persuasive skills question the status quo.

If you haven’t listened to what he has to say I urge you to browse the Internet and sample some of his talks. I am sure you will find what he has to say stimulating. I doubt you will buy his whole package but I suspect you may find some bits you can agree with.

It still boils down to the old nature versus nurture argument. He’s all in for nurture. I’m still more comfortable straddling the fence.
 

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 [email protected].

Does the name Bruce Lipton sound familiar to you? Until a few years ago the only bell that it rang with me was that I had a high school classmate named Bruce Lipton. I recall that his father owned the local grocery store and he was one of the most prolific pranksters in a class with a long history of prank playing. If the name dredges up any associations for you it may because you have heard of a PhD biologist who has written and lectured extensively on epigenetics. You may have even read his most widely published book, “The Biology of Belief.” It turns out the Epigenetics Guy and my high school prankster classmate are one and the same.

After decades of separation – he is in California and I’m here in Maine – we have reconnected via Zoom mini reunions that our class has organized to combat the isolation that has descended on us with the pandemic. While I haven’t read his books, I have watched and listened to some of his podcasts and lectures. The devilish twinkle in his eye in the 1950s and 1960s has provided the scaffolding on which he has built a charismatic and persuasive presentation style.

Bruce was no dummy in school but his early career as a cell biologist doing research in stem-cell function was a surprise to all of us. But then high school reunions are often full of surprises and should serve as good reminders of the danger of profiling and pigeon-holing adolescents.

Professor Lipton’s take on epigenetics boils down to the notion that our genome should merely be considered a blueprint and not the final determinant of who we are and what illnesses befall us. His research and observations suggest to him that there are an uncountable number extragenomic factors, including environmental conditions and our belief systems, that can influence how that blueprint is read and the resulting expression of the genes we have inherited.

At face value, Bruce’s basic premise falls very close to some of the conclusions I have toyed with in an attempt to explain what I have observed doing primary care pediatrics. For example, I have trouble blaming the meteoric rise of the ADHD phenomenon on a genetic mutation. I suspect there are likely to be extragenomic forces coming into play, such as sleep deprivation and changing child-rearing practices. In my Oct. 9, 2020, Letters from Maine column I referred to a Swedish twins study that suggested children from a family with a strong history of depression were more likely to develop depression when raised in an adopted family that experienced domestic turmoil. His philosophy also fits with my sense that I have more control over my own health outcomes than many other people.

However, Professor Lipton and I part company (just philosophically that is) when he slips into hyperbole and applies what he terms as the New Biology too broadly. He may be correct that the revolutionary changes which came in the wake of Watson and Crick’s double helix discovery have resulted in a view of pathophysiology that is overly focused on what we are learning about our genome. On the other hand it is refreshing to hear someone with his charismatic and persuasive skills question the status quo.

If you haven’t listened to what he has to say I urge you to browse the Internet and sample some of his talks. I am sure you will find what he has to say stimulating. I doubt you will buy his whole package but I suspect you may find some bits you can agree with.

It still boils down to the old nature versus nurture argument. He’s all in for nurture. I’m still more comfortable straddling the fence.
 

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 [email protected].

Finding the current domestic and global situations too disheartening to write about, I have decided for the moment to take the long view in hopes of finding something to stimulate your imaginations. It appears that we have several vaccines effective against SARS-CoV-2 if not in your hands at the moment at least in someone’s freezer or at the very least somewhere near beginning of their journey in the production pipeline. It may be a year of more but thanks to the vaccines and herd immunity there will be a time when parents may feel more comfortable about bringing their children into your office. How are you going to dial back your office routine to something even vaguely familiar?

To keep your office afloat financially you have probably been forced to adopt and adapt telemedicine strategies to your practice style. Prior to the pandemic you may have been among the few who were actively experimenting with practicing remotely. But, it is more likely that you had given little serious thought to how you would manage your patients without them being physically present.

You probably carried in your mind a list of symptoms and complaints which you had promised yourself that you would never treat without first laying eyes and hands on the patient. You may have even codified this list into a set of guidelines that you included in the office manual for your nurses, assistants, and receptionists. You may have looked askance at some of your colleagues whom you felt too often treated their patients (and yours when they were covering) based on what seemed to be scanty information gleaned from a phone call. The impropriety of this kind of clinical behavior may have even come up at staff meetings or at least been the topic of hallway discussions.

How did your list of complaints that demanded an in-person visit evolve? I suspect that in large part it was formed as you modeled the behavior of your mentors and teachers. In some cases you may have heard of tragic cases in which a child had died or suffered serious consequences of being treated without an in-person evaluation. In many cases you were following a tradition or ethic that said treating in certain circumstances without an exam just wasn’t done.

Have the realities of the pandemic forced you to alter your list of must-see-before-I’ll-treat complaints? Have you found yourself calling in antibiotic prescriptions for children with ear pain who 1 year ago you would have told to come in for an office visit? Are you treating “strep throats” without a rapid strep test or culture? How many stimulant prescriptions have you refilled for children who haven’t been reevaluated in the office in over a year? How are you going to manage the tsunami of requests for sports physicals once the junior high and high school teams are allowed to return to action? You probably won’t have the time to examine all of the sports candidates who show up in your office with crumpled forms recently retrieved from crumb-filled backpacks.

Where are you going to reset the bar as the pandemic lifts and the barriers that have prevented patients from coming to your office over the last year or year and a half recede? Have you realized that many of your office visits in prepandemic times were unnecessary? How many children with otitis really needed to be followed up with an ear recheck visit? Which children with sore throats and a fever needed to be examined? Was a yearly exam really necessary for a high school sophomore who wanted to play basketball? Has your comfort zone widened to include more patient complaints that can be managed without a face to face encounter? Where will telemedicine fit into the mix?

At some time in the next 12 months you will have to recalibrate and reset the bar. It will probably be a gradual process that in large part can be molded by the responses of the families who may have also come to realize that seeing you in the office isn’t quite as necessary as you both may have thought it was.
 

