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Tool-less but not clueless
There is apparently some debate about which of our ancestors was the first to use tools. It probably was Homo habilis, the “handy man.” But it could have been a relative of Lucy, of the Australopithecus afarensis tribe. Regardless of which pile of chipped rocks looks more tool-like to you, it is generally agreed that our ability to make and use tools is one of the key ingredients to our evolutionary success.
I have always enjoyed the feel of good quality knife when I am woodcarving, and the tool collection hanging on the wall over my work bench is one of my most prized possessions. But when I was practicing general pediatrics, I could never really warm up to the screening tools that were being touted as must-haves for detecting developmental delays.
It turns out I was not alone. A recent study published in Pediatrics found that the number of pediatricians who reported using developmental screening tools increased from 21% to 63% between 2002 and 2016. (Pediatrics. 2020 Apr. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-0851). However, this means that, despite a significant increase in usage, more than a third of pediatricians still are not employing screening tools. Does this suggest that one out of every three pediatricians, including me and maybe you, is a knuckle-dragging pre–Homo sapiens practicing in blissful and clueless ignorance?
Mei Elansary MD, MPhil, and Michael Silverstein, MD, MPH, who wrote a companion commentary in the same journal, suggested that maybe those of us who have resisted the call to be tool users aren’t prehistoric ignoramuses (Pediatrics. 2020 Apr. doi: 10.1542/peds.2020-0164). They observed that, regardless of whether the pediatricians were using screening tools, more than 40% of the those surveyed did not refer patients for early intervention.
The commentators pointed out that the decision of when, whom, and how to screen must be viewed as part of a “complicated web of changing epidemiology, time and reimbursement constraints, and service availability.” They observe that pediatricians facing this landscape in upheaval “default to what they know best: clinical judgment.” Citing one study of the management of febrile infants, the authors point out that relying on guidelines doesn’t always result in improved clinical care.
My decision of when to refer a patient for early intervention was based on what I had observed over a series of visits and whether I thought that the early intervention resources available in my community would have a significant benefit for any particular child. Because I crafted my practice around a model that put a strong emphasis on continuity, my patients almost never saw another provider for a health maintenance visit and usually saw me for their sick visits, including ear rechecks.
I guess you could argue that there are situations in which seeing a variety of providers, each with a slightly different perspective, might benefit the patient. But when we are talking about a domain like development that is defined by change, or lack of change, over time, multiple observations by a single observer usually can be more valuable.
If I were practicing in a situation in which I didn’t have the luxury of continuity, I think I would be more likely to use a screening tool. Although I have found screening guidelines can be helpful as mnemonics in some situations, they aren’t equally applicable in all clinical settings.
While I may be asking for trouble by questioning anything even remotely related to the concept of early intervention, I must say that I wholeheartedly agree with Dr. Elansary and Dr. Silverstein when they wrote “the pediatrics community may have something to learn from the significant minority of pediatricians who do not practice formalized screening.”
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].
There is apparently some debate about which of our ancestors was the first to use tools. It probably was Homo habilis, the “handy man.” But it could have been a relative of Lucy, of the Australopithecus afarensis tribe. Regardless of which pile of chipped rocks looks more tool-like to you, it is generally agreed that our ability to make and use tools is one of the key ingredients to our evolutionary success.
I have always enjoyed the feel of good quality knife when I am woodcarving, and the tool collection hanging on the wall over my work bench is one of my most prized possessions. But when I was practicing general pediatrics, I could never really warm up to the screening tools that were being touted as must-haves for detecting developmental delays.
It turns out I was not alone. A recent study published in Pediatrics found that the number of pediatricians who reported using developmental screening tools increased from 21% to 63% between 2002 and 2016. (Pediatrics. 2020 Apr. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-0851). However, this means that, despite a significant increase in usage, more than a third of pediatricians still are not employing screening tools. Does this suggest that one out of every three pediatricians, including me and maybe you, is a knuckle-dragging pre–Homo sapiens practicing in blissful and clueless ignorance?
Mei Elansary MD, MPhil, and Michael Silverstein, MD, MPH, who wrote a companion commentary in the same journal, suggested that maybe those of us who have resisted the call to be tool users aren’t prehistoric ignoramuses (Pediatrics. 2020 Apr. doi: 10.1542/peds.2020-0164). They observed that, regardless of whether the pediatricians were using screening tools, more than 40% of the those surveyed did not refer patients for early intervention.
The commentators pointed out that the decision of when, whom, and how to screen must be viewed as part of a “complicated web of changing epidemiology, time and reimbursement constraints, and service availability.” They observe that pediatricians facing this landscape in upheaval “default to what they know best: clinical judgment.” Citing one study of the management of febrile infants, the authors point out that relying on guidelines doesn’t always result in improved clinical care.
My decision of when to refer a patient for early intervention was based on what I had observed over a series of visits and whether I thought that the early intervention resources available in my community would have a significant benefit for any particular child. Because I crafted my practice around a model that put a strong emphasis on continuity, my patients almost never saw another provider for a health maintenance visit and usually saw me for their sick visits, including ear rechecks.
I guess you could argue that there are situations in which seeing a variety of providers, each with a slightly different perspective, might benefit the patient. But when we are talking about a domain like development that is defined by change, or lack of change, over time, multiple observations by a single observer usually can be more valuable.
If I were practicing in a situation in which I didn’t have the luxury of continuity, I think I would be more likely to use a screening tool. Although I have found screening guidelines can be helpful as mnemonics in some situations, they aren’t equally applicable in all clinical settings.
While I may be asking for trouble by questioning anything even remotely related to the concept of early intervention, I must say that I wholeheartedly agree with Dr. Elansary and Dr. Silverstein when they wrote “the pediatrics community may have something to learn from the significant minority of pediatricians who do not practice formalized screening.”
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].
There is apparently some debate about which of our ancestors was the first to use tools. It probably was Homo habilis, the “handy man.” But it could have been a relative of Lucy, of the Australopithecus afarensis tribe. Regardless of which pile of chipped rocks looks more tool-like to you, it is generally agreed that our ability to make and use tools is one of the key ingredients to our evolutionary success.
I have always enjoyed the feel of good quality knife when I am woodcarving, and the tool collection hanging on the wall over my work bench is one of my most prized possessions. But when I was practicing general pediatrics, I could never really warm up to the screening tools that were being touted as must-haves for detecting developmental delays.
It turns out I was not alone. A recent study published in Pediatrics found that the number of pediatricians who reported using developmental screening tools increased from 21% to 63% between 2002 and 2016. (Pediatrics. 2020 Apr. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-0851). However, this means that, despite a significant increase in usage, more than a third of pediatricians still are not employing screening tools. Does this suggest that one out of every three pediatricians, including me and maybe you, is a knuckle-dragging pre–Homo sapiens practicing in blissful and clueless ignorance?
Mei Elansary MD, MPhil, and Michael Silverstein, MD, MPH, who wrote a companion commentary in the same journal, suggested that maybe those of us who have resisted the call to be tool users aren’t prehistoric ignoramuses (Pediatrics. 2020 Apr. doi: 10.1542/peds.2020-0164). They observed that, regardless of whether the pediatricians were using screening tools, more than 40% of the those surveyed did not refer patients for early intervention.
The commentators pointed out that the decision of when, whom, and how to screen must be viewed as part of a “complicated web of changing epidemiology, time and reimbursement constraints, and service availability.” They observe that pediatricians facing this landscape in upheaval “default to what they know best: clinical judgment.” Citing one study of the management of febrile infants, the authors point out that relying on guidelines doesn’t always result in improved clinical care.
My decision of when to refer a patient for early intervention was based on what I had observed over a series of visits and whether I thought that the early intervention resources available in my community would have a significant benefit for any particular child. Because I crafted my practice around a model that put a strong emphasis on continuity, my patients almost never saw another provider for a health maintenance visit and usually saw me for their sick visits, including ear rechecks.
I guess you could argue that there are situations in which seeing a variety of providers, each with a slightly different perspective, might benefit the patient. But when we are talking about a domain like development that is defined by change, or lack of change, over time, multiple observations by a single observer usually can be more valuable.
If I were practicing in a situation in which I didn’t have the luxury of continuity, I think I would be more likely to use a screening tool. Although I have found screening guidelines can be helpful as mnemonics in some situations, they aren’t equally applicable in all clinical settings.
While I may be asking for trouble by questioning anything even remotely related to the concept of early intervention, I must say that I wholeheartedly agree with Dr. Elansary and Dr. Silverstein when they wrote “the pediatrics community may have something to learn from the significant minority of pediatricians who do not practice formalized screening.”
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].
Armchair epidemiology
Real epidemiologists are out knocking on doors, chasing down contacts, or hunched over their computers trying to make sense out of screens full of data and maps. A few are trying valiantly to talk some sense into our elected officials.
This leaves the rest of us with time on our hands to fabricate our own less-than-scientific explanations for the behavior of the SARS-CoV-2 virus. So I have decided to put on hold my current mental challenge of choosing which pasta shape to pair with the sauce I’ve prepared from an online recipe. Here is my educated guess based on what I can glean from media sources that may have been filtered through a variety politically biased lenses. Remember, I did go to medical school; however, when I was in college the DNA helix was still just theoretical.
