Sarah Yahr Tucker

In April 2020, as many Americans prepared to spend the Easter holiday in lockdown, pop star Mariah Carey released a video honoring the “sacrifices and courage” of frontline workers battling COVID-19 – her 1993 hit, “Hero.”

“The sorrow that you know will melt away,” Ms. Carey sang. “When you feel like hope is gone,” the song continued, strength and answers can be found within, and “a hero lies in you.”

For health care professionals, the reality of 2020 wasn’t quite so uplifting. PPE shortages and spillover ICUs had many feeling helpless, exhausted, and overwhelmed. Few if any medical professionals felt their sorrows “melt away.”

We can’t expect depth and nuance from pop songs, but we can find in them the imagery that runs through our culture. The “hero narrative” – the idea that doctors, nurses, and others in health care have superhuman endurance and selflessness – has long been an undercurrent in the medical field.

And yet, without a workforce willing to perform without adequate sleep, food, or time off, the health care system couldn’t function, says Brian Park, MD, MPH, a family medicine physician at Oregon Health & Science University, Portland. At many academic health centers, for example, residents are “the bedrock of the workforce,” he explains. If they didn’t work 80-100 hours per week, those systems wouldn’t exist.

So, how do we look at the health care system in a way that is both grateful and critical, Dr. Park wonders. “How do we honor extreme acts of heroism and also acknowledge that the system sometimes gets by on the acts of heroes to patch up some of the brokenness and fragmentation within it?”

Put simply: What makes “heroism” necessary in the first place?
 

Heroes are determined

Ala Stanford, MD, a pediatric surgeon in Philadelphia, has frequently been called a “health care hero.” Given the title by CNN in 2021, she has received numerous other awards and accolades, featured in Fortune Magazine’s “World’s 50 Greatest Leaders” in 2021 and USA Today’s “Women of the Year” in 2022.

In 2020, Dr. Stanford was sheltering in place and watching “way too much” cable news. “They would play solemn music and show photos of all the people who had died,” she recalls. “I thought, ‘All these people are Black or brown. What is going on?’”

The standard explanation was that people of color were more vulnerable because they were more likely to be essential workers or have chronic health conditions. But Dr. Stanford believed this was only part of the story. The reason she saw that local Black communities had higher positivity rates was because people couldn’t get a COVID test.

Dr. Stanford got call after call from Philadelphians who had been turned away from testing centers. When she questioned colleagues, “they gave me every reason under the sun,” Dr. Stanford says. “It was because someone took public transportation, and they were only testing people in cars, or because they weren’t over 65, or because they didn’t have other comorbid health conditions, or because they weren’t a health care worker, or because they hadn’t traveled to China ...” The list went on.

Dr. Stanford appealed to local, state, and federal health authorities. Finally, she took matters into her own hands. She found tests, packed a van with masks, gowns, and gloves, and drove across the city going door to door. Eventually, she organized testing in the parking lots of Black churches, sometimes seeing more than 400 people per day.

The services were funded entirely through her own bank account and donations until she was eventually awarded a CDC grant through the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security (CARES) Act of 2020 and began to receive contracts from the city.

Since then, Dr. Stanford’s mission has evolved. She and her team provided COVID vaccinations to thousands, and in 2021, opened the Dr. Ala Stanford Center for Health Equity. The center offers primary care for all ages in underserved communities.

Still, Dr. Stanford doesn’t think of herself as a hero, and she stresses that many other people contributed to her success. “I think the world was on fire, and we were all firefighters,” Dr. Stanford says. “Someone said to me, ‘Ala, you ran to the fire and everyone else was running away from it, and you didn’t have to.’ … I feel like I was able to galvanize people to realize the power that they actually had. Maybe independently, they couldn’t do a whole lot, but collectively, we were a force.”
 

Heroes are selfless

Nicole Jackson, RN, an emergency room manager and nurse at Advocate Trinity Hospital in Chicago, was recently honored as a Health Care Hero by the American Red Cross of Greater Chicago.

On June 23, 2022, Jackson’s emergency department was understaffed and struggling with an influx of patients when three gunshot victims arrived. Two needed to be transferred to a trauma center, and one – with multiple gunshot wounds – required a critical care nurse in the ambulance. But the ETA for that transport was 90 minutes, which meant the patient might not survive. Although Ms. Jackson was already working beyond her shift, she rode in the ambulance with the patient herself and probably saved his life.

While this incident stood out to a colleague who nominated her for the Red Cross award, Ms. Jackson finds herself working extra hours fairly often. “Since COVID, that’s pretty much been like any other hospital,” she says. “We’ve had staffing challenges that we work through every day. So, the nurses come, they show up, and they do the best that they can with what we have to keep our patients safe.”

A 2022 survey by McKinsey estimated that by 2025, there could be a gap of 200,000 to 450,000 nurses in the United States. A two-year impact assessment from the American Nurses Foundation found that among more than 12,500 nurses, 40% were considering leaving their positions before the pandemic. By 2022, that number had jumped to 52% with the top reasons being insufficient staffing and negative effects on health and well-being.

Can the “hero narrative” help that situation? Ms. Jackson says she doesn’t see herself as a hero, but the supportive environment and gestures of recognition by staff do make her feel appreciated. These include daily messages offering “kudos” and nominations for the DAISY Award, which she herself received in 2022.

“I have people who I have encouraged to become nurses,” Ms. Jackson says, “and when they saw [the award], they were really excited about becoming a nurse.”
 

Heroes are strong

Jasmine Marcelin, MD, an infectious disease physician with Nebraska Medicine in Omaha, understands the need for heroes as symbols and sources of inspiration. Dr. Marcelin is a fan of the superhero movie genre. There is value, she says, in feeling hope and excitement while watching Superman or Wonder Woman save the day. Who doesn’t want to believe (if only briefly) that the good guys will always win?

In reality, Dr. Marcelin says, “none of us are invincible.” And it’s dangerous to forget that “the people behind the symbols are also human.”

In 2021, Dr. Marcelin gave a TEDx talk entitled, “The Myth of the Health Care Hero.” In it she discussed the extreme physical and mental toll of the pandemic on health care workers and urged her audience to think less about extravagant praise and more about their personal responsibilities. “We don’t want or need to be called heroes,” Dr. Marcelin said. “Right now, our love language is action. We need your help, and we cannot save the world on our own.”

Dr. Marcelin also sees links between superhuman expectations and the high levels of burnout in the medical field.

“It’s a systemic issue,” she explains, “where it requires a revamping and revitalization of the entire psyche of health care to recognize that the people working within this profession are human. And the things that we think and feel and need are the same as anybody else.”
 

Heroes are self-sacrificing 


Well-being, burnout, and disengagement in health care has become a focus for Oregon Health & Science’s Dr. Park, who is also director of RELATE Lab, an organization that aims to make health care more human-centered and equitable through leadership training, research, and community organizing.

For him, hearing neighbors banging pots and pans during the early pandemic was complicated. “The first phase for me was, ‘Thank you. I feel seen. I feel appreciated,’ ” he says. “Yes, I’m wearing a mask. I’m going in. I’m changing in the garage when I come home, so my kid and my partner don’t get sick.”

But after a while, the cheers started to feel like pressure. “Have I done anything heroic today?” Dr. Park asked himself. “Have I been as heroic as my friend who is in the hospital in the ICU? I don’t deserve this, so don’t bang those pots and pans for me.”

When your identity becomes about being a hero, Dr. Park says, when that becomes the standard by which you measure yourself, the result is often a sense of shame.

“I think a lot of people feel ashamed that they feel burnout,” he says, “because they’re supposed to be heroes, putting on their capes and masks. They’re waking up and saying, ‘I’m exhausted, and I can’t play that part today. But I know that’s the social expectation of me.’ “
 

Heroes are noble

There may not be a clear solution, but for many health care professionals, symbolic gestures alone are inadequate and, in certain cases, insulting.

On Doctor’s Day 2023, Alok Patel, MD, a pediatric hospitalist, tweeted a photo of an appreciation “gift” for staff from an unnamed hospital. The small items had metaphorical meanings – a rubber band “as a reminder to stay flexible,” a quarter “as a reminder to ‘call’ for help,” etc.

“Welcome to how you give thanks to ‘health care heroes,’ ” Dr. Patel tweeted.

For Dr. Patel, the issue is not lavish gifts but a need for an attitude shift. He recalls colleagues who felt ashamed asking for mental health services or time off, “because they were bombarded by the hero narrative, by the manufactured pressure that they needed to put their jobs above their own health – because that’s what ‘heroes’ do. I’m willing to bet most physicians would rather receive a sincere email with a transparent plan to better support health care workers than any Doctor’s Day gift,” he says.

In Dr. Marcelin’s TEDx talk, she quotes Spider-Man’s classic adage, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” She argues that this motto doesn’t just apply to those who can fly or deflect bullets; that’s not what heroism is. In fact, most people have their own definition of the word.

For Dr. Stanford, a hero is “someone who is selfless, putting the needs of others before their own.” Dr. Park believes there are no individual heroes. “It’s the work of the collective that’s truly heroic.”

By those standards, clearly anyone can step up, offer help, act with courage and kindness, and be heroic. “We humans, as ordinary as we are, can be extraordinary by using our power to do what’s right,” Dr. Marcelin says, “because there’s no such thing as health care heroes, just good people doing the right thing.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In April 2020, as many Americans prepared to spend the Easter holiday in lockdown, pop star Mariah Carey released a video honoring the “sacrifices and courage” of frontline workers battling COVID-19 – her 1993 hit, “Hero.”

“The sorrow that you know will melt away,” Ms. Carey sang. “When you feel like hope is gone,” the song continued, strength and answers can be found within, and “a hero lies in you.”

For health care professionals, the reality of 2020 wasn’t quite so uplifting. PPE shortages and spillover ICUs had many feeling helpless, exhausted, and overwhelmed. Few if any medical professionals felt their sorrows “melt away.”

We can’t expect depth and nuance from pop songs, but we can find in them the imagery that runs through our culture. The “hero narrative” – the idea that doctors, nurses, and others in health care have superhuman endurance and selflessness – has long been an undercurrent in the medical field.

And yet, without a workforce willing to perform without adequate sleep, food, or time off, the health care system couldn’t function, says Brian Park, MD, MPH, a family medicine physician at Oregon Health & Science University, Portland. At many academic health centers, for example, residents are “the bedrock of the workforce,” he explains. If they didn’t work 80-100 hours per week, those systems wouldn’t exist.

So, how do we look at the health care system in a way that is both grateful and critical, Dr. Park wonders. “How do we honor extreme acts of heroism and also acknowledge that the system sometimes gets by on the acts of heroes to patch up some of the brokenness and fragmentation within it?”

Put simply: What makes “heroism” necessary in the first place?
 

Heroes are determined

Ala Stanford, MD, a pediatric surgeon in Philadelphia, has frequently been called a “health care hero.” Given the title by CNN in 2021, she has received numerous other awards and accolades, featured in Fortune Magazine’s “World’s 50 Greatest Leaders” in 2021 and USA Today’s “Women of the Year” in 2022.

In 2020, Dr. Stanford was sheltering in place and watching “way too much” cable news. “They would play solemn music and show photos of all the people who had died,” she recalls. “I thought, ‘All these people are Black or brown. What is going on?’”

The standard explanation was that people of color were more vulnerable because they were more likely to be essential workers or have chronic health conditions. But Dr. Stanford believed this was only part of the story. The reason she saw that local Black communities had higher positivity rates was because people couldn’t get a COVID test.

Dr. Stanford got call after call from Philadelphians who had been turned away from testing centers. When she questioned colleagues, “they gave me every reason under the sun,” Dr. Stanford says. “It was because someone took public transportation, and they were only testing people in cars, or because they weren’t over 65, or because they didn’t have other comorbid health conditions, or because they weren’t a health care worker, or because they hadn’t traveled to China ...” The list went on.

Dr. Stanford appealed to local, state, and federal health authorities. Finally, she took matters into her own hands. She found tests, packed a van with masks, gowns, and gloves, and drove across the city going door to door. Eventually, she organized testing in the parking lots of Black churches, sometimes seeing more than 400 people per day.

The services were funded entirely through her own bank account and donations until she was eventually awarded a CDC grant through the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security (CARES) Act of 2020 and began to receive contracts from the city.

Since then, Dr. Stanford’s mission has evolved. She and her team provided COVID vaccinations to thousands, and in 2021, opened the Dr. Ala Stanford Center for Health Equity. The center offers primary care for all ages in underserved communities.

Still, Dr. Stanford doesn’t think of herself as a hero, and she stresses that many other people contributed to her success. “I think the world was on fire, and we were all firefighters,” Dr. Stanford says. “Someone said to me, ‘Ala, you ran to the fire and everyone else was running away from it, and you didn’t have to.’ … I feel like I was able to galvanize people to realize the power that they actually had. Maybe independently, they couldn’t do a whole lot, but collectively, we were a force.”
 

Heroes are selfless

Nicole Jackson, RN, an emergency room manager and nurse at Advocate Trinity Hospital in Chicago, was recently honored as a Health Care Hero by the American Red Cross of Greater Chicago.

On June 23, 2022, Jackson’s emergency department was understaffed and struggling with an influx of patients when three gunshot victims arrived. Two needed to be transferred to a trauma center, and one – with multiple gunshot wounds – required a critical care nurse in the ambulance. But the ETA for that transport was 90 minutes, which meant the patient might not survive. Although Ms. Jackson was already working beyond her shift, she rode in the ambulance with the patient herself and probably saved his life.

While this incident stood out to a colleague who nominated her for the Red Cross award, Ms. Jackson finds herself working extra hours fairly often. “Since COVID, that’s pretty much been like any other hospital,” she says. “We’ve had staffing challenges that we work through every day. So, the nurses come, they show up, and they do the best that they can with what we have to keep our patients safe.”

A 2022 survey by McKinsey estimated that by 2025, there could be a gap of 200,000 to 450,000 nurses in the United States. A two-year impact assessment from the American Nurses Foundation found that among more than 12,500 nurses, 40% were considering leaving their positions before the pandemic. By 2022, that number had jumped to 52% with the top reasons being insufficient staffing and negative effects on health and well-being.

Can the “hero narrative” help that situation? Ms. Jackson says she doesn’t see herself as a hero, but the supportive environment and gestures of recognition by staff do make her feel appreciated. These include daily messages offering “kudos” and nominations for the DAISY Award, which she herself received in 2022.

“I have people who I have encouraged to become nurses,” Ms. Jackson says, “and when they saw [the award], they were really excited about becoming a nurse.”
 

Heroes are strong

Jasmine Marcelin, MD, an infectious disease physician with Nebraska Medicine in Omaha, understands the need for heroes as symbols and sources of inspiration. Dr. Marcelin is a fan of the superhero movie genre. There is value, she says, in feeling hope and excitement while watching Superman or Wonder Woman save the day. Who doesn’t want to believe (if only briefly) that the good guys will always win?

In reality, Dr. Marcelin says, “none of us are invincible.” And it’s dangerous to forget that “the people behind the symbols are also human.”

In 2021, Dr. Marcelin gave a TEDx talk entitled, “The Myth of the Health Care Hero.” In it she discussed the extreme physical and mental toll of the pandemic on health care workers and urged her audience to think less about extravagant praise and more about their personal responsibilities. “We don’t want or need to be called heroes,” Dr. Marcelin said. “Right now, our love language is action. We need your help, and we cannot save the world on our own.”

Dr. Marcelin also sees links between superhuman expectations and the high levels of burnout in the medical field.

“It’s a systemic issue,” she explains, “where it requires a revamping and revitalization of the entire psyche of health care to recognize that the people working within this profession are human. And the things that we think and feel and need are the same as anybody else.”
 

Heroes are self-sacrificing 


Well-being, burnout, and disengagement in health care has become a focus for Oregon Health & Science’s Dr. Park, who is also director of RELATE Lab, an organization that aims to make health care more human-centered and equitable through leadership training, research, and community organizing.

For him, hearing neighbors banging pots and pans during the early pandemic was complicated. “The first phase for me was, ‘Thank you. I feel seen. I feel appreciated,’ ” he says. “Yes, I’m wearing a mask. I’m going in. I’m changing in the garage when I come home, so my kid and my partner don’t get sick.”

But after a while, the cheers started to feel like pressure. “Have I done anything heroic today?” Dr. Park asked himself. “Have I been as heroic as my friend who is in the hospital in the ICU? I don’t deserve this, so don’t bang those pots and pans for me.”

When your identity becomes about being a hero, Dr. Park says, when that becomes the standard by which you measure yourself, the result is often a sense of shame.

“I think a lot of people feel ashamed that they feel burnout,” he says, “because they’re supposed to be heroes, putting on their capes and masks. They’re waking up and saying, ‘I’m exhausted, and I can’t play that part today. But I know that’s the social expectation of me.’ “
 

Heroes are noble

There may not be a clear solution, but for many health care professionals, symbolic gestures alone are inadequate and, in certain cases, insulting.

On Doctor’s Day 2023, Alok Patel, MD, a pediatric hospitalist, tweeted a photo of an appreciation “gift” for staff from an unnamed hospital. The small items had metaphorical meanings – a rubber band “as a reminder to stay flexible,” a quarter “as a reminder to ‘call’ for help,” etc.