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 [email protected]

Finding the current domestic and global situations too disheartening to write about, I have decided for the moment to take the long view in hopes of finding something to stimulate your imaginations. It appears that we have several vaccines effective against SARS-CoV-2 if not in your hands at the moment at least in someone’s freezer or at the very least somewhere near beginning of their journey in the production pipeline. It may be a year of more but thanks to the vaccines and herd immunity there will be a time when parents may feel more comfortable about bringing their children into your office. How are you going to dial back your office routine to something even vaguely familiar?

To keep your office afloat financially you have probably been forced to adopt and adapt telemedicine strategies to your practice style. Prior to the pandemic you may have been among the few who were actively experimenting with practicing remotely. But, it is more likely that you had given little serious thought to how you would manage your patients without them being physically present.

You probably carried in your mind a list of symptoms and complaints which you had promised yourself that you would never treat without first laying eyes and hands on the patient. You may have even codified this list into a set of guidelines that you included in the office manual for your nurses, assistants, and receptionists. You may have looked askance at some of your colleagues whom you felt too often treated their patients (and yours when they were covering) based on what seemed to be scanty information gleaned from a phone call. The impropriety of this kind of clinical behavior may have even come up at staff meetings or at least been the topic of hallway discussions.

How did your list of complaints that demanded an in-person visit evolve? I suspect that in large part it was formed as you modeled the behavior of your mentors and teachers. In some cases you may have heard of tragic cases in which a child had died or suffered serious consequences of being treated without an in-person evaluation. In many cases you were following a tradition or ethic that said treating in certain circumstances without an exam just wasn’t done.

Have the realities of the pandemic forced you to alter your list of must-see-before-I’ll-treat complaints? Have you found yourself calling in antibiotic prescriptions for children with ear pain who 1 year ago you would have told to come in for an office visit? Are you treating “strep throats” without a rapid strep test or culture? How many stimulant prescriptions have you refilled for children who haven’t been reevaluated in the office in over a year? How are you going to manage the tsunami of requests for sports physicals once the junior high and high school teams are allowed to return to action? You probably won’t have the time to examine all of the sports candidates who show up in your office with crumpled forms recently retrieved from crumb-filled backpacks.

Where are you going to reset the bar as the pandemic lifts and the barriers that have prevented patients from coming to your office over the last year or year and a half recede? Have you realized that many of your office visits in prepandemic times were unnecessary? How many children with otitis really needed to be followed up with an ear recheck visit? Which children with sore throats and a fever needed to be examined? Was a yearly exam really necessary for a high school sophomore who wanted to play basketball? Has your comfort zone widened to include more patient complaints that can be managed without a face to face encounter? Where will telemedicine fit into the mix?

At some time in the next 12 months you will have to recalibrate and reset the bar. It will probably be a gradual process that in large part can be molded by the responses of the families who may have also come to realize that seeing you in the office isn’t quite as necessary as you both may have thought it was.
 

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 [email protected]

Finding the current domestic and global situations too disheartening to write about, I have decided for the moment to take the long view in hopes of finding something to stimulate your imaginations. It appears that we have several vaccines effective against SARS-CoV-2 if not in your hands at the moment at least in someone’s freezer or at the very least somewhere near beginning of their journey in the production pipeline. It may be a year of more but thanks to the vaccines and herd immunity there will be a time when parents may feel more comfortable about bringing their children into your office. How are you going to dial back your office routine to something even vaguely familiar?

To keep your office afloat financially you have probably been forced to adopt and adapt telemedicine strategies to your practice style. Prior to the pandemic you may have been among the few who were actively experimenting with practicing remotely. But, it is more likely that you had given little serious thought to how you would manage your patients without them being physically present.

You probably carried in your mind a list of symptoms and complaints which you had promised yourself that you would never treat without first laying eyes and hands on the patient. You may have even codified this list into a set of guidelines that you included in the office manual for your nurses, assistants, and receptionists. You may have looked askance at some of your colleagues whom you felt too often treated their patients (and yours when they were covering) based on what seemed to be scanty information gleaned from a phone call. The impropriety of this kind of clinical behavior may have even come up at staff meetings or at least been the topic of hallway discussions.

How did your list of complaints that demanded an in-person visit evolve? I suspect that in large part it was formed as you modeled the behavior of your mentors and teachers. In some cases you may have heard of tragic cases in which a child had died or suffered serious consequences of being treated without an in-person evaluation. In many cases you were following a tradition or ethic that said treating in certain circumstances without an exam just wasn’t done.

Have the realities of the pandemic forced you to alter your list of must-see-before-I’ll-treat complaints? Have you found yourself calling in antibiotic prescriptions for children with ear pain who 1 year ago you would have told to come in for an office visit? Are you treating “strep throats” without a rapid strep test or culture? How many stimulant prescriptions have you refilled for children who haven’t been reevaluated in the office in over a year? How are you going to manage the tsunami of requests for sports physicals once the junior high and high school teams are allowed to return to action? You probably won’t have the time to examine all of the sports candidates who show up in your office with crumpled forms recently retrieved from crumb-filled backpacks.

Where are you going to reset the bar as the pandemic lifts and the barriers that have prevented patients from coming to your office over the last year or year and a half recede? Have you realized that many of your office visits in prepandemic times were unnecessary? How many children with otitis really needed to be followed up with an ear recheck visit? Which children with sore throats and a fever needed to be examined? Was a yearly exam really necessary for a high school sophomore who wanted to play basketball? Has your comfort zone widened to include more patient complaints that can be managed without a face to face encounter? Where will telemedicine fit into the mix?

At some time in the next 12 months you will have to recalibrate and reset the bar. It will probably be a gradual process that in large part can be molded by the responses of the families who may have also come to realize that seeing you in the office isn’t quite as necessary as you both may have thought it was.
 

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 [email protected]

Do you accept new families into your practice who have already chosen to not have their children immunized? What about families who have been in your practice for several months or years? In 2016 the American Academy of Pediatrics published a clinical report in which it stated that, under some circumstances, dismissing families who refuse to vaccinate is permissible. Have you felt sufficiently supported by that statement and dismissed any families after multiple attempts at education on your part?

