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You learned a lot of things in medical school. But there must have been some things that you unlearned on the way to your degree. For instance, you unlearned that you could catch a cold by playing outside on a cold damp day without your jacket. You unlearned that handling a toad would give you warts.
The authors of a recent study suggest that over your 4 years in medical school you also unlearned how to be empathetic (“Does Empathy Decline in the Clinical Phase of Medical Education? A Nationwide, Multi-institutional, Cross-Sectional Study of Students at DO-Granting Medical Schools,” Acad Med. 2020 Jan 21. doi: 10.1097/ACM.0000000000003175). The researchers surveyed more than 10,000 medical students at nearly 50 DO-granting medical schools using standardized questionnaire called the Jefferson Scale of Empathy. They discovered that the students in the clinical phase (years 3 and 4) had lower “empathy scores” than the students in the preclinical phase of their education (years 1 and 2). This decline was statistically significant but “negligible” in magnitude. One wonders why they even chose to publish their results, particularly when the number of respondents to the web-based survey declined with each successive year in medical school. Having looked at the a sample of some of the questions being asked, I can understand why third- and fourth-year students couldn’t be bothered to respond. They were too busy to answer a few dozen “lame” questions.
There may be a decline in empathy over the course our medical training, but I’m not sure that this study can speak to it. An older study found that although medical students scores on a self-administered scale declined between the second and third year, the observed empathetic behavior actually increased. If I had to choose, I would lean more heavily on the results of the behavioral observations.
Certainly, we all changed over the course of our medical education. Including postgraduate training, it may have lasted a decade or more. We saw hundreds of patients, observed life and death on a scale and with an intensity that most of us previously had never experienced. Our perspective changed from being a naive observer to playing the role of an active participant. Did that change include a decline in our capacity for empathy?
Something had to change. We found quickly that we didn’t have the time or emotional energy to learn as much about the person hiding behind every complaint as we once thought we should. We had to cut corners. Sometimes we cut too many. On the other hand, as we saw more patients we may have learned more efficient ways of discovering what we needed to know about them to become an effective and caring physician. If we found ourselves in a specialty in which patients have a high mortality, we were forced to learn ways of protecting ourselves from the emotional damage.
What would you call this process? Was it empathy erosion? Was it a hardening or toughening? Or was it simply maturation? Whatever term you use, it was an obligatory process if we hoped to survive. However, not all of us have done it well. Some of us have narrowed our focus to see only the complaint and the diagnosis, and we too often fail to see the human hiding in plain sight.
For those of us who completed our training with our empathy intact, was this the result of a genetic gift or the atmosphere our parents had created at home? I suspect that in most cases our capacity for empathy as physicians was nurtured and enhanced by the role models we encountered during our training. The mentors we most revered were those who had already been through the annealing process of medical school and specialty training and become even more skilled at caring than when they left college. It is an intangible that can’t be taught. Sadly, there is no way of guaranteeing that everyone who enters medical school will be exposed to or benefit from even one of these master physicians.
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.” Email him at [email protected].
You learned a lot of things in medical school. But there must have been some things that you unlearned on the way to your degree. For instance, you unlearned that you could catch a cold by playing outside on a cold damp day without your jacket. You unlearned that handling a toad would give you warts.
The authors of a recent study suggest that over your 4 years in medical school you also unlearned how to be empathetic (“Does Empathy Decline in the Clinical Phase of Medical Education? A Nationwide, Multi-institutional, Cross-Sectional Study of Students at DO-Granting Medical Schools,” Acad Med. 2020 Jan 21. doi: 10.1097/ACM.0000000000003175). The researchers surveyed more than 10,000 medical students at nearly 50 DO-granting medical schools using standardized questionnaire called the Jefferson Scale of Empathy. They discovered that the students in the clinical phase (years 3 and 4) had lower “empathy scores” than the students in the preclinical phase of their education (years 1 and 2). This decline was statistically significant but “negligible” in magnitude. One wonders why they even chose to publish their results, particularly when the number of respondents to the web-based survey declined with each successive year in medical school. Having looked at the a sample of some of the questions being asked, I can understand why third- and fourth-year students couldn’t be bothered to respond. They were too busy to answer a few dozen “lame” questions.
There may be a decline in empathy over the course our medical training, but I’m not sure that this study can speak to it. An older study found that although medical students scores on a self-administered scale declined between the second and third year, the observed empathetic behavior actually increased. If I had to choose, I would lean more heavily on the results of the behavioral observations.