From those halcyon days of mid-February when our attention was focused on the Diamond Princess quarantined in Yokohama Harbor, it didn’t take a board-certified epidemiologist to suspect that the virus was spreading through the ventilating system in the ship’s tight quarters. Subsequent outbreaks on U.S. and French military ships suggests a similar explanation.
While still not proven, it sounds like SARS-CoV-2 jumped to humans from bats. It should not surprise us that having evolved in a dense population of mammals it would thrive in other high-density populations such as New York and nursing homes. Because we have lacked a robust testing capability, it has been less obvious until recently that, while it is easily transmitted, the virus has infected many who are asymptomatic (“Antibody surveys suggesting vast undercount of coronavirus infections may be unreliable,” Gretchen Vogel, Science, April 21, 2020). Subsequent surveys seem to confirm this higher level carrier state; it suggests that the virus is far less deadly than was previously suggested. However, it seems to be a crafty little bug attacking just about any organ system it lands on.
I don’t think any of us are surprised that the elderly population with weakened immune systems, particularly those in congregate housing, has been much more vulnerable. However, many of the deaths among younger apparently healthy people have defied explanation. The anecdotal observations that physicians, particularly those who practice in-your-face medicine (e.g., ophthalmologists and otolaryngologists) may be more vulnerable raises the issue of viral load. It may be that, although it can be extremely contagious, the virus is not terribly dangerous for most people until the inoculum dose of the virus reaches a certain level. To my knowledge this dose is unknown.
A published survey of more than 300 outbreaks from 120 Chinese cities also may support my suspicion that viral load is of critical importance. The researchers found that all the “identified outbreaks of three or more cases occurred in an indoor environment, which confirms that sharing indoor space is a major SARS-CoV-2 infection risk” (Huan Qian et al. “Indoor transmission of SARS-CoV-2,” MedRxiv. 2020 Apr 7. doi: 10.1101/2020.04.04.20053058). Again, this data shouldn’t surprise us when we look back at what little we know about the outbreaks in the confined spaces on cruise ships and in nursing homes.
I’m not sure that we have any data that helps us determine whether wearing a mask in an outdoor space has any more than symbolic value when we are talking about this particular virus. We may read that the virus in a droplet can survive on the surface it lands on for 8 minutes, and we can see those slow motion videos of the impressive plume of snot spray released by a sneeze. It would seem obvious that even outside someone within 10 feet of the sneeze has a good chance of being infected. However, how much of a threat is the asymptomatic carrier who passes within three feet of you while you are out on lovely summer day stroll? This armchair epidemiologist suspects that, when we are talking about an outside space, the 6-foot guideline for small groups of a dozen or less is overly restrictive. But until we know, I’m staying put in my armchair ... outside on the porch overlooking Casco Bay.
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.” He has no disclosures. Email him at [email protected].
Real epidemiologists are out knocking on doors, chasing down contacts, or hunched over their computers trying to make sense out of screens full of data and maps. A few are trying valiantly to talk some sense into our elected officials.
This leaves the rest of us with time on our hands to fabricate our own less-than-scientific explanations for the behavior of the SARS-CoV-2 virus. So I have decided to put on hold my current mental challenge of choosing which pasta shape to pair with the sauce I’ve prepared from an online recipe. Here is my educated guess based on what I can glean from media sources that may have been filtered through a variety politically biased lenses. Remember, I did go to medical school; however, when I was in college the DNA helix was still just theoretical.
From those halcyon days of mid-February when our attention was focused on the Diamond Princess quarantined in Yokohama Harbor, it didn’t take a board-certified epidemiologist to suspect that the virus was spreading through the ventilating system in the ship’s tight quarters. Subsequent outbreaks on U.S. and French military ships suggests a similar explanation.
While still not proven, it sounds like SARS-CoV-2 jumped to humans from bats. It should not surprise us that having evolved in a dense population of mammals it would thrive in other high-density populations such as New York and nursing homes. Because we have lacked a robust testing capability, it has been less obvious until recently that, while it is easily transmitted, the virus has infected many who are asymptomatic (“Antibody surveys suggesting vast undercount of coronavirus infections may be unreliable,” Gretchen Vogel, Science, April 21, 2020). Subsequent surveys seem to confirm this higher level carrier state; it suggests that the virus is far less deadly than was previously suggested. However, it seems to be a crafty little bug attacking just about any organ system it lands on.
I don’t think any of us are surprised that the elderly population with weakened immune systems, particularly those in congregate housing, has been much more vulnerable. However, many of the deaths among younger apparently healthy people have defied explanation. The anecdotal observations that physicians, particularly those who practice in-your-face medicine (e.g., ophthalmologists and otolaryngologists) may be more vulnerable raises the issue of viral load. It may be that, although it can be extremely contagious, the virus is not terribly dangerous for most people until the inoculum dose of the virus reaches a certain level. To my knowledge this dose is unknown.
A published survey of more than 300 outbreaks from 120 Chinese cities also may support my suspicion that viral load is of critical importance. The researchers found that all the “identified outbreaks of three or more cases occurred in an indoor environment, which confirms that sharing indoor space is a major SARS-CoV-2 infection risk” (Huan Qian et al. “Indoor transmission of SARS-CoV-2,” MedRxiv. 2020 Apr 7. doi: 10.1101/2020.04.04.20053058). Again, this data shouldn’t surprise us when we look back at what little we know about the outbreaks in the confined spaces on cruise ships and in nursing homes.
I’m not sure that we have any data that helps us determine whether wearing a mask in an outdoor space has any more than symbolic value when we are talking about this particular virus. We may read that the virus in a droplet can survive on the surface it lands on for 8 minutes, and we can see those slow motion videos of the impressive plume of snot spray released by a sneeze. It would seem obvious that even outside someone within 10 feet of the sneeze has a good chance of being infected. However, how much of a threat is the asymptomatic carrier who passes within three feet of you while you are out on lovely summer day stroll? This armchair epidemiologist suspects that, when we are talking about an outside space, the 6-foot guideline for small groups of a dozen or less is overly restrictive. But until we know, I’m staying put in my armchair ... outside on the porch overlooking Casco Bay.
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.” He has no disclosures. Email him at [email protected].
Real epidemiologists are out knocking on doors, chasing down contacts, or hunched over their computers trying to make sense out of screens full of data and maps. A few are trying valiantly to talk some sense into our elected officials.
This leaves the rest of us with time on our hands to fabricate our own less-than-scientific explanations for the behavior of the SARS-CoV-2 virus. So I have decided to put on hold my current mental challenge of choosing which pasta shape to pair with the sauce I’ve prepared from an online recipe. Here is my educated guess based on what I can glean from media sources that may have been filtered through a variety politically biased lenses. Remember, I did go to medical school; however, when I was in college the DNA helix was still just theoretical.
From those halcyon days of mid-February when our attention was focused on the Diamond Princess quarantined in Yokohama Harbor, it didn’t take a board-certified epidemiologist to suspect that the virus was spreading through the ventilating system in the ship’s tight quarters. Subsequent outbreaks on U.S. and French military ships suggests a similar explanation.
While still not proven, it sounds like SARS-CoV-2 jumped to humans from bats. It should not surprise us that having evolved in a dense population of mammals it would thrive in other high-density populations such as New York and nursing homes. Because we have lacked a robust testing capability, it has been less obvious until recently that, while it is easily transmitted, the virus has infected many who are asymptomatic (“Antibody surveys suggesting vast undercount of coronavirus infections may be unreliable,” Gretchen Vogel, Science, April 21, 2020). Subsequent surveys seem to confirm this higher level carrier state; it suggests that the virus is far less deadly than was previously suggested. However, it seems to be a crafty little bug attacking just about any organ system it lands on.
I don’t think any of us are surprised that the elderly population with weakened immune systems, particularly those in congregate housing, has been much more vulnerable. However, many of the deaths among younger apparently healthy people have defied explanation. The anecdotal observations that physicians, particularly those who practice in-your-face medicine (e.g., ophthalmologists and otolaryngologists) may be more vulnerable raises the issue of viral load. It may be that, although it can be extremely contagious, the virus is not terribly dangerous for most people until the inoculum dose of the virus reaches a certain level. To my knowledge this dose is unknown.
A published survey of more than 300 outbreaks from 120 Chinese cities also may support my suspicion that viral load is of critical importance. The researchers found that all the “identified outbreaks of three or more cases occurred in an indoor environment, which confirms that sharing indoor space is a major SARS-CoV-2 infection risk” (Huan Qian et al. “Indoor transmission of SARS-CoV-2,” MedRxiv. 2020 Apr 7. doi: 10.1101/2020.04.04.20053058). Again, this data shouldn’t surprise us when we look back at what little we know about the outbreaks in the confined spaces on cruise ships and in nursing homes.
I’m not sure that we have any data that helps us determine whether wearing a mask in an outdoor space has any more than symbolic value when we are talking about this particular virus. We may read that the virus in a droplet can survive on the surface it lands on for 8 minutes, and we can see those slow motion videos of the impressive plume of snot spray released by a sneeze. It would seem obvious that even outside someone within 10 feet of the sneeze has a good chance of being infected. However, how much of a threat is the asymptomatic carrier who passes within three feet of you while you are out on lovely summer day stroll? This armchair epidemiologist suspects that, when we are talking about an outside space, the 6-foot guideline for small groups of a dozen or less is overly restrictive. But until we know, I’m staying put in my armchair ... outside on the porch overlooking Casco Bay.
