William G. Wilkoff, MD

Over the last few decades the patient encounter has changed dramatically. Most recently fueled by the COVID pandemic, face-to-face events between patients and providers have become less frequent. The shift began years before with the slow acceptance of telemedicine by third-party payers.

As more practices have opened portals, the encounters between providers and patients via the internet have become more common, but received mixed reviews, often leaving both providers and patients with more questions than answers. Even more recently, the explosive arrival of generative artificial intelligence (AI) has promised, some might say threatened, to add a whole new complexity and uncertainty to patient encounters regardless of the venue or platform.

Still, among the growing collection of options, I think it is fair to say that a live face-to-face encounter remains the gold standard in the opinions of both patients and providers. Patients may have become increasingly critical and vocal when they feel their provider appears rushed or is over focused on the desktop computer screen. However, given all of the options, I suspect that for the moment patients feel a face-to-face meeting continues to offer them the best chance of being heard and their concerns answered.

Even when the image on the video screen is sharp and the intelligibility of the audio feed is crystal clear, I bet most providers feel they can learn more about the patient during a live face-to-face encounter than a Zoom-style encounter.

Nonetheless, there are hints that face-to-face visits maybe losing their place in the pantheon of patient-provider encounters. A recent study from England found that there were a significant number of patients who were more forthcoming in reporting their preferences for social care-related quality of life when they were surveyed by internet rather than face-to-face. It is unclear what was behind this observation, however it may be that patients were embarrassed and viewed these questions about their social neediness as too sensitive to share face-to-face.

There is ample evidence of situations in which the internet can provide a level of anonymity that emboldens the user to say things that are cruel and hurtful, using words they might be afraid to voice in a live setting. This license to act in an uncivil manner is behind much of the harm generated by chat rooms and other social media sites. While in these cases the ability to hide behind the video screen is a negative, this study from England suggests that we should be looking for more opportunities to use this emboldening feature with certain individuals and populations who may be intimidated during a face-to-face encounter. It is likely a hybrid approach may be the most beneficial strategy tailored to the individual patient.

One advantage of a face-to-face visit is that each participant can read the body language of the other. This, of course, can be a disadvantage for the provider who has failed to master the art of disguising his “I’m running behind” stress level, when he should be replacing it with an “I’m ready to listen” posture.

Portals have opened up a whole other can of worms, particularly when the provider has failed to clearly delineate what sort of questions are appropriate for an online forum, not informed the patient who will be providing the answer, and a rough idea of when this will happen. It may take several trips up the learning curve for patients and providers to develop a style of writing that make optimal use of the portal format and make it fit the needs of the practice and the patients.

Regardless of what kind of visit platform we are talking about, a lot hinges on the providers choice of words. I recently reviewed some of the work of Jeffrey D. Robinson, PhD, a professor of communication at the Portland State University, Portland, Oregon. He offers the example of the difference between “some” and “any.” When the patient was asked “Is there something else you would like to address today” almost 80% of the patient’s unmet questions were addressed. However, when the question was “Is there anything else ...” very few of the patient’s unmet questions were addressed. Dr. Robinson has also found that when the question is posed early in the visit rather than at the end, it improves the chances of having the patient’s unmet concerns addressed.

I suspect that the face-to-face patient encounter will survive, but it will continue to lose its market share as other platforms emerge. We can be sure there will be change. We need look no further than generative AI to look for the next step. A well-crafted question could help the patient and the provider choose the most appropriate patient encounter format given the patient’s demographic, chief complaint, and prior history, and match this with the provider’s background and strengths.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Over the last few decades the patient encounter has changed dramatically. Most recently fueled by the COVID pandemic, face-to-face events between patients and providers have become less frequent. The shift began years before with the slow acceptance of telemedicine by third-party payers.

As more practices have opened portals, the encounters between providers and patients via the internet have become more common, but received mixed reviews, often leaving both providers and patients with more questions than answers. Even more recently, the explosive arrival of generative artificial intelligence (AI) has promised, some might say threatened, to add a whole new complexity and uncertainty to patient encounters regardless of the venue or platform.

Still, among the growing collection of options, I think it is fair to say that a live face-to-face encounter remains the gold standard in the opinions of both patients and providers. Patients may have become increasingly critical and vocal when they feel their provider appears rushed or is over focused on the desktop computer screen. However, given all of the options, I suspect that for the moment patients feel a face-to-face meeting continues to offer them the best chance of being heard and their concerns answered.

Even when the image on the video screen is sharp and the intelligibility of the audio feed is crystal clear, I bet most providers feel they can learn more about the patient during a live face-to-face encounter than a Zoom-style encounter.

Nonetheless, there are hints that face-to-face visits maybe losing their place in the pantheon of patient-provider encounters. A recent study from England found that there were a significant number of patients who were more forthcoming in reporting their preferences for social care-related quality of life when they were surveyed by internet rather than face-to-face. It is unclear what was behind this observation, however it may be that patients were embarrassed and viewed these questions about their social neediness as too sensitive to share face-to-face.

There is ample evidence of situations in which the internet can provide a level of anonymity that emboldens the user to say things that are cruel and hurtful, using words they might be afraid to voice in a live setting. This license to act in an uncivil manner is behind much of the harm generated by chat rooms and other social media sites. While in these cases the ability to hide behind the video screen is a negative, this study from England suggests that we should be looking for more opportunities to use this emboldening feature with certain individuals and populations who may be intimidated during a face-to-face encounter. It is likely a hybrid approach may be the most beneficial strategy tailored to the individual patient.

One advantage of a face-to-face visit is that each participant can read the body language of the other. This, of course, can be a disadvantage for the provider who has failed to master the art of disguising his “I’m running behind” stress level, when he should be replacing it with an “I’m ready to listen” posture.