“Welcome to how you give thanks to ‘health care heroes,’ ” Dr. Patel tweeted.

For Dr. Patel, the issue is not lavish gifts but a need for an attitude shift. He recalls colleagues who felt ashamed asking for mental health services or time off, “because they were bombarded by the hero narrative, by the manufactured pressure that they needed to put their jobs above their own health – because that’s what ‘heroes’ do. I’m willing to bet most physicians would rather receive a sincere email with a transparent plan to better support health care workers than any Doctor’s Day gift,” he says.

In Dr. Marcelin’s TEDx talk, she quotes Spider-Man’s classic adage, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” She argues that this motto doesn’t just apply to those who can fly or deflect bullets; that’s not what heroism is. In fact, most people have their own definition of the word.

For Dr. Stanford, a hero is “someone who is selfless, putting the needs of others before their own.” Dr. Park believes there are no individual heroes. “It’s the work of the collective that’s truly heroic.”

By those standards, clearly anyone can step up, offer help, act with courage and kindness, and be heroic. “We humans, as ordinary as we are, can be extraordinary by using our power to do what’s right,” Dr. Marcelin says, “because there’s no such thing as health care heroes, just good people doing the right thing.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In April 2020, as many Americans prepared to spend the Easter holiday in lockdown, pop star Mariah Carey released a video honoring the “sacrifices and courage” of frontline workers battling COVID-19 – her 1993 hit, “Hero.”

“The sorrow that you know will melt away,” Ms. Carey sang. “When you feel like hope is gone,” the song continued, strength and answers can be found within, and “a hero lies in you.”

For health care professionals, the reality of 2020 wasn’t quite so uplifting. PPE shortages and spillover ICUs had many feeling helpless, exhausted, and overwhelmed. Few if any medical professionals felt their sorrows “melt away.”

We can’t expect depth and nuance from pop songs, but we can find in them the imagery that runs through our culture. The “hero narrative” – the idea that doctors, nurses, and others in health care have superhuman endurance and selflessness – has long been an undercurrent in the medical field.

And yet, without a workforce willing to perform without adequate sleep, food, or time off, the health care system couldn’t function, says Brian Park, MD, MPH, a family medicine physician at Oregon Health & Science University, Portland. At many academic health centers, for example, residents are “the bedrock of the workforce,” he explains. If they didn’t work 80-100 hours per week, those systems wouldn’t exist.

So, how do we look at the health care system in a way that is both grateful and critical, Dr. Park wonders. “How do we honor extreme acts of heroism and also acknowledge that the system sometimes gets by on the acts of heroes to patch up some of the brokenness and fragmentation within it?”

Put simply: What makes “heroism” necessary in the first place?
 

Heroes are determined

Ala Stanford, MD, a pediatric surgeon in Philadelphia, has frequently been called a “health care hero.” Given the title by CNN in 2021, she has received numerous other awards and accolades, featured in Fortune Magazine’s “World’s 50 Greatest Leaders” in 2021 and USA Today’s “Women of the Year” in 2022.

In 2020, Dr. Stanford was sheltering in place and watching “way too much” cable news. “They would play solemn music and show photos of all the people who had died,” she recalls. “I thought, ‘All these people are Black or brown. What is going on?’”

The standard explanation was that people of color were more vulnerable because they were more likely to be essential workers or have chronic health conditions. But Dr. Stanford believed this was only part of the story. The reason she saw that local Black communities had higher positivity rates was because people couldn’t get a COVID test.

Dr. Stanford got call after call from Philadelphians who had been turned away from testing centers. When she questioned colleagues, “they gave me every reason under the sun,” Dr. Stanford says. “It was because someone took public transportation, and they were only testing people in cars, or because they weren’t over 65, or because they didn’t have other comorbid health conditions, or because they weren’t a health care worker, or because they hadn’t traveled to China ...” The list went on.

Dr. Stanford appealed to local, state, and federal health authorities. Finally, she took matters into her own hands. She found tests, packed a van with masks, gowns, and gloves, and drove across the city going door to door. Eventually, she organized testing in the parking lots of Black churches, sometimes seeing more than 400 people per day.

The services were funded entirely through her own bank account and donations until she was eventually awarded a CDC grant through the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security (CARES) Act of 2020 and began to receive contracts from the city.

Since then, Dr. Stanford’s mission has evolved. She and her team provided COVID vaccinations to thousands, and in 2021, opened the Dr. Ala Stanford Center for Health Equity. The center offers primary care for all ages in underserved communities.

Still, Dr. Stanford doesn’t think of herself as a hero, and she stresses that many other people contributed to her success. “I think the world was on fire, and we were all firefighters,” Dr. Stanford says. “Someone said to me, ‘Ala, you ran to the fire and everyone else was running away from it, and you didn’t have to.’ … I feel like I was able to galvanize people to realize the power that they actually had. Maybe independently, they couldn’t do a whole lot, but collectively, we were a force.”
 

Heroes are selfless

Nicole Jackson, RN, an emergency room manager and nurse at Advocate Trinity Hospital in Chicago, was recently honored as a Health Care Hero by the American Red Cross of Greater Chicago.

On June 23, 2022, Jackson’s emergency department was understaffed and struggling with an influx of patients when three gunshot victims arrived. Two needed to be transferred to a trauma center, and one – with multiple gunshot wounds – required a critical care nurse in the ambulance. But the ETA for that transport was 90 minutes, which meant the patient might not survive. Although Ms. Jackson was already working beyond her shift, she rode in the ambulance with the patient herself and probably saved his life.

While this incident stood out to a colleague who nominated her for the Red Cross award, Ms. Jackson finds herself working extra hours fairly often. “Since COVID, that’s pretty much been like any other hospital,” she says. “We’ve had staffing challenges that we work through every day. So, the nurses come, they show up, and they do the best that they can with what we have to keep our patients safe.”

A 2022 survey by McKinsey estimated that by 2025, there could be a gap of 200,000 to 450,000 nurses in the United States. A two-year impact assessment from the American Nurses Foundation found that among more than 12,500 nurses, 40% were considering leaving their positions before the pandemic. By 2022, that number had jumped to 52% with the top reasons being insufficient staffing and negative effects on health and well-being.

Can the “hero narrative” help that situation? Ms. Jackson says she doesn’t see herself as a hero, but the supportive environment and gestures of recognition by staff do make her feel appreciated. These include daily messages offering “kudos” and nominations for the DAISY Award, which she herself received in 2022.

“I have people who I have encouraged to become nurses,” Ms. Jackson says, “and when they saw [the award], they were really excited about becoming a nurse.”
 

Heroes are strong

Jasmine Marcelin, MD, an infectious disease physician with Nebraska Medicine in Omaha, understands the need for heroes as symbols and sources of inspiration. Dr. Marcelin is a fan of the superhero movie genre. There is value, she says, in feeling hope and excitement while watching Superman or Wonder Woman save the day. Who doesn’t want to believe (if only briefly) that the good guys will always win?

In reality, Dr. Marcelin says, “none of us are invincible.” And it’s dangerous to forget that “the people behind the symbols are also human.”

In 2021, Dr. Marcelin gave a TEDx talk entitled, “The Myth of the Health Care Hero.” In it she discussed the extreme physical and mental toll of the pandemic on health care workers and urged her audience to think less about extravagant praise and more about their personal responsibilities. “We don’t want or need to be called heroes,” Dr. Marcelin said. “Right now, our love language is action. We need your help, and we cannot save the world on our own.”

Dr. Marcelin also sees links between superhuman expectations and the high levels of burnout in the medical field.

“It’s a systemic issue,” she explains, “where it requires a revamping and revitalization of the entire psyche of health care to recognize that the people working within this profession are human. And the things that we think and feel and need are the same as anybody else.”
 

Heroes are self-sacrificing 


Well-being, burnout, and disengagement in health care has become a focus for Oregon Health & Science’s Dr. Park, who is also director of RELATE Lab, an organization that aims to make health care more human-centered and equitable through leadership training, research, and community organizing.

For him, hearing neighbors banging pots and pans during the early pandemic was complicated. “The first phase for me was, ‘Thank you. I feel seen. I feel appreciated,’ ” he says. “Yes, I’m wearing a mask. I’m going in. I’m changing in the garage when I come home, so my kid and my partner don’t get sick.”

But after a while, the cheers started to feel like pressure. “Have I done anything heroic today?” Dr. Park asked himself. “Have I been as heroic as my friend who is in the hospital in the ICU? I don’t deserve this, so don’t bang those pots and pans for me.”

When your identity becomes about being a hero, Dr. Park says, when that becomes the standard by which you measure yourself, the result is often a sense of shame.

“I think a lot of people feel ashamed that they feel burnout,” he says, “because they’re supposed to be heroes, putting on their capes and masks. They’re waking up and saying, ‘I’m exhausted, and I can’t play that part today. But I know that’s the social expectation of me.’ “
 

Heroes are noble

There may not be a clear solution, but for many health care professionals, symbolic gestures alone are inadequate and, in certain cases, insulting.

On Doctor’s Day 2023, Alok Patel, MD, a pediatric hospitalist, tweeted a photo of an appreciation “gift” for staff from an unnamed hospital. The small items had metaphorical meanings – a rubber band “as a reminder to stay flexible,” a quarter “as a reminder to ‘call’ for help,” etc.

“Welcome to how you give thanks to ‘health care heroes,’ ” Dr. Patel tweeted.

For Dr. Patel, the issue is not lavish gifts but a need for an attitude shift. He recalls colleagues who felt ashamed asking for mental health services or time off, “because they were bombarded by the hero narrative, by the manufactured pressure that they needed to put their jobs above their own health – because that’s what ‘heroes’ do. I’m willing to bet most physicians would rather receive a sincere email with a transparent plan to better support health care workers than any Doctor’s Day gift,” he says.

In Dr. Marcelin’s TEDx talk, she quotes Spider-Man’s classic adage, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” She argues that this motto doesn’t just apply to those who can fly or deflect bullets; that’s not what heroism is. In fact, most people have their own definition of the word.

For Dr. Stanford, a hero is “someone who is selfless, putting the needs of others before their own.” Dr. Park believes there are no individual heroes. “It’s the work of the collective that’s truly heroic.”

By those standards, clearly anyone can step up, offer help, act with courage and kindness, and be heroic. “We humans, as ordinary as we are, can be extraordinary by using our power to do what’s right,” Dr. Marcelin says, “because there’s no such thing as health care heroes, just good people doing the right thing.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Linda Bluestein remembers all the doctors who missed, ignored, or incompletely diagnosed her chronic illness.

There was the orthopedic surgeon who noted her hyperextended elbows but failed to check any of her other joints. The gastroenterologist who insisted on performing multiple scoping procedures but wouldn’t discuss how to manage her symptoms. The other surgeon who, after performing arthroscopy on her injured knee, yelled at her: “There is nothing wrong with your knee! You’re fine!” in a room full of people.

And then there was the rheumatologist who said: “Oh, you want something to be wrong with you?”

“No,” she replied, “I want an explanation. I want to keep working. I just want to know why these things keep happening to me.”

The medical frustration she experienced was especially difficult because, like her health care providers, Linda Bluestein has an MD after her name. She is a board-certified anesthesiologist and integrative medicine physician.

Living with a chronic illness is a challenge for any patient. But physicians who are diagnosed with chronic conditions face a unique set of personal and professional issues.

Along with the physically demanding schedule of medical practice, they must cope with what many call a “culture of invincibility” within medicine. Doctors are not supposed to get sick. In fact, the unwritten rule is presenteeism – to function without adequate food or sleep and to never prioritize their own self-care over their dedication to their patients.

Whether their conditions are visible, such as muscular dystrophy and multiple sclerosis, or invisible, such as fibromyalgia and mental illnesses – and now, long COVID – these doctors often meet significant stigma. They fight the assumption that they are less capable than their colleagues.

But they also experience an invaluable benefit: They gain firsthand knowledge of the patient experience, a profound understanding which, they say, enhances how they care for their own patients.
 

What it takes to become a doctor when you have a chronic condition

In short, it’s not easy.

Data from the 2018 National Health Interview Survey show that more than half of U.S. adults had at least one of several chronic conditions, including rheumatoid arthritis, asthma, diabetes, hypertension, and kidney problems. Nearly a third of respondents had more than one condition. But fewer than 5% of medical students and 3% of practicing physicians report having a chronic illness or disability, according to studies from 2019 and 2021.

While that could mean that fewer people with chronic illness enter medicine, cases also exist in which aspiring physicians with conditions were dissuaded from pursuing a career in medicine at all.

Amy Stenehjem, MD, a physical medicine and rehabilitation physician, is one of the exceptions. Diagnosed with several autoimmune-related conditions as a teenager and young adult, Dr. Stenehjem was determined to become a doctor. In her 20s, her health was relatively stable, and she was able to manage medical school and residency. Her training institutions agreed to provide some accommodations that helped her succeed.

“They let me build some flexibility into the training,” Dr. Stenehjem said. “In medical school, when I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do a particular specialty as a career, they let me work with an attending doctor that did not require a lot of on-call time during that particular rotation.”

Dr. Stenehjem specialized in chronic neck and back disorders, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome (myalgic encephalomyelitis), and autoimmune-related diseases. She practiced for more than a decade. But in 2011, her condition spiraled. She couldn’t walk a few steps or even sit upright without experiencing dizziness and shortness of breath. She had debilitating fatigue and episodes of fever, rash, headaches, and joint pain.

It would take 7 years and more than 20 doctors to determine Dr. Stenehjem’s multiple diagnoses. In addition to her autoimmune diseases, she was diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, autoinflammatory periodic fever syndrome, Lyme disease, and reactivated Epstein-Barr infection.

While she suspects that her providers gave her more “leeway” because she was a physician, many did not show a deep understanding of the severity of her symptoms and the impact those symptoms had.

“When I was practicing, I really didn’t fully understand the impact chronic illness had on my patients,” Dr. Stenehjem said. “Things like chronic dizziness, headaches, fatigue, pain, or brain fog can be really hard to understand unless you’ve experienced these symptoms. When I got sick, I finally realized, ‘Oh my goodness, when a patient says they’re dealing with fatigue, this is not your normal, I’m-super-tired-from-being-on-call fatigue. This is I-can’t-get-out-of-bed fatigue.’ That’s what people with chronic illness often deal with on a daily basis.”
 

Treating the individual

Dr. Stenehjem was aware that her chronic illness would affect her medical career. For Jason Baker, MD, an endocrinologist at Weill Cornell Medicine, New York, it came as a shock. Dr. Baker was a third-year medical student when he experienced increased urination and rapid weight loss. It was only when friends pressed him to visit student health that a blood test revealed type 1 diabetes. Dr. Baker suddenly found himself lying in a hospital bed.

He remembers an attending physician who simply handed him a textbook on diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) and a resident who informed him that he had kidney damage, which turned out to be untrue. Neither discussed the psychological issues from a frightening diagnosis that would require lifelong, daily management.

“There certainly could have been a bit more empathy from some of the people I dealt with early on,” he said.

Although his training gave him a stark picture of worst-case scenarios, Dr. Baker found that knowledge motivating. “I’d already seen patients come in who had diabetes complications,” Dr. Baker says. “I vowed to never ever get those complications. It was a good balance of fear and motivation.”

Dr. Baker had not planned to specialize in endocrinology, but he quickly realized that his personal diagnosis could help others. Now he often shares his experience with his patients who have diabetes, which he says makes them more comfortable discussing their own problems.

His approach, Dr. Baker explained, is to treat everyone as an individual. Trying to neatly classify patients with chronic illness is a common mistake he notices among physicians.

“There’s a lot of misunderstanding about type 1 versus type 2 [diabetes],” Dr. Baker said, “and trying to categorize people when sometimes people can’t be categorized. That’s really with any chronic condition; there’s no one size fits all.”

Managing his health is still a time-consuming task. At work, he needs breaks to eat, check his blood sugar, or take insulin. “During the workday seeing patients, I have to also remember that I’m a patient,” Dr. Baker said. “I have to be okay with prioritizing my own health. Otherwise I can’t help anybody.”
 

‘I am not the doctor for you’

Chronic diseases such as diabetes or hypertension are familiar to most doctors, and with good management, patients can usually function normally. When chronic conditions become disabling, however, attitudes in the medical field can change.

According to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and from studies, people with disabilities experience significant disparities and barriers to care. Some of this can be linked to social determinants of health. People with disabilities are more likely to be poor and to rely on Medicare and Medicaid for insurance coverage. But lack of training, unwillingness to provide accommodations, ignorance of legal requirements, and inaccurate assumptions among physicians also play a role.

These are themes that Lisa Iezzoni, MD, a professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, Boston, has heard from hundreds of patients with disabilities during the more than 25 years that she has conducted research.

In late 2019, Dr. Iezzoni and coinvestigators fielded a national survey of 714 practicing physicians. Only 40.7% reported they were “very confident” that they could provide the same quality of care to patients with disabilities as they do for other patients. And only 56.5% “strongly agreed” that they welcomed these patients into their practices.

The survey was conducted through a series of small focus groups that Dr. Iezzoni held with physicians in 2018. These yielded views that were startling, and in some cases, overtly discriminatory:

• Doctors complained about the “burden” of caring for a patient with a disability.
• They lacked the time or equipment, such as accessible exam tables or weight scales.
• They admitted to inventing excuses for why appointments were not available or routine diagnostic tests were not performed.
• They described being fearful of lawsuits under the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The overall message was summed up in one doctor’s statement: “I am not the doctor for you.”