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.” He has no disclosures. Email him at [email protected].
What will pediatrics look like in 2022?
In 1966 I was struggling with the decision of whether to become an art historian or go to medical school. I decided corporate ladder climbs and tenure chases were not for me. I wanted to be my own boss. I reckoned that medicine would offer me rock-solid job security and a comfortable income that I could adjust to my needs simply by working harder. In my Norman Rockwell–influenced view of the world, there would always be sick children. There would never be a quiet week or even a day when I would have to worry about not having an income.
So it was an idyllic existence for decades, tarnished only slightly when corporate entities began gobbling up owner-operator practices. But I never envisioned a pandemic that would turn the world – including its pediatricians – upside down. For the last several weeks as I pedal past my old office, I am dumbstruck by the empty parking lot. For the present I appear to be buffered by my retirement, but know that many of you are under serious financial pressure as a result of the pandemic.
We are all yearning to return to business as usual, but we know that it isn’t going to happen because everything has changed. The usual has yet to be defined. When you finally reopen your offices, you will be walking into a strange and eerie new normal. Initially you may struggle to make it feel like nothing has changed, but very quickly the full force of the postpandemic tsunami will hit us all broadside. In 2 years, the ship may still be rocking but what will clinical pediatrics look like in the late spring of 2022?
Will the patient mix have shifted even more toward behavioral and mental health complaints as a ripple effect of the pandemic’s emotional turmoil? Will your waiting room have become a maze of plexiglass barriers to separate the sick from the well? Has the hospital invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in a ventilation system in hopes of minimizing contagion in your exam rooms? Maybe you will have instituted an appointment schedule with sick visits in the morning and well checks in the afternoon. Or you may no longer have a waiting room because patients are queuing in their cars in the parking lot. Your support staff may be rollerskating around like carhops at a drive-in recording histories and taking vital signs.
Telemedicine will hopefully have gone mainstream with more robust guidelines for billing and quality control. Medical schools may be devoting more attention to teaching student how to assess remotely. Parents may now be equipped with a tool kit of remote sensors so that you can assess their child’s tympanic membranes, pulse rate, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure on your office computer screen.
Will the EHR finally have begun to emerge from its awkward and at times painful adolescence into an easily accessible and transportable nationwide data bank that includes immunization records for all ages? Patients may have been asked or ordered to allow their cell phones to be used as tracking devices for serious communicable diseases. How many vaccine-resistant people will have responded to the pandemic by deciding that immunizations are worth the minimal risks? I fear not many.
How many of your colleagues will have left pediatrics and heeded the call for more epidemiologists? Will you be required to take a CME course in ventilation management? The good news may be that to keep the pediatric workforce robust the government has decided to forgive your student loans.
None of these changes may have come to pass because we have notoriously short memories. But I am sure that we will all still bear the deep scars of this world changing event.
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].
In 1966 I was struggling with the decision of whether to become an art historian or go to medical school. I decided corporate ladder climbs and tenure chases were not for me. I wanted to be my own boss. I reckoned that medicine would offer me rock-solid job security and a comfortable income that I could adjust to my needs simply by working harder. In my Norman Rockwell–influenced view of the world, there would always be sick children. There would never be a quiet week or even a day when I would have to worry about not having an income.
So it was an idyllic existence for decades, tarnished only slightly when corporate entities began gobbling up owner-operator practices. But I never envisioned a pandemic that would turn the world – including its pediatricians – upside down. For the last several weeks as I pedal past my old office, I am dumbstruck by the empty parking lot. For the present I appear to be buffered by my retirement, but know that many of you are under serious financial pressure as a result of the pandemic.
We are all yearning to return to business as usual, but we know that it isn’t going to happen because everything has changed. The usual has yet to be defined. When you finally reopen your offices, you will be walking into a strange and eerie new normal. Initially you may struggle to make it feel like nothing has changed, but very quickly the full force of the postpandemic tsunami will hit us all broadside. In 2 years, the ship may still be rocking but what will clinical pediatrics look like in the late spring of 2022?
Will the patient mix have shifted even more toward behavioral and mental health complaints as a ripple effect of the pandemic’s emotional turmoil? Will your waiting room have become a maze of plexiglass barriers to separate the sick from the well? Has the hospital invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in a ventilation system in hopes of minimizing contagion in your exam rooms? Maybe you will have instituted an appointment schedule with sick visits in the morning and well checks in the afternoon. Or you may no longer have a waiting room because patients are queuing in their cars in the parking lot. Your support staff may be rollerskating around like carhops at a drive-in recording histories and taking vital signs.
Telemedicine will hopefully have gone mainstream with more robust guidelines for billing and quality control. Medical schools may be devoting more attention to teaching student how to assess remotely. Parents may now be equipped with a tool kit of remote sensors so that you can assess their child’s tympanic membranes, pulse rate, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure on your office computer screen.
Will the EHR finally have begun to emerge from its awkward and at times painful adolescence into an easily accessible and transportable nationwide data bank that includes immunization records for all ages? Patients may have been asked or ordered to allow their cell phones to be used as tracking devices for serious communicable diseases. How many vaccine-resistant people will have responded to the pandemic by deciding that immunizations are worth the minimal risks? I fear not many.
How many of your colleagues will have left pediatrics and heeded the call for more epidemiologists? Will you be required to take a CME course in ventilation management? The good news may be that to keep the pediatric workforce robust the government has decided to forgive your student loans.
None of these changes may have come to pass because we have notoriously short memories. But I am sure that we will all still bear the deep scars of this world changing event.
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].
In 1966 I was struggling with the decision of whether to become an art historian or go to medical school. I decided corporate ladder climbs and tenure chases were not for me. I wanted to be my own boss. I reckoned that medicine would offer me rock-solid job security and a comfortable income that I could adjust to my needs simply by working harder. In my Norman Rockwell–influenced view of the world, there would always be sick children. There would never be a quiet week or even a day when I would have to worry about not having an income.
So it was an idyllic existence for decades, tarnished only slightly when corporate entities began gobbling up owner-operator practices. But I never envisioned a pandemic that would turn the world – including its pediatricians – upside down. For the last several weeks as I pedal past my old office, I am dumbstruck by the empty parking lot. For the present I appear to be buffered by my retirement, but know that many of you are under serious financial pressure as a result of the pandemic.
We are all yearning to return to business as usual, but we know that it isn’t going to happen because everything has changed. The usual has yet to be defined. When you finally reopen your offices, you will be walking into a strange and eerie new normal. Initially you may struggle to make it feel like nothing has changed, but very quickly the full force of the postpandemic tsunami will hit us all broadside. In 2 years, the ship may still be rocking but what will clinical pediatrics look like in the late spring of 2022?
Will the patient mix have shifted even more toward behavioral and mental health complaints as a ripple effect of the pandemic’s emotional turmoil? Will your waiting room have become a maze of plexiglass barriers to separate the sick from the well? Has the hospital invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in a ventilation system in hopes of minimizing contagion in your exam rooms? Maybe you will have instituted an appointment schedule with sick visits in the morning and well checks in the afternoon. Or you may no longer have a waiting room because patients are queuing in their cars in the parking lot. Your support staff may be rollerskating around like carhops at a drive-in recording histories and taking vital signs.
Telemedicine will hopefully have gone mainstream with more robust guidelines for billing and quality control. Medical schools may be devoting more attention to teaching student how to assess remotely. Parents may now be equipped with a tool kit of remote sensors so that you can assess their child’s tympanic membranes, pulse rate, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure on your office computer screen.
Will the EHR finally have begun to emerge from its awkward and at times painful adolescence into an easily accessible and transportable nationwide data bank that includes immunization records for all ages? Patients may have been asked or ordered to allow their cell phones to be used as tracking devices for serious communicable diseases. How many vaccine-resistant people will have responded to the pandemic by deciding that immunizations are worth the minimal risks? I fear not many.
How many of your colleagues will have left pediatrics and heeded the call for more epidemiologists? Will you be required to take a CME course in ventilation management? The good news may be that to keep the pediatric workforce robust the government has decided to forgive your student loans.
None of these changes may have come to pass because we have notoriously short memories. But I am sure that we will all still bear the deep scars of this world changing event.
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].
Learning about the curve
Empty shelves that once cradled toilet paper rolls; lines of shoppers, some with masks; waiting 6 feet or at least a shopping cart length apart to get into grocery stores; hazmat-suited workers loading body bags into makeshift mortuaries ... These are the images we have come to associate with the COVID-19 pandemic. But then there also are the graphs and charts, none of them bearing good news. Some are difficult to interpret because they may be missing a key ingredient, such as a scale. Day to day fluctuations in the timeliness of the data points can make valid comparisons impossible. In most cases, it is too early to look at the graphs and hope for the big picture. Whether you are concerned about the stock market or the number of new cases of the virus in your county, you are hoping to see some graphic depiction of a favorable trend.
We have suddenly learned about the urgency of a process called “flattening the curve.” Are we doing as good a job of flattening as we could be? Are we doing better than France or Spain? Or are we heading toward an Italianesque apocalypse? Who is going to tell us when the flattening is for real and not just a 2- or 3-day statistical aberration?