In a Pediatrics Perspective article in the December issue of Pediatrics, two philosophers and a physician make the argument that, while in some situations dismissing a family who refuses vaccines may be “an ethically acceptable option” refusing to accept a family with the same philosophy is not. It is an interesting paper and worth reading regardless of whether or not you already accept and continue to tolerate vaccine deniers in your practice.

The Pediatrics Perspective is certainly not the last word on the ethics of caring for families who deny their children care that we believe is critical to their health and the welfare of the community at large. There has been a lot of discussion about the issue but little has been written about how we as the physicians on the front line are coping emotionally with what the authors of the paper call the “burdens associated with treating” families who refuse to follow our guidance.

It is hard not to feel angry when a family you have invested valuable office time in discussing the benefits and safety of vaccines continues to disregard what you see as the facts. The time you have spent with them is not just income-generating time for your practice, it is time stolen from other families who are more willing to follow your recommendations. In how many visits will you continue to raise the issue? Unless I saw a glimmer of hope I would usually stop after two wasted encounters. But, the issue would still linger as the elephant in the examination room for as long as I continued to see the patient.

How have you expressed your anger? Have you been argumentative or rude? You may have been able maintain your composure and remain civil and appear caring, but I suspect the anger is still gnawing at you. And, there is still the frustration and feeling of impotence. You may have questioned your ability as an educator. You should get over that notion quickly. There is ample evidence that most vaccine deniers are not going to be convinced by even the most carefully presented information. I suggest you leave it to others to try their hands at education. Let them invest their time while you tend to the needs of your other patients. You can try being a fear monger and, while fear can be effective, you have better ways to spend your office day than telling horror stories.

If vaccine denial makes you feel powerless, you should get over that pretty quickly as well and accept the fact that you are simply an advisor. If you believe that most of the families in your practice are following your recommendations as though you had presented them on stone tablets, it is time for a wakeup call.

Finally, there is the most troubling emotion associated with vaccine refusal and that is fear, the fear of being sued. Establishing a relationship with a family is one that requires mutual trust and certainly vaccine refusal will put that trust in question, particularly if you have done a less than adequate job of hiding your anger and frustration with their unfortunate decision.

For now, vaccine refusal is just another one of those crosses that those of us in primary care must bear together wearing the best face we can put forward. That doesn’t mean we can’t share those emotions with our peers. Misery does love company.
 

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 [email protected].

Do you accept new families into your practice who have already chosen to not have their children immunized? What about families who have been in your practice for several months or years? In 2016 the American Academy of Pediatrics published a clinical report in which it stated that, under some circumstances, dismissing families who refuse to vaccinate is permissible. Have you felt sufficiently supported by that statement and dismissed any families after multiple attempts at education on your part?

In a Pediatrics Perspective article in the December issue of Pediatrics, two philosophers and a physician make the argument that, while in some situations dismissing a family who refuses vaccines may be “an ethically acceptable option” refusing to accept a family with the same philosophy is not. It is an interesting paper and worth reading regardless of whether or not you already accept and continue to tolerate vaccine deniers in your practice.

The Pediatrics Perspective is certainly not the last word on the ethics of caring for families who deny their children care that we believe is critical to their health and the welfare of the community at large. There has been a lot of discussion about the issue but little has been written about how we as the physicians on the front line are coping emotionally with what the authors of the paper call the “burdens associated with treating” families who refuse to follow our guidance.

It is hard not to feel angry when a family you have invested valuable office time in discussing the benefits and safety of vaccines continues to disregard what you see as the facts. The time you have spent with them is not just income-generating time for your practice, it is time stolen from other families who are more willing to follow your recommendations. In how many visits will you continue to raise the issue? Unless I saw a glimmer of hope I would usually stop after two wasted encounters. But, the issue would still linger as the elephant in the examination room for as long as I continued to see the patient.

How have you expressed your anger? Have you been argumentative or rude? You may have been able maintain your composure and remain civil and appear caring, but I suspect the anger is still gnawing at you. And, there is still the frustration and feeling of impotence. You may have questioned your ability as an educator. You should get over that notion quickly. There is ample evidence that most vaccine deniers are not going to be convinced by even the most carefully presented information. I suggest you leave it to others to try their hands at education. Let them invest their time while you tend to the needs of your other patients. You can try being a fear monger and, while fear can be effective, you have better ways to spend your office day than telling horror stories.

If vaccine denial makes you feel powerless, you should get over that pretty quickly as well and accept the fact that you are simply an advisor. If you believe that most of the families in your practice are following your recommendations as though you had presented them on stone tablets, it is time for a wakeup call.

Finally, there is the most troubling emotion associated with vaccine refusal and that is fear, the fear of being sued. Establishing a relationship with a family is one that requires mutual trust and certainly vaccine refusal will put that trust in question, particularly if you have done a less than adequate job of hiding your anger and frustration with their unfortunate decision.

For now, vaccine refusal is just another one of those crosses that those of us in primary care must bear together wearing the best face we can put forward. That doesn’t mean we can’t share those emotions with our peers. Misery does love company.
 

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 [email protected].

Do you accept new families into your practice who have already chosen to not have their children immunized? What about families who have been in your practice for several months or years? In 2016 the American Academy of Pediatrics published a clinical report in which it stated that, under some circumstances, dismissing families who refuse to vaccinate is permissible. Have you felt sufficiently supported by that statement and dismissed any families after multiple attempts at education on your part?

In a Pediatrics Perspective article in the December issue of Pediatrics, two philosophers and a physician make the argument that, while in some situations dismissing a family who refuses vaccines may be “an ethically acceptable option” refusing to accept a family with the same philosophy is not. It is an interesting paper and worth reading regardless of whether or not you already accept and continue to tolerate vaccine deniers in your practice.

The Pediatrics Perspective is certainly not the last word on the ethics of caring for families who deny their children care that we believe is critical to their health and the welfare of the community at large. There has been a lot of discussion about the issue but little has been written about how we as the physicians on the front line are coping emotionally with what the authors of the paper call the “burdens associated with treating” families who refuse to follow our guidance.