“Doctors are people too,” Dr. Iezzoni pointed out. “And so they reflect the same prejudices and stigmatized attitudes of the rest of the population. It might be implicit, so they might not be aware of it. [But] it might be explicit.”

Ableism in the medical field is all too familiar to Dr. Iezzoni. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at age 26 during her first year at Harvard Medical School in the early 1980s. Despite symptom flare-ups, Dr. Iezzoni was able to graduate with her class, but many instructors and administrators had little interest in accommodating her physical limitations. In fact, several physicians discouraged her from continuing to train.

Unable to take call, run up flights of stairs, or stand for hours at a time, Dr. Iezzoni remembers being told by a senior surgeon that she shouldn’t become a doctor since she lacked the “most important quality,” which was “24/7 availability.” A hospital CEO informed her: “There are too many doctors in the country right now for us to worry about training a handicapped physician. If that means that some people get left by the wayside, so be it.”

Ultimately, Harvard Medical School declined to write Dr. Iezzoni a letter of recommendation for an internship. She would never practice medicine. “My career was just truncated from the start,” Dr. Iezzoni said. “It never happened because of discrimination.”

She later learned the legal term for her treatment: constructive dismissal.

“The medical school didn’t outright say, ‘Go away. We’re not allowing you to graduate.’ ” Dr. Iezzoni explained. “But they made my life so difficult that I did so voluntarily.”

Dr. Iezzoni graduated in 1984, before the passage of the ADA in 1990, and she refers to her experience as a “ghost from the past,” a historical reminder of how the legal landscape has changed – even though the tendency toward bias may not have.
 

The fight for inclusion

Zainub Dhanani, a fifth-year medical student at Stanford (Calif.) University, won’t forget an interview at one of the other schools to which she applied. The interviewer asked how she expected to be in a hospital all day if she had a chronic illness.

“Does it really make sense?” he wanted to know.

The question shocked her in the moment, but now she sees this type of bias as linked to the inequalities that many marginalized groups face in health care and beyond. That’s also why she believes physician-patients are crucial to improve the quality of care for people with chronic illness and other groups that face discrimination.

Who else, she wonders, could provide that “reaffirming” experience for patients or have that “unique edge” other than a provider who has navigated the same world?

Ms. Dhanani is the executive director and founder of Medical Students With Disability and Chronic Illness, an organization dedicated to empowering these students through advocacy, education, accessibility, and community. The group now has 19 chapters at medical schools across the country.

Ms. Dhanani said she has received excellent accommodations from Stanford for her own condition (which she prefers not to disclose), but all medical schools are not as responsive to students with various physical needs. Her organization offers support and resources to inform these future physicians about their options and rights.

“Disability justice is also racial justice,” Ms. Dhanani stressed. “It’s also environmental justice. It’s also gender and sexuality-based justice. Those compounded layers of biases lead to worse and worse levels of care. As a patient, it’s terrifying. And as a future physician, it’s tragic to know that this is something so pervasive and yet so under-addressed in medicine.”
 

Soldiering on

Unfortunately, for some physicians with chronic illness, there are no practical accommodations that could save their careers in clinical practice.

Dr. Stenehjem now works part-time as a health consultant, helping those with chronic illnesses navigate their health care systems.

Dr. Bluestein offers a similar coaching service to patients with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (EDS) and other connective tissue and hypermobility disorders. Because of her own EDS, she can no longer practice as an anesthesiologist but instead opened an integrative pain management practice for patients with complex pain conditions..

She believes the idea that doctors are “invincible” needs to change. She recalls the time her former group practice told her in no uncertain terms to “never call in sick.”

The stories she hears from her current clients are similar to her own. She can empathize, knowing firsthand the physical and psychological damage these attitudes can cause.

“When I was at my worst physically, I was also at my worst psychologically,” said Dr. Bluestein. “We tend to think of them as separate, but they go hand in hand. If we can validate people’s experiences rather than disregard them, it has a positive forward cycle, as opposed to the reverse, which is what usually happens.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Linda Bluestein remembers all the doctors who missed, ignored, or incompletely diagnosed her chronic illness.

There was the orthopedic surgeon who noted her hyperextended elbows but failed to check any of her other joints. The gastroenterologist who insisted on performing multiple scoping procedures but wouldn’t discuss how to manage her symptoms. The other surgeon who, after performing arthroscopy on her injured knee, yelled at her: “There is nothing wrong with your knee! You’re fine!” in a room full of people.

And then there was the rheumatologist who said: “Oh, you want something to be wrong with you?”

“No,” she replied, “I want an explanation. I want to keep working. I just want to know why these things keep happening to me.”

The medical frustration she experienced was especially difficult because, like her health care providers, Linda Bluestein has an MD after her name. She is a board-certified anesthesiologist and integrative medicine physician.

Living with a chronic illness is a challenge for any patient. But physicians who are diagnosed with chronic conditions face a unique set of personal and professional issues.

Along with the physically demanding schedule of medical practice, they must cope with what many call a “culture of invincibility” within medicine. Doctors are not supposed to get sick. In fact, the unwritten rule is presenteeism – to function without adequate food or sleep and to never prioritize their own self-care over their dedication to their patients.

Whether their conditions are visible, such as muscular dystrophy and multiple sclerosis, or invisible, such as fibromyalgia and mental illnesses – and now, long COVID – these doctors often meet significant stigma. They fight the assumption that they are less capable than their colleagues.

But they also experience an invaluable benefit: They gain firsthand knowledge of the patient experience, a profound understanding which, they say, enhances how they care for their own patients.
 

What it takes to become a doctor when you have a chronic condition

In short, it’s not easy.

Data from the 2018 National Health Interview Survey show that more than half of U.S. adults had at least one of several chronic conditions, including rheumatoid arthritis, asthma, diabetes, hypertension, and kidney problems. Nearly a third of respondents had more than one condition. But fewer than 5% of medical students and 3% of practicing physicians report having a chronic illness or disability, according to studies from 2019 and 2021.

While that could mean that fewer people with chronic illness enter medicine, cases also exist in which aspiring physicians with conditions were dissuaded from pursuing a career in medicine at all.

Amy Stenehjem, MD, a physical medicine and rehabilitation physician, is one of the exceptions. Diagnosed with several autoimmune-related conditions as a teenager and young adult, Dr. Stenehjem was determined to become a doctor. In her 20s, her health was relatively stable, and she was able to manage medical school and residency. Her training institutions agreed to provide some accommodations that helped her succeed.

“They let me build some flexibility into the training,” Dr. Stenehjem said. “In medical school, when I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do a particular specialty as a career, they let me work with an attending doctor that did not require a lot of on-call time during that particular rotation.”

Dr. Stenehjem specialized in chronic neck and back disorders, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome (myalgic encephalomyelitis), and autoimmune-related diseases. She practiced for more than a decade. But in 2011, her condition spiraled. She couldn’t walk a few steps or even sit upright without experiencing dizziness and shortness of breath. She had debilitating fatigue and episodes of fever, rash, headaches, and joint pain.

It would take 7 years and more than 20 doctors to determine Dr. Stenehjem’s multiple diagnoses. In addition to her autoimmune diseases, she was diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, autoinflammatory periodic fever syndrome, Lyme disease, and reactivated Epstein-Barr infection.

While she suspects that her providers gave her more “leeway” because she was a physician, many did not show a deep understanding of the severity of her symptoms and the impact those symptoms had.

“When I was practicing, I really didn’t fully understand the impact chronic illness had on my patients,” Dr. Stenehjem said. “Things like chronic dizziness, headaches, fatigue, pain, or brain fog can be really hard to understand unless you’ve experienced these symptoms. When I got sick, I finally realized, ‘Oh my goodness, when a patient says they’re dealing with fatigue, this is not your normal, I’m-super-tired-from-being-on-call fatigue. This is I-can’t-get-out-of-bed fatigue.’ That’s what people with chronic illness often deal with on a daily basis.”
 

Treating the individual

Dr. Stenehjem was aware that her chronic illness would affect her medical career. For Jason Baker, MD, an endocrinologist at Weill Cornell Medicine, New York, it came as a shock. Dr. Baker was a third-year medical student when he experienced increased urination and rapid weight loss. It was only when friends pressed him to visit student health that a blood test revealed type 1 diabetes. Dr. Baker suddenly found himself lying in a hospital bed.

He remembers an attending physician who simply handed him a textbook on diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) and a resident who informed him that he had kidney damage, which turned out to be untrue. Neither discussed the psychological issues from a frightening diagnosis that would require lifelong, daily management.

“There certainly could have been a bit more empathy from some of the people I dealt with early on,” he said.

Although his training gave him a stark picture of worst-case scenarios, Dr. Baker found that knowledge motivating. “I’d already seen patients come in who had diabetes complications,” Dr. Baker says. “I vowed to never ever get those complications. It was a good balance of fear and motivation.”

Dr. Baker had not planned to specialize in endocrinology, but he quickly realized that his personal diagnosis could help others. Now he often shares his experience with his patients who have diabetes, which he says makes them more comfortable discussing their own problems.

His approach, Dr. Baker explained, is to treat everyone as an individual. Trying to neatly classify patients with chronic illness is a common mistake he notices among physicians.

“There’s a lot of misunderstanding about type 1 versus type 2 [diabetes],” Dr. Baker said, “and trying to categorize people when sometimes people can’t be categorized. That’s really with any chronic condition; there’s no one size fits all.”

Managing his health is still a time-consuming task. At work, he needs breaks to eat, check his blood sugar, or take insulin. “During the workday seeing patients, I have to also remember that I’m a patient,” Dr. Baker said. “I have to be okay with prioritizing my own health. Otherwise I can’t help anybody.”
 

‘I am not the doctor for you’

Chronic diseases such as diabetes or hypertension are familiar to most doctors, and with good management, patients can usually function normally. When chronic conditions become disabling, however, attitudes in the medical field can change.

According to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and from studies, people with disabilities experience significant disparities and barriers to care. Some of this can be linked to social determinants of health. People with disabilities are more likely to be poor and to rely on Medicare and Medicaid for insurance coverage. But lack of training, unwillingness to provide accommodations, ignorance of legal requirements, and inaccurate assumptions among physicians also play a role.

These are themes that Lisa Iezzoni, MD, a professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, Boston, has heard from hundreds of patients with disabilities during the more than 25 years that she has conducted research.

In late 2019, Dr. Iezzoni and coinvestigators fielded a national survey of 714 practicing physicians. Only 40.7% reported they were “very confident” that they could provide the same quality of care to patients with disabilities as they do for other patients. And only 56.5% “strongly agreed” that they welcomed these patients into their practices.

The survey was conducted through a series of small focus groups that Dr. Iezzoni held with physicians in 2018. These yielded views that were startling, and in some cases, overtly discriminatory:

• Doctors complained about the “burden” of caring for a patient with a disability.
• They lacked the time or equipment, such as accessible exam tables or weight scales.
• They admitted to inventing excuses for why appointments were not available or routine diagnostic tests were not performed.
• They described being fearful of lawsuits under the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The overall message was summed up in one doctor’s statement: “I am not the doctor for you.”

“Doctors are people too,” Dr. Iezzoni pointed out. “And so they reflect the same prejudices and stigmatized attitudes of the rest of the population. It might be implicit, so they might not be aware of it. [But] it might be explicit.”

Ableism in the medical field is all too familiar to Dr. Iezzoni. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at age 26 during her first year at Harvard Medical School in the early 1980s. Despite symptom flare-ups, Dr. Iezzoni was able to graduate with her class, but many instructors and administrators had little interest in accommodating her physical limitations. In fact, several physicians discouraged her from continuing to train.

Unable to take call, run up flights of stairs, or stand for hours at a time, Dr. Iezzoni remembers being told by a senior surgeon that she shouldn’t become a doctor since she lacked the “most important quality,” which was “24/7 availability.” A hospital CEO informed her: “There are too many doctors in the country right now for us to worry about training a handicapped physician. If that means that some people get left by the wayside, so be it.”

Ultimately, Harvard Medical School declined to write Dr. Iezzoni a letter of recommendation for an internship. She would never practice medicine. “My career was just truncated from the start,” Dr. Iezzoni said. “It never happened because of discrimination.”

She later learned the legal term for her treatment: constructive dismissal.

“The medical school didn’t outright say, ‘Go away. We’re not allowing you to graduate.’ ” Dr. Iezzoni explained. “But they made my life so difficult that I did so voluntarily.”

Dr. Iezzoni graduated in 1984, before the passage of the ADA in 1990, and she refers to her experience as a “ghost from the past,” a historical reminder of how the legal landscape has changed – even though the tendency toward bias may not have.
 

The fight for inclusion

Zainub Dhanani, a fifth-year medical student at Stanford (Calif.) University, won’t forget an interview at one of the other schools to which she applied. The interviewer asked how she expected to be in a hospital all day if she had a chronic illness.

“Does it really make sense?” he wanted to know.

The question shocked her in the moment, but now she sees this type of bias as linked to the inequalities that many marginalized groups face in health care and beyond. That’s also why she believes physician-patients are crucial to improve the quality of care for people with chronic illness and other groups that face discrimination.

Who else, she wonders, could provide that “reaffirming” experience for patients or have that “unique edge” other than a provider who has navigated the same world?

Ms. Dhanani is the executive director and founder of Medical Students With Disability and Chronic Illness, an organization dedicated to empowering these students through advocacy, education, accessibility, and community. The group now has 19 chapters at medical schools across the country.

Ms. Dhanani said she has received excellent accommodations from Stanford for her own condition (which she prefers not to disclose), but all medical schools are not as responsive to students with various physical needs. Her organization offers support and resources to inform these future physicians about their options and rights.

“Disability justice is also racial justice,” Ms. Dhanani stressed. “It’s also environmental justice. It’s also gender and sexuality-based justice. Those compounded layers of biases lead to worse and worse levels of care. As a patient, it’s terrifying. And as a future physician, it’s tragic to know that this is something so pervasive and yet so under-addressed in medicine.”
 

Soldiering on

Unfortunately, for some physicians with chronic illness, there are no practical accommodations that could save their careers in clinical practice.

Dr. Stenehjem now works part-time as a health consultant, helping those with chronic illnesses navigate their health care systems.

Dr. Bluestein offers a similar coaching service to patients with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (EDS) and other connective tissue and hypermobility disorders. Because of her own EDS, she can no longer practice as an anesthesiologist but instead opened an integrative pain management practice for patients with complex pain conditions..

She believes the idea that doctors are “invincible” needs to change. She recalls the time her former group practice told her in no uncertain terms to “never call in sick.”

The stories she hears from her current clients are similar to her own. She can empathize, knowing firsthand the physical and psychological damage these attitudes can cause.

“When I was at my worst physically, I was also at my worst psychologically,” said Dr. Bluestein. “We tend to think of them as separate, but they go hand in hand. If we can validate people’s experiences rather than disregard them, it has a positive forward cycle, as opposed to the reverse, which is what usually happens.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Linda Bluestein remembers all the doctors who missed, ignored, or incompletely diagnosed her chronic illness.

There was the orthopedic surgeon who noted her hyperextended elbows but failed to check any of her other joints. The gastroenterologist who insisted on performing multiple scoping procedures but wouldn’t discuss how to manage her symptoms. The other surgeon who, after performing arthroscopy on her injured knee, yelled at her: “There is nothing wrong with your knee! You’re fine!” in a room full of people.

And then there was the rheumatologist who said: “Oh, you want something to be wrong with you?”

“No,” she replied, “I want an explanation. I want to keep working. I just want to know why these things keep happening to me.”

The medical frustration she experienced was especially difficult because, like her health care providers, Linda Bluestein has an MD after her name. She is a board-certified anesthesiologist and integrative medicine physician.

Living with a chronic illness is a challenge for any patient. But physicians who are diagnosed with chronic conditions face a unique set of personal and professional issues.

Along with the physically demanding schedule of medical practice, they must cope with what many call a “culture of invincibility” within medicine. Doctors are not supposed to get sick. In fact, the unwritten rule is presenteeism – to function without adequate food or sleep and to never prioritize their own self-care over their dedication to their patients.

Whether their conditions are visible, such as muscular dystrophy and multiple sclerosis, or invisible, such as fibromyalgia and mental illnesses – and now, long COVID – these doctors often meet significant stigma. They fight the assumption that they are less capable than their colleagues.

But they also experience an invaluable benefit: They gain firsthand knowledge of the patient experience, a profound understanding which, they say, enhances how they care for their own patients.
 

What it takes to become a doctor when you have a chronic condition

In short, it’s not easy.

Data from the 2018 National Health Interview Survey show that more than half of U.S. adults had at least one of several chronic conditions, including rheumatoid arthritis, asthma, diabetes, hypertension, and kidney problems. Nearly a third of respondents had more than one condition. But fewer than 5% of medical students and 3% of practicing physicians report having a chronic illness or disability, according to studies from 2019 and 2021.

While that could mean that fewer people with chronic illness enter medicine, cases also exist in which aspiring physicians with conditions were dissuaded from pursuing a career in medicine at all.