The curves we are obsessed with today are those showing us new cases and new deaths. But And we won’t be seeing this curve in four-color graphics on the front page of our newspapers. It is the learning curve, and we want it to be as steep as we can make it without any hint of flattening in the foreseeable future.
We need to learn more about corona-like viruses. Why are some of us more vulnerable? We need to learn more about contagion. Does the 6-foot guideline make any sense? How long are viral particles floating in the air capable of initiating disease? What about air flow and dilution? Can we build a cruise ship or airplane that will be less of a health hazard?
More importantly, we need to learn to be better prepared. Even before the pandemic there have been shortages in intravenous solutions and drugs of critical importance to common diseases. Can we learn how to create reliable and affordable supply chains that allow researchers and developers to make a reasonable profit? Can we relearn to value science? Can we learn to invest more heavily in epidemiology and make it a specialty that attracts our best thinkers and communicators? Then can we elect officials who will share our trust in their recommendations?
Can we do a better job of resolving the tension between those who believe in a strong federal government and those who believe in local autonomy because we are seeing every day that this is an issue of survival, not just coexistence? Can we learn that the globalization that has allowed this viral spread can also be leveraged to beat it into submission?
Over the last half century there has been an unfortunate flattening of the learning curve. Ironically we have seen exponential growth among hi-tech industries that have forced us to keep abreast of new developments. But along with this has been a growing skepticism about value of scientific investigation. It is time we climbed back on that steep learning curve. The view gets better the higher we climb.
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].
Empty shelves that once cradled toilet paper rolls; lines of shoppers, some with masks; waiting 6 feet or at least a shopping cart length apart to get into grocery stores; hazmat-suited workers loading body bags into makeshift mortuaries ... These are the images we have come to associate with the COVID-19 pandemic. But then there also are the graphs and charts, none of them bearing good news. Some are difficult to interpret because they may be missing a key ingredient, such as a scale. Day to day fluctuations in the timeliness of the data points can make valid comparisons impossible. In most cases, it is too early to look at the graphs and hope for the big picture. Whether you are concerned about the stock market or the number of new cases of the virus in your county, you are hoping to see some graphic depiction of a favorable trend.
We have suddenly learned about the urgency of a process called “flattening the curve.” Are we doing as good a job of flattening as we could be? Are we doing better than France or Spain? Or are we heading toward an Italianesque apocalypse? Who is going to tell us when the flattening is for real and not just a 2- or 3-day statistical aberration?
The curves we are obsessed with today are those showing us new cases and new deaths. But And we won’t be seeing this curve in four-color graphics on the front page of our newspapers. It is the learning curve, and we want it to be as steep as we can make it without any hint of flattening in the foreseeable future.
We need to learn more about corona-like viruses. Why are some of us more vulnerable? We need to learn more about contagion. Does the 6-foot guideline make any sense? How long are viral particles floating in the air capable of initiating disease? What about air flow and dilution? Can we build a cruise ship or airplane that will be less of a health hazard?
More importantly, we need to learn to be better prepared. Even before the pandemic there have been shortages in intravenous solutions and drugs of critical importance to common diseases. Can we learn how to create reliable and affordable supply chains that allow researchers and developers to make a reasonable profit? Can we relearn to value science? Can we learn to invest more heavily in epidemiology and make it a specialty that attracts our best thinkers and communicators? Then can we elect officials who will share our trust in their recommendations?
Can we do a better job of resolving the tension between those who believe in a strong federal government and those who believe in local autonomy because we are seeing every day that this is an issue of survival, not just coexistence? Can we learn that the globalization that has allowed this viral spread can also be leveraged to beat it into submission?
Over the last half century there has been an unfortunate flattening of the learning curve. Ironically we have seen exponential growth among hi-tech industries that have forced us to keep abreast of new developments. But along with this has been a growing skepticism about value of scientific investigation. It is time we climbed back on that steep learning curve. The view gets better the higher we climb.
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].
Empty shelves that once cradled toilet paper rolls; lines of shoppers, some with masks; waiting 6 feet or at least a shopping cart length apart to get into grocery stores; hazmat-suited workers loading body bags into makeshift mortuaries ... These are the images we have come to associate with the COVID-19 pandemic. But then there also are the graphs and charts, none of them bearing good news. Some are difficult to interpret because they may be missing a key ingredient, such as a scale. Day to day fluctuations in the timeliness of the data points can make valid comparisons impossible. In most cases, it is too early to look at the graphs and hope for the big picture. Whether you are concerned about the stock market or the number of new cases of the virus in your county, you are hoping to see some graphic depiction of a favorable trend.
We have suddenly learned about the urgency of a process called “flattening the curve.” Are we doing as good a job of flattening as we could be? Are we doing better than France or Spain? Or are we heading toward an Italianesque apocalypse? Who is going to tell us when the flattening is for real and not just a 2- or 3-day statistical aberration?
The curves we are obsessed with today are those showing us new cases and new deaths. But And we won’t be seeing this curve in four-color graphics on the front page of our newspapers. It is the learning curve, and we want it to be as steep as we can make it without any hint of flattening in the foreseeable future.
We need to learn more about corona-like viruses. Why are some of us more vulnerable? We need to learn more about contagion. Does the 6-foot guideline make any sense? How long are viral particles floating in the air capable of initiating disease? What about air flow and dilution? Can we build a cruise ship or airplane that will be less of a health hazard?
More importantly, we need to learn to be better prepared. Even before the pandemic there have been shortages in intravenous solutions and drugs of critical importance to common diseases. Can we learn how to create reliable and affordable supply chains that allow researchers and developers to make a reasonable profit? Can we relearn to value science? Can we learn to invest more heavily in epidemiology and make it a specialty that attracts our best thinkers and communicators? Then can we elect officials who will share our trust in their recommendations?
Can we do a better job of resolving the tension between those who believe in a strong federal government and those who believe in local autonomy because we are seeing every day that this is an issue of survival, not just coexistence? Can we learn that the globalization that has allowed this viral spread can also be leveraged to beat it into submission?
Over the last half century there has been an unfortunate flattening of the learning curve. Ironically we have seen exponential growth among hi-tech industries that have forced us to keep abreast of new developments. But along with this has been a growing skepticism about value of scientific investigation. It is time we climbed back on that steep learning curve. The view gets better the higher we climb.
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].
Writing an exercise prescription
Previously I urged you to take a look at a clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics that makes an excellent case for the importance of physical activity in the physical and mental health of children. I suggested we should view with some skepticism the authors’ recommendation that we include a quantifiable assessment of physical activity as a vital sign in our EHRs because I found it an unrealistic goal for most busy clinicians.
I also promised to write again and address the authors’ recommendation that we learn how to write an exercise prescription. The authors representing the AAP’s Council on Sports Medicine and Fitness and Section on Obesity observed that many pediatricians feel they lack “the experience or training to guide their patients toward meeting physical activity recommendations.” This is in some part because few if any medical schools or training programs include how to write an exercise prescription in their curricula. Certainly I don’t recall anyone sitting me down and telling me how to prescribe exercise. But, I submit that writing a workable exercise prescription for most patients doesn’t require any special training. However, it does require some common sense and touch of creativity.
Writing any kind of prescription means that you first must know the patient for whom you are writing it. What are his or her capabilities? If the patient has some physical disabilities, you may need to involve a physical therapist or the patient’s specialists in developing the options. But in most cases, common sense will provide you with a place to start.
More important than knowing the patient’s capability is discovering what kind of things the patient and his or her family already find attractive. Convincing people, young or old, they should exercise because it is good for them is more than likely destined to fail. Most of us who enjoy being active have found that it makes us feel better. It is very likely that we developed that affinity by first doing something active that we found enjoyable. Finding that fun gateway into an active lifestyle is where it helps to be creative and to have the patience to suggest multiple options as interest levels fade. For the patient or family who seems to enjoy numerical goals, pedometers and smartwatch fitness trackers can be a hook, but in my experience these gadgets seldom result in a sustainable activity habit.
Does your community have the resources from which the family can choose an activity to fill your prescription? You should know enough about your community’s recreational opportunities and the family’s financial and temporal limitations so that the activity you have prescribed is achievable.
The bottom line is that you must be prepared for failure because most of your thoughtfully crafted prescriptions won’t be taken or even filled. The inertia that we have built into our societies is often too great for families to overcome. But don’t give up. Ask at every visit about activity. Make follow-up visits to discuss the progress or lack of progress to demonstrate that you still consider exercise a valuable and potent piece of the wellness package. And continue to discourage excess screen time.
If you are feeling frustrated by your lack of success writing exercise prescriptions, you may discover that you can be more effective by speaking out at school board and recreation department meetings. Armed with the research included in the AAP’s recent clinical report, you may find powerful allies in the community who share your passion for helping children become more active.
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].
Previously I urged you to take a look at a clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics that makes an excellent case for the importance of physical activity in the physical and mental health of children. I suggested we should view with some skepticism the authors’ recommendation that we include a quantifiable assessment of physical activity as a vital sign in our EHRs because I found it an unrealistic goal for most busy clinicians.
