The American Academy of Pediatrics’ (AAP) Community Access to Child Health is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. Known by the acronym CATCH, this program provides seed funding to chapters and pediatricians at all stages of their training and practice trajectories to assist in the planing and development of community-based initiatives aimed at increasing children’s access to a variety of health services. While relatively modest in its scale and profile, the CATCH-funded recipients have a strong track record of creating effective and often sustainable projects serving children in historically underserved segments of the community.
In a recent article by Rupal C. Gupta, MD, FAAP, I encountered a quote attributed to Benjamin D. Hoffman, MD, president-elect of the AAP, who served as a chapter CATCH facilitator. Dr. Hoffman observed that “part of the solution to burnout is doing meaningful work, and CATCH allows you to do that.” I couldn’t agree more with Dr. Hoffman’s claim. There is no question that viewing your professional activities as meaningless can be a major contributor to burnout. And, community involvement can certainly provide ample opportunities to do meaningful work.
Dr. William G. Wilkoff
As a pediatrician who worked, lived, and raised his children in the same small community, I found that seeing and interacting with my patients and their families outside the office in a variety of environments, from the grocery store to the soccer field, and a variety of roles, from coach to school physician, added a richness to my professional life.
I suspect that living in and serving the community where I practiced may have helped provide some meaning on those very rare occasions when I wondered why I was heading off to work in the morning ... or in the middle of the night. But, 90% of the time I felt what I was doing as a physician was somehow making a difference. Nothing earth shaking or worthy of sainthood mind you, but if I were to take the time to look back on my day and weighed the meaningful against the meaningless activities it would almost always tip the scales toward meaningful. But, I seldom had the time to engage in such retrospection.
It seems that many physicians today are not finding that same meaningful versus meaningless balance that I enjoyed. Is it because they are spending too little of their time doing meaningful work? Has the management of the more common illnesses become too routine or so algorithm-driven that it is no longer challenging? One solution to that problem is to shift our focus from the disease to the patient. Diagnosing and managing strep throat is not a terribly challenging intellectual exercise until you realize it is the unique way in which each patient presents and tolerates the illness.
I think the answer is not that there is too little meaningful work for physicians today, and I suspect that you would agree. We are all lucky to have jobs that almost by definition offer an abundance of meaningful activities. There are situations in which it may require a bit of an attitude change to see the meaningfulness, but the opportunities are there. No, the problem seems to be that there is an overabundance of meaningless tasks that confront physicians. Clunky, time-gobbling medical record systems, fighting with insurance companies, chasing down prior authorizations, attending committee meetings in a top-heavy organization with too many meetings, _____________. You can fill in the blank with your favorite.
The CATCH program can offer you a way to rebalance that imbalance, and, by all means, consider applying for a grant. But, where we need to put our energies is in the search for solutions to the glut of meaningless tasks that are burning us out. We shouldn’t have to seek meaningful experiences outside of our offices. They have always been there, hidden under the mountain of meaningless chores.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.