Certainly, we all changed over the course of our medical education. Including postgraduate training, it may have lasted a decade or more. We saw hundreds of patients, observed life and death on a scale and with an intensity that most of us previously had never experienced. Our perspective changed from being a naive observer to playing the role of an active participant. Did that change include a decline in our capacity for empathy?
Something had to change. We found quickly that we didn’t have the time or emotional energy to learn as much about the person hiding behind every complaint as we once thought we should. We had to cut corners. Sometimes we cut too many. On the other hand, as we saw more patients we may have learned more efficient ways of discovering what we needed to know about them to become an effective and caring physician. If we found ourselves in a specialty in which patients have a high mortality, we were forced to learn ways of protecting ourselves from the emotional damage.
What would you call this process? Was it empathy erosion? Was it a hardening or toughening? Or was it simply maturation? Whatever term you use, it was an obligatory process if we hoped to survive. However, not all of us have done it well. Some of us have narrowed our focus to see only the complaint and the diagnosis, and we too often fail to see the human hiding in plain sight.
For those of us who completed our training with our empathy intact, was this the result of a genetic gift or the atmosphere our parents had created at home? I suspect that in most cases our capacity for empathy as physicians was nurtured and enhanced by the role models we encountered during our training. The mentors we most revered were those who had already been through the annealing process of medical school and specialty training and become even more skilled at caring than when they left college. It is an intangible that can’t be taught. Sadly, there is no way of guaranteeing that everyone who enters medical school will be exposed to or benefit from even one of these master physicians.
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.” Email him at [email protected].
You learned a lot of things in medical school. But there must have been some things that you unlearned on the way to your degree. For instance, you unlearned that you could catch a cold by playing outside on a cold damp day without your jacket. You unlearned that handling a toad would give you warts.
The authors of a recent study suggest that over your 4 years in medical school you also unlearned how to be empathetic (“Does Empathy Decline in the Clinical Phase of Medical Education? A Nationwide, Multi-institutional, Cross-Sectional Study of Students at DO-Granting Medical Schools,” Acad Med. 2020 Jan 21. doi: 10.1097/ACM.0000000000003175). The researchers surveyed more than 10,000 medical students at nearly 50 DO-granting medical schools using standardized questionnaire called the Jefferson Scale of Empathy. They discovered that the students in the clinical phase (years 3 and 4) had lower “empathy scores” than the students in the preclinical phase of their education (years 1 and 2). This decline was statistically significant but “negligible” in magnitude. One wonders why they even chose to publish their results, particularly when the number of respondents to the web-based survey declined with each successive year in medical school. Having looked at the a sample of some of the questions being asked, I can understand why third- and fourth-year students couldn’t be bothered to respond. They were too busy to answer a few dozen “lame” questions.
There may be a decline in empathy over the course our medical training, but I’m not sure that this study can speak to it. An older study found that although medical students scores on a self-administered scale declined between the second and third year, the observed empathetic behavior actually increased. If I had to choose, I would lean more heavily on the results of the behavioral observations.
Certainly, we all changed over the course of our medical education. Including postgraduate training, it may have lasted a decade or more. We saw hundreds of patients, observed life and death on a scale and with an intensity that most of us previously had never experienced. Our perspective changed from being a naive observer to playing the role of an active participant. Did that change include a decline in our capacity for empathy?
Something had to change. We found quickly that we didn’t have the time or emotional energy to learn as much about the person hiding behind every complaint as we once thought we should. We had to cut corners. Sometimes we cut too many. On the other hand, as we saw more patients we may have learned more efficient ways of discovering what we needed to know about them to become an effective and caring physician. If we found ourselves in a specialty in which patients have a high mortality, we were forced to learn ways of protecting ourselves from the emotional damage.
What would you call this process? Was it empathy erosion? Was it a hardening or toughening? Or was it simply maturation? Whatever term you use, it was an obligatory process if we hoped to survive. However, not all of us have done it well. Some of us have narrowed our focus to see only the complaint and the diagnosis, and we too often fail to see the human hiding in plain sight.
For those of us who completed our training with our empathy intact, was this the result of a genetic gift or the atmosphere our parents had created at home? I suspect that in most cases our capacity for empathy as physicians was nurtured and enhanced by the role models we encountered during our training. The mentors we most revered were those who had already been through the annealing process of medical school and specialty training and become even more skilled at caring than when they left college. It is an intangible that can’t be taught. Sadly, there is no way of guaranteeing that everyone who enters medical school will be exposed to or benefit from even one of these master physicians.
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.” Email him at [email protected].