I also promised to write again and address the authors’ recommendation that we learn how to write an exercise prescription. The authors representing the AAP’s Council on Sports Medicine and Fitness and Section on Obesity observed that many pediatricians feel they lack “the experience or training to guide their patients toward meeting physical activity recommendations.” This is in some part because few if any medical schools or training programs include how to write an exercise prescription in their curricula. Certainly I don’t recall anyone sitting me down and telling me how to prescribe exercise. But, I submit that writing a workable exercise prescription for most patients doesn’t require any special training. However, it does require some common sense and touch of creativity.
Writing any kind of prescription means that you first must know the patient for whom you are writing it. What are his or her capabilities? If the patient has some physical disabilities, you may need to involve a physical therapist or the patient’s specialists in developing the options. But in most cases, common sense will provide you with a place to start.
More important than knowing the patient’s capability is discovering what kind of things the patient and his or her family already find attractive. Convincing people, young or old, they should exercise because it is good for them is more than likely destined to fail. Most of us who enjoy being active have found that it makes us feel better. It is very likely that we developed that affinity by first doing something active that we found enjoyable. Finding that fun gateway into an active lifestyle is where it helps to be creative and to have the patience to suggest multiple options as interest levels fade. For the patient or family who seems to enjoy numerical goals, pedometers and smartwatch fitness trackers can be a hook, but in my experience these gadgets seldom result in a sustainable activity habit.
Does your community have the resources from which the family can choose an activity to fill your prescription? You should know enough about your community’s recreational opportunities and the family’s financial and temporal limitations so that the activity you have prescribed is achievable.
The bottom line is that you must be prepared for failure because most of your thoughtfully crafted prescriptions won’t be taken or even filled. The inertia that we have built into our societies is often too great for families to overcome. But don’t give up. Ask at every visit about activity. Make follow-up visits to discuss the progress or lack of progress to demonstrate that you still consider exercise a valuable and potent piece of the wellness package. And continue to discourage excess screen time.
If you are feeling frustrated by your lack of success writing exercise prescriptions, you may discover that you can be more effective by speaking out at school board and recreation department meetings. Armed with the research included in the AAP’s recent clinical report, you may find powerful allies in the community who share your passion for helping children become more active.
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].
Previously I urged you to take a look at a clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics that makes an excellent case for the importance of physical activity in the physical and mental health of children. I suggested we should view with some skepticism the authors’ recommendation that we include a quantifiable assessment of physical activity as a vital sign in our EHRs because I found it an unrealistic goal for most busy clinicians.
I also promised to write again and address the authors’ recommendation that we learn how to write an exercise prescription. The authors representing the AAP’s Council on Sports Medicine and Fitness and Section on Obesity observed that many pediatricians feel they lack “the experience or training to guide their patients toward meeting physical activity recommendations.” This is in some part because few if any medical schools or training programs include how to write an exercise prescription in their curricula. Certainly I don’t recall anyone sitting me down and telling me how to prescribe exercise. But, I submit that writing a workable exercise prescription for most patients doesn’t require any special training. However, it does require some common sense and touch of creativity.
Writing any kind of prescription means that you first must know the patient for whom you are writing it. What are his or her capabilities? If the patient has some physical disabilities, you may need to involve a physical therapist or the patient’s specialists in developing the options. But in most cases, common sense will provide you with a place to start.
More important than knowing the patient’s capability is discovering what kind of things the patient and his or her family already find attractive. Convincing people, young or old, they should exercise because it is good for them is more than likely destined to fail. Most of us who enjoy being active have found that it makes us feel better. It is very likely that we developed that affinity by first doing something active that we found enjoyable. Finding that fun gateway into an active lifestyle is where it helps to be creative and to have the patience to suggest multiple options as interest levels fade. For the patient or family who seems to enjoy numerical goals, pedometers and smartwatch fitness trackers can be a hook, but in my experience these gadgets seldom result in a sustainable activity habit.
Does your community have the resources from which the family can choose an activity to fill your prescription? You should know enough about your community’s recreational opportunities and the family’s financial and temporal limitations so that the activity you have prescribed is achievable.
The bottom line is that you must be prepared for failure because most of your thoughtfully crafted prescriptions won’t be taken or even filled. The inertia that we have built into our societies is often too great for families to overcome. But don’t give up. Ask at every visit about activity. Make follow-up visits to discuss the progress or lack of progress to demonstrate that you still consider exercise a valuable and potent piece of the wellness package. And continue to discourage excess screen time.
If you are feeling frustrated by your lack of success writing exercise prescriptions, you may discover that you can be more effective by speaking out at school board and recreation department meetings. Armed with the research included in the AAP’s recent clinical report, you may find powerful allies in the community who share your passion for helping children become more active.
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].
Sunshine on my shoulders
On March 26, 2020, it’s hard to write or think of anything beyond the COVID-19 pandemic. Those of you who are on the front lines of the battle may find it strange that I am just a bit envious. Having stepped back from clinical medicine nearly a decade ago, it is frustrating to feel that there is little I can do to help other than offering to venture into the grocery store to shop for friends and neighbors who feel more vulnerable than I do.
Here in Maine, we are blessed by geographic isolation that for the moment seems to have damped the surge from the metropolitan centers to our south. But, the virus is here and, as the state with the oldest population, we are beginning to be affected.
For nearly a century, we could count on the outhouses here in Maine would be stocked with outdated Sears Roebucks catalogs when toilet paper was in short supply. Many outhouses remain but Sears Roebucks and its catalogs have disappeared from the landscape. I take a little comfort in the learning that I’m not the only human on the planet who can envision the horror of a week or even a day without toilet paper.
So I am left to sit on the sidelines and watch how my fellow Mainers are coping with the anxiety, depression, and loneliness that come with the forced social isolation. It is pretty clear that walking outside has become the coping strategy of choice. On a usual March day the walkers comprise a skimpy mix of dog walkers and wannabe arctic explorers testing the weather-defying capabilities of their high-tech outerwear. But, to say the least, this is not a usual March and the number of walkers has surged bolstered by gym rats forced off their sweat-drenched ellipticals and treadmills.
This increase in outdoor activity is clearly perceptible even on an overcast day, but it is far less than one would expect given the magnitude of the disruption to everyone’s routines. But, when the sun comes out! The doors fly open and onto the sidewalks and quiet rural roads spill scores of people I haven’t seen for months and in some cases decades. One can almost hear John Denver singing “sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.” Everyone is smiling and waving to each other. It feels as though the community has, at least for a few hours, been able to throw off the burden of angst that the pandemic laid on us.
There has been a good bit of research about seasonal affective disorder, and I suspect that almost everyone has heard about the value of sunshine for depression. But it is unfortunate that the psychological benefits of just being outdoors – even on an overcast day – has gone pretty much unpublicized. As part of their marketing strategy, a local company that specializes in recreational clothing and gear is encouraging its customers to become “outsiders.” It may be that the pandemic will make more people realize the psychological benefits of being active outside. As physicians we should continue to encourage our patients to be more active and remind them that they don’t need to wait for a sunny day to do so.
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.” He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at [email protected].
On March 26, 2020, it’s hard to write or think of anything beyond the COVID-19 pandemic. Those of you who are on the front lines of the battle may find it strange that I am just a bit envious. Having stepped back from clinical medicine nearly a decade ago, it is frustrating to feel that there is little I can do to help other than offering to venture into the grocery store to shop for friends and neighbors who feel more vulnerable than I do.
Here in Maine, we are blessed by geographic isolation that for the moment seems to have damped the surge from the metropolitan centers to our south. But, the virus is here and, as the state with the oldest population, we are beginning to be affected.
For nearly a century, we could count on the outhouses here in Maine would be stocked with outdated Sears Roebucks catalogs when toilet paper was in short supply. Many outhouses remain but Sears Roebucks and its catalogs have disappeared from the landscape. I take a little comfort in the learning that I’m not the only human on the planet who can envision the horror of a week or even a day without toilet paper.
So I am left to sit on the sidelines and watch how my fellow Mainers are coping with the anxiety, depression, and loneliness that come with the forced social isolation. It is pretty clear that walking outside has become the coping strategy of choice. On a usual March day the walkers comprise a skimpy mix of dog walkers and wannabe arctic explorers testing the weather-defying capabilities of their high-tech outerwear. But, to say the least, this is not a usual March and the number of walkers has surged bolstered by gym rats forced off their sweat-drenched ellipticals and treadmills.
This increase in outdoor activity is clearly perceptible even on an overcast day, but it is far less than one would expect given the magnitude of the disruption to everyone’s routines. But, when the sun comes out! The doors fly open and onto the sidewalks and quiet rural roads spill scores of people I haven’t seen for months and in some cases decades. One can almost hear John Denver singing “sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.” Everyone is smiling and waving to each other. It feels as though the community has, at least for a few hours, been able to throw off the burden of angst that the pandemic laid on us.
There has been a good bit of research about seasonal affective disorder, and I suspect that almost everyone has heard about the value of sunshine for depression. But it is unfortunate that the psychological benefits of just being outdoors – even on an overcast day – has gone pretty much unpublicized. As part of their marketing strategy, a local company that specializes in recreational clothing and gear is encouraging its customers to become “outsiders.” It may be that the pandemic will make more people realize the psychological benefits of being active outside. As physicians we should continue to encourage our patients to be more active and remind them that they don’t need to wait for a sunny day to do so.