It is hard not to feel angry when a family you have invested valuable office time in discussing the benefits and safety of vaccines continues to disregard what you see as the facts. The time you have spent with them is not just income-generating time for your practice, it is time stolen from other families who are more willing to follow your recommendations. In how many visits will you continue to raise the issue? Unless I saw a glimmer of hope I would usually stop after two wasted encounters. But, the issue would still linger as the elephant in the examination room for as long as I continued to see the patient.

How have you expressed your anger? Have you been argumentative or rude? You may have been able maintain your composure and remain civil and appear caring, but I suspect the anger is still gnawing at you. And, there is still the frustration and feeling of impotence. You may have questioned your ability as an educator. You should get over that notion quickly. There is ample evidence that most vaccine deniers are not going to be convinced by even the most carefully presented information. I suggest you leave it to others to try their hands at education. Let them invest their time while you tend to the needs of your other patients. You can try being a fear monger and, while fear can be effective, you have better ways to spend your office day than telling horror stories.

If vaccine denial makes you feel powerless, you should get over that pretty quickly as well and accept the fact that you are simply an advisor. If you believe that most of the families in your practice are following your recommendations as though you had presented them on stone tablets, it is time for a wakeup call.

Finally, there is the most troubling emotion associated with vaccine refusal and that is fear, the fear of being sued. Establishing a relationship with a family is one that requires mutual trust and certainly vaccine refusal will put that trust in question, particularly if you have done a less than adequate job of hiding your anger and frustration with their unfortunate decision.

For now, vaccine refusal is just another one of those crosses that those of us in primary care must bear together wearing the best face we can put forward. That doesn’t mean we can’t share those emotions with our peers. Misery does love company.
 

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 [email protected].

In a recent New York Times opinion article, author Aubrey Gordon claims that since a visit to her pediatrician in fourth grade she has felt like an “enemy combatant in the nation’s war on childhood obesity.” (“Leave Fat Kids Alone,” Nov. 13, 2020).

At that unfortunate encounter, she recalls being told that “You’ll be thin and beautiful ... If you can just stay the same weight.” In retrospect she feels that the comment by her well-meaning but misguided physician “planted the seeds of depression” that have plagued her ever since.

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 [email protected].

In a recent New York Times opinion article, author Aubrey Gordon claims that since a visit to her pediatrician in fourth grade she has felt like an “enemy combatant in the nation’s war on childhood obesity.” (“Leave Fat Kids Alone,” Nov. 13, 2020).

At that unfortunate encounter, she recalls being told that “You’ll be thin and beautiful ... If you can just stay the same weight.” In retrospect she feels that the comment by her well-meaning but misguided physician “planted the seeds of depression” that have plagued her ever since.

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 [email protected].

In a recent New York Times opinion article, author Aubrey Gordon claims that since a visit to her pediatrician in fourth grade she has felt like an “enemy combatant in the nation’s war on childhood obesity.” (“Leave Fat Kids Alone,” Nov. 13, 2020).

At that unfortunate encounter, she recalls being told that “You’ll be thin and beautiful ... If you can just stay the same weight.” In retrospect she feels that the comment by her well-meaning but misguided physician “planted the seeds of depression” that have plagued her ever since.

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 [email protected].

Isolation in response to COVID-19 pandemic has driven many people to reestablish long forgotten connections between old friends and geographically distant relatives. Fed by the ease in which Zoom and other electronic miracles can bring once familiar voices and faces into our homes, we no longer need to wait until our high school or college reunions to reconnect.

The Class of 1962 at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School has always attracted an unusually large number of attendees at its reunions, and its exuberant response to pandemic-fueled mini Zoom reunions is not surprising. With each virtual gathering we learn and relearn more about each other. I had always felt that because my birthday was in December that I was among the very youngest in my class. (New York’s school enrollment calendar cutoff is in December.) However, I recently learned that some of my classmates were even younger, having been born in the following spring.

This revelation prompted a discussion among the younger septuagenarians about whether we felt that our relative immaturity, at least as measured by the calendar, affected us. It was generally agreed that for the women, being younger seemed to present little problem. For, the men there were a few for whom immaturity put them at an athletic disadvantage. But, there was uniform agreement that social immaturity made dating an uncomfortable adventure. No one felt that his or her immaturity placed them at an academic disadvantage. Of course, all of these observations are heavily colored by the bias of those who have chosen to maintain contact with classmates.

A recent flurry of papers and commentaries about relative age at school entry and the diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder prompted me to ask my Zoom mates if they could recall anyone whom they would label as having exhibited the behavior we have all come to associate with ADHD (Vuori M et al. Children’s relative age and ADHD medication use: A Finnish population-based study. Pediatrics 2020 Oct. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-4046, and Butter EM. Keeping relative age effects and ADHD care in context. Pediatrics. 2020;146[4]:e2020022798).

We could all recall classmates who struggled academically and seemed to not be paying attention. However, when one includes the hyperactivity descriptor we couldn’t recall anyone whose in-classroom physical activity drew our attention. Of course, there were many shared anecdotes about note passing, spitball throwing, and out-of-class shenanigans. But, from the perspective of behavior that disrupted the classroom there were very few. And, not surprisingly, given the intervening 6 decades, none of us could make an association between immaturity and the behavior.

While I have very few memories of what happened when I was in grade school, many of my classmates have vivid recollections of events both mundane and dramatic even as far back as first and second grade. Why do none of them recall classmates whose behavior would in current terminology be labeled as ADHD?

Were most of us that age bouncing off the walls and so there were no outliers? Were the teachers more tolerant because they expected that many children, particularly the younger ones, would be more physically active? Or, maybe we arrived at school, even those who were chronologically less mature, having already been settled down by home environments that neither fostered nor tolerated hyperactivity?