Portals have opened up a whole other can of worms, particularly when the provider has failed to clearly delineate what sort of questions are appropriate for an online forum, not informed the patient who will be providing the answer, and a rough idea of when this will happen. It may take several trips up the learning curve for patients and providers to develop a style of writing that make optimal use of the portal format and make it fit the needs of the practice and the patients.

Regardless of what kind of visit platform we are talking about, a lot hinges on the providers choice of words. I recently reviewed some of the work of Jeffrey D. Robinson, PhD, a professor of communication at the Portland State University, Portland, Oregon. He offers the example of the difference between “some” and “any.” When the patient was asked “Is there something else you would like to address today” almost 80% of the patient’s unmet questions were addressed. However, when the question was “Is there anything else ...” very few of the patient’s unmet questions were addressed. Dr. Robinson has also found that when the question is posed early in the visit rather than at the end, it improves the chances of having the patient’s unmet concerns addressed.

I suspect that the face-to-face patient encounter will survive, but it will continue to lose its market share as other platforms emerge. We can be sure there will be change. We need look no further than generative AI to look for the next step. A well-crafted question could help the patient and the provider choose the most appropriate patient encounter format given the patient’s demographic, chief complaint, and prior history, and match this with the provider’s background and strengths.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Over the last few decades the patient encounter has changed dramatically. Most recently fueled by the COVID pandemic, face-to-face events between patients and providers have become less frequent. The shift began years before with the slow acceptance of telemedicine by third-party payers.

As more practices have opened portals, the encounters between providers and patients via the internet have become more common, but received mixed reviews, often leaving both providers and patients with more questions than answers. Even more recently, the explosive arrival of generative artificial intelligence (AI) has promised, some might say threatened, to add a whole new complexity and uncertainty to patient encounters regardless of the venue or platform.

Still, among the growing collection of options, I think it is fair to say that a live face-to-face encounter remains the gold standard in the opinions of both patients and providers. Patients may have become increasingly critical and vocal when they feel their provider appears rushed or is over focused on the desktop computer screen. However, given all of the options, I suspect that for the moment patients feel a face-to-face meeting continues to offer them the best chance of being heard and their concerns answered.

Even when the image on the video screen is sharp and the intelligibility of the audio feed is crystal clear, I bet most providers feel they can learn more about the patient during a live face-to-face encounter than a Zoom-style encounter.

Nonetheless, there are hints that face-to-face visits maybe losing their place in the pantheon of patient-provider encounters. A recent study from England found that there were a significant number of patients who were more forthcoming in reporting their preferences for social care-related quality of life when they were surveyed by internet rather than face-to-face. It is unclear what was behind this observation, however it may be that patients were embarrassed and viewed these questions about their social neediness as too sensitive to share face-to-face.

There is ample evidence of situations in which the internet can provide a level of anonymity that emboldens the user to say things that are cruel and hurtful, using words they might be afraid to voice in a live setting. This license to act in an uncivil manner is behind much of the harm generated by chat rooms and other social media sites. While in these cases the ability to hide behind the video screen is a negative, this study from England suggests that we should be looking for more opportunities to use this emboldening feature with certain individuals and populations who may be intimidated during a face-to-face encounter. It is likely a hybrid approach may be the most beneficial strategy tailored to the individual patient.

One advantage of a face-to-face visit is that each participant can read the body language of the other. This, of course, can be a disadvantage for the provider who has failed to master the art of disguising his “I’m running behind” stress level, when he should be replacing it with an “I’m ready to listen” posture.

Portals have opened up a whole other can of worms, particularly when the provider has failed to clearly delineate what sort of questions are appropriate for an online forum, not informed the patient who will be providing the answer, and a rough idea of when this will happen. It may take several trips up the learning curve for patients and providers to develop a style of writing that make optimal use of the portal format and make it fit the needs of the practice and the patients.

Regardless of what kind of visit platform we are talking about, a lot hinges on the providers choice of words. I recently reviewed some of the work of Jeffrey D. Robinson, PhD, a professor of communication at the Portland State University, Portland, Oregon. He offers the example of the difference between “some” and “any.” When the patient was asked “Is there something else you would like to address today” almost 80% of the patient’s unmet questions were addressed. However, when the question was “Is there anything else ...” very few of the patient’s unmet questions were addressed. Dr. Robinson has also found that when the question is posed early in the visit rather than at the end, it improves the chances of having the patient’s unmet concerns addressed.

I suspect that the face-to-face patient encounter will survive, but it will continue to lose its market share as other platforms emerge. We can be sure there will be change. We need look no further than generative AI to look for the next step. A well-crafted question could help the patient and the provider choose the most appropriate patient encounter format given the patient’s demographic, chief complaint, and prior history, and match this with the provider’s background and strengths.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

How many weeks of vacation do you take each year? Does it feel like enough? What prevents you from taking more time off? Is it a contractual obligation to your employer? Or a concern about the lack of income while your are away? Is it the difficulty of finding coverage for your patient care responsibilities? How much of it is the dread of facing your unattended or poorly attended EHR box when you return?

A recent survey of more than 3000 US physicians found that almost 60% took 3 weeks or less vacation per year? The investigators also learned that 70% of the respondents did patient-related tasks while they were on vacation and less than half had full EHR coverage while they were away. Not surprisingly, providers who expressed concerns about finding someone to cover clinical responsibilities and financial concerns were less likely to take more than 3 weeks’ vacation.

As one might hope, taking more than 3 weeks’ vacation and having full EHR coverage were associated with decreased rates of burnout. On the other hand, spending more than 30 minutes per day doing patient-related work while on vacation was associated with higher rates of burnout.

