Taking time for the self on the path to becoming a doctor

A friend forwarded me this NY Times article, "Taking Time for the Self on the Path to Becoming a Doctor," which addresses some very deep concerns that I have about how I will cope with the immense stresses of medical school, which another friend of mine aptly refers to as "dehumanizing." I think it's important to remember how vital it is that I have an anchor to reality, to sanity, throughout medical school and beyond.

By PAULINE W. CHEN, M.D.
Published: June 18, 2009

Over the next two weeks in hospitals and medical centers across the country, new medical school graduates will begin their internship. Among their many worries — moving to a new city, meeting new colleagues, adjusting to medical training — is a more profound, existential concern that had once plagued me.

Do I have to lose my self in order to become the doctor I want to be?

I learned the answer to that question partway through my internship. Not in the hospital but in the checkout line of a local grocery store.

The customer in front of me was an older woman — she wore a faux camel-hair coat and had hair dyed a matching color. I remember that she had wanted her groceries bagged in a particular fashion, but the sales clerk, a young woman with impossibly long pink acrylics, was perplexed by the woman’s demands.

I felt as if I had stepped into an avant-garde theatre production. Each time the young woman bagged the groceries, the older woman admonished her and asked her to go through the process yet again. The muscles of my jaw tightened with each round of bagging, and even though I was off for the day, all I could think was: I’ve got sick patients to take care of, I can’t wait for this!

Unable to bear it any longer, I stepped forward and bagged the woman’s groceries myself, shoving the plastic bags into her arms while resisting the urge to push her on her way. I imagined steam rising from my head as I ranted. But a part of me was as shocked as the people still standing in line. I had never lost my temper in a store, and I had never raised my voice in public. Now, a few months into internship and with a three-minute provocation, I had the capacity to act like a grizzly bear sprung loose from a trap.

I walked out of the store horrified. That night thinking back on the event, I grew more ashamed of my behavior. But I also realized that it was not the first time I had snapped. Over the previous months, I had thrown myself into my work and shunned everything I once enjoyed and nearly everyone I loved. I believed I needed to do so in order to become a surgeon.

But I had lost my self in the process, and the stress made me irritable. I was no longer the nonconfrontational person I once was.

I had, for example, raised my voice a couple of days earlier at a receptionist in the radiology department when she couldn’t schedule my patient for a CT scan. I had scolded a nurse who had had the misfortune of being the fifth person to page me as I scrambled to finish a procedure. And only a week prior, I had squabbled with my family after my mother innocently asked, "Why do you have to work so hard?"

According to a study from the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine in Baltimore, I am far from the only doctor who has behaved this way. The researchers interviewed residents, or doctors in training, from seven different specialties and found that they set themselves up for burnout by accepting, even embracing, what they believed would be a temporary imbalance between the personal and professional aspects of their lives. While the young doctors interviewed defined well-being as a balance between all those parts, many felt that their medical training was so central to their ultimate sense of fulfillment that they were willing to live with whatever personal sacrifice was required, even if it meant a temporary loss of a sense of self.

I spoke to the lead author, Dr. Neda Ratanawongsa, who now practices general internal medicine at San Francisco General Hospital and is an assistant professor at the University of California, San Francisco.

“It’s partly a coping mechanism,” Dr. Ratanawongsa said. “We tell ourselves that we can do everything but not at the same time, so we are going to put off the thing that defines us as a person — time with children, running a marathon, painting, playing music — in order to get trained because being a doctor is also rewarding.”

That delayed gratification works well initially because residents believe it is only temporary. “A lot of what matters to residents at this time is the sense that they are learning to care for patients well and growing as doctors. They feel that what they are doing is going to be worth it.”

But when the imbalance persists for longer than initially expected, professional growth is not enough to sustain most young doctors. “The ones who are happier,” Dr. Ratanawongsa observed, "are the ones who have held on to one or two things and have said, ‘I’m not just another resident. I play the guitar, I run races, or I go home to family.’ They don’t do these things to the same extent as they did before residency, but they do them enough to maintain a sense of self.”

Residents who don’t find this balance are at risk of burnout, clinical depression or, more commonly, subtle forms of stress. “These residents may feel that even if they can give excellent care most of the time, there are times when they snap at a patient or don’t order a test fast enough because they are so burnt out."

Although her study focused on doctors in training, Dr. Ratanawongsa sees the same challenges among doctors who have finished and are currently practicing. “There is always this expectation that at some point things will turn around. The interns say, ‘When I finish internship and become a second-year resident, things will get better.’ The residents say, ‘When I finish training, I will finally have balance again.’ And doctors in practice may believe that they will find more balance once they have retired.”

The danger is that physicians may end up leaving the work force or will become less effective caregivers. Dr. Ratanawongsa suggests that doctors learn how to create a better sense of balance in their lives from the moment they begin training. “We are taught to put our patients before ourselves; it’s in our charter of professionalism. I agree with that, but I also think there has to be some sense that I matter, too, at some point. If something important is going on with our loved ones or with ourselves, we need to be able to advocate for ourselves. And we need time to reflect on who we are and where we are going.”

In the months after that incident at the grocery store, I continued to devote my life to my training — there was no other way to become the surgeon I wanted to be — but I also learned to find time for myself. Even 18 years later, I can still remember those moments away from work well — late morning breakfasts with the Sunday Times in hand at the greasy diner down the street from the hospital, glorious springtime drives in a friend’s used convertible, afternoons running on a boardwalk and walking along the beach. I lost a few extra hours of sleep each time I did something for myself; but in the end I, and my patients, would gain much more.

“My belief,” Dr. Ratanawongsa said, “is that doctors will have a greater capacity to know their patient as a person if they know themselves. That kind of knowledge requires a sense of balance and an understanding of why they chose to become a doctor. It comes down to their capacity to be an empathic, caring and compassionate provider; and it comes not from their medical knowledge but from their soul.”

“This is something we should never sacrifice, even temporarily.”