Amy Stenehjem, MD, a physical medicine and rehabilitation physician, is one of the exceptions. Diagnosed with several autoimmune-related conditions as a teenager and young adult, Dr. Stenehjem was determined to become a doctor. In her 20s, her health was relatively stable, and she was able to manage medical school and residency. Her training institutions agreed to provide some accommodations that helped her succeed.

“They let me build some flexibility into the training,” Dr. Stenehjem said. “In medical school, when I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do a particular specialty as a career, they let me work with an attending doctor that did not require a lot of on-call time during that particular rotation.”

Dr. Stenehjem specialized in chronic neck and back disorders, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome (myalgic encephalomyelitis), and autoimmune-related diseases. She practiced for more than a decade. But in 2011, her condition spiraled. She couldn’t walk a few steps or even sit upright without experiencing dizziness and shortness of breath. She had debilitating fatigue and episodes of fever, rash, headaches, and joint pain.

It would take 7 years and more than 20 doctors to determine Dr. Stenehjem’s multiple diagnoses. In addition to her autoimmune diseases, she was diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, autoinflammatory periodic fever syndrome, Lyme disease, and reactivated Epstein-Barr infection.

While she suspects that her providers gave her more “leeway” because she was a physician, many did not show a deep understanding of the severity of her symptoms and the impact those symptoms had.

“When I was practicing, I really didn’t fully understand the impact chronic illness had on my patients,” Dr. Stenehjem said. “Things like chronic dizziness, headaches, fatigue, pain, or brain fog can be really hard to understand unless you’ve experienced these symptoms. When I got sick, I finally realized, ‘Oh my goodness, when a patient says they’re dealing with fatigue, this is not your normal, I’m-super-tired-from-being-on-call fatigue. This is I-can’t-get-out-of-bed fatigue.’ That’s what people with chronic illness often deal with on a daily basis.”
 

Treating the individual

Dr. Stenehjem was aware that her chronic illness would affect her medical career. For Jason Baker, MD, an endocrinologist at Weill Cornell Medicine, New York, it came as a shock. Dr. Baker was a third-year medical student when he experienced increased urination and rapid weight loss. It was only when friends pressed him to visit student health that a blood test revealed type 1 diabetes. Dr. Baker suddenly found himself lying in a hospital bed.

He remembers an attending physician who simply handed him a textbook on diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) and a resident who informed him that he had kidney damage, which turned out to be untrue. Neither discussed the psychological issues from a frightening diagnosis that would require lifelong, daily management.

“There certainly could have been a bit more empathy from some of the people I dealt with early on,” he said.

Although his training gave him a stark picture of worst-case scenarios, Dr. Baker found that knowledge motivating. “I’d already seen patients come in who had diabetes complications,” Dr. Baker says. “I vowed to never ever get those complications. It was a good balance of fear and motivation.”

Dr. Baker had not planned to specialize in endocrinology, but he quickly realized that his personal diagnosis could help others. Now he often shares his experience with his patients who have diabetes, which he says makes them more comfortable discussing their own problems.

His approach, Dr. Baker explained, is to treat everyone as an individual. Trying to neatly classify patients with chronic illness is a common mistake he notices among physicians.

“There’s a lot of misunderstanding about type 1 versus type 2 [diabetes],” Dr. Baker said, “and trying to categorize people when sometimes people can’t be categorized. That’s really with any chronic condition; there’s no one size fits all.”

Managing his health is still a time-consuming task. At work, he needs breaks to eat, check his blood sugar, or take insulin. “During the workday seeing patients, I have to also remember that I’m a patient,” Dr. Baker said. “I have to be okay with prioritizing my own health. Otherwise I can’t help anybody.”
 

‘I am not the doctor for you’

Chronic diseases such as diabetes or hypertension are familiar to most doctors, and with good management, patients can usually function normally. When chronic conditions become disabling, however, attitudes in the medical field can change.

According to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and from studies, people with disabilities experience significant disparities and barriers to care. Some of this can be linked to social determinants of health. People with disabilities are more likely to be poor and to rely on Medicare and Medicaid for insurance coverage. But lack of training, unwillingness to provide accommodations, ignorance of legal requirements, and inaccurate assumptions among physicians also play a role.

These are themes that Lisa Iezzoni, MD, a professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, Boston, has heard from hundreds of patients with disabilities during the more than 25 years that she has conducted research.

In late 2019, Dr. Iezzoni and coinvestigators fielded a national survey of 714 practicing physicians. Only 40.7% reported they were “very confident” that they could provide the same quality of care to patients with disabilities as they do for other patients. And only 56.5% “strongly agreed” that they welcomed these patients into their practices.

The survey was conducted through a series of small focus groups that Dr. Iezzoni held with physicians in 2018. These yielded views that were startling, and in some cases, overtly discriminatory:

• Doctors complained about the “burden” of caring for a patient with a disability.
• They lacked the time or equipment, such as accessible exam tables or weight scales.
• They admitted to inventing excuses for why appointments were not available or routine diagnostic tests were not performed.
• They described being fearful of lawsuits under the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The overall message was summed up in one doctor’s statement: “I am not the doctor for you.”

“Doctors are people too,” Dr. Iezzoni pointed out. “And so they reflect the same prejudices and stigmatized attitudes of the rest of the population. It might be implicit, so they might not be aware of it. [But] it might be explicit.”

Ableism in the medical field is all too familiar to Dr. Iezzoni. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at age 26 during her first year at Harvard Medical School in the early 1980s. Despite symptom flare-ups, Dr. Iezzoni was able to graduate with her class, but many instructors and administrators had little interest in accommodating her physical limitations. In fact, several physicians discouraged her from continuing to train.

Unable to take call, run up flights of stairs, or stand for hours at a time, Dr. Iezzoni remembers being told by a senior surgeon that she shouldn’t become a doctor since she lacked the “most important quality,” which was “24/7 availability.” A hospital CEO informed her: “There are too many doctors in the country right now for us to worry about training a handicapped physician. If that means that some people get left by the wayside, so be it.”

Ultimately, Harvard Medical School declined to write Dr. Iezzoni a letter of recommendation for an internship. She would never practice medicine. “My career was just truncated from the start,” Dr. Iezzoni said. “It never happened because of discrimination.”

She later learned the legal term for her treatment: constructive dismissal.

“The medical school didn’t outright say, ‘Go away. We’re not allowing you to graduate.’ ” Dr. Iezzoni explained. “But they made my life so difficult that I did so voluntarily.”

Dr. Iezzoni graduated in 1984, before the passage of the ADA in 1990, and she refers to her experience as a “ghost from the past,” a historical reminder of how the legal landscape has changed – even though the tendency toward bias may not have.
 

The fight for inclusion

Zainub Dhanani, a fifth-year medical student at Stanford (Calif.) University, won’t forget an interview at one of the other schools to which she applied. The interviewer asked how she expected to be in a hospital all day if she had a chronic illness.

“Does it really make sense?” he wanted to know.

The question shocked her in the moment, but now she sees this type of bias as linked to the inequalities that many marginalized groups face in health care and beyond. That’s also why she believes physician-patients are crucial to improve the quality of care for people with chronic illness and other groups that face discrimination.

Who else, she wonders, could provide that “reaffirming” experience for patients or have that “unique edge” other than a provider who has navigated the same world?

Ms. Dhanani is the executive director and founder of Medical Students With Disability and Chronic Illness, an organization dedicated to empowering these students through advocacy, education, accessibility, and community. The group now has 19 chapters at medical schools across the country.

Ms. Dhanani said she has received excellent accommodations from Stanford for her own condition (which she prefers not to disclose), but all medical schools are not as responsive to students with various physical needs. Her organization offers support and resources to inform these future physicians about their options and rights.

“Disability justice is also racial justice,” Ms. Dhanani stressed. “It’s also environmental justice. It’s also gender and sexuality-based justice. Those compounded layers of biases lead to worse and worse levels of care. As a patient, it’s terrifying. And as a future physician, it’s tragic to know that this is something so pervasive and yet so under-addressed in medicine.”
 

Soldiering on

Unfortunately, for some physicians with chronic illness, there are no practical accommodations that could save their careers in clinical practice.

Dr. Stenehjem now works part-time as a health consultant, helping those with chronic illnesses navigate their health care systems.

Dr. Bluestein offers a similar coaching service to patients with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (EDS) and other connective tissue and hypermobility disorders. Because of her own EDS, she can no longer practice as an anesthesiologist but instead opened an integrative pain management practice for patients with complex pain conditions..

She believes the idea that doctors are “invincible” needs to change. She recalls the time her former group practice told her in no uncertain terms to “never call in sick.”

The stories she hears from her current clients are similar to her own. She can empathize, knowing firsthand the physical and psychological damage these attitudes can cause.

“When I was at my worst physically, I was also at my worst psychologically,” said Dr. Bluestein. “We tend to think of them as separate, but they go hand in hand. If we can validate people’s experiences rather than disregard them, it has a positive forward cycle, as opposed to the reverse, which is what usually happens.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Pounding heart, sweating, insomnia. Surges of dopamine, norepinephrine, and adrenaline. All symptoms of a very common yet frustrating condition: Falling in love.

The prognosis is vague. A prescription pad and knowledge of biochemistry aren’t helpful when it comes to relationships.

Medical training can consume decades when others are exploring relationships and starting families. There are few recent data on this, but a 2012 longitudinal study of more than 20,000 physicians by the UK Medical Careers Research Group found that, by age 25, the rate of doctors who were in partnerships was far lower than in the general population.

But there is hope! By age 36, the number of doctors in long-term relationships had overtaken everyone else by more than 10% for women and 20% for men. The Medscape 2022 Physician Happiness & Lifestyle Report found that 83% were in committed relationships, and even better, happy ones. At least three-quarters of doctors in every specialty described their partnerships as “very good” or “good.”

How should a single medical student, resident, or attending physician find happiness ever after in 2023? Sometimes Mr./Ms. Right can be found in the anatomy lab or hospital, with sparks flying between students or colleagues. But for many in health care, along with millions of others looking for love, the solution is dating apps.
 

When ‘MD’ is a turnoff

Dr. M, a psychiatry resident in California who prefers not to give her name, hadn’t found a life partner during college, grad school, or medical school. When she passed her final Step 3 board exam, she decided it was time to take the plunge. She signed up for popular dating apps like Hinge, Bumble, and Coffee Meets Bagel, but her dates seemed to follow a disappointing pattern.

“I met lots of guys, but it was incredibly rare to find another physician,” said Dr. M. “I found myself always wanting to talk about my life as a resident. More often than not, the guys would give me this blank stare as I complained about being on call or spoke about spending 12 hours a day studying for a board exam, or even the process of The Match and how I ended up in California.”

Both of Dr. M’s parents are physicians, and she grew up watching how they supported each other through residency, exams, and exhausting schedules. A relationship with another physician, her parents told her, would give both partners the best chance to understand each other’s lives. The problem was how to find one.

That was when Dr. M saw an ad for a dating app with a cute medical name: DownToDate, a play on the clinical evidence resource UpToDate. “I thought it was a meme,” she said. “It was this doctors-only app. I remember thinking, ‘this has to be a joke,’ but then it was very real.”

She signed up and was required to provide a photo of her ID and her NPI number. Immediately, men began “requesting a consult,” the app’s form of “liking” her profile, and sending her “pages” (messages).

DownToDate was created by another physician, Robin Boyer, MD, MBA, a pediatrics resident in Loma Linda, Calif. The inspiration came in 2020 during the initial COVID crisis. Exhausted from long and often heartbreaking shifts, Dr. Boyer was grateful for her husband’s unwavering support. But many of her coresidents weren’t so lucky. The women in particular talked about their dating struggles, and there was a recurring theme. They didn’t feel confident putting “physician” on a dating site profile.

“If you’re male and you tell people you’re a doctor, it seems like it really attracts people,” Dr. Boyer said. “But if you’re female, it brings up a lot of stereotypes where you’re perceived as too intimidating either as the breadwinner, being more educated, or having a [demanding] career. It does make it more difficult.”

Dr. Boyer met her husband in high school, and she had never used a dating app. She convinced a coresident, Celestine Odigwe, MD, to pursue the idea as partners. They began researching the market within their network and heard from over a thousand interested physicians, both men and women, heterosexual and LGBTQ+. They even created fake accounts on other sites to gauge how easy it is to falsify a profile. From these insights, the app took shape. It launched in 2021 and currently has more than 5000 verified users.
 

Branches from the same tree

Around the same time that DownToDate began, Shivani Shah, DO, a pediatric neurology resident at Duke University, Durham, N.C., and her brother, Sagar Shah, an entrepreneur, had a similar idea.

At the time, Dr. Shah was a fourth-year medical student about to move from New Jersey to North Carolina. Friends who were internal medicine residents described the grueling reality of the early COVID pandemic.

“It was just horrible,” said Dr. Shah. “You were isolated from your family, your support system, everything. ... I think the pandemic really pushed us into realizing that this is a very important need, and sometimes it feels like community is lacking in the health care field.”

The sibling duo developed ForeverX, an app for health care workers to find meaningful and long-term romantic connections. It launched in 2021.

Concerned that the medical field was “siloed,” the Shahs chose to open the app to physicians, dentists, nurses, physical therapists, and other health care professionals. “Opening up the doors to more communication” between the health care branches was a priority.

To prevent catfishing, the app uses a twofold vetting system. Each user submits a photo of their driver’s license and a selfie that must match. There is also health care verification through an NPI number, nurse’s ID, or a manual process for those without either. None of the information is stored.

Through personal experience with dating apps, Dr. Shah hopes ForeverX can improve on some of their flaws, particularly the problem of matches being overly filtered by preferences. The “natural way” of meeting people is not filtered. And while most people have a dating checklist in mind, meeting someone face to face might send some of those prerequisites “out the window.”

“You can’t really put into words how you feel with someone ... the vibe,” Dr. Shah said. That is why her goal is to get people off the app and on an actual date IRL. “Something we’ve discussed internally is, how do we make this experience that’s virtual more human?”

She acknowledged that certain requirements, like a desire for children, might be crucial to some users. Many female doctors in their 30’s feel the “time crunch” of a ticking biological clock.
 

Optimize your date-ability

“I think people either love or hate dating apps, and I love them,” said Kevin Jubbal, MD. “I get to meet cool people and schedule dates from the comfort of my home.”

Dr. Jubbal, a former plastic surgery resident who left medicine to become an entrepreneur, is the founder of Med School Insiders, a tutoring and advising resource for premeds, medical students, and residents. His YouTube channel has more than 1.5 million subscribers, and he often receives questions about whether dating is feasible in medical school and how to balance a personal and academic/professional life.

Those who hate dating apps or receive few matches would do well to look inward instead of blaming the process, he said. It helps to view the experience as a learning tool that provides feedback very quickly.

“If you want to find a really amazing person, then you need to be what you want to find,” said Dr. Jubbal. “If you want to find someone who’s fit and intelligent and well read and well traveled, you need to be that. Otherwise, you’re probably not going to attract that person.”
 

An app designed to help single female MDs

Ifie Williams, MD, a psychiatrist in Washington, D.C., believes a wider dating pool is key – provided everyone understands the situation up front. When Dr. Williams started residency in 2014, she was “as single as can be.” She tried many dating apps, but they were extremely time consuming. Even when she set specific preferences, she found herself sifting through “matches” that didn’t fit her criteria.

“Dating nowadays has become almost like a second job,” said Dr. Williams. “Just the amount of time that people are having to spend on apps, swiping left and right and then meeting people. You think they’re interested and then you deal with all these games.”

By 2017, Dr. Williams had invented Miss Doctor, a dating app that would connect female physicians and other doctoral-level professionals with men or women on a similar achievement level.

By definition, these people would not be intimidated by ambitious, busy women. They would be heavily screened and vetted. And one other proviso: they would have to pay for “likes.”

Most dating apps charge a subscription fee. Users are allowed to “like” numerous profiles and perhaps not bother responding to many matches. By contrast, Miss Doctor accounts are free and include a limited number of “likes” to indicate interest. Beyond that, there’s a price.

“We wanted to find a way to make people a little more intentional with how they like people on the app, so they give a little more thought to it,” Dr. Williams said. “So, we monetize it and use that to change behavior.”

After an initial launch in 2017, the app had to take a back seat while Dr. Williams started her psychiatry practice and got married herself. She plans to relaunch it in spring 2023.

Male or female, there is general agreement that finding time to date as a young physician isn’t easy. While DownToDate has had “doctor meets doctor” success stories, many users are still searching for “the one.”

Dr. Boyer believes that career challenges are not a reason to give up. “There are so many single and available people out there,” she said. “And everyone’s deserving of love. Even if you only have an hour a week.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Pounding heart, sweating, insomnia. Surges of dopamine, norepinephrine, and adrenaline. All symptoms of a very common yet frustrating condition: Falling in love.

The prognosis is vague. A prescription pad and knowledge of biochemistry aren’t helpful when it comes to relationships.

Medical training can consume decades when others are exploring relationships and starting families. There are few recent data on this, but a 2012 longitudinal study of more than 20,000 physicians by the UK Medical Careers Research Group found that, by age 25, the rate of doctors who were in partnerships was far lower than in the general population.

But there is hope! By age 36, the number of doctors in long-term relationships had overtaken everyone else by more than 10% for women and 20% for men. The Medscape 2022 Physician Happiness & Lifestyle Report found that 83% were in committed relationships, and even better, happy ones. At least three-quarters of doctors in every specialty described their partnerships as “very good” or “good.”