In their conclusion, the authors suggest that if we hope to reduce physician burnout, employers should introduce system-level initiatives to ensure that physicians take adequate vacation and have adequate coverage for their clinical responsibilities — including EHR inbox management.

I will readily admit that I was one of those physicians who took less than 3 weeks of vacation and can’t recall ever taking more than 2 weeks. Since most of our vacations were staycations, I would usually round on the newborns first thing in the morning when I was in town to keep the flow of new patients coming into the practice.

I’m sure there was some collateral damage to my family, but our children continue to reassure me that they weren’t envious of their peers who went away on “real” vacations. As adults two of them take their families on the kind of vacations that make me envious. The third has married someone who shares, what I might call, a “robust commitment” to showing up in the office. But they seem to be a happy couple.

At the root of my vacation style was an egotistical delusion that there weren’t any clinicians in the community who could look after my patients as well as I did. Unfortunately, I had done little to discourage those patients who shared my distorted view.

I was lucky to have spent nearly all my career without the added burden of an EHR inbox. However, in the lead up to our infrequent vacations, the rush to tie up the loose ends of those patients for whom we had not achieved diagnostic closure was stressful and time consuming. Luckily, as a primary care pediatrician most of their problems were short lived. But, leaving the ship battened down could be exhausting.

I can fully understand why the physicians who are taking less than 3 weeks’ vacation and continue to be burdened by patient-related tasks while they are “away” are more likely to experience burnout. However, I wonder why I seemed to have been resistant considering my vacation style, which the authors of the above-mentioned article feel would have placed me at high risk.

I think the answer may lie in my commitment to making decisions that allowed me to maintain equilibrium in my life. In other words, if there were things in my day-to-day activities that were so taxing or distasteful that I am counting the hours and days until I can escape them, then I needed to make the necessary changes promptly and not count on a vacation to repair the accumulating damage. That may have required cutting back some responsibilities or it may have meant that I needed to be in better mental and physical shape to be able to maintain that equilibrium. Maybe it was more sleep, more exercise, less television, not investing as much in time-wasting meetings. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t have bad days. Stuff happens. But if I was putting together two or three bad days a week, something had to change. A vacation wasn’t going solve the inherent or systemic problems that are making day-to-day life so intolerable that I needed to escape for some respite.

In full disclosure, I will share that at age 55 I took a leave of 2 1/2 months and with my wife and another couple bicycled across America. This was a goal I had harbored since childhood and in anticipation over several decades had banked considerable coverage equity by doing extra coverage for other providers to minimize my guilt feelings at being away. This was not an escape from I job I didn’t enjoy going to everyday. It was an exercise in goal fulfillment.

I think the authors of this recent study should be applauded for providing some numbers to support the obvious. However, if we are looking for ways to minimize physician burnout, we should be giving more attention to the factors in clinical practice that are making it so intolerable. More vacation time is just one strategy.

Encouraging a clinician to take a bit more vacation may help. But, having someone to properly manage the EHR inbox would do a lot more. If your coverage is telling everyone to “Wait until Dr. Away has returned” it is only going to make things worse.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

How many weeks of vacation do you take each year? Does it feel like enough? What prevents you from taking more time off? Is it a contractual obligation to your employer? Or a concern about the lack of income while your are away? Is it the difficulty of finding coverage for your patient care responsibilities? How much of it is the dread of facing your unattended or poorly attended EHR box when you return?

A recent survey of more than 3000 US physicians found that almost 60% took 3 weeks or less vacation per year? The investigators also learned that 70% of the respondents did patient-related tasks while they were on vacation and less than half had full EHR coverage while they were away. Not surprisingly, providers who expressed concerns about finding someone to cover clinical responsibilities and financial concerns were less likely to take more than 3 weeks’ vacation.

As one might hope, taking more than 3 weeks’ vacation and having full EHR coverage were associated with decreased rates of burnout. On the other hand, spending more than 30 minutes per day doing patient-related work while on vacation was associated with higher rates of burnout.

In their conclusion, the authors suggest that if we hope to reduce physician burnout, employers should introduce system-level initiatives to ensure that physicians take adequate vacation and have adequate coverage for their clinical responsibilities — including EHR inbox management.

I will readily admit that I was one of those physicians who took less than 3 weeks of vacation and can’t recall ever taking more than 2 weeks. Since most of our vacations were staycations, I would usually round on the newborns first thing in the morning when I was in town to keep the flow of new patients coming into the practice.

I’m sure there was some collateral damage to my family, but our children continue to reassure me that they weren’t envious of their peers who went away on “real” vacations. As adults two of them take their families on the kind of vacations that make me envious. The third has married someone who shares, what I might call, a “robust commitment” to showing up in the office. But they seem to be a happy couple.

At the root of my vacation style was an egotistical delusion that there weren’t any clinicians in the community who could look after my patients as well as I did. Unfortunately, I had done little to discourage those patients who shared my distorted view.

I was lucky to have spent nearly all my career without the added burden of an EHR inbox. However, in the lead up to our infrequent vacations, the rush to tie up the loose ends of those patients for whom we had not achieved diagnostic closure was stressful and time consuming. Luckily, as a primary care pediatrician most of their problems were short lived. But, leaving the ship battened down could be exhausting.

I can fully understand why the physicians who are taking less than 3 weeks’ vacation and continue to be burdened by patient-related tasks while they are “away” are more likely to experience burnout. However, I wonder why I seemed to have been resistant considering my vacation style, which the authors of the above-mentioned article feel would have placed me at high risk.