If you ask a pediatrician over the age of 70 if he or she recalls being taught anything about ADHD in medical school or seeing any children in his or her first years of practice who would fit the current diagnostic criteria, you will see them simply shrug. ADHD was simply not on our radar in the 1970s and 1980s. And it’s not because radar hadn’t been invented. We pediatricians were paying attention, and I trust in my high school classmates’ observations. I am sure there were isolated cases that could easily have been labeled as ADHD if the term had existed. But, the volume of hyperactive children a pediatrician sees today in the course of a normal office day just didn’t exist.

I have trouble believing that this dramatic increase in frequency is the result of accumulating genetic damage from Teflon cookware or climate change or air pollution. Although I am open to any serious attempt to explain the phenomenon I think we should look first into the home environment in which children are being raised. Sleep schedules, activity, and amusement opportunities as well as discipline styles – just to name a few – are far different now than before the ADHD diagnosis overtook the landscape.
 

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 [email protected].

Isolation in response to COVID-19 pandemic has driven many people to reestablish long forgotten connections between old friends and geographically distant relatives. Fed by the ease in which Zoom and other electronic miracles can bring once familiar voices and faces into our homes, we no longer need to wait until our high school or college reunions to reconnect.

The Class of 1962 at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School has always attracted an unusually large number of attendees at its reunions, and its exuberant response to pandemic-fueled mini Zoom reunions is not surprising. With each virtual gathering we learn and relearn more about each other. I had always felt that because my birthday was in December that I was among the very youngest in my class. (New York’s school enrollment calendar cutoff is in December.) However, I recently learned that some of my classmates were even younger, having been born in the following spring.

This revelation prompted a discussion among the younger septuagenarians about whether we felt that our relative immaturity, at least as measured by the calendar, affected us. It was generally agreed that for the women, being younger seemed to present little problem. For, the men there were a few for whom immaturity put them at an athletic disadvantage. But, there was uniform agreement that social immaturity made dating an uncomfortable adventure. No one felt that his or her immaturity placed them at an academic disadvantage. Of course, all of these observations are heavily colored by the bias of those who have chosen to maintain contact with classmates.

A recent flurry of papers and commentaries about relative age at school entry and the diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder prompted me to ask my Zoom mates if they could recall anyone whom they would label as having exhibited the behavior we have all come to associate with ADHD (Vuori M et al. Children’s relative age and ADHD medication use: A Finnish population-based study. Pediatrics 2020 Oct. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-4046, and Butter EM. Keeping relative age effects and ADHD care in context. Pediatrics. 2020;146[4]:e2020022798).

We could all recall classmates who struggled academically and seemed to not be paying attention. However, when one includes the hyperactivity descriptor we couldn’t recall anyone whose in-classroom physical activity drew our attention. Of course, there were many shared anecdotes about note passing, spitball throwing, and out-of-class shenanigans. But, from the perspective of behavior that disrupted the classroom there were very few. And, not surprisingly, given the intervening 6 decades, none of us could make an association between immaturity and the behavior.

While I have very few memories of what happened when I was in grade school, many of my classmates have vivid recollections of events both mundane and dramatic even as far back as first and second grade. Why do none of them recall classmates whose behavior would in current terminology be labeled as ADHD?

Were most of us that age bouncing off the walls and so there were no outliers? Were the teachers more tolerant because they expected that many children, particularly the younger ones, would be more physically active? Or, maybe we arrived at school, even those who were chronologically less mature, having already been settled down by home environments that neither fostered nor tolerated hyperactivity?

If you ask a pediatrician over the age of 70 if he or she recalls being taught anything about ADHD in medical school or seeing any children in his or her first years of practice who would fit the current diagnostic criteria, you will see them simply shrug. ADHD was simply not on our radar in the 1970s and 1980s. And it’s not because radar hadn’t been invented. We pediatricians were paying attention, and I trust in my high school classmates’ observations. I am sure there were isolated cases that could easily have been labeled as ADHD if the term had existed. But, the volume of hyperactive children a pediatrician sees today in the course of a normal office day just didn’t exist.

I have trouble believing that this dramatic increase in frequency is the result of accumulating genetic damage from Teflon cookware or climate change or air pollution. Although I am open to any serious attempt to explain the phenomenon I think we should look first into the home environment in which children are being raised. Sleep schedules, activity, and amusement opportunities as well as discipline styles – just to name a few – are far different now than before the ADHD diagnosis overtook the landscape.
 

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 [email protected].

Isolation in response to COVID-19 pandemic has driven many people to reestablish long forgotten connections between old friends and geographically distant relatives. Fed by the ease in which Zoom and other electronic miracles can bring once familiar voices and faces into our homes, we no longer need to wait until our high school or college reunions to reconnect.

The Class of 1962 at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School has always attracted an unusually large number of attendees at its reunions, and its exuberant response to pandemic-fueled mini Zoom reunions is not surprising. With each virtual gathering we learn and relearn more about each other. I had always felt that because my birthday was in December that I was among the very youngest in my class. (New York’s school enrollment calendar cutoff is in December.) However, I recently learned that some of my classmates were even younger, having been born in the following spring.

This revelation prompted a discussion among the younger septuagenarians about whether we felt that our relative immaturity, at least as measured by the calendar, affected us. It was generally agreed that for the women, being younger seemed to present little problem. For, the men there were a few for whom immaturity put them at an athletic disadvantage. But, there was uniform agreement that social immaturity made dating an uncomfortable adventure. No one felt that his or her immaturity placed them at an academic disadvantage. Of course, all of these observations are heavily colored by the bias of those who have chosen to maintain contact with classmates.

A recent flurry of papers and commentaries about relative age at school entry and the diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder prompted me to ask my Zoom mates if they could recall anyone whom they would label as having exhibited the behavior we have all come to associate with ADHD (Vuori M et al. Children’s relative age and ADHD medication use: A Finnish population-based study. Pediatrics 2020 Oct. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-4046, and Butter EM. Keeping relative age effects and ADHD care in context. Pediatrics. 2020;146[4]:e2020022798).

We could all recall classmates who struggled academically and seemed to not be paying attention. However, when one includes the hyperactivity descriptor we couldn’t recall anyone whose in-classroom physical activity drew our attention. Of course, there were many shared anecdotes about note passing, spitball throwing, and out-of-class shenanigans. But, from the perspective of behavior that disrupted the classroom there were very few. And, not surprisingly, given the intervening 6 decades, none of us could make an association between immaturity and the behavior.