How should a single medical student, resident, or attending physician find happiness ever after in 2023? Sometimes Mr./Ms. Right can be found in the anatomy lab or hospital, with sparks flying between students or colleagues. But for many in health care, along with millions of others looking for love, the solution is dating apps.
 

When ‘MD’ is a turnoff

Dr. M, a psychiatry resident in California who prefers not to give her name, hadn’t found a life partner during college, grad school, or medical school. When she passed her final Step 3 board exam, she decided it was time to take the plunge. She signed up for popular dating apps like Hinge, Bumble, and Coffee Meets Bagel, but her dates seemed to follow a disappointing pattern.

“I met lots of guys, but it was incredibly rare to find another physician,” said Dr. M. “I found myself always wanting to talk about my life as a resident. More often than not, the guys would give me this blank stare as I complained about being on call or spoke about spending 12 hours a day studying for a board exam, or even the process of The Match and how I ended up in California.”

Both of Dr. M’s parents are physicians, and she grew up watching how they supported each other through residency, exams, and exhausting schedules. A relationship with another physician, her parents told her, would give both partners the best chance to understand each other’s lives. The problem was how to find one.

That was when Dr. M saw an ad for a dating app with a cute medical name: DownToDate, a play on the clinical evidence resource UpToDate. “I thought it was a meme,” she said. “It was this doctors-only app. I remember thinking, ‘this has to be a joke,’ but then it was very real.”

She signed up and was required to provide a photo of her ID and her NPI number. Immediately, men began “requesting a consult,” the app’s form of “liking” her profile, and sending her “pages” (messages).

DownToDate was created by another physician, Robin Boyer, MD, MBA, a pediatrics resident in Loma Linda, Calif. The inspiration came in 2020 during the initial COVID crisis. Exhausted from long and often heartbreaking shifts, Dr. Boyer was grateful for her husband’s unwavering support. But many of her coresidents weren’t so lucky. The women in particular talked about their dating struggles, and there was a recurring theme. They didn’t feel confident putting “physician” on a dating site profile.

“If you’re male and you tell people you’re a doctor, it seems like it really attracts people,” Dr. Boyer said. “But if you’re female, it brings up a lot of stereotypes where you’re perceived as too intimidating either as the breadwinner, being more educated, or having a [demanding] career. It does make it more difficult.”

Dr. Boyer met her husband in high school, and she had never used a dating app. She convinced a coresident, Celestine Odigwe, MD, to pursue the idea as partners. They began researching the market within their network and heard from over a thousand interested physicians, both men and women, heterosexual and LGBTQ+. They even created fake accounts on other sites to gauge how easy it is to falsify a profile. From these insights, the app took shape. It launched in 2021 and currently has more than 5000 verified users.
 

Branches from the same tree

Around the same time that DownToDate began, Shivani Shah, DO, a pediatric neurology resident at Duke University, Durham, N.C., and her brother, Sagar Shah, an entrepreneur, had a similar idea.

At the time, Dr. Shah was a fourth-year medical student about to move from New Jersey to North Carolina. Friends who were internal medicine residents described the grueling reality of the early COVID pandemic.

“It was just horrible,” said Dr. Shah. “You were isolated from your family, your support system, everything. ... I think the pandemic really pushed us into realizing that this is a very important need, and sometimes it feels like community is lacking in the health care field.”

The sibling duo developed ForeverX, an app for health care workers to find meaningful and long-term romantic connections. It launched in 2021.

Concerned that the medical field was “siloed,” the Shahs chose to open the app to physicians, dentists, nurses, physical therapists, and other health care professionals. “Opening up the doors to more communication” between the health care branches was a priority.

To prevent catfishing, the app uses a twofold vetting system. Each user submits a photo of their driver’s license and a selfie that must match. There is also health care verification through an NPI number, nurse’s ID, or a manual process for those without either. None of the information is stored.

Through personal experience with dating apps, Dr. Shah hopes ForeverX can improve on some of their flaws, particularly the problem of matches being overly filtered by preferences. The “natural way” of meeting people is not filtered. And while most people have a dating checklist in mind, meeting someone face to face might send some of those prerequisites “out the window.”

“You can’t really put into words how you feel with someone ... the vibe,” Dr. Shah said. That is why her goal is to get people off the app and on an actual date IRL. “Something we’ve discussed internally is, how do we make this experience that’s virtual more human?”

She acknowledged that certain requirements, like a desire for children, might be crucial to some users. Many female doctors in their 30’s feel the “time crunch” of a ticking biological clock.
 

Optimize your date-ability

“I think people either love or hate dating apps, and I love them,” said Kevin Jubbal, MD. “I get to meet cool people and schedule dates from the comfort of my home.”

Dr. Jubbal, a former plastic surgery resident who left medicine to become an entrepreneur, is the founder of Med School Insiders, a tutoring and advising resource for premeds, medical students, and residents. His YouTube channel has more than 1.5 million subscribers, and he often receives questions about whether dating is feasible in medical school and how to balance a personal and academic/professional life.

Those who hate dating apps or receive few matches would do well to look inward instead of blaming the process, he said. It helps to view the experience as a learning tool that provides feedback very quickly.

“If you want to find a really amazing person, then you need to be what you want to find,” said Dr. Jubbal. “If you want to find someone who’s fit and intelligent and well read and well traveled, you need to be that. Otherwise, you’re probably not going to attract that person.”
 

An app designed to help single female MDs

Ifie Williams, MD, a psychiatrist in Washington, D.C., believes a wider dating pool is key – provided everyone understands the situation up front. When Dr. Williams started residency in 2014, she was “as single as can be.” She tried many dating apps, but they were extremely time consuming. Even when she set specific preferences, she found herself sifting through “matches” that didn’t fit her criteria.

“Dating nowadays has become almost like a second job,” said Dr. Williams. “Just the amount of time that people are having to spend on apps, swiping left and right and then meeting people. You think they’re interested and then you deal with all these games.”

By 2017, Dr. Williams had invented Miss Doctor, a dating app that would connect female physicians and other doctoral-level professionals with men or women on a similar achievement level.

By definition, these people would not be intimidated by ambitious, busy women. They would be heavily screened and vetted. And one other proviso: they would have to pay for “likes.”

Most dating apps charge a subscription fee. Users are allowed to “like” numerous profiles and perhaps not bother responding to many matches. By contrast, Miss Doctor accounts are free and include a limited number of “likes” to indicate interest. Beyond that, there’s a price.

“We wanted to find a way to make people a little more intentional with how they like people on the app, so they give a little more thought to it,” Dr. Williams said. “So, we monetize it and use that to change behavior.”

After an initial launch in 2017, the app had to take a back seat while Dr. Williams started her psychiatry practice and got married herself. She plans to relaunch it in spring 2023.

Male or female, there is general agreement that finding time to date as a young physician isn’t easy. While DownToDate has had “doctor meets doctor” success stories, many users are still searching for “the one.”

Dr. Boyer believes that career challenges are not a reason to give up. “There are so many single and available people out there,” she said. “And everyone’s deserving of love. Even if you only have an hour a week.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Pounding heart, sweating, insomnia. Surges of dopamine, norepinephrine, and adrenaline. All symptoms of a very common yet frustrating condition: Falling in love.

The prognosis is vague. A prescription pad and knowledge of biochemistry aren’t helpful when it comes to relationships.

Medical training can consume decades when others are exploring relationships and starting families. There are few recent data on this, but a 2012 longitudinal study of more than 20,000 physicians by the UK Medical Careers Research Group found that, by age 25, the rate of doctors who were in partnerships was far lower than in the general population.

But there is hope! By age 36, the number of doctors in long-term relationships had overtaken everyone else by more than 10% for women and 20% for men. The Medscape 2022 Physician Happiness & Lifestyle Report found that 83% were in committed relationships, and even better, happy ones. At least three-quarters of doctors in every specialty described their partnerships as “very good” or “good.”

How should a single medical student, resident, or attending physician find happiness ever after in 2023? Sometimes Mr./Ms. Right can be found in the anatomy lab or hospital, with sparks flying between students or colleagues. But for many in health care, along with millions of others looking for love, the solution is dating apps.
 

When ‘MD’ is a turnoff

Dr. M, a psychiatry resident in California who prefers not to give her name, hadn’t found a life partner during college, grad school, or medical school. When she passed her final Step 3 board exam, she decided it was time to take the plunge. She signed up for popular dating apps like Hinge, Bumble, and Coffee Meets Bagel, but her dates seemed to follow a disappointing pattern.

“I met lots of guys, but it was incredibly rare to find another physician,” said Dr. M. “I found myself always wanting to talk about my life as a resident. More often than not, the guys would give me this blank stare as I complained about being on call or spoke about spending 12 hours a day studying for a board exam, or even the process of The Match and how I ended up in California.”

Both of Dr. M’s parents are physicians, and she grew up watching how they supported each other through residency, exams, and exhausting schedules. A relationship with another physician, her parents told her, would give both partners the best chance to understand each other’s lives. The problem was how to find one.

That was when Dr. M saw an ad for a dating app with a cute medical name: DownToDate, a play on the clinical evidence resource UpToDate. “I thought it was a meme,” she said. “It was this doctors-only app. I remember thinking, ‘this has to be a joke,’ but then it was very real.”

She signed up and was required to provide a photo of her ID and her NPI number. Immediately, men began “requesting a consult,” the app’s form of “liking” her profile, and sending her “pages” (messages).

DownToDate was created by another physician, Robin Boyer, MD, MBA, a pediatrics resident in Loma Linda, Calif. The inspiration came in 2020 during the initial COVID crisis. Exhausted from long and often heartbreaking shifts, Dr. Boyer was grateful for her husband’s unwavering support. But many of her coresidents weren’t so lucky. The women in particular talked about their dating struggles, and there was a recurring theme. They didn’t feel confident putting “physician” on a dating site profile.

“If you’re male and you tell people you’re a doctor, it seems like it really attracts people,” Dr. Boyer said. “But if you’re female, it brings up a lot of stereotypes where you’re perceived as too intimidating either as the breadwinner, being more educated, or having a [demanding] career. It does make it more difficult.”

Dr. Boyer met her husband in high school, and she had never used a dating app. She convinced a coresident, Celestine Odigwe, MD, to pursue the idea as partners. They began researching the market within their network and heard from over a thousand interested physicians, both men and women, heterosexual and LGBTQ+. They even created fake accounts on other sites to gauge how easy it is to falsify a profile. From these insights, the app took shape. It launched in 2021 and currently has more than 5000 verified users.
 

Branches from the same tree

Around the same time that DownToDate began, Shivani Shah, DO, a pediatric neurology resident at Duke University, Durham, N.C., and her brother, Sagar Shah, an entrepreneur, had a similar idea.

At the time, Dr. Shah was a fourth-year medical student about to move from New Jersey to North Carolina. Friends who were internal medicine residents described the grueling reality of the early COVID pandemic.

“It was just horrible,” said Dr. Shah. “You were isolated from your family, your support system, everything. ... I think the pandemic really pushed us into realizing that this is a very important need, and sometimes it feels like community is lacking in the health care field.”

The sibling duo developed ForeverX, an app for health care workers to find meaningful and long-term romantic connections. It launched in 2021.

Concerned that the medical field was “siloed,” the Shahs chose to open the app to physicians, dentists, nurses, physical therapists, and other health care professionals. “Opening up the doors to more communication” between the health care branches was a priority.

To prevent catfishing, the app uses a twofold vetting system. Each user submits a photo of their driver’s license and a selfie that must match. There is also health care verification through an NPI number, nurse’s ID, or a manual process for those without either. None of the information is stored.

Through personal experience with dating apps, Dr. Shah hopes ForeverX can improve on some of their flaws, particularly the problem of matches being overly filtered by preferences. The “natural way” of meeting people is not filtered. And while most people have a dating checklist in mind, meeting someone face to face might send some of those prerequisites “out the window.”

“You can’t really put into words how you feel with someone ... the vibe,” Dr. Shah said. That is why her goal is to get people off the app and on an actual date IRL. “Something we’ve discussed internally is, how do we make this experience that’s virtual more human?”

She acknowledged that certain requirements, like a desire for children, might be crucial to some users. Many female doctors in their 30’s feel the “time crunch” of a ticking biological clock.
 

Optimize your date-ability

“I think people either love or hate dating apps, and I love them,” said Kevin Jubbal, MD. “I get to meet cool people and schedule dates from the comfort of my home.”

Dr. Jubbal, a former plastic surgery resident who left medicine to become an entrepreneur, is the founder of Med School Insiders, a tutoring and advising resource for premeds, medical students, and residents. His YouTube channel has more than 1.5 million subscribers, and he often receives questions about whether dating is feasible in medical school and how to balance a personal and academic/professional life.

Those who hate dating apps or receive few matches would do well to look inward instead of blaming the process, he said. It helps to view the experience as a learning tool that provides feedback very quickly.

“If you want to find a really amazing person, then you need to be what you want to find,” said Dr. Jubbal. “If you want to find someone who’s fit and intelligent and well read and well traveled, you need to be that. Otherwise, you’re probably not going to attract that person.”
 

An app designed to help single female MDs

Ifie Williams, MD, a psychiatrist in Washington, D.C., believes a wider dating pool is key – provided everyone understands the situation up front. When Dr. Williams started residency in 2014, she was “as single as can be.” She tried many dating apps, but they were extremely time consuming. Even when she set specific preferences, she found herself sifting through “matches” that didn’t fit her criteria.

“Dating nowadays has become almost like a second job,” said Dr. Williams. “Just the amount of time that people are having to spend on apps, swiping left and right and then meeting people. You think they’re interested and then you deal with all these games.”

By 2017, Dr. Williams had invented Miss Doctor, a dating app that would connect female physicians and other doctoral-level professionals with men or women on a similar achievement level.

By definition, these people would not be intimidated by ambitious, busy women. They would be heavily screened and vetted. And one other proviso: they would have to pay for “likes.”

Most dating apps charge a subscription fee. Users are allowed to “like” numerous profiles and perhaps not bother responding to many matches. By contrast, Miss Doctor accounts are free and include a limited number of “likes” to indicate interest. Beyond that, there’s a price.

“We wanted to find a way to make people a little more intentional with how they like people on the app, so they give a little more thought to it,” Dr. Williams said. “So, we monetize it and use that to change behavior.”

After an initial launch in 2017, the app had to take a back seat while Dr. Williams started her psychiatry practice and got married herself. She plans to relaunch it in spring 2023.

Male or female, there is general agreement that finding time to date as a young physician isn’t easy. While DownToDate has had “doctor meets doctor” success stories, many users are still searching for “the one.”

Dr. Boyer believes that career challenges are not a reason to give up. “There are so many single and available people out there,” she said. “And everyone’s deserving of love. Even if you only have an hour a week.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Katrina Ubell, MD, listened with growing skepticism as the dietician outlined her weight-loss plan. “You’re going to have to eat a snack in the afternoon,” she instructed.

Dr. Ubell refrained from rolling her eyes. The afternoon was in the middle of clinic. “I’m not ever going to do that,” she tried to explain. “I can’t.”

“Of course, you can,” the dietician insisted. “You shouldn’t think that way. You get to decide.”

“She wasn’t wrong about that,” Dr. Ubell conceded years later. But the well-meaning dietician couldn’t understand the reality of life as a physician. As a pediatrician, Dr. Ubell could visualize how her afternoon would play out. “You’re already 40 minutes behind. This mom needs to get home to get her kid off the bus. This mom, her toddler is losing his mind because he needs a nap. You’re not going to say: ‘Sorry, I need to eat some carrots and hummus.’ ”

Most of what the dieting realm recommends for weight loss, Dr. Ubell discovered, seems only relevant to people with a consistent 9 to 5 schedule. That was not her life. Neither was she looking for one of the many diet plans based on self-denial and will power. Having already lost and gained back 40 pounds several times, she knew these methods were not effective long term.

What were other overweight doctors doing? she wondered. Someone must know how to help doctors lose weight. But her Google searches revealed ... nothing. No one was offering a useful diet or exercise plan specifically for physicians.

Dr. Ubell’s search for answers led to the world of life coaching, and eventually she became a master-certified life and weight-loss coach, working exclusively with women-identifying physicians.

The field is small. Very few weight-loss programs are solely for physicians, whose stress levels, unpredictable schedules, and high-achieving mindset pose unique challenges. Among the constantly changing diet fads, few would likely work for the surgeon confined to an operating room for 9 hours at a time or the anesthesiologist who can’t even manage to drink water during the workday.

Dr. Ubell set out to create a weight-loss program rooted in the physical and mental demands of medical practice. In the process, she lost 45 pounds.
 

Step 1: Acknowledge that doctors are, unfortunately, human

Dr. Ubell’s approach to food combines concepts from cognitive-behavioral therapy with personalized eating plans, coaching, and support from a community of doctors.

All of this stems from her own experience with emotional eating, which she said many doctors use to process their stress and exhaustion. This is a direct result of needing to repress emotions while caring for patients but lacking guidance on how to manage those feelings outside of work.

“That kind of behavior, being what we call ‘professional,’ but really emotionally shut down, is prized and valued in medicine,” Dr. Ubell said. “I’m not saying we should be open all the time. But we’re not given any tools for what to do at the end of the day. In my case, it was eating. For other people, it’s drinking more than they would like, spending money, gambling, basically just numbing behavior.”