I think the answer may lie in my commitment to making decisions that allowed me to maintain equilibrium in my life. In other words, if there were things in my day-to-day activities that were so taxing or distasteful that I am counting the hours and days until I can escape them, then I needed to make the necessary changes promptly and not count on a vacation to repair the accumulating damage. That may have required cutting back some responsibilities or it may have meant that I needed to be in better mental and physical shape to be able to maintain that equilibrium. Maybe it was more sleep, more exercise, less television, not investing as much in time-wasting meetings. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t have bad days. Stuff happens. But if I was putting together two or three bad days a week, something had to change. A vacation wasn’t going solve the inherent or systemic problems that are making day-to-day life so intolerable that I needed to escape for some respite.

In full disclosure, I will share that at age 55 I took a leave of 2 1/2 months and with my wife and another couple bicycled across America. This was a goal I had harbored since childhood and in anticipation over several decades had banked considerable coverage equity by doing extra coverage for other providers to minimize my guilt feelings at being away. This was not an escape from I job I didn’t enjoy going to everyday. It was an exercise in goal fulfillment.

I think the authors of this recent study should be applauded for providing some numbers to support the obvious. However, if we are looking for ways to minimize physician burnout, we should be giving more attention to the factors in clinical practice that are making it so intolerable. More vacation time is just one strategy.

Encouraging a clinician to take a bit more vacation may help. But, having someone to properly manage the EHR inbox would do a lot more. If your coverage is telling everyone to “Wait until Dr. Away has returned” it is only going to make things worse.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

How many weeks of vacation do you take each year? Does it feel like enough? What prevents you from taking more time off? Is it a contractual obligation to your employer? Or a concern about the lack of income while your are away? Is it the difficulty of finding coverage for your patient care responsibilities? How much of it is the dread of facing your unattended or poorly attended EHR box when you return?

A recent survey of more than 3000 US physicians found that almost 60% took 3 weeks or less vacation per year? The investigators also learned that 70% of the respondents did patient-related tasks while they were on vacation and less than half had full EHR coverage while they were away. Not surprisingly, providers who expressed concerns about finding someone to cover clinical responsibilities and financial concerns were less likely to take more than 3 weeks’ vacation.

As one might hope, taking more than 3 weeks’ vacation and having full EHR coverage were associated with decreased rates of burnout. On the other hand, spending more than 30 minutes per day doing patient-related work while on vacation was associated with higher rates of burnout.

In their conclusion, the authors suggest that if we hope to reduce physician burnout, employers should introduce system-level initiatives to ensure that physicians take adequate vacation and have adequate coverage for their clinical responsibilities — including EHR inbox management.

I will readily admit that I was one of those physicians who took less than 3 weeks of vacation and can’t recall ever taking more than 2 weeks. Since most of our vacations were staycations, I would usually round on the newborns first thing in the morning when I was in town to keep the flow of new patients coming into the practice.

I’m sure there was some collateral damage to my family, but our children continue to reassure me that they weren’t envious of their peers who went away on “real” vacations. As adults two of them take their families on the kind of vacations that make me envious. The third has married someone who shares, what I might call, a “robust commitment” to showing up in the office. But they seem to be a happy couple.

At the root of my vacation style was an egotistical delusion that there weren’t any clinicians in the community who could look after my patients as well as I did. Unfortunately, I had done little to discourage those patients who shared my distorted view.

I was lucky to have spent nearly all my career without the added burden of an EHR inbox. However, in the lead up to our infrequent vacations, the rush to tie up the loose ends of those patients for whom we had not achieved diagnostic closure was stressful and time consuming. Luckily, as a primary care pediatrician most of their problems were short lived. But, leaving the ship battened down could be exhausting.

I can fully understand why the physicians who are taking less than 3 weeks’ vacation and continue to be burdened by patient-related tasks while they are “away” are more likely to experience burnout. However, I wonder why I seemed to have been resistant considering my vacation style, which the authors of the above-mentioned article feel would have placed me at high risk.

I think the answer may lie in my commitment to making decisions that allowed me to maintain equilibrium in my life. In other words, if there were things in my day-to-day activities that were so taxing or distasteful that I am counting the hours and days until I can escape them, then I needed to make the necessary changes promptly and not count on a vacation to repair the accumulating damage. That may have required cutting back some responsibilities or it may have meant that I needed to be in better mental and physical shape to be able to maintain that equilibrium. Maybe it was more sleep, more exercise, less television, not investing as much in time-wasting meetings. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t have bad days. Stuff happens. But if I was putting together two or three bad days a week, something had to change. A vacation wasn’t going solve the inherent or systemic problems that are making day-to-day life so intolerable that I needed to escape for some respite.

In full disclosure, I will share that at age 55 I took a leave of 2 1/2 months and with my wife and another couple bicycled across America. This was a goal I had harbored since childhood and in anticipation over several decades had banked considerable coverage equity by doing extra coverage for other providers to minimize my guilt feelings at being away. This was not an escape from I job I didn’t enjoy going to everyday. It was an exercise in goal fulfillment.

I think the authors of this recent study should be applauded for providing some numbers to support the obvious. However, if we are looking for ways to minimize physician burnout, we should be giving more attention to the factors in clinical practice that are making it so intolerable. More vacation time is just one strategy.

Encouraging a clinician to take a bit more vacation may help. But, having someone to properly manage the EHR inbox would do a lot more. If your coverage is telling everyone to “Wait until Dr. Away has returned” it is only going to make things worse.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Scenario I. Let’s say you wake with a collection of symptoms. None of them is concerning, but the combination seems a bit unusual, or at least confusing. You would like to speak to your PCP, whom you have known for a long time, and ask for either reassurance or advice on whether you should make an appointment. However, your experience with the front office’s organization tells you that the quick 4-minute conversation you’re looking for is not going to happen easily.