While I have very few memories of what happened when I was in grade school, many of my classmates have vivid recollections of events both mundane and dramatic even as far back as first and second grade. Why do none of them recall classmates whose behavior would in current terminology be labeled as ADHD?

Were most of us that age bouncing off the walls and so there were no outliers? Were the teachers more tolerant because they expected that many children, particularly the younger ones, would be more physically active? Or, maybe we arrived at school, even those who were chronologically less mature, having already been settled down by home environments that neither fostered nor tolerated hyperactivity?

If you ask a pediatrician over the age of 70 if he or she recalls being taught anything about ADHD in medical school or seeing any children in his or her first years of practice who would fit the current diagnostic criteria, you will see them simply shrug. ADHD was simply not on our radar in the 1970s and 1980s. And it’s not because radar hadn’t been invented. We pediatricians were paying attention, and I trust in my high school classmates’ observations. I am sure there were isolated cases that could easily have been labeled as ADHD if the term had existed. But, the volume of hyperactive children a pediatrician sees today in the course of a normal office day just didn’t exist.

I have trouble believing that this dramatic increase in frequency is the result of accumulating genetic damage from Teflon cookware or climate change or air pollution. Although I am open to any serious attempt to explain the phenomenon I think we should look first into the home environment in which children are being raised. Sleep schedules, activity, and amusement opportunities as well as discipline styles – just to name a few – are far different now than before the ADHD diagnosis overtook the landscape.
 

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 [email protected].

It’s not unusual when I run into a former patient that I am addressed as “Doctor” Wilkoff. I guess that is to be expected because when I was in practice I seldom introduced myself as Will. However, I will admit now that I never quite felt comfortable with the “Doctor” label. Today, if you addressed me as “Doctor” I would correct you and refer to myself as the “ex-Doctor Wilkoff.”

The term doctor derived from the Latin word to teach and eventually morphed into an academic title. In common parlance it is sometimes used as verb meaning to treat, e.g., “he doctored the wound.” Regardless of what academic field we are talking about, the title “doctor” has become a term of respect for someone who has spent an unusually long time learning his or her subject or craft. The holder of a doctorate, particularly in medicine, receives a rank, earned or unearned, near the top of the social hierarchy.

When I look back at more than 50 years of doing pediatrics I’m not sure that “doctor” really captures what I was up to. I will grant you that it is nice that folks want to acknowledge all those years I spent in training. But I don’t think one could say that what I did as a primary care small town pediatrician fits in with the original definition “to teach.” I did spend a few hours teaching students every so often but my primary time was spent with patients and I don’t consider what I was doing with them as teaching. There just wasn’t enough time. I had to take as a given that families who came to see me already had a basic knowledge base either as the result of their schooling, family lore, or public service announcements from the American Academy of Pediatrics.

I certainly wasn’t doing much doctoring in the sense of treating or curing disease. If one removes administering immunizations and delivery room resuscitations, I saved very few lives.

So you may ask, if not as “doctor,” how would I prefer to be labeled? Good question, but easy for me to answer. The term “coach” quickly comes to mind. As someone who played a variety of team sports there is no term that I can think of that commands more respect than “Coach.” While the term doesn’t carry the burden of a particularly long educational journey it does imply the person is wise, observant, and experienced.

There is some teaching involved but primarily a coach is going to assess the players (or in this cases the families) he is presented with and then do the best he can to guide them toward good decisions they can make themselves given their specific situations. This requires spending most of one’s time getting to know each family and understanding their strengths and limitations. One can’t coach speed to an athlete who is slow footed. And, one isn’t going to get a family that is dominated by anxiety to become bold risk takers. The best you can do is to help them learn strategies to minimize their anxieties.

A good coach can help his players learn to set reasonable goals given their skill sets. And, a good pediatrician can coach his families how to adapt their strengths and weakness to the challenges of each of their children. For example, for a physician faced with a mother-infant dyad that is struggling with breastfeeding, once the education piece is in place, it is up to him or her to function as a coach and assist the team in setting a reasonable goal that can result in a win-win for the family.

A coach must be humble, putting his or her players’ needs first and flexible enough to adjust his or her goals to define success in terms for what is best for each individual team. “Coach” may not carry the ring of authority that can come with “Doctor” but it is a role equally as challenging and rewarding.
 

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 [email protected].

It’s not unusual when I run into a former patient that I am addressed as “Doctor” Wilkoff. I guess that is to be expected because when I was in practice I seldom introduced myself as Will. However, I will admit now that I never quite felt comfortable with the “Doctor” label. Today, if you addressed me as “Doctor” I would correct you and refer to myself as the “ex-Doctor Wilkoff.”

The term doctor derived from the Latin word to teach and eventually morphed into an academic title. In common parlance it is sometimes used as verb meaning to treat, e.g., “he doctored the wound.” Regardless of what academic field we are talking about, the title “doctor” has become a term of respect for someone who has spent an unusually long time learning his or her subject or craft. The holder of a doctorate, particularly in medicine, receives a rank, earned or unearned, near the top of the social hierarchy.

When I look back at more than 50 years of doing pediatrics I’m not sure that “doctor” really captures what I was up to. I will grant you that it is nice that folks want to acknowledge all those years I spent in training. But I don’t think one could say that what I did as a primary care small town pediatrician fits in with the original definition “to teach.” I did spend a few hours teaching students every so often but my primary time was spent with patients and I don’t consider what I was doing with them as teaching. There just wasn’t enough time. I had to take as a given that families who came to see me already had a basic knowledge base either as the result of their schooling, family lore, or public service announcements from the American Academy of Pediatrics.

I certainly wasn’t doing much doctoring in the sense of treating or curing disease. If one removes administering immunizations and delivery room resuscitations, I saved very few lives.