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.” He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at [email protected].
On March 26, 2020, it’s hard to write or think of anything beyond the COVID-19 pandemic. Those of you who are on the front lines of the battle may find it strange that I am just a bit envious. Having stepped back from clinical medicine nearly a decade ago, it is frustrating to feel that there is little I can do to help other than offering to venture into the grocery store to shop for friends and neighbors who feel more vulnerable than I do.
Here in Maine, we are blessed by geographic isolation that for the moment seems to have damped the surge from the metropolitan centers to our south. But, the virus is here and, as the state with the oldest population, we are beginning to be affected.
For nearly a century, we could count on the outhouses here in Maine would be stocked with outdated Sears Roebucks catalogs when toilet paper was in short supply. Many outhouses remain but Sears Roebucks and its catalogs have disappeared from the landscape. I take a little comfort in the learning that I’m not the only human on the planet who can envision the horror of a week or even a day without toilet paper.
So I am left to sit on the sidelines and watch how my fellow Mainers are coping with the anxiety, depression, and loneliness that come with the forced social isolation. It is pretty clear that walking outside has become the coping strategy of choice. On a usual March day the walkers comprise a skimpy mix of dog walkers and wannabe arctic explorers testing the weather-defying capabilities of their high-tech outerwear. But, to say the least, this is not a usual March and the number of walkers has surged bolstered by gym rats forced off their sweat-drenched ellipticals and treadmills.
This increase in outdoor activity is clearly perceptible even on an overcast day, but it is far less than one would expect given the magnitude of the disruption to everyone’s routines. But, when the sun comes out! The doors fly open and onto the sidewalks and quiet rural roads spill scores of people I haven’t seen for months and in some cases decades. One can almost hear John Denver singing “sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.” Everyone is smiling and waving to each other. It feels as though the community has, at least for a few hours, been able to throw off the burden of angst that the pandemic laid on us.
There has been a good bit of research about seasonal affective disorder, and I suspect that almost everyone has heard about the value of sunshine for depression. But it is unfortunate that the psychological benefits of just being outdoors – even on an overcast day – has gone pretty much unpublicized. As part of their marketing strategy, a local company that specializes in recreational clothing and gear is encouraging its customers to become “outsiders.” It may be that the pandemic will make more people realize the psychological benefits of being active outside. As physicians we should continue to encourage our patients to be more active and remind them that they don’t need to wait for a sunny day to do so.
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.” He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at [email protected].
Do we need another vital sign?
If you haven’t already found out that activity is a critical component in the physical and mental health of your patients, or if you’re trying to convince an influential person or group it deserves their attention and investment, I suggest you chase down this clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics. Representing the AAP’s Council on Sports Medicine and Fitness and Section on Obesity, the authors quite thoroughly make the case that anyone concerned about the health of this nation and its children should make promotion of physical activity a top priority.
I suspect that, like many of the position papers that come from the AAP, this clinical report is another example of preaching to the choir. However, I understand that the academy also hopes to convince a broader audience of nonphysician decision makers by laying out all of the evidence they can muster.
With their voluminous supporting evidence on the table, the authors move on to getting those of us in clinical practice to make our approach to this more systematic – including the addition of a Physical Activity Vital Sign (PAVS) in our patients’ health records. And here is where the authors begin to drift into the hazy dream world of unreality. They admit that “pediatricians will need efficient workflows to incorporate physical activity assessment, counseling and referral in the clinical visit.” Although there is no pediatrician more convinced of the importance of physical activity, I would find it very difficult to include a detailed assessment of my patients’ daily activity in their charts in the manner that the council members envision. Clunky EHRs, limited support staff, and a crowd of advocates already clamoring for my attention on their favorite health issue (nutrition, gun safety, parental depression, dental health to name just a few) all make creating an “efficient workflow” difficult on a good day and impossible on many days.
But, as I have said, I am a strong advocate of physical activity. So here’s a more nuanced suggestion based on a combination of my practical experience and the council’s recommendations.
If you provide good continuity of care to the families in your practice and have been asking good “getting to know you” questions at each visit, you probably already know which of your patients are sufficiently active. You don’t need to ask them how many hours a week they are doing something active. You should be able to just check a box that says “active.”
For patients that you haven’t seen before or suspect are too sedentary from looking at their biometrics and listening to their complaints you need only ask “What do you and your family like to do for fun?” The simple follow-up question of how many hours are spent watching TV, looking at smart phones or tablets, and playing video games in each day completes the survey. You don’t need to chart the depressing details because, as we know, relying on patient or parental recall is unlikely to provide the actual numbers. Just simply check the box that says “not active enough.” What you do with this crude assessment activity is another story and will be the topic for the next Letters from Maine.
This clinical report from the AAP is an excellent and exhaustive discussion of the importance of physical activity, but I hope that it doesn’t spark further cluttering of our already challenged EHR systems. Most of us don’t have the time to be data collectors and quantifiers. Let’s leave that to the clinical researchers. We already know activity is important and that most of our sedentary families aren’t going to be impressed by more science. Our challenge is to get them moving.
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].
If you haven’t already found out that activity is a critical component in the physical and mental health of your patients, or if you’re trying to convince an influential person or group it deserves their attention and investment, I suggest you chase down this clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics. Representing the AAP’s Council on Sports Medicine and Fitness and Section on Obesity, the authors quite thoroughly make the case that anyone concerned about the health of this nation and its children should make promotion of physical activity a top priority.
I suspect that, like many of the position papers that come from the AAP, this clinical report is another example of preaching to the choir. However, I understand that the academy also hopes to convince a broader audience of nonphysician decision makers by laying out all of the evidence they can muster.
With their voluminous supporting evidence on the table, the authors move on to getting those of us in clinical practice to make our approach to this more systematic – including the addition of a Physical Activity Vital Sign (PAVS) in our patients’ health records. And here is where the authors begin to drift into the hazy dream world of unreality. They admit that “pediatricians will need efficient workflows to incorporate physical activity assessment, counseling and referral in the clinical visit.” Although there is no pediatrician more convinced of the importance of physical activity, I would find it very difficult to include a detailed assessment of my patients’ daily activity in their charts in the manner that the council members envision. Clunky EHRs, limited support staff, and a crowd of advocates already clamoring for my attention on their favorite health issue (nutrition, gun safety, parental depression, dental health to name just a few) all make creating an “efficient workflow” difficult on a good day and impossible on many days.
But, as I have said, I am a strong advocate of physical activity. So here’s a more nuanced suggestion based on a combination of my practical experience and the council’s recommendations.
If you provide good continuity of care to the families in your practice and have been asking good “getting to know you” questions at each visit, you probably already know which of your patients are sufficiently active. You don’t need to ask them how many hours a week they are doing something active. You should be able to just check a box that says “active.”
For patients that you haven’t seen before or suspect are too sedentary from looking at their biometrics and listening to their complaints you need only ask “What do you and your family like to do for fun?” The simple follow-up question of how many hours are spent watching TV, looking at smart phones or tablets, and playing video games in each day completes the survey. You don’t need to chart the depressing details because, as we know, relying on patient or parental recall is unlikely to provide the actual numbers. Just simply check the box that says “not active enough.” What you do with this crude assessment activity is another story and will be the topic for the next Letters from Maine.
This clinical report from the AAP is an excellent and exhaustive discussion of the importance of physical activity, but I hope that it doesn’t spark further cluttering of our already challenged EHR systems. Most of us don’t have the time to be data collectors and quantifiers. Let’s leave that to the clinical researchers. We already know activity is important and that most of our sedentary families aren’t going to be impressed by more science. Our challenge is to get them moving.
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].
If you haven’t already found out that activity is a critical component in the physical and mental health of your patients, or if you’re trying to convince an influential person or group it deserves their attention and investment, I suggest you chase down this clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics. Representing the AAP’s Council on Sports Medicine and Fitness and Section on Obesity, the authors quite thoroughly make the case that anyone concerned about the health of this nation and its children should make promotion of physical activity a top priority.
I suspect that, like many of the position papers that come from the AAP, this clinical report is another example of preaching to the choir. However, I understand that the academy also hopes to convince a broader audience of nonphysician decision makers by laying out all of the evidence they can muster.
With their voluminous supporting evidence on the table, the authors move on to getting those of us in clinical practice to make our approach to this more systematic – including the addition of a Physical Activity Vital Sign (PAVS) in our patients’ health records. And here is where the authors begin to drift into the hazy dream world of unreality. They admit that “pediatricians will need efficient workflows to incorporate physical activity assessment, counseling and referral in the clinical visit.” Although there is no pediatrician more convinced of the importance of physical activity, I would find it very difficult to include a detailed assessment of my patients’ daily activity in their charts in the manner that the council members envision. Clunky EHRs, limited support staff, and a crowd of advocates already clamoring for my attention on their favorite health issue (nutrition, gun safety, parental depression, dental health to name just a few) all make creating an “efficient workflow” difficult on a good day and impossible on many days.
But, as I have said, I am a strong advocate of physical activity. So here’s a more nuanced suggestion based on a combination of my practical experience and the council’s recommendations.
If you provide good continuity of care to the families in your practice and have been asking good “getting to know you” questions at each visit, you probably already know which of your patients are sufficiently active. You don’t need to ask them how many hours a week they are doing something active. You should be able to just check a box that says “active.”