You have that robotic phone message memorized. It begins suggesting that you think you have an emergency to call 911. Then it reminds you that if have a question about COVID to press “2,” which will take you to a recorded message and eventually link you to a triage nurse if the recording doesn’t answer your questions. If you need a prescription refill you should press “3.” If you are a doctor’s office and wish speak to the doctor press “4.” If you know you need an appointment press “5.” And finally if you have a question press “6” and leave a message and a nurse will get back to you before the end of the day.

The good news is that your PCP’s office is good to its word and will return your call the same day, but the bad news is that it is likely to be well into the afternoon. And, while you don’t consider your symptoms life-threatening, you don’t want getting an answer to be an exercise in schedule disruption.

You were a doctor before you retired and you still have an “office.” It’s really more of a combination den and studio. So, technically you are a doctor’s office wanting to speak to the doctor. And, you know that pressing “4” will get you the answer you are looking for in a matter of minutes.



Scenario II. Your spouse, or your aunt, or the elderly widow next door asks you to accompany her at an upcoming doctor’s visit because she had been having trouble understanding the physician’s plan regarding further diagnosis and possible treatment. She believes having you along as kind of an interpreter/advocate would be a big help. Do you agree and do you make any stipulations?



Scenario III. Your PCP has referred you to a specialist. You are filling out the previsit form(s). Do you list your occupation as “retired physician” or just “retired”? Or just leave it blank?


Whether you deserve it or not, graduating from medical school has conferred on you a specialness in the eyes of many people. It is assumed you are smarter than the average bear and in taking the Hippocratic oath you have joined an elite club. And, with that membership comes some special undefined privileges.

But with that specialness there are are some downsides. For example, in some states being a physician once allowed you to have a license plate with “MD” in the number sequence. Sometimes that helped you avoid the occasional parking ticket. That is until folks realized the “MD” made you a target for car thieves and drug seekers who mistakenly believe we all carry drugs in our glove compartments.

So what about that first scenario? Do you press “4” to jump yourself to the head of the queue and avoid the inconvenience of having to wait for a reasonably timely response from your PCP? After all, you are fellow physicians and you’ve known her for a decade or two. If you are retired is your time any more valuable than that of her other patients? If you are still in active practice you can argue that getting special attention will benefit your patients. But, if it’s a weekend and you are off it’s a bit harder to rationalize special treatment. Playing the doctor card in this situation is your own decision but you must be prepared to shoulder the perceptions by your PCP and her staff as well as your own sense of fairness.

The other two scenarios are much different. In neither are you risking the impression that you are asking for a favor. But, they each have their downsides. In the second scenario you are doing someone a favor to act as an interpreter. How could this have downside? Unfortunately, what happens too often in situations like this is that when the patient’s physician learns that you are a fellow physician, the rest of the visit becomes a dialogue in doctor-speak between the two physicians with the patient sitting by as an observer. In the end this discussion may benefit the patient by creating a treatment plan that the patient can understand either because they overheard it or more likely because you eventually explained it to them.

On the other the hand, this doctor-to-doctor chat has done nothing to build a doctor-patient relationship that had obviously been lacking something. In situations like this it is probably better to keep the doctor card up your sleeve to be played at the end of the visit or maybe not at all. Before agreeing to be an interpreter/advocate, ask the patient to avoid mentioning that you are a physician. Instead, ask that she introduce you as a friend or relative that she has asked to come along to serve as a memory bank. During the visit it may be helpful to occasionally interject and suggest that the patient ask a question that hasn’t been adequately addressed. While some physicians may be upset when they belatedly find you have not revealed up front that you are a physician, I find this a harmless omission that has the benefit of improving patient care.

The final scenario — in which you are the patient — is likely to occur more often as you get older. When filling out a previsit form, I often simply put retired or leave it blank. But, how I answer the question often seems to be irrelevant because I have learned that physicians and their staff read those boilerplate forms so cursorily that even when I report my status as “retired physician” everyone seems surprised if and when it later comes to light.

My rationale in keeping the doctor card close to my vest in these situations is that I want to be addressed without any assumptions regarding my medical knowledge, which in my situation is well over half a century old and spotty at best. I don’t want my physicians to say “I’m sure you understand.” Because I often don’t. I would like them to learn about who I am just as I hope they would other patients. I won’t be offended if they “talk down” to me. If this specialist is as good as I’ve heard she is, I want to hear her full performance, not one edited for fellow and former physicians.

There have been numerous times when patients have made me feel special because of what I have done in my role as a physician. But, that is a kind specialness that must be earned. It doesn’t arrive gold edged with a list of special privileges. If it comes with any extras, they are risks that must be avoided.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Scenario I. Let’s say you wake with a collection of symptoms. None of them is concerning, but the combination seems a bit unusual, or at least confusing. You would like to speak to your PCP, whom you have known for a long time, and ask for either reassurance or advice on whether you should make an appointment. However, your experience with the front office’s organization tells you that the quick 4-minute conversation you’re looking for is not going to happen easily.

You have that robotic phone message memorized. It begins suggesting that you think you have an emergency to call 911. Then it reminds you that if have a question about COVID to press “2,” which will take you to a recorded message and eventually link you to a triage nurse if the recording doesn’t answer your questions. If you need a prescription refill you should press “3.” If you are a doctor’s office and wish speak to the doctor press “4.” If you know you need an appointment press “5.” And finally if you have a question press “6” and leave a message and a nurse will get back to you before the end of the day.

The good news is that your PCP’s office is good to its word and will return your call the same day, but the bad news is that it is likely to be well into the afternoon. And, while you don’t consider your symptoms life-threatening, you don’t want getting an answer to be an exercise in schedule disruption.

You were a doctor before you retired and you still have an “office.” It’s really more of a combination den and studio. So, technically you are a doctor’s office wanting to speak to the doctor. And, you know that pressing “4” will get you the answer you are looking for in a matter of minutes.