So you may ask, if not as “doctor,” how would I prefer to be labeled? Good question, but easy for me to answer. The term “coach” quickly comes to mind. As someone who played a variety of team sports there is no term that I can think of that commands more respect than “Coach.” While the term doesn’t carry the burden of a particularly long educational journey it does imply the person is wise, observant, and experienced.

There is some teaching involved but primarily a coach is going to assess the players (or in this cases the families) he is presented with and then do the best he can to guide them toward good decisions they can make themselves given their specific situations. This requires spending most of one’s time getting to know each family and understanding their strengths and limitations. One can’t coach speed to an athlete who is slow footed. And, one isn’t going to get a family that is dominated by anxiety to become bold risk takers. The best you can do is to help them learn strategies to minimize their anxieties.

A good coach can help his players learn to set reasonable goals given their skill sets. And, a good pediatrician can coach his families how to adapt their strengths and weakness to the challenges of each of their children. For example, for a physician faced with a mother-infant dyad that is struggling with breastfeeding, once the education piece is in place, it is up to him or her to function as a coach and assist the team in setting a reasonable goal that can result in a win-win for the family.

A coach must be humble, putting his or her players’ needs first and flexible enough to adjust his or her goals to define success in terms for what is best for each individual team. “Coach” may not carry the ring of authority that can come with “Doctor” but it is a role equally as challenging and rewarding.
 

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 [email protected].

It’s not unusual when I run into a former patient that I am addressed as “Doctor” Wilkoff. I guess that is to be expected because when I was in practice I seldom introduced myself as Will. However, I will admit now that I never quite felt comfortable with the “Doctor” label. Today, if you addressed me as “Doctor” I would correct you and refer to myself as the “ex-Doctor Wilkoff.”

The term doctor derived from the Latin word to teach and eventually morphed into an academic title. In common parlance it is sometimes used as verb meaning to treat, e.g., “he doctored the wound.” Regardless of what academic field we are talking about, the title “doctor” has become a term of respect for someone who has spent an unusually long time learning his or her subject or craft. The holder of a doctorate, particularly in medicine, receives a rank, earned or unearned, near the top of the social hierarchy.

When I look back at more than 50 years of doing pediatrics I’m not sure that “doctor” really captures what I was up to. I will grant you that it is nice that folks want to acknowledge all those years I spent in training. But I don’t think one could say that what I did as a primary care small town pediatrician fits in with the original definition “to teach.” I did spend a few hours teaching students every so often but my primary time was spent with patients and I don’t consider what I was doing with them as teaching. There just wasn’t enough time. I had to take as a given that families who came to see me already had a basic knowledge base either as the result of their schooling, family lore, or public service announcements from the American Academy of Pediatrics.

I certainly wasn’t doing much doctoring in the sense of treating or curing disease. If one removes administering immunizations and delivery room resuscitations, I saved very few lives.

So you may ask, if not as “doctor,” how would I prefer to be labeled? Good question, but easy for me to answer. The term “coach” quickly comes to mind. As someone who played a variety of team sports there is no term that I can think of that commands more respect than “Coach.” While the term doesn’t carry the burden of a particularly long educational journey it does imply the person is wise, observant, and experienced.

There is some teaching involved but primarily a coach is going to assess the players (or in this cases the families) he is presented with and then do the best he can to guide them toward good decisions they can make themselves given their specific situations. This requires spending most of one’s time getting to know each family and understanding their strengths and limitations. One can’t coach speed to an athlete who is slow footed. And, one isn’t going to get a family that is dominated by anxiety to become bold risk takers. The best you can do is to help them learn strategies to minimize their anxieties.

A good coach can help his players learn to set reasonable goals given their skill sets. And, a good pediatrician can coach his families how to adapt their strengths and weakness to the challenges of each of their children. For example, for a physician faced with a mother-infant dyad that is struggling with breastfeeding, once the education piece is in place, it is up to him or her to function as a coach and assist the team in setting a reasonable goal that can result in a win-win for the family.

A coach must be humble, putting his or her players’ needs first and flexible enough to adjust his or her goals to define success in terms for what is best for each individual team. “Coach” may not carry the ring of authority that can come with “Doctor” but it is a role equally as challenging and rewarding.
 

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 [email protected].

Regardless of who received the most electoral votes it is pretty clear that each candidate has millions of supporters, and that they are separated by only a few percentage points. I guess one could argue that so many people being able to express their opinions is healthy. However, from my side of the divide I have difficulty understanding how so many of my fellow citizens could arrive at an opinion so diametrically opposed to my own.

Since the 2016 election I have tried to read as many articles as I could find in search of an explanation for that outcome and continuing partisan support. I have never had much interest in political science because it always sounded like an oxymoron. But I am willing to listen to anyone who claims to understand how so many other citizens can see the world so differently from the way I do. It simply may be that for whatever reason one person, in this case one man, has such charismatic power that his supporters willingly abandon the moral skeleton on which their lives had been draped. Or is this us versus them primarily a chasm between the elites and the nonelites?

I don’t know much about you but the fact that you are reading this column means that, like me, you are an elite. Even if you are a woman of color and the daughter of immigrants you have taken advantage of what opportunities you have been offered, stayed in school long enough to adopt a reverence for the scientific method, and have a job that pays well because you have acquired some expertise.

Tom Nichols, a political scientist teaching at Harvard Extension School, says that “expertise is a very exclusionary idea because it’s supposed to be: Not everybody gets a vote on how to fly the plane” (Why isn’t the right more afraid of COVID-19? by Christina Pazzanese, Harvard Gazette, Oct 30, 2020) This exclusivity may in part explain the cultural trend that has eroded faith in experts in general, but particularly around issues such as climate change. Ironically, although science continues to be held in esteem in our culture, many scientists have become targets for those citizens who wish to attack authority figures.

How is it that you and I as pediatricians have avoided those attacks and the derogatory label as “so-called experts”? We are scientists and elites. But, we have expertise in areas in which people often feel a critical need.

You may live and practice in a community where many of your patients’ families don’t share your political views. But you have probably been successful at maintaining a trusting relationship with them in large part because you have cast yourself in the role of an adviser and not a dictator. And, although at times it has been difficult, you have been careful to avoid sharing your advice in a manner that sounds condescending. You have succeeded in functioning as an expert while carefully disguising yourself as a nonelite.