For patients that you haven’t seen before or suspect are too sedentary from looking at their biometrics and listening to their complaints you need only ask “What do you and your family like to do for fun?” The simple follow-up question of how many hours are spent watching TV, looking at smart phones or tablets, and playing video games in each day completes the survey. You don’t need to chart the depressing details because, as we know, relying on patient or parental recall is unlikely to provide the actual numbers. Just simply check the box that says “not active enough.” What you do with this crude assessment activity is another story and will be the topic for the next Letters from Maine.
This clinical report from the AAP is an excellent and exhaustive discussion of the importance of physical activity, but I hope that it doesn’t spark further cluttering of our already challenged EHR systems. Most of us don’t have the time to be data collectors and quantifiers. Let’s leave that to the clinical researchers. We already know activity is important and that most of our sedentary families aren’t going to be impressed by more science. Our challenge is to get them moving.
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].
Under the influence
I don’t know how successful you have been at getting your adolescent patients to follow your suggestions, but I would guess that my batting average was in the low 100s. Even when I try stepping off my soapbox to involve the patient in a nonjudgmental dialogue, my successes pale in comparison to my failures.
Just looking at our national statistics for obesity, it’s pretty obvious that we are all doing a pretty rotten job of modifying our patients behaviors. You could point to a few encouraging numbers but they are few and far between. You could claim correctly that by the time a child reaches preschool, the die is already cast, throw up your arms, and not even raise the subject of diet with your overweight teenage patients.
A recent article in the journal Appetite hints at a group of strategies for molding patient behavior that so far have gotten very little attention from physicians (“Do perceived norms of social media users eating habits and preferences predict our own food consumption and BMI?” Appetite. 2020 Jan 18. doi: 10.1016/j.appet.2020.104611). Researchers at the department of psychology at Ashton University in Birmingham, England, surveyed more than 350 college-age students asking them about the dietary preference of their Facebook contacts and their own dietary habits. What the investigators found was that respondents who perceived their peers ate a healthy diet ate a healthier diet. Conversely, if the respondents thought their social media contacts ate junk food, they reported eating more of an unhealthy diet themselves.
In other words, it appears that, through social media, we have the potential to influence the eating habits of our patients’ peers. Before we get too excited, it should be pointed out that this study from England wasn’t of a long enough duration to demonstrate an effect on body mass index. And another study of 176 children recently published in Pediatrics found that while influencer marketing of unhealthy foods increased children’s immediate food intake, the equivalent marketing of healthy foods had no effect (“Social influencer marketing and children’s food intake: A randomized trial.” Pediatrics. 2019 Apr 1. doi: 10.1542/peds.2018-2554).
Not being terribly aware of the whos, whats, and wheres of influencers, I did a little bit of Internet searching at the Influencer Marketing hub and learned that influencers comes in all shapes and sizes, from “nanoinfluencers” who have acknowledged expertise and a very small Internet following numbering as few as a hundred to “megainfluencers” who have more than a million followers and might charge large entities a million dollars for a single post. The influencer’s content could appear as a blog, a YouTube video, a podcast, or simply a social media post.
The field of influencer marketing is new and growing exponentially. This initiative could come in the form of an office dedicated to Influencer Marketing created by the American Academy of Pediatrics. That group could search for megainfluencers who might be funded by the academy. But it also could develop a handbook for individual practitioners and groups to help them identify nano- and micro- (1,000-40,000 followers) influencers in their own practices.
You probably don’t ask your patients about their social media habits other than to caution them about time management. Maybe it’s time to dig a little deeper. You may find that you have a potent influencer hidden in your practice. She or he might just be willing to spread a good word or two for you.
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].
I don’t know how successful you have been at getting your adolescent patients to follow your suggestions, but I would guess that my batting average was in the low 100s. Even when I try stepping off my soapbox to involve the patient in a nonjudgmental dialogue, my successes pale in comparison to my failures.
Just looking at our national statistics for obesity, it’s pretty obvious that we are all doing a pretty rotten job of modifying our patients behaviors. You could point to a few encouraging numbers but they are few and far between. You could claim correctly that by the time a child reaches preschool, the die is already cast, throw up your arms, and not even raise the subject of diet with your overweight teenage patients.
A recent article in the journal Appetite hints at a group of strategies for molding patient behavior that so far have gotten very little attention from physicians (“Do perceived norms of social media users eating habits and preferences predict our own food consumption and BMI?” Appetite. 2020 Jan 18. doi: 10.1016/j.appet.2020.104611). Researchers at the department of psychology at Ashton University in Birmingham, England, surveyed more than 350 college-age students asking them about the dietary preference of their Facebook contacts and their own dietary habits. What the investigators found was that respondents who perceived their peers ate a healthy diet ate a healthier diet. Conversely, if the respondents thought their social media contacts ate junk food, they reported eating more of an unhealthy diet themselves.
In other words, it appears that, through social media, we have the potential to influence the eating habits of our patients’ peers. Before we get too excited, it should be pointed out that this study from England wasn’t of a long enough duration to demonstrate an effect on body mass index. And another study of 176 children recently published in Pediatrics found that while influencer marketing of unhealthy foods increased children’s immediate food intake, the equivalent marketing of healthy foods had no effect (“Social influencer marketing and children’s food intake: A randomized trial.” Pediatrics. 2019 Apr 1. doi: 10.1542/peds.2018-2554).
Not being terribly aware of the whos, whats, and wheres of influencers, I did a little bit of Internet searching at the Influencer Marketing hub and learned that influencers comes in all shapes and sizes, from “nanoinfluencers” who have acknowledged expertise and a very small Internet following numbering as few as a hundred to “megainfluencers” who have more than a million followers and might charge large entities a million dollars for a single post. The influencer’s content could appear as a blog, a YouTube video, a podcast, or simply a social media post.
The field of influencer marketing is new and growing exponentially. This initiative could come in the form of an office dedicated to Influencer Marketing created by the American Academy of Pediatrics. That group could search for megainfluencers who might be funded by the academy. But it also could develop a handbook for individual practitioners and groups to help them identify nano- and micro- (1,000-40,000 followers) influencers in their own practices.
You probably don’t ask your patients about their social media habits other than to caution them about time management. Maybe it’s time to dig a little deeper. You may find that you have a potent influencer hidden in your practice. She or he might just be willing to spread a good word or two for you.
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].
I don’t know how successful you have been at getting your adolescent patients to follow your suggestions, but I would guess that my batting average was in the low 100s. Even when I try stepping off my soapbox to involve the patient in a nonjudgmental dialogue, my successes pale in comparison to my failures.
Just looking at our national statistics for obesity, it’s pretty obvious that we are all doing a pretty rotten job of modifying our patients behaviors. You could point to a few encouraging numbers but they are few and far between. You could claim correctly that by the time a child reaches preschool, the die is already cast, throw up your arms, and not even raise the subject of diet with your overweight teenage patients.
A recent article in the journal Appetite hints at a group of strategies for molding patient behavior that so far have gotten very little attention from physicians (“Do perceived norms of social media users eating habits and preferences predict our own food consumption and BMI?” Appetite. 2020 Jan 18. doi: 10.1016/j.appet.2020.104611). Researchers at the department of psychology at Ashton University in Birmingham, England, surveyed more than 350 college-age students asking them about the dietary preference of their Facebook contacts and their own dietary habits. What the investigators found was that respondents who perceived their peers ate a healthy diet ate a healthier diet. Conversely, if the respondents thought their social media contacts ate junk food, they reported eating more of an unhealthy diet themselves.
In other words, it appears that, through social media, we have the potential to influence the eating habits of our patients’ peers. Before we get too excited, it should be pointed out that this study from England wasn’t of a long enough duration to demonstrate an effect on body mass index. And another study of 176 children recently published in Pediatrics found that while influencer marketing of unhealthy foods increased children’s immediate food intake, the equivalent marketing of healthy foods had no effect (“Social influencer marketing and children’s food intake: A randomized trial.” Pediatrics. 2019 Apr 1. doi: 10.1542/peds.2018-2554).
Not being terribly aware of the whos, whats, and wheres of influencers, I did a little bit of Internet searching at the Influencer Marketing hub and learned that influencers comes in all shapes and sizes, from “nanoinfluencers” who have acknowledged expertise and a very small Internet following numbering as few as a hundred to “megainfluencers” who have more than a million followers and might charge large entities a million dollars for a single post. The influencer’s content could appear as a blog, a YouTube video, a podcast, or simply a social media post.
The field of influencer marketing is new and growing exponentially. This initiative could come in the form of an office dedicated to Influencer Marketing created by the American Academy of Pediatrics. That group could search for megainfluencers who might be funded by the academy. But it also could develop a handbook for individual practitioners and groups to help them identify nano- and micro- (1,000-40,000 followers) influencers in their own practices.
You probably don’t ask your patients about their social media habits other than to caution them about time management. Maybe it’s time to dig a little deeper. You may find that you have a potent influencer hidden in your practice. She or he might just be willing to spread a good word or two for you.
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].
Is there empathy erosion?
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].