Scenario II. Your spouse, or your aunt, or the elderly widow next door asks you to accompany her at an upcoming doctor’s visit because she had been having trouble understanding the physician’s plan regarding further diagnosis and possible treatment. She believes having you along as kind of an interpreter/advocate would be a big help. Do you agree and do you make any stipulations?



Scenario III. Your PCP has referred you to a specialist. You are filling out the previsit form(s). Do you list your occupation as “retired physician” or just “retired”? Or just leave it blank?


Whether you deserve it or not, graduating from medical school has conferred on you a specialness in the eyes of many people. It is assumed you are smarter than the average bear and in taking the Hippocratic oath you have joined an elite club. And, with that membership comes some special undefined privileges.

But with that specialness there are are some downsides. For example, in some states being a physician once allowed you to have a license plate with “MD” in the number sequence. Sometimes that helped you avoid the occasional parking ticket. That is until folks realized the “MD” made you a target for car thieves and drug seekers who mistakenly believe we all carry drugs in our glove compartments.

So what about that first scenario? Do you press “4” to jump yourself to the head of the queue and avoid the inconvenience of having to wait for a reasonably timely response from your PCP? After all, you are fellow physicians and you’ve known her for a decade or two. If you are retired is your time any more valuable than that of her other patients? If you are still in active practice you can argue that getting special attention will benefit your patients. But, if it’s a weekend and you are off it’s a bit harder to rationalize special treatment. Playing the doctor card in this situation is your own decision but you must be prepared to shoulder the perceptions by your PCP and her staff as well as your own sense of fairness.

The other two scenarios are much different. In neither are you risking the impression that you are asking for a favor. But, they each have their downsides. In the second scenario you are doing someone a favor to act as an interpreter. How could this have downside? Unfortunately, what happens too often in situations like this is that when the patient’s physician learns that you are a fellow physician, the rest of the visit becomes a dialogue in doctor-speak between the two physicians with the patient sitting by as an observer. In the end this discussion may benefit the patient by creating a treatment plan that the patient can understand either because they overheard it or more likely because you eventually explained it to them.

On the other the hand, this doctor-to-doctor chat has done nothing to build a doctor-patient relationship that had obviously been lacking something. In situations like this it is probably better to keep the doctor card up your sleeve to be played at the end of the visit or maybe not at all. Before agreeing to be an interpreter/advocate, ask the patient to avoid mentioning that you are a physician. Instead, ask that she introduce you as a friend or relative that she has asked to come along to serve as a memory bank. During the visit it may be helpful to occasionally interject and suggest that the patient ask a question that hasn’t been adequately addressed. While some physicians may be upset when they belatedly find you have not revealed up front that you are a physician, I find this a harmless omission that has the benefit of improving patient care.

The final scenario — in which you are the patient — is likely to occur more often as you get older. When filling out a previsit form, I often simply put retired or leave it blank. But, how I answer the question often seems to be irrelevant because I have learned that physicians and their staff read those boilerplate forms so cursorily that even when I report my status as “retired physician” everyone seems surprised if and when it later comes to light.

My rationale in keeping the doctor card close to my vest in these situations is that I want to be addressed without any assumptions regarding my medical knowledge, which in my situation is well over half a century old and spotty at best. I don’t want my physicians to say “I’m sure you understand.” Because I often don’t. I would like them to learn about who I am just as I hope they would other patients. I won’t be offended if they “talk down” to me. If this specialist is as good as I’ve heard she is, I want to hear her full performance, not one edited for fellow and former physicians.

There have been numerous times when patients have made me feel special because of what I have done in my role as a physician. But, that is a kind specialness that must be earned. It doesn’t arrive gold edged with a list of special privileges. If it comes with any extras, they are risks that must be avoided.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Scenario I. Let’s say you wake with a collection of symptoms. None of them is concerning, but the combination seems a bit unusual, or at least confusing. You would like to speak to your PCP, whom you have known for a long time, and ask for either reassurance or advice on whether you should make an appointment. However, your experience with the front office’s organization tells you that the quick 4-minute conversation you’re looking for is not going to happen easily.

You have that robotic phone message memorized. It begins suggesting that you think you have an emergency to call 911. Then it reminds you that if have a question about COVID to press “2,” which will take you to a recorded message and eventually link you to a triage nurse if the recording doesn’t answer your questions. If you need a prescription refill you should press “3.” If you are a doctor’s office and wish speak to the doctor press “4.” If you know you need an appointment press “5.” And finally if you have a question press “6” and leave a message and a nurse will get back to you before the end of the day.

The good news is that your PCP’s office is good to its word and will return your call the same day, but the bad news is that it is likely to be well into the afternoon. And, while you don’t consider your symptoms life-threatening, you don’t want getting an answer to be an exercise in schedule disruption.

You were a doctor before you retired and you still have an “office.” It’s really more of a combination den and studio. So, technically you are a doctor’s office wanting to speak to the doctor. And, you know that pressing “4” will get you the answer you are looking for in a matter of minutes.



Scenario II. Your spouse, or your aunt, or the elderly widow next door asks you to accompany her at an upcoming doctor’s visit because she had been having trouble understanding the physician’s plan regarding further diagnosis and possible treatment. She believes having you along as kind of an interpreter/advocate would be a big help. Do you agree and do you make any stipulations?



Scenario III. Your PCP has referred you to a specialist. You are filling out the previsit form(s). Do you list your occupation as “retired physician” or just “retired”? Or just leave it blank?


Whether you deserve it or not, graduating from medical school has conferred on you a specialness in the eyes of many people. It is assumed you are smarter than the average bear and in taking the Hippocratic oath you have joined an elite club. And, with that membership comes some special undefined privileges.