However, you are skating on thin ice if you venture into topics that run counter to your patients’ religious beliefs. Theda Skocpol, professor of government and psychology at Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., has observed that studies have shown that while religious conservatives are aware of the science and don’t reject the finding, “they resent the use of experts as political authorities.” This may explain why all across this diverse country, our patients are eager for and accepting of our advice on all manners of health-related issues until we step into a swampy area that threatens their political views – such as vaccination or gun control.

With one misstep in the wrong direction, you can go from being a compassionate adviser to an elitist “so-called expert.”
 

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 [email protected].

Regardless of who received the most electoral votes it is pretty clear that each candidate has millions of supporters, and that they are separated by only a few percentage points. I guess one could argue that so many people being able to express their opinions is healthy. However, from my side of the divide I have difficulty understanding how so many of my fellow citizens could arrive at an opinion so diametrically opposed to my own.

Since the 2016 election I have tried to read as many articles as I could find in search of an explanation for that outcome and continuing partisan support. I have never had much interest in political science because it always sounded like an oxymoron. But I am willing to listen to anyone who claims to understand how so many other citizens can see the world so differently from the way I do. It simply may be that for whatever reason one person, in this case one man, has such charismatic power that his supporters willingly abandon the moral skeleton on which their lives had been draped. Or is this us versus them primarily a chasm between the elites and the nonelites?

I don’t know much about you but the fact that you are reading this column means that, like me, you are an elite. Even if you are a woman of color and the daughter of immigrants you have taken advantage of what opportunities you have been offered, stayed in school long enough to adopt a reverence for the scientific method, and have a job that pays well because you have acquired some expertise.

Tom Nichols, a political scientist teaching at Harvard Extension School, says that “expertise is a very exclusionary idea because it’s supposed to be: Not everybody gets a vote on how to fly the plane” (Why isn’t the right more afraid of COVID-19? by Christina Pazzanese, Harvard Gazette, Oct 30, 2020) This exclusivity may in part explain the cultural trend that has eroded faith in experts in general, but particularly around issues such as climate change. Ironically, although science continues to be held in esteem in our culture, many scientists have become targets for those citizens who wish to attack authority figures.

How is it that you and I as pediatricians have avoided those attacks and the derogatory label as “so-called experts”? We are scientists and elites. But, we have expertise in areas in which people often feel a critical need.

You may live and practice in a community where many of your patients’ families don’t share your political views. But you have probably been successful at maintaining a trusting relationship with them in large part because you have cast yourself in the role of an adviser and not a dictator. And, although at times it has been difficult, you have been careful to avoid sharing your advice in a manner that sounds condescending. You have succeeded in functioning as an expert while carefully disguising yourself as a nonelite.

However, you are skating on thin ice if you venture into topics that run counter to your patients’ religious beliefs. Theda Skocpol, professor of government and psychology at Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., has observed that studies have shown that while religious conservatives are aware of the science and don’t reject the finding, “they resent the use of experts as political authorities.” This may explain why all across this diverse country, our patients are eager for and accepting of our advice on all manners of health-related issues until we step into a swampy area that threatens their political views – such as vaccination or gun control.

With one misstep in the wrong direction, you can go from being a compassionate adviser to an elitist “so-called expert.”
 

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 [email protected].

Regardless of who received the most electoral votes it is pretty clear that each candidate has millions of supporters, and that they are separated by only a few percentage points. I guess one could argue that so many people being able to express their opinions is healthy. However, from my side of the divide I have difficulty understanding how so many of my fellow citizens could arrive at an opinion so diametrically opposed to my own.

Since the 2016 election I have tried to read as many articles as I could find in search of an explanation for that outcome and continuing partisan support. I have never had much interest in political science because it always sounded like an oxymoron. But I am willing to listen to anyone who claims to understand how so many other citizens can see the world so differently from the way I do. It simply may be that for whatever reason one person, in this case one man, has such charismatic power that his supporters willingly abandon the moral skeleton on which their lives had been draped. Or is this us versus them primarily a chasm between the elites and the nonelites?

I don’t know much about you but the fact that you are reading this column means that, like me, you are an elite. Even if you are a woman of color and the daughter of immigrants you have taken advantage of what opportunities you have been offered, stayed in school long enough to adopt a reverence for the scientific method, and have a job that pays well because you have acquired some expertise.

Tom Nichols, a political scientist teaching at Harvard Extension School, says that “expertise is a very exclusionary idea because it’s supposed to be: Not everybody gets a vote on how to fly the plane” (Why isn’t the right more afraid of COVID-19? by Christina Pazzanese, Harvard Gazette, Oct 30, 2020) This exclusivity may in part explain the cultural trend that has eroded faith in experts in general, but particularly around issues such as climate change. Ironically, although science continues to be held in esteem in our culture, many scientists have become targets for those citizens who wish to attack authority figures.

How is it that you and I as pediatricians have avoided those attacks and the derogatory label as “so-called experts”? We are scientists and elites. But, we have expertise in areas in which people often feel a critical need.

You may live and practice in a community where many of your patients’ families don’t share your political views. But you have probably been successful at maintaining a trusting relationship with them in large part because you have cast yourself in the role of an adviser and not a dictator. And, although at times it has been difficult, you have been careful to avoid sharing your advice in a manner that sounds condescending. You have succeeded in functioning as an expert while carefully disguising yourself as a nonelite.

However, you are skating on thin ice if you venture into topics that run counter to your patients’ religious beliefs. Theda Skocpol, professor of government and psychology at Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., has observed that studies have shown that while religious conservatives are aware of the science and don’t reject the finding, “they resent the use of experts as political authorities.” This may explain why all across this diverse country, our patients are eager for and accepting of our advice on all manners of health-related issues until we step into a swampy area that threatens their political views – such as vaccination or gun control.

With one misstep in the wrong direction, you can go from being a compassionate adviser to an elitist “so-called expert.”
 

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 [email protected].