There’s hope: Curbing food wastage at the school cafeteria
It’s hard to find good news these days, but I thought I had stumbled on a nice feel-good story in the Portland Press Herald. It turns out a group of students at the King Middle School in Portland, Maine, has formed a team of “compost guardians,” who by coaxing their fellow students into sorting their uneaten lunch food into five reusable or recyclable categories have reduced the cafeteria’s daily waste production from 12 40-gallon trash bags to 2. (“Each year, Maine’s K-12 schools waste about 7 million pounds of food,” by Rachel Ohm, Portland Press Herald, Feb. 2, 2020). That seems like a heroic accomplishment and good news by any standard.
However, as I read on in the newspaper article it became clear that these students’ efforts represent a tiny speck of light in the middle of a very dark tunnel. In developing their system, the students learned that 34% of the food was not being consumed, which is part of the 30%-40% of food wasted across the country. In Maine, this represents about 7 million pounds of food wasted annually. Not surprisingly, the students found that 60% of the fruit and 28% of the vegetables go uneaten.
But current federal guidelines dictate that students must take a vegetable and a fruit on their trays. While well-intentioned, this is a mandate destined to generate waste.
King Middle School and many other schools around the country offer a program that is not in the federal guidelines: a “share table” where students can place unwanted (but safe to eat) food, and from which other students may serve themselves freely. On the surface, this may seem like a good idea because it legitimizes what children have been doing for years on their own. This shared food should consist of “healthy choices” because it is cafeteria fare dictated by the United States Department of Agriculture. But you know as well as I do that a child can become obese overeating a diet that in moderate amounts would be considered healthy. I suspect that many, if not most, students taking food from the share table don’t need any extra calories.
The USDA recently announced that it will be rolling out reforms for school and summer meal programs (USDA Release # USDA 0129.20). One of the goals of these reforms is to reduce food wastage by giving schools more flexibility in creating menus and offering more à la carte options. In the wake this rollout, there has been some concern voiced that schools will begin to offer less nutritional options. Unfortunately, this concern may be true in some districts, but it is pretty clear that the current guidelines are a significant contributor to food wastage without offering much of an upside. It may be time to lessen the record-keeping burden on local food services, and allow them some leeway in creating more appealing options while taking advantage of local food sources.
With or without the new guidelines, we are asking public schools to cater to multiple cohorts of students whose parents have put them on the bus in the morning as mismanaged picky eaters.
What would have worked at home could work at school. That strategy is to offer a child a balanced diet presented in an appealing manner in a pleasant setting. Also it is not allowing any sweetened beverages or milk in excess. Children may grumble temporarily but if the strategy is applied consistently, they will take it from there. That doesn’t mean that the children have to put the food on their trays if they don’t want it. But they shouldn’t be offered a second run through the cafeteria line or a chance to pick from the share table. Sadly, the success of this strategy relies on two shaky premises: That parents will begin to apply it at home and that school lunch programs will offer only healthy choices.
The bottom line is that schools can’t be expected to cure picky eaters who were enabled at home. On the other hand, it is not unreasonable to ask schools to play a role in curbing the national scourge of food wastage.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “Coping with a Picky Eater: A Guide for the Perplexed Parent.” Email him at [email protected].
It’s hard to find good news these days, but I thought I had stumbled on a nice feel-good story in the Portland Press Herald. It turns out a group of students at the King Middle School in Portland, Maine, has formed a team of “compost guardians,” who by coaxing their fellow students into sorting their uneaten lunch food into five reusable or recyclable categories have reduced the cafeteria’s daily waste production from 12 40-gallon trash bags to 2. (“Each year, Maine’s K-12 schools waste about 7 million pounds of food,” by Rachel Ohm, Portland Press Herald, Feb. 2, 2020). That seems like a heroic accomplishment and good news by any standard.
However, as I read on in the newspaper article it became clear that these students’ efforts represent a tiny speck of light in the middle of a very dark tunnel. In developing their system, the students learned that 34% of the food was not being consumed, which is part of the 30%-40% of food wasted across the country. In Maine, this represents about 7 million pounds of food wasted annually. Not surprisingly, the students found that 60% of the fruit and 28% of the vegetables go uneaten.
But current federal guidelines dictate that students must take a vegetable and a fruit on their trays. While well-intentioned, this is a mandate destined to generate waste.
King Middle School and many other schools around the country offer a program that is not in the federal guidelines: a “share table” where students can place unwanted (but safe to eat) food, and from which other students may serve themselves freely. On the surface, this may seem like a good idea because it legitimizes what children have been doing for years on their own. This shared food should consist of “healthy choices” because it is cafeteria fare dictated by the United States Department of Agriculture. But you know as well as I do that a child can become obese overeating a diet that in moderate amounts would be considered healthy. I suspect that many, if not most, students taking food from the share table don’t need any extra calories.
The USDA recently announced that it will be rolling out reforms for school and summer meal programs (USDA Release # USDA 0129.20). One of the goals of these reforms is to reduce food wastage by giving schools more flexibility in creating menus and offering more à la carte options. In the wake this rollout, there has been some concern voiced that schools will begin to offer less nutritional options. Unfortunately, this concern may be true in some districts, but it is pretty clear that the current guidelines are a significant contributor to food wastage without offering much of an upside. It may be time to lessen the record-keeping burden on local food services, and allow them some leeway in creating more appealing options while taking advantage of local food sources.
With or without the new guidelines, we are asking public schools to cater to multiple cohorts of students whose parents have put them on the bus in the morning as mismanaged picky eaters.
What would have worked at home could work at school. That strategy is to offer a child a balanced diet presented in an appealing manner in a pleasant setting. Also it is not allowing any sweetened beverages or milk in excess. Children may grumble temporarily but if the strategy is applied consistently, they will take it from there. That doesn’t mean that the children have to put the food on their trays if they don’t want it. But they shouldn’t be offered a second run through the cafeteria line or a chance to pick from the share table. Sadly, the success of this strategy relies on two shaky premises: That parents will begin to apply it at home and that school lunch programs will offer only healthy choices.
The bottom line is that schools can’t be expected to cure picky eaters who were enabled at home. On the other hand, it is not unreasonable to ask schools to play a role in curbing the national scourge of food wastage.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “Coping with a Picky Eater: A Guide for the Perplexed Parent.” Email him at [email protected].
It’s hard to find good news these days, but I thought I had stumbled on a nice feel-good story in the Portland Press Herald. It turns out a group of students at the King Middle School in Portland, Maine, has formed a team of “compost guardians,” who by coaxing their fellow students into sorting their uneaten lunch food into five reusable or recyclable categories have reduced the cafeteria’s daily waste production from 12 40-gallon trash bags to 2. (“Each year, Maine’s K-12 schools waste about 7 million pounds of food,” by Rachel Ohm, Portland Press Herald, Feb. 2, 2020). That seems like a heroic accomplishment and good news by any standard.
However, as I read on in the newspaper article it became clear that these students’ efforts represent a tiny speck of light in the middle of a very dark tunnel. In developing their system, the students learned that 34% of the food was not being consumed, which is part of the 30%-40% of food wasted across the country. In Maine, this represents about 7 million pounds of food wasted annually. Not surprisingly, the students found that 60% of the fruit and 28% of the vegetables go uneaten.
But current federal guidelines dictate that students must take a vegetable and a fruit on their trays. While well-intentioned, this is a mandate destined to generate waste.
King Middle School and many other schools around the country offer a program that is not in the federal guidelines: a “share table” where students can place unwanted (but safe to eat) food, and from which other students may serve themselves freely. On the surface, this may seem like a good idea because it legitimizes what children have been doing for years on their own. This shared food should consist of “healthy choices” because it is cafeteria fare dictated by the United States Department of Agriculture. But you know as well as I do that a child can become obese overeating a diet that in moderate amounts would be considered healthy. I suspect that many, if not most, students taking food from the share table don’t need any extra calories.
The USDA recently announced that it will be rolling out reforms for school and summer meal programs (USDA Release # USDA 0129.20). One of the goals of these reforms is to reduce food wastage by giving schools more flexibility in creating menus and offering more à la carte options. In the wake this rollout, there has been some concern voiced that schools will begin to offer less nutritional options. Unfortunately, this concern may be true in some districts, but it is pretty clear that the current guidelines are a significant contributor to food wastage without offering much of an upside. It may be time to lessen the record-keeping burden on local food services, and allow them some leeway in creating more appealing options while taking advantage of local food sources.
With or without the new guidelines, we are asking public schools to cater to multiple cohorts of students whose parents have put them on the bus in the morning as mismanaged picky eaters.
What would have worked at home could work at school. That strategy is to offer a child a balanced diet presented in an appealing manner in a pleasant setting. Also it is not allowing any sweetened beverages or milk in excess. Children may grumble temporarily but if the strategy is applied consistently, they will take it from there. That doesn’t mean that the children have to put the food on their trays if they don’t want it. But they shouldn’t be offered a second run through the cafeteria line or a chance to pick from the share table. Sadly, the success of this strategy relies on two shaky premises: That parents will begin to apply it at home and that school lunch programs will offer only healthy choices.
The bottom line is that schools can’t be expected to cure picky eaters who were enabled at home. On the other hand, it is not unreasonable to ask schools to play a role in curbing the national scourge of food wastage.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “Coping with a Picky Eater: A Guide for the Perplexed Parent.” Email him at [email protected].