But with that specialness there are are some downsides. For example, in some states being a physician once allowed you to have a license plate with “MD” in the number sequence. Sometimes that helped you avoid the occasional parking ticket. That is until folks realized the “MD” made you a target for car thieves and drug seekers who mistakenly believe we all carry drugs in our glove compartments.

So what about that first scenario? Do you press “4” to jump yourself to the head of the queue and avoid the inconvenience of having to wait for a reasonably timely response from your PCP? After all, you are fellow physicians and you’ve known her for a decade or two. If you are retired is your time any more valuable than that of her other patients? If you are still in active practice you can argue that getting special attention will benefit your patients. But, if it’s a weekend and you are off it’s a bit harder to rationalize special treatment. Playing the doctor card in this situation is your own decision but you must be prepared to shoulder the perceptions by your PCP and her staff as well as your own sense of fairness.

The other two scenarios are much different. In neither are you risking the impression that you are asking for a favor. But, they each have their downsides. In the second scenario you are doing someone a favor to act as an interpreter. How could this have downside? Unfortunately, what happens too often in situations like this is that when the patient’s physician learns that you are a fellow physician, the rest of the visit becomes a dialogue in doctor-speak between the two physicians with the patient sitting by as an observer. In the end this discussion may benefit the patient by creating a treatment plan that the patient can understand either because they overheard it or more likely because you eventually explained it to them.

On the other the hand, this doctor-to-doctor chat has done nothing to build a doctor-patient relationship that had obviously been lacking something. In situations like this it is probably better to keep the doctor card up your sleeve to be played at the end of the visit or maybe not at all. Before agreeing to be an interpreter/advocate, ask the patient to avoid mentioning that you are a physician. Instead, ask that she introduce you as a friend or relative that she has asked to come along to serve as a memory bank. During the visit it may be helpful to occasionally interject and suggest that the patient ask a question that hasn’t been adequately addressed. While some physicians may be upset when they belatedly find you have not revealed up front that you are a physician, I find this a harmless omission that has the benefit of improving patient care.

The final scenario — in which you are the patient — is likely to occur more often as you get older. When filling out a previsit form, I often simply put retired or leave it blank. But, how I answer the question often seems to be irrelevant because I have learned that physicians and their staff read those boilerplate forms so cursorily that even when I report my status as “retired physician” everyone seems surprised if and when it later comes to light.

My rationale in keeping the doctor card close to my vest in these situations is that I want to be addressed without any assumptions regarding my medical knowledge, which in my situation is well over half a century old and spotty at best. I don’t want my physicians to say “I’m sure you understand.” Because I often don’t. I would like them to learn about who I am just as I hope they would other patients. I won’t be offended if they “talk down” to me. If this specialist is as good as I’ve heard she is, I want to hear her full performance, not one edited for fellow and former physicians.

There have been numerous times when patients have made me feel special because of what I have done in my role as a physician. But, that is a kind specialness that must be earned. It doesn’t arrive gold edged with a list of special privileges. If it comes with any extras, they are risks that must be avoided.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I first heard the term “baby-led weaning” about 20 years ago, which turns out was just a few years after the concept was introduced to the public by a public health/midwife in Britain. Starting infants on solid foods when they could feed themselves didn’t sound as off-the-wall to me as it did to most other folks, but I chose not to include it in my list of standard recommendations at the 4- and 6-month well child visits. If any parent had asked me my opinion I would have told them to give it a try with a few specific cautions about what and how. But, I don’t recall any parents asking me. The ones who knew me well or had read, or at least heard about, my book on picky eating must have already figured out what my answer would be. The parents who didn’t know me may have been afraid I would tell them it was a crazy idea.

Twelve years ago I retired from office practice and hadn’t heard a peep about baby-led weaning until last week when I encountered a story in The New York Times. It appears that while I have been reveling in my post-practice existence, baby-led weaning has become a “thing.” As the author of the article observed: “The concept seems to appeal to millennials who favor parenting philosophies that prioritize child autonomy.”

Baby-led weaning’s traction has been so robust that the largest manufacturer of baby food in this country has been labeling some of its products “baby-led friendly since 2021.” There are several online businesses that have tapped into the growing market. One offers a very detailed free directory that lists almost any edible you can imagine with recommendations of when and how they can be presented in a safe and appealing matter to little hand feeders. Of course the company has also figured out a way to monetize the product.

Not surprisingly the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has remained silent on baby-led weaning. However, in The New York Times article, Dr. Mark R. Corkins, chair of the AAP nutrition committee, is quoted as describing baby-led weaning is “a social media–driven invention.”

While I was interested to learn about the concept’s growth and commercialization, I was troubled to find that like co-sleeping, sleep training, and exclusive breastfeeding, baby-led weaning has become one of those angst-producing topics that is torturing new parents who live every day in fear that they “aren’t doing it right.” We pediatricians might deserve a small dose of blame for not vigorously emphasizing that there are numerous ways to skin that cat known as parenting. However, social media websites and Mom chat rooms are probably more responsible for creating an atmosphere in which parents are afraid of being ostracized for the decisions they have made in good faith whether it is about weaning or when to start toilet training.

In isolated cultures, weaning a baby to solids was probably never a topic for discussion or debate. New parents did what their parents did, or more likely a child’s grandmother advised or took over the process herself. The child was fed what the rest of the family ate. If it was something the infant could handle himself you gave it to him. If not you mashed it up or maybe you chewed it for him into a consistency he could manage.