Dr. Ubell said only 20% of her work with clients revolves around what to eat. The other 80% is about managing the thoughts, beliefs, and emotions that negatively affect their lives, teaching them how to cope “without food as the crutch.” Once the problems regarding eating are resolved, clients can begin to address all the problems they were using food to obscure.

“A lot of my clients really have to work on self-love, self-acceptance, self-compassion,” Dr. Ubell said. “They’re such high achievers, and often many of them think that they’ve achieved so much by being harsh with themselves and driving themselves hard. They think it’s causal, but it’s not. They have to learn, How can I be accomplished while being nice to myself?”
 

Step 2: Reassess your mindset

Ali Novitsky, MD, an obesity medicine physician and now full-time life coach, calls this attitude the “heaven’s reward fallacy.” Observed by renowned psychiatrist Aaron Beck, MD, this cognitive distortion involves imagining that hard work, struggle, and self-sacrifice must ultimately pay off, as if suffering entitles us to compensation in the future. For physicians, who are embedded in a culture of selflessness and dedication to the health of others, this often means forfeiting their own health and well-being.

For many, there is also a sense of secrecy and shame regarding health and fitness problems. As doctors, they are experts in the human body. They should already know how to lose weight. Right? And so not knowing or being unable to muster the will power for a diet plan while on call overnight or working 12-hour shifts feels like a professional failure as well as a personal one.

“As physicians, we’re so afraid to fail,” Dr. Novitsky explained. “It’s more comfortable just to not know. Maybe we’ve failed before, or maybe we didn’t get the result that we wanted, so now we can’t bear to have that happen again. It’s just way too painful.”

Dr. Novitsky – who has herself lost 50 pounds and have kept it off for 20 years – provides weight loss, intuitive eating, and fitness programs for female physicians. Her evidence-based approach aims to optimize body composition rather than hitting a number on a scale. Conscious of the physician lifestyle, she offers night and weekend meetings, sessions that can be replayed, and even an “on-call workout” series designed for being in the call room.

Dr. Novitsky notices that many of her clients are stuck in an “all-or-none” mindset. If they can’t do something perfectly with total commitment, they would rather not do it at all. With so many demands on their time and energy, something has to give, and putting their health first begins to seem selfish or hopeless. “I can speak to this,” Dr. Novitsky admitted, “because I did it to myself”

Like Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky said that “most of the stuff we’re coaching on is not about their food. It’s about how they feel undervalued at work, how their relationships are suffering, how they feel super guilty as a parent. They feel like they look good on paper, but this is not the life they signed up for.”
 

Step 3: Life change equals physical change

Siobhan Key, MD, an obesity medicine and family physician, sees her own weight loss struggle as a symptom of a former lifestyle that, frankly, “sucked.”

Her grueling schedule and lack of self-care left her feeling stuck on a “hamster wheel” of work and family responsibilities. There was no space for herself. She craved the dopamine burst from junk food and felt powerless to stop reaching for Wendy’s French fries as a frequent reward. It took realizing that she was on track to develop type 2 diabetes to motivate her to change.

Where she lived also affected her struggle. Living in the small community of Prince George, B.C., local weight-loss programs were difficult for Dr. Key. It was likely that she would encounter some of her patients, which would not be a safe space to reveal her personal challenges. Searching for an expert who could explain how to eat healthy meals while on call and then working a full day afterward also yielded no solutions.

Unlike Dr. Ubell and Dr. Novitsky, Dr. Key still practices medicine. But she is also a weight-loss coach. She takes an unconventional approach by not proposing any specific diet rules or plans. Dictating which foods you can or cannot eat is like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, Dr. Key said. It will never work long term. Instead, she wants to help her clients use both their medical knowledge and life experience to make healthy eating fit into their lives.

“Let’s stop doing things that makes our lives worse just to lose weight, because it will never be sustainable,” said Dr. Key. “Rather, let’s choose paths of losing weight and managing our eating that actually make our lives better. And those exist. They’re just not the classic diet paths that we’ve been taught before.”

Dr. Key’s program also includes advice from other physician coaches on professional struggles. For example, charting is a big one, Dr. Key said. The pressure of completing patient notes, often outside of working hours, is a major source of stress that triggers a lot of eating.

Weight loss doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Dr. Key pointed out. It isn’t the simple “eat less, exercise more” equation that physicians learned in medical school. “The reality is, weight loss and eating happen in conjunction with the rest of your life,” she said.

Find ways to make your life easier and the benefits will follow, she said. “As your life gets better, you feel more empowered. You feel less stressed. Your eating choices start to be simpler, and the cravings start to go down. You can’t have one without the other.”
 

Weight is just a symptom of a bigger problem

Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky, and Dr. Key all say they have seen dramatic transformations among their clients. They don’t mean just physical ones. Dr. Ubell remembered an emergency medicine physician so miserable at work that she considered defaulting on her student loans. Dr. Novitsky recalled an anesthesiologist so insecure that she nearly passed up a scholarship to a fitness program. Dr. Key has seen clients so obsessed with what they should and shouldn’t eat that food dominated their thoughts every free minute of the day.

All these doctors, the coaches said, have been able to regain a sense of control over their lives, rethink how they show up at work and at home, and even rediscover their joy in medicine.

These changes are less about body mass index and more about confidence and self-love. For weight loss to last, according to Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky, and Dr. Key, there must be permanent mental shifts that redefine one’s relationship with food.

“There’s no finish line when we’re talking about long-term weight maintenance,” Dr. Key tells physicians. “You have to be able to do it for the rest of your life.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Katrina Ubell, MD, listened with growing skepticism as the dietician outlined her weight-loss plan. “You’re going to have to eat a snack in the afternoon,” she instructed.

Dr. Ubell refrained from rolling her eyes. The afternoon was in the middle of clinic. “I’m not ever going to do that,” she tried to explain. “I can’t.”

“Of course, you can,” the dietician insisted. “You shouldn’t think that way. You get to decide.”

“She wasn’t wrong about that,” Dr. Ubell conceded years later. But the well-meaning dietician couldn’t understand the reality of life as a physician. As a pediatrician, Dr. Ubell could visualize how her afternoon would play out. “You’re already 40 minutes behind. This mom needs to get home to get her kid off the bus. This mom, her toddler is losing his mind because he needs a nap. You’re not going to say: ‘Sorry, I need to eat some carrots and hummus.’ ”

Most of what the dieting realm recommends for weight loss, Dr. Ubell discovered, seems only relevant to people with a consistent 9 to 5 schedule. That was not her life. Neither was she looking for one of the many diet plans based on self-denial and will power. Having already lost and gained back 40 pounds several times, she knew these methods were not effective long term.

What were other overweight doctors doing? she wondered. Someone must know how to help doctors lose weight. But her Google searches revealed ... nothing. No one was offering a useful diet or exercise plan specifically for physicians.

Dr. Ubell’s search for answers led to the world of life coaching, and eventually she became a master-certified life and weight-loss coach, working exclusively with women-identifying physicians.

The field is small. Very few weight-loss programs are solely for physicians, whose stress levels, unpredictable schedules, and high-achieving mindset pose unique challenges. Among the constantly changing diet fads, few would likely work for the surgeon confined to an operating room for 9 hours at a time or the anesthesiologist who can’t even manage to drink water during the workday.

Dr. Ubell set out to create a weight-loss program rooted in the physical and mental demands of medical practice. In the process, she lost 45 pounds.
 

Step 1: Acknowledge that doctors are, unfortunately, human

Dr. Ubell’s approach to food combines concepts from cognitive-behavioral therapy with personalized eating plans, coaching, and support from a community of doctors.

All of this stems from her own experience with emotional eating, which she said many doctors use to process their stress and exhaustion. This is a direct result of needing to repress emotions while caring for patients but lacking guidance on how to manage those feelings outside of work.

“That kind of behavior, being what we call ‘professional,’ but really emotionally shut down, is prized and valued in medicine,” Dr. Ubell said. “I’m not saying we should be open all the time. But we’re not given any tools for what to do at the end of the day. In my case, it was eating. For other people, it’s drinking more than they would like, spending money, gambling, basically just numbing behavior.”

Dr. Ubell said only 20% of her work with clients revolves around what to eat. The other 80% is about managing the thoughts, beliefs, and emotions that negatively affect their lives, teaching them how to cope “without food as the crutch.” Once the problems regarding eating are resolved, clients can begin to address all the problems they were using food to obscure.

“A lot of my clients really have to work on self-love, self-acceptance, self-compassion,” Dr. Ubell said. “They’re such high achievers, and often many of them think that they’ve achieved so much by being harsh with themselves and driving themselves hard. They think it’s causal, but it’s not. They have to learn, How can I be accomplished while being nice to myself?”
 

Step 2: Reassess your mindset

Ali Novitsky, MD, an obesity medicine physician and now full-time life coach, calls this attitude the “heaven’s reward fallacy.” Observed by renowned psychiatrist Aaron Beck, MD, this cognitive distortion involves imagining that hard work, struggle, and self-sacrifice must ultimately pay off, as if suffering entitles us to compensation in the future. For physicians, who are embedded in a culture of selflessness and dedication to the health of others, this often means forfeiting their own health and well-being.

For many, there is also a sense of secrecy and shame regarding health and fitness problems. As doctors, they are experts in the human body. They should already know how to lose weight. Right? And so not knowing or being unable to muster the will power for a diet plan while on call overnight or working 12-hour shifts feels like a professional failure as well as a personal one.

“As physicians, we’re so afraid to fail,” Dr. Novitsky explained. “It’s more comfortable just to not know. Maybe we’ve failed before, or maybe we didn’t get the result that we wanted, so now we can’t bear to have that happen again. It’s just way too painful.”

Dr. Novitsky – who has herself lost 50 pounds and have kept it off for 20 years – provides weight loss, intuitive eating, and fitness programs for female physicians. Her evidence-based approach aims to optimize body composition rather than hitting a number on a scale. Conscious of the physician lifestyle, she offers night and weekend meetings, sessions that can be replayed, and even an “on-call workout” series designed for being in the call room.

Dr. Novitsky notices that many of her clients are stuck in an “all-or-none” mindset. If they can’t do something perfectly with total commitment, they would rather not do it at all. With so many demands on their time and energy, something has to give, and putting their health first begins to seem selfish or hopeless. “I can speak to this,” Dr. Novitsky admitted, “because I did it to myself”

Like Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky said that “most of the stuff we’re coaching on is not about their food. It’s about how they feel undervalued at work, how their relationships are suffering, how they feel super guilty as a parent. They feel like they look good on paper, but this is not the life they signed up for.”
 

Step 3: Life change equals physical change

Siobhan Key, MD, an obesity medicine and family physician, sees her own weight loss struggle as a symptom of a former lifestyle that, frankly, “sucked.”

Her grueling schedule and lack of self-care left her feeling stuck on a “hamster wheel” of work and family responsibilities. There was no space for herself. She craved the dopamine burst from junk food and felt powerless to stop reaching for Wendy’s French fries as a frequent reward. It took realizing that she was on track to develop type 2 diabetes to motivate her to change.

Where she lived also affected her struggle. Living in the small community of Prince George, B.C., local weight-loss programs were difficult for Dr. Key. It was likely that she would encounter some of her patients, which would not be a safe space to reveal her personal challenges. Searching for an expert who could explain how to eat healthy meals while on call and then working a full day afterward also yielded no solutions.

Unlike Dr. Ubell and Dr. Novitsky, Dr. Key still practices medicine. But she is also a weight-loss coach. She takes an unconventional approach by not proposing any specific diet rules or plans. Dictating which foods you can or cannot eat is like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, Dr. Key said. It will never work long term. Instead, she wants to help her clients use both their medical knowledge and life experience to make healthy eating fit into their lives.

“Let’s stop doing things that makes our lives worse just to lose weight, because it will never be sustainable,” said Dr. Key. “Rather, let’s choose paths of losing weight and managing our eating that actually make our lives better. And those exist. They’re just not the classic diet paths that we’ve been taught before.”

Dr. Key’s program also includes advice from other physician coaches on professional struggles. For example, charting is a big one, Dr. Key said. The pressure of completing patient notes, often outside of working hours, is a major source of stress that triggers a lot of eating.

Weight loss doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Dr. Key pointed out. It isn’t the simple “eat less, exercise more” equation that physicians learned in medical school. “The reality is, weight loss and eating happen in conjunction with the rest of your life,” she said.

Find ways to make your life easier and the benefits will follow, she said. “As your life gets better, you feel more empowered. You feel less stressed. Your eating choices start to be simpler, and the cravings start to go down. You can’t have one without the other.”
 

Weight is just a symptom of a bigger problem

Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky, and Dr. Key all say they have seen dramatic transformations among their clients. They don’t mean just physical ones. Dr. Ubell remembered an emergency medicine physician so miserable at work that she considered defaulting on her student loans. Dr. Novitsky recalled an anesthesiologist so insecure that she nearly passed up a scholarship to a fitness program. Dr. Key has seen clients so obsessed with what they should and shouldn’t eat that food dominated their thoughts every free minute of the day.

All these doctors, the coaches said, have been able to regain a sense of control over their lives, rethink how they show up at work and at home, and even rediscover their joy in medicine.

These changes are less about body mass index and more about confidence and self-love. For weight loss to last, according to Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky, and Dr. Key, there must be permanent mental shifts that redefine one’s relationship with food.

“There’s no finish line when we’re talking about long-term weight maintenance,” Dr. Key tells physicians. “You have to be able to do it for the rest of your life.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Katrina Ubell, MD, listened with growing skepticism as the dietician outlined her weight-loss plan. “You’re going to have to eat a snack in the afternoon,” she instructed.

Dr. Ubell refrained from rolling her eyes. The afternoon was in the middle of clinic. “I’m not ever going to do that,” she tried to explain. “I can’t.”

“Of course, you can,” the dietician insisted. “You shouldn’t think that way. You get to decide.”

“She wasn’t wrong about that,” Dr. Ubell conceded years later. But the well-meaning dietician couldn’t understand the reality of life as a physician. As a pediatrician, Dr. Ubell could visualize how her afternoon would play out. “You’re already 40 minutes behind. This mom needs to get home to get her kid off the bus. This mom, her toddler is losing his mind because he needs a nap. You’re not going to say: ‘Sorry, I need to eat some carrots and hummus.’ ”

Most of what the dieting realm recommends for weight loss, Dr. Ubell discovered, seems only relevant to people with a consistent 9 to 5 schedule. That was not her life. Neither was she looking for one of the many diet plans based on self-denial and will power. Having already lost and gained back 40 pounds several times, she knew these methods were not effective long term.

What were other overweight doctors doing? she wondered. Someone must know how to help doctors lose weight. But her Google searches revealed ... nothing. No one was offering a useful diet or exercise plan specifically for physicians.

Dr. Ubell’s search for answers led to the world of life coaching, and eventually she became a master-certified life and weight-loss coach, working exclusively with women-identifying physicians.

The field is small. Very few weight-loss programs are solely for physicians, whose stress levels, unpredictable schedules, and high-achieving mindset pose unique challenges. Among the constantly changing diet fads, few would likely work for the surgeon confined to an operating room for 9 hours at a time or the anesthesiologist who can’t even manage to drink water during the workday.

Dr. Ubell set out to create a weight-loss program rooted in the physical and mental demands of medical practice. In the process, she lost 45 pounds.
 

Step 1: Acknowledge that doctors are, unfortunately, human

Dr. Ubell’s approach to food combines concepts from cognitive-behavioral therapy with personalized eating plans, coaching, and support from a community of doctors.

All of this stems from her own experience with emotional eating, which she said many doctors use to process their stress and exhaustion. This is a direct result of needing to repress emotions while caring for patients but lacking guidance on how to manage those feelings outside of work.

“That kind of behavior, being what we call ‘professional,’ but really emotionally shut down, is prized and valued in medicine,” Dr. Ubell said. “I’m not saying we should be open all the time. But we’re not given any tools for what to do at the end of the day. In my case, it was eating. For other people, it’s drinking more than they would like, spending money, gambling, basically just numbing behavior.”

Dr. Ubell said only 20% of her work with clients revolves around what to eat. The other 80% is about managing the thoughts, beliefs, and emotions that negatively affect their lives, teaching them how to cope “without food as the crutch.” Once the problems regarding eating are resolved, clients can begin to address all the problems they were using food to obscure.

“A lot of my clients really have to work on self-love, self-acceptance, self-compassion,” Dr. Ubell said. “They’re such high achievers, and often many of them think that they’ve achieved so much by being harsh with themselves and driving themselves hard. They think it’s causal, but it’s not. They have to learn, How can I be accomplished while being nice to myself?”
 

Step 2: Reassess your mindset

Ali Novitsky, MD, an obesity medicine physician and now full-time life coach, calls this attitude the “heaven’s reward fallacy.” Observed by renowned psychiatrist Aaron Beck, MD, this cognitive distortion involves imagining that hard work, struggle, and self-sacrifice must ultimately pay off, as if suffering entitles us to compensation in the future. For physicians, who are embedded in a culture of selflessness and dedication to the health of others, this often means forfeiting their own health and well-being.

For many, there is also a sense of secrecy and shame regarding health and fitness problems. As doctors, they are experts in the human body. They should already know how to lose weight. Right? And so not knowing or being unable to muster the will power for a diet plan while on call overnight or working 12-hour shifts feels like a professional failure as well as a personal one.

“As physicians, we’re so afraid to fail,” Dr. Novitsky explained. “It’s more comfortable just to not know. Maybe we’ve failed before, or maybe we didn’t get the result that we wanted, so now we can’t bear to have that happen again. It’s just way too painful.”

Dr. Novitsky – who has herself lost 50 pounds and have kept it off for 20 years – provides weight loss, intuitive eating, and fitness programs for female physicians. Her evidence-based approach aims to optimize body composition rather than hitting a number on a scale. Conscious of the physician lifestyle, she offers night and weekend meetings, sessions that can be replayed, and even an “on-call workout” series designed for being in the call room.

Dr. Novitsky notices that many of her clients are stuck in an “all-or-none” mindset. If they can’t do something perfectly with total commitment, they would rather not do it at all. With so many demands on their time and energy, something has to give, and putting their health first begins to seem selfish or hopeless. “I can speak to this,” Dr. Novitsky admitted, “because I did it to myself”

Like Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky said that “most of the stuff we’re coaching on is not about their food. It’s about how they feel undervalued at work, how their relationships are suffering, how they feel super guilty as a parent. They feel like they look good on paper, but this is not the life they signed up for.”
 

Step 3: Life change equals physical change

Siobhan Key, MD, an obesity medicine and family physician, sees her own weight loss struggle as a symptom of a former lifestyle that, frankly, “sucked.”

Her grueling schedule and lack of self-care left her feeling stuck on a “hamster wheel” of work and family responsibilities. There was no space for herself. She craved the dopamine burst from junk food and felt powerless to stop reaching for Wendy’s French fries as a frequent reward. It took realizing that she was on track to develop type 2 diabetes to motivate her to change.

Where she lived also affected her struggle. Living in the small community of Prince George, B.C., local weight-loss programs were difficult for Dr. Key. It was likely that she would encounter some of her patients, which would not be a safe space to reveal her personal challenges. Searching for an expert who could explain how to eat healthy meals while on call and then working a full day afterward also yielded no solutions.

Unlike Dr. Ubell and Dr. Novitsky, Dr. Key still practices medicine. But she is also a weight-loss coach. She takes an unconventional approach by not proposing any specific diet rules or plans. Dictating which foods you can or cannot eat is like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, Dr. Key said. It will never work long term. Instead, she wants to help her clients use both their medical knowledge and life experience to make healthy eating fit into their lives.

“Let’s stop doing things that makes our lives worse just to lose weight, because it will never be sustainable,” said Dr. Key. “Rather, let’s choose paths of losing weight and managing our eating that actually make our lives better. And those exist. They’re just not the classic diet paths that we’ve been taught before.”

Dr. Key’s program also includes advice from other physician coaches on professional struggles. For example, charting is a big one, Dr. Key said. The pressure of completing patient notes, often outside of working hours, is a major source of stress that triggers a lot of eating.

Weight loss doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Dr. Key pointed out. It isn’t the simple “eat less, exercise more” equation that physicians learned in medical school. “The reality is, weight loss and eating happen in conjunction with the rest of your life,” she said.

Find ways to make your life easier and the benefits will follow, she said. “As your life gets better, you feel more empowered. You feel less stressed. Your eating choices start to be simpler, and the cravings start to go down. You can’t have one without the other.”
 

Weight is just a symptom of a bigger problem

Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky, and Dr. Key all say they have seen dramatic transformations among their clients. They don’t mean just physical ones. Dr. Ubell remembered an emergency medicine physician so miserable at work that she considered defaulting on her student loans. Dr. Novitsky recalled an anesthesiologist so insecure that she nearly passed up a scholarship to a fitness program. Dr. Key has seen clients so obsessed with what they should and shouldn’t eat that food dominated their thoughts every free minute of the day.

All these doctors, the coaches said, have been able to regain a sense of control over their lives, rethink how they show up at work and at home, and even rediscover their joy in medicine.

These changes are less about body mass index and more about confidence and self-love. For weight loss to last, according to Dr. Ubell, Dr. Novitsky, and Dr. Key, there must be permanent mental shifts that redefine one’s relationship with food.

“There’s no finish line when we’re talking about long-term weight maintenance,” Dr. Key tells physicians. “You have to be able to do it for the rest of your life.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

An athletic coach stands in front of a packed gym full of high school students.
 

“Don’t have sex,” he instructs, “because you will get pregnant and die. Don’t have sex in the missionary position. Don’t have sex standing up. Just don’t do it, promise? Okay, everybody take some rubbers.”

Sad to say, this scene from the 2004 movie “Mean Girls” bears a striking resemblance to the actual sex education courses taught in schools across the United States today. In fact, things may have gotten measurably worse.

National data recently published by the Guttmacher Institute showed that adolescents were less likely to receive adequate sex education from 2015 to 2019 than they were in 1995. Only half of kids aged 15-19 received sex education that met minimum standards recommended by the Department of Health & Human Services, and fewer than half were given this information before having sex for the first time. With such a vast learning gap, it is no surprise that the United States has some of the highest rates of teenage pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections in the developed world.

Concerned and motivated by this need for sex education, physicians and other medical professionals are stepping in to fill the void, offering sexual health information through a range of methods to students of all ages (some a lot older than one may think). It is a calling that takes them outside their hospitals and exam rooms into workshops and through educational materials, video, and social media content created from scratch.

“The fact that we’re able to go in and provide factual, scientific, important information that can affect the trajectory of someone’s life is powerful,” said Julia Rossen, part of a contingent of med students at Brown University, Providence, R.I., who now teach sex ed as an elective.

Their goals are not just about protecting health. Many are also teaching about other topics commonly ignored in sex education classes, such as consent, pleasure, LGBTQ+ identities, and cultural competence. There is a mutually beneficial relationship, they say, between their sex education work and their medical practice.
 

Changing the status quo

A jumble of state laws govern how and when schools should offer sex education courses. Individual school districts often make the final decisions about their content, creating even more inconsistent standards. Only 29 states and the District of Columbia mandate sex education, and 13 of those do not require that it be medically accurate. Abstinence-only education, which has been shown to be ineffective, is exclusively taught in 16 states.

Without formal instruction, many young people must learn about sex from family members, who may be unwilling, or they may share knowledge between themselves, which is often incorrect, or navigate the limitless information and misinformation available on the internet.

The consequences of this were apparent to several medical students at Brown University in 2013. At the time, the rate of teenage pregnancy across Rhode Island was 1 in 100, but in the small city of Central Falls, it was 1 in 25. Aiming to improve this, the group created a comprehensive sex education program for a Central Falls middle school that was taught by medical student volunteers.

The Sex Ed by Brown Med program continues today. It consists of eight in-person sessions. Topics include anatomy, contraception, STIs, sexual decision-making, consent, sexual violence, and sexual and gender identity. Through this program, as well as other factors, the Central Falls teenage pregnancy rate declined to 1.6 in 100 from 2016 to 2020, according to the Rhode Island Department of Health.

“Historically, sexual education has been politicized,” said Ms. Rossen, one of the current program leaders. “It’s been at the discretion of a lot of different factors that aren’t under the control of the communities that are actually receiving the education.”

Among seventh graders, the teachers say they encounter different levels of maturity. But they feel that the kids are more receptive and open with younger adults who, like them, are still students. Some volunteers recall the flaws in their own sex education, particularly regarding topics such as consent and gender and sexual identity, and they believe middle school is the time to begin the sexual health conversation. “By the time you’re talking to college-age students, it’s pretty much too late,” said another group leader, Benjamin Stone.

Mr. Stone feels that practicing having these often-awkward discussions enhances their clinical skills as physicians. “Sex and sexual history are part of the comprehensive medical interview. People want to have these conversations, and they’re looking for someone to open the door. The kids are excited that we’re opening that door for them. And I think patients feel the same way.”
 

Conquering social media

Opening the door has been more like releasing a floodgate for Danielle Jones, MD, an ob.gyn. physician who is originally from Texas but who moved to New Zealand in 2021. Known on social media as “Mama Doctor Jones,” she has garnered more than 3 million followers across YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Dr. Jones produces short, friendly, entertaining videos on a range of reproductive health and sex education topics. They appeal to an adolescent audience hungry for a trustworthy voice on issues such as,: “5 ‘Strange’ Things Your Vagina Does That Are NORMAL” and “Condom Broke ... Now What?”

Dr. Jones uses her platform to debunk some of the misleading and inaccurate sexual health information being taught in classrooms, by other social media influencers, and that is found on the internet in general. Her no-nonsense-style videos call out such myths as being unable to pee with a tampon in, Plan B emergency contraception causing abortions, and COVID-19 vaccines damaging fertility.

“The way sex ed is done in the U.S. in most places is continuing the taboo by making it a one-time discussion or health class,” said Dr. Jones, “particularly if boys and girls are separated. That doesn’t further communication between people or foster an environment where it’s okay to discuss your body and puberty and changes in sexual health in general. And if you can’t talk about it in educational spaces, you’re certainly not going to be comfortable talking about that in a one-on-one situation with another 16-year-old.”

Taking on other taboos, Dr. Jones has been outspoken about abortion and the consequences of the recent Supreme Court decision, both as an ethical issue and a medical one that endangers lives. Raised in a deeply religious family, Dr. Jones said she was indoctrinated with antiabortion views, and it took time for her thinking to evolve “from a scientific and humanistic standpoint.” While working in a Texas private practice, Dr. Jones described being unable to mention abortion online because of fear of losing her patients and for her own safety.

Now free of those constraints, Dr. Jones feels that her videos can be important resources for teachers who may have little health training. And she is enthusiastic about the complementary relationship between her social media work and her clinical practice. “There are conversations I have all the time in the clinic where patients tell me: ‘Nobody’s ever really had this conversation in this way with me. Thank you for explaining that,’ ” said Dr. Jones. “And then I think: ‘Well, now I’ll have it with a hundred thousand other people too.’ ”
 

Promoting pleasure

While not an ob.gyn., discussing sexuality with patients has become a focus for Evelin Dacker, MD, a family physician in Salem, Ore. Dr. Dacker is certified in functional medicine, which takes a holistic and integrative approach. During her training she had a sudden realization: Sexuality had not been discussed at any point during her medical education.

“I recognized that this was a huge gap in how we deal with a person as a human,” Dr. Dacker explained. “Since sexuality plays a role in so many aspects of our humanness, not just having sex.”

Dr. Dacker believes in rethinking sexuality as a fundamental part of overall health, as vital as nutrition or blood pressure. Outside her medical practice, she teaches classes and workshops on sexual health and sex positivity for young adults and other physicians. She has also developed an educational framework for sexual health topics. Dr. Dacker said she frequently confronts the idea that sexuality is only about engaging with another person. She disagrees. Using food as a metaphor, she argues that just as the pleasure of eating something is purely for oneself, sexuality belongs to the individual.

Sexuality can also be a tool for pleasure, which Dr. Dacker believes plays an essential role in physical health. “Pleasure is a medicine,” Dr. Dacker said. “I actually prescribe self-pleasure practices to my patients, so they can start owning it within themselves. Make sure you get 7-8 hours of sleep, do some breathing exercises to help bring down your stress, and do self-pleasure so that you can integrate into your body better.”

She added that the impact of prioritizing one’s own desires, needs, and boundaries can transform how people view their sexuality. Her adult students frequently ask: “Why wasn’t I taught this as a teenager?”
 

Speaking of adult students – An older generation learns new tricks

While the teen cohort is usually the focus, the lack of sex education in previous decades – and the way sexual culture has evolved in that time – have an impact on older groups. Among U.S. adults aged 55 and older, the rate of STIs has more than doubled in the past 10 years, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. While the majority of STI cases still occur among teenagers and young adults, the consistent increase in STIs among older persons is cause for concern among physicians and researchers.

The issue worries Shannon Dowler, MD, a family physician in western North Carolina and chief medical officer for North Carolina Medicaid. Dr. Dowler, who has practiced in an STI clinic throughout her career, began seeing more and more older adults with chlamydia, herpes, and other STIs. Dowler cites several factors behind the rise, including the growing retirement community population, the availability of pharmaceuticals for sexual dysfunction, and the “hook-up culture” that is active on dating apps, which research shows are regularly used by more than a third of adults older than 55.

Dr. Dowler also sees a lack of communication about sexual health between physicians and their older patients. “Older adults are more likely to be in relationship with their physician outside the exam room, especially if they’re in a small community,” Dr. Dowler said. “Sometimes they aren’t as comfortable sharing what their risks are. But we are guilty in medicine all the time of not asking. We assume someone’s older so they’re not having sex anymore. But, in fact, they are, and we’re not taking the time to say: ‘Let’s talk about your sex life. Are you at risk for anything? Are you having any difficulties with sex?’ We tend to avoid it as a health care culture.”

In contrast, Dr. Dowler said she talks about sexual health with anyone who will listen. She teaches classes in private schools and universities and for church youth groups and other physicians. She often finds that public schools are not interested, which she attributes to fear of her discussing things “outside the rule book.”

Dr. Dowler takes creative approaches. In 2017, she released a hip-hop video, “STD’s Never Get Old,” in which she raps about safe sex for older adults. Her video went viral, was mentioned by several news outlets, and received over 50,000 views on YouTube. Dr. Dowler’s latest project is a book, “Never Too Late: Your Guide to Safer Sex after 60,” which is scheduled for publication on Valentine’s Day, 2023.

“It’s sex ed for seniors,” she explained. “It’s that gym class that some people got – I won’t say everyone got – in high school. This is the version for older adults who didn’t get that. There are new infections now that didn’t exist when they had sex education, if they had sex education.”
 

A big subject requires a big mission

For others in the sex education field, physicians are allies in their fight against agendas designed to obstruct or erode sex education. Alison Macklin, director of policy and advocacy at SIECUS: Sex Ed for Social Change, formerly the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States, sees this struggle playing out in school boards and state legislatures across the country. For every comprehensive sex education bill passed or school district victory, there is yet another blocked proposal or restrictive law somewhere else.

Ms. Macklin urged doctors to get more involved locally and to expand their knowledge of sexual health issues by reaching out to organizations such as Planned Parenthood and to be “hyper vigilant” in their own communities.

“Doctors are trusted. People really respect what they have to say,” Ms. Macklin said. “And this is an important time for them to speak up.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

An athletic coach stands in front of a packed gym full of high school students.
 

“Don’t have sex,” he instructs, “because you will get pregnant and die. Don’t have sex in the missionary position. Don’t have sex standing up. Just don’t do it, promise? Okay, everybody take some rubbers.”

Sad to say, this scene from the 2004 movie “Mean Girls” bears a striking resemblance to the actual sex education courses taught in schools across the United States today. In fact, things may have gotten measurably worse.

National data recently published by the Guttmacher Institute showed that adolescents were less likely to receive adequate sex education from 2015 to 2019 than they were in 1995. Only half of kids aged 15-19 received sex education that met minimum standards recommended by the Department of Health & Human Services, and fewer than half were given this information before having sex for the first time. With such a vast learning gap, it is no surprise that the United States has some of the highest rates of teenage pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections in the developed world.

Concerned and motivated by this need for sex education, physicians and other medical professionals are stepping in to fill the void, offering sexual health information through a range of methods to students of all ages (some a lot older than one may think). It is a calling that takes them outside their hospitals and exam rooms into workshops and through educational materials, video, and social media content created from scratch.

“The fact that we’re able to go in and provide factual, scientific, important information that can affect the trajectory of someone’s life is powerful,” said Julia Rossen, part of a contingent of med students at Brown University, Providence, R.I., who now teach sex ed as an elective.

Their goals are not just about protecting health. Many are also teaching about other topics commonly ignored in sex education classes, such as consent, pleasure, LGBTQ+ identities, and cultural competence. There is a mutually beneficial relationship, they say, between their sex education work and their medical practice.
 

Changing the status quo

A jumble of state laws govern how and when schools should offer sex education courses. Individual school districts often make the final decisions about their content, creating even more inconsistent standards. Only 29 states and the District of Columbia mandate sex education, and 13 of those do not require that it be medically accurate. Abstinence-only education, which has been shown to be ineffective, is exclusively taught in 16 states.

Without formal instruction, many young people must learn about sex from family members, who may be unwilling, or they may share knowledge between themselves, which is often incorrect, or navigate the limitless information and misinformation available on the internet.

The consequences of this were apparent to several medical students at Brown University in 2013. At the time, the rate of teenage pregnancy across Rhode Island was 1 in 100, but in the small city of Central Falls, it was 1 in 25. Aiming to improve this, the group created a comprehensive sex education program for a Central Falls middle school that was taught by medical student volunteers.

The Sex Ed by Brown Med program continues today. It consists of eight in-person sessions. Topics include anatomy, contraception, STIs, sexual decision-making, consent, sexual violence, and sexual and gender identity. Through this program, as well as other factors, the Central Falls teenage pregnancy rate declined to 1.6 in 100 from 2016 to 2020, according to the Rhode Island Department of Health.

“Historically, sexual education has been politicized,” said Ms. Rossen, one of the current program leaders. “It’s been at the discretion of a lot of different factors that aren’t under the control of the communities that are actually receiving the education.”

Among seventh graders, the teachers say they encounter different levels of maturity. But they feel that the kids are more receptive and open with younger adults who, like them, are still students. Some volunteers recall the flaws in their own sex education, particularly regarding topics such as consent and gender and sexual identity, and they believe middle school is the time to begin the sexual health conversation. “By the time you’re talking to college-age students, it’s pretty much too late,” said another group leader, Benjamin Stone.

Mr. Stone feels that practicing having these often-awkward discussions enhances their clinical skills as physicians. “Sex and sexual history are part of the comprehensive medical interview. People want to have these conversations, and they’re looking for someone to open the door. The kids are excited that we’re opening that door for them. And I think patients feel the same way.”
 

Conquering social media

Opening the door has been more like releasing a floodgate for Danielle Jones, MD, an ob.gyn. physician who is originally from Texas but who moved to New Zealand in 2021. Known on social media as “Mama Doctor Jones,” she has garnered more than 3 million followers across YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Dr. Jones produces short, friendly, entertaining videos on a range of reproductive health and sex education topics. They appeal to an adolescent audience hungry for a trustworthy voice on issues such as,: “5 ‘Strange’ Things Your Vagina Does That Are NORMAL” and “Condom Broke ... Now What?”

Dr. Jones uses her platform to debunk some of the misleading and inaccurate sexual health information being taught in classrooms, by other social media influencers, and that is found on the internet in general. Her no-nonsense-style videos call out such myths as being unable to pee with a tampon in, Plan B emergency contraception causing abortions, and COVID-19 vaccines damaging fertility.

“The way sex ed is done in the U.S. in most places is continuing the taboo by making it a one-time discussion or health class,” said Dr. Jones, “particularly if boys and girls are separated. That doesn’t further communication between people or foster an environment where it’s okay to discuss your body and puberty and changes in sexual health in general. And if you can’t talk about it in educational spaces, you’re certainly not going to be comfortable talking about that in a one-on-one situation with another 16-year-old.”

Taking on other taboos, Dr. Jones has been outspoken about abortion and the consequences of the recent Supreme Court decision, both as an ethical issue and a medical one that endangers lives. Raised in a deeply religious family, Dr. Jones said she was indoctrinated with antiabortion views, and it took time for her thinking to evolve “from a scientific and humanistic standpoint.” While working in a Texas private practice, Dr. Jones described being unable to mention abortion online because of fear of losing her patients and for her own safety.

Now free of those constraints, Dr. Jones feels that her videos can be important resources for teachers who may have little health training. And she is enthusiastic about the complementary relationship between her social media work and her clinical practice. “There are conversations I have all the time in the clinic where patients tell me: ‘Nobody’s ever really had this conversation in this way with me. Thank you for explaining that,’ ” said Dr. Jones. “And then I think: ‘Well, now I’ll have it with a hundred thousand other people too.’ ”
 

Promoting pleasure

While not an ob.gyn., discussing sexuality with patients has become a focus for Evelin Dacker, MD, a family physician in Salem, Ore. Dr. Dacker is certified in functional medicine, which takes a holistic and integrative approach. During her training she had a sudden realization: Sexuality had not been discussed at any point during her medical education.

“I recognized that this was a huge gap in how we deal with a person as a human,” Dr. Dacker explained. “Since sexuality plays a role in so many aspects of our humanness, not just having sex.”

Dr. Dacker believes in rethinking sexuality as a fundamental part of overall health, as vital as nutrition or blood pressure. Outside her medical practice, she teaches classes and workshops on sexual health and sex positivity for young adults and other physicians. She has also developed an educational framework for sexual health topics. Dr. Dacker said she frequently confronts the idea that sexuality is only about engaging with another person. She disagrees. Using food as a metaphor, she argues that just as the pleasure of eating something is purely for oneself, sexuality belongs to the individual.

Sexuality can also be a tool for pleasure, which Dr. Dacker believes plays an essential role in physical health. “Pleasure is a medicine,” Dr. Dacker said. “I actually prescribe self-pleasure practices to my patients, so they can start owning it within themselves. Make sure you get 7-8 hours of sleep, do some breathing exercises to help bring down your stress, and do self-pleasure so that you can integrate into your body better.”

She added that the impact of prioritizing one’s own desires, needs, and boundaries can transform how people view their sexuality. Her adult students frequently ask: “Why wasn’t I taught this as a teenager?”
 

Speaking of adult students – An older generation learns new tricks

While the teen cohort is usually the focus, the lack of sex education in previous decades – and the way sexual culture has evolved in that time – have an impact on older groups. Among U.S. adults aged 55 and older, the rate of STIs has more than doubled in the past 10 years, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. While the majority of STI cases still occur among teenagers and young adults, the consistent increase in STIs among older persons is cause for concern among physicians and researchers.

The issue worries Shannon Dowler, MD, a family physician in western North Carolina and chief medical officer for North Carolina Medicaid. Dr. Dowler, who has practiced in an STI clinic throughout her career, began seeing more and more older adults with chlamydia, herpes, and other STIs. Dowler cites several factors behind the rise, including the growing retirement community population, the availability of pharmaceuticals for sexual dysfunction, and the “hook-up culture” that is active on dating apps, which research shows are regularly used by more than a third of adults older than 55.

Dr. Dowler also sees a lack of communication about sexual health between physicians and their older patients. “Older adults are more likely to be in relationship with their physician outside the exam room, especially if they’re in a small community,” Dr. Dowler said. “Sometimes they aren’t as comfortable sharing what their risks are. But we are guilty in medicine all the time of not asking. We assume someone’s older so they’re not having sex anymore. But, in fact, they are, and we’re not taking the time to say: ‘Let’s talk about your sex life. Are you at risk for anything? Are you having any difficulties with sex?’ We tend to avoid it as a health care culture.”

In contrast, Dr. Dowler said she talks about sexual health with anyone who will listen. She teaches classes in private schools and universities and for church youth groups and other physicians. She often finds that public schools are not interested, which she attributes to fear of her discussing things “outside the rule book.”

Dr. Dowler takes creative approaches. In 2017, she released a hip-hop video, “STD’s Never Get Old,” in which she raps about safe sex for older adults. Her video went viral, was mentioned by several news outlets, and received over 50,000 views on YouTube. Dr. Dowler’s latest project is a book, “Never Too Late: Your Guide to Safer Sex after 60,” which is scheduled for publication on Valentine’s Day, 2023.

“It’s sex ed for seniors,” she explained. “It’s that gym class that some people got – I won’t say everyone got – in high school. This is the version for older adults who didn’t get that. There are new infections now that didn’t exist when they had sex education, if they had sex education.”
 

A big subject requires a big mission

For others in the sex education field, physicians are allies in their fight against agendas designed to obstruct or erode sex education. Alison Macklin, director of policy and advocacy at SIECUS: Sex Ed for Social Change, formerly the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States, sees this struggle playing out in school boards and state legislatures across the country. For every comprehensive sex education bill passed or school district victory, there is yet another blocked proposal or restrictive law somewhere else.

Ms. Macklin urged doctors to get more involved locally and to expand their knowledge of sexual health issues by reaching out to organizations such as Planned Parenthood and to be “hyper vigilant” in their own communities.

“Doctors are trusted. People really respect what they have to say,” Ms. Macklin said. “And this is an important time for them to speak up.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

An athletic coach stands in front of a packed gym full of high school students.
 

“Don’t have sex,” he instructs, “because you will get pregnant and die. Don’t have sex in the missionary position. Don’t have sex standing up. Just don’t do it, promise? Okay, everybody take some rubbers.”

Sad to say, this scene from the 2004 movie “Mean Girls” bears a striking resemblance to the actual sex education courses taught in schools across the United States today. In fact, things may have gotten measurably worse.

National data recently published by the Guttmacher Institute showed that adolescents were less likely to receive adequate sex education from 2015 to 2019 than they were in 1995. Only half of kids aged 15-19 received sex education that met minimum standards recommended by the Department of Health & Human Services, and fewer than half were given this information before having sex for the first time. With such a vast learning gap, it is no surprise that the United States has some of the highest rates of teenage pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections in the developed world.

Concerned and motivated by this need for sex education, physicians and other medical professionals are stepping in to fill the void, offering sexual health information through a range of methods to students of all ages (some a lot older than one may think). It is a calling that takes them outside their hospitals and exam rooms into workshops and through educational materials, video, and social media content created from scratch.

“The fact that we’re able to go in and provide factual, scientific, important information that can affect the trajectory of someone’s life is powerful,” said Julia Rossen, part of a contingent of med students at Brown University, Providence, R.I., who now teach sex ed as an elective.

Their goals are not just about protecting health. Many are also teaching about other topics commonly ignored in sex education classes, such as consent, pleasure, LGBTQ+ identities, and cultural competence. There is a mutually beneficial relationship, they say, between their sex education work and their medical practice.
 

Changing the status quo

A jumble of state laws govern how and when schools should offer sex education courses. Individual school districts often make the final decisions about their content, creating even more inconsistent standards. Only 29 states and the District of Columbia mandate sex education, and 13 of those do not require that it be medically accurate. Abstinence-only education, which has been shown to be ineffective, is exclusively taught in 16 states.

Without formal instruction, many young people must learn about sex from family members, who may be unwilling, or they may share knowledge between themselves, which is often incorrect, or navigate the limitless information and misinformation available on the internet.

The consequences of this were apparent to several medical students at Brown University in 2013. At the time, the rate of teenage pregnancy across Rhode Island was 1 in 100, but in the small city of Central Falls, it was 1 in 25. Aiming to improve this, the group created a comprehensive sex education program for a Central Falls middle school that was taught by medical student volunteers.

The Sex Ed by Brown Med program continues today. It consists of eight in-person sessions. Topics include anatomy, contraception, STIs, sexual decision-making, consent, sexual violence, and sexual and gender identity. Through this program, as well as other factors, the Central Falls teenage pregnancy rate declined to 1.6 in 100 from 2016 to 2020, according to the Rhode Island Department of Health.

“Historically, sexual education has been politicized,” said Ms. Rossen, one of the current program leaders. “It’s been at the discretion of a lot of different factors that aren’t under the control of the communities that are actually receiving the education.”

Among seventh graders, the teachers say they encounter different levels of maturity. But they feel that the kids are more receptive and open with younger adults who, like them, are still students. Some volunteers recall the flaws in their own sex education, particularly regarding topics such as consent and gender and sexual identity, and they believe middle school is the time to begin the sexual health conversation. “By the time you’re talking to college-age students, it’s pretty much too late,” said another group leader, Benjamin Stone.

Mr. Stone feels that practicing having these often-awkward discussions enhances their clinical skills as physicians. “Sex and sexual history are part of the comprehensive medical interview. People want to have these conversations, and they’re looking for someone to open the door. The kids are excited that we’re opening that door for them. And I think patients feel the same way.”
 

Conquering social media

Opening the door has been more like releasing a floodgate for Danielle Jones, MD, an ob.gyn. physician who is originally from Texas but who moved to New Zealand in 2021. Known on social media as “Mama Doctor Jones,” she has garnered more than 3 million followers across YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Dr. Jones produces short, friendly, entertaining videos on a range of reproductive health and sex education topics. They appeal to an adolescent audience hungry for a trustworthy voice on issues such as,: “5 ‘Strange’ Things Your Vagina Does That Are NORMAL” and “Condom Broke ... Now What?”

Dr. Jones uses her platform to debunk some of the misleading and inaccurate sexual health information being taught in classrooms, by other social media influencers, and that is found on the internet in general. Her no-nonsense-style videos call out such myths as being unable to pee with a tampon in, Plan B emergency contraception causing abortions, and COVID-19 vaccines damaging fertility.

“The way sex ed is done in the U.S. in most places is continuing the taboo by making it a one-time discussion or health class,” said Dr. Jones, “particularly if boys and girls are separated. That doesn’t further communication between people or foster an environment where it’s okay to discuss your body and puberty and changes in sexual health in general. And if you can’t talk about it in educational spaces, you’re certainly not going to be comfortable talking about that in a one-on-one situation with another 16-year-old.”

Taking on other taboos, Dr. Jones has been outspoken about abortion and the consequences of the recent Supreme Court decision, both as an ethical issue and a medical one that endangers lives. Raised in a deeply religious family, Dr. Jones said she was indoctrinated with antiabortion views, and it took time for her thinking to evolve “from a scientific and humanistic standpoint.” While working in a Texas private practice, Dr. Jones described being unable to mention abortion online because of fear of losing her patients and for her own safety.

Now free of those constraints, Dr. Jones feels that her videos can be important resources for teachers who may have little health training. And she is enthusiastic about the complementary relationship between her social media work and her clinical practice. “There are conversations I have all the time in the clinic where patients tell me: ‘Nobody’s ever really had this conversation in this way with me. Thank you for explaining that,’ ” said Dr. Jones. “And then I think: ‘Well, now I’ll have it with a hundred thousand other people too.’ ”
 

Promoting pleasure

While not an ob.gyn., discussing sexuality with patients has become a focus for Evelin Dacker, MD, a family physician in Salem, Ore. Dr. Dacker is certified in functional medicine, which takes a holistic and integrative approach. During her training she had a sudden realization: Sexuality had not been discussed at any point during her medical education.

“I recognized that this was a huge gap in how we deal with a person as a human,” Dr. Dacker explained. “Since sexuality plays a role in so many aspects of our humanness, not just having sex.”

Dr. Dacker believes in rethinking sexuality as a fundamental part of overall health, as vital as nutrition or blood pressure. Outside her medical practice, she teaches classes and workshops on sexual health and sex positivity for young adults and other physicians. She has also developed an educational framework for sexual health topics. Dr. Dacker said she frequently confronts the idea that sexuality is only about engaging with another person. She disagrees. Using food as a metaphor, she argues that just as the pleasure of eating something is purely for oneself, sexuality belongs to the individual.

Sexuality can also be a tool for pleasure, which Dr. Dacker believes plays an essential role in physical health. “Pleasure is a medicine,” Dr. Dacker said. “I actually prescribe self-pleasure practices to my patients, so they can start owning it within themselves. Make sure you get 7-8 hours of sleep, do some breathing exercises to help bring down your stress, and do self-pleasure so that you can integrate into your body better.”

She added that the impact of prioritizing one’s own desires, needs, and boundaries can transform how people view their sexuality. Her adult students frequently ask: “Why wasn’t I taught this as a teenager?”
 

Speaking of adult students – An older generation learns new tricks

While the teen cohort is usually the focus, the lack of sex education in previous decades – and the way sexual culture has evolved in that time – have an impact on older groups. Among U.S. adults aged 55 and older, the rate of STIs has more than doubled in the past 10 years, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. While the majority of STI cases still occur among teenagers and young adults, the consistent increase in STIs among older persons is cause for concern among physicians and researchers.

The issue worries Shannon Dowler, MD, a family physician in western North Carolina and chief medical officer for North Carolina Medicaid. Dr. Dowler, who has practiced in an STI clinic throughout her career, began seeing more and more older adults with chlamydia, herpes, and other STIs. Dowler cites several factors behind the rise, including the growing retirement community population, the availability of pharmaceuticals for sexual dysfunction, and the “hook-up culture” that is active on dating apps, which research shows are regularly used by more than a third of adults older than 55.

Dr. Dowler also sees a lack of communication about sexual health between physicians and their older patients. “Older adults are more likely to be in relationship with their physician outside the exam room, especially if they’re in a small community,” Dr. Dowler said. “Sometimes they aren’t as comfortable sharing what their risks are. But we are guilty in medicine all the time of not asking. We assume someone’s older so they’re not having sex anymore. But, in fact, they are, and we’re not taking the time to say: ‘Let’s talk about your sex life. Are you at risk for anything? Are you having any difficulties with sex?’ We tend to avoid it as a health care culture.”

In contrast, Dr. Dowler said she talks about sexual health with anyone who will listen. She teaches classes in private schools and universities and for church youth groups and other physicians. She often finds that public schools are not interested, which she attributes to fear of her discussing things “outside the rule book.”

Dr. Dowler takes creative approaches. In 2017, she released a hip-hop video, “STD’s Never Get Old,” in which she raps about safe sex for older adults. Her video went viral, was mentioned by several news outlets, and received over 50,000 views on YouTube. Dr. Dowler’s latest project is a book, “Never Too Late: Your Guide to Safer Sex after 60,” which is scheduled for publication on Valentine’s Day, 2023.

“It’s sex ed for seniors,” she explained. “It’s that gym class that some people got – I won’t say everyone got – in high school. This is the version for older adults who didn’t get that. There are new infections now that didn’t exist when they had sex education, if they had sex education.”
 

A big subject requires a big mission

For others in the sex education field, physicians are allies in their fight against agendas designed to obstruct or erode sex education. Alison Macklin, director of policy and advocacy at SIECUS: Sex Ed for Social Change, formerly the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States, sees this struggle playing out in school boards and state legislatures across the country. For every comprehensive sex education bill passed or school district victory, there is yet another blocked proposal or restrictive law somewhere else.

Ms. Macklin urged doctors to get more involved locally and to expand their knowledge of sexual health issues by reaching out to organizations such as Planned Parenthood and to be “hyper vigilant” in their own communities.

“Doctors are trusted. People really respect what they have to say,” Ms. Macklin said. “And this is an important time for them to speak up.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.