However, most new parents have become so distanced from their own parents’ childrearing practices geographically, temporally, and philosophically, that they must rely on folks like us and others whom they believe are, or at least claim to be, experts. Young adults are no longer hesitant to cross ethnic thresholds when they decide to be co-parents, meaning that any remnant of family tradition is either diluted or lost outright. In the void created by this abandonment of tradition, corporations were happy to step in with easy-to-prepare baby food that lacks in nutritional and dietary variety. Baby-led weaning is just one more logical step in the metamorphosis of our society’s infant feeding patterns.

I still have no problem with baby-led weaning as an option for parents, particularly if with just a click of a mouse they can access safe and healthy advice to make up for generations of grandmotherly experience acquired over hundreds of years. However, I am deeply concerned when baby-led weaning is confused with the all-too-common disaster of child-led family meals.

It is one thing when parents hoping to encourage the process of self-feeding offer their infants an edible that may not be in the family’s usual diet. However, it is a totally different matter when a family allows itself to become dietary contortionists to a accommodate a 4-year-old whose diet consists of a monotonous rotation of three pasta shapes topped with grated Parmesan cheese, and on a good day a raw carrot slice or two. Parents living in this nutritional wasteland may have given up on managing their children’s pickiness, and may find it is less stressful to join the child and eat a few forkfuls of pasta to preserve some semblance of a family dinner. Then after the child has been put to bed they have their own balanced meal.

Almost by definition family meals are a compromise. Even adults without children negotiate often unspoken menu patterns with their partners. “This evening we’ll have your favorite, I may have my favorite next week.”

Most parents of young children understand that their diet may be a bit heavier on pasta than they might prefer and a little less varied when it comes to vegetables. It is just part of the deal. However, when mealtimes become totally dictated by the pickiness of a child there is a problem. While a poorly structured child-led family diet may be nutritionally deficient, the bigger problem is that it is expensive in time and labor, two resources usually in short supply in young families.

Theoretically, infants who have led their own weaning are more likely to have been introduced to a broad variety of flavors and textures and this may carry them into childhood as more adventuresome eaters. Picky eating can be managed successfully and result in a family that can enjoy the psychological and emotional benefits of nutritionally balanced family meals, but it requires a combination of parental courage and patience.

It is unclear exactly how we got into a situation in which a generation of parents makes things more difficult for themselves by favoring practices that overemphasize child autonomy. It may be that the parents had suffered under autocratic parents themselves, or more likely they have read too many novels or watched too many movies and TV shows in which the parents were portrayed as overbearing or controlling. Or, it may simply be that they haven’t had enough exposure to young children to realize that they all benefit from clear limits to a varying degree.

In the process of watching tens of thousands of parents, it has become clear to me that those who are the most successful are leaders and that they lead primarily by example. They have learned to be masters in the art of deception by creating a safe environment with sensible limits while at the same time fostering an atmosphere in which the child sees himself as participating in the process.

The biblical prophet Isaiah (11:6-9) in his description of how things will be different after the Lord acts to help his people predicts: “and a little child shall lead them.” This prediction fits nicely as the last in a string of crazy situations that includes a wolf living with a lamb and a leopard lying down with a calf.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I first heard the term “baby-led weaning” about 20 years ago, which turns out was just a few years after the concept was introduced to the public by a public health/midwife in Britain. Starting infants on solid foods when they could feed themselves didn’t sound as off-the-wall to me as it did to most other folks, but I chose not to include it in my list of standard recommendations at the 4- and 6-month well child visits. If any parent had asked me my opinion I would have told them to give it a try with a few specific cautions about what and how. But, I don’t recall any parents asking me. The ones who knew me well or had read, or at least heard about, my book on picky eating must have already figured out what my answer would be. The parents who didn’t know me may have been afraid I would tell them it was a crazy idea.

Twelve years ago I retired from office practice and hadn’t heard a peep about baby-led weaning until last week when I encountered a story in The New York Times. It appears that while I have been reveling in my post-practice existence, baby-led weaning has become a “thing.” As the author of the article observed: “The concept seems to appeal to millennials who favor parenting philosophies that prioritize child autonomy.”

Baby-led weaning’s traction has been so robust that the largest manufacturer of baby food in this country has been labeling some of its products “baby-led friendly since 2021.” There are several online businesses that have tapped into the growing market. One offers a very detailed free directory that lists almost any edible you can imagine with recommendations of when and how they can be presented in a safe and appealing matter to little hand feeders. Of course the company has also figured out a way to monetize the product.

Not surprisingly the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has remained silent on baby-led weaning. However, in The New York Times article, Dr. Mark R. Corkins, chair of the AAP nutrition committee, is quoted as describing baby-led weaning is “a social media–driven invention.”

While I was interested to learn about the concept’s growth and commercialization, I was troubled to find that like co-sleeping, sleep training, and exclusive breastfeeding, baby-led weaning has become one of those angst-producing topics that is torturing new parents who live every day in fear that they “aren’t doing it right.” We pediatricians might deserve a small dose of blame for not vigorously emphasizing that there are numerous ways to skin that cat known as parenting. However, social media websites and Mom chat rooms are probably more responsible for creating an atmosphere in which parents are afraid of being ostracized for the decisions they have made in good faith whether it is about weaning or when to start toilet training.

In isolated cultures, weaning a baby to solids was probably never a topic for discussion or debate. New parents did what their parents did, or more likely a child’s grandmother advised or took over the process herself. The child was fed what the rest of the family ate. If it was something the infant could handle himself you gave it to him. If not you mashed it up or maybe you chewed it for him into a consistency he could manage.

However, most new parents have become so distanced from their own parents’ childrearing practices geographically, temporally, and philosophically, that they must rely on folks like us and others whom they believe are, or at least claim to be, experts. Young adults are no longer hesitant to cross ethnic thresholds when they decide to be co-parents, meaning that any remnant of family tradition is either diluted or lost outright. In the void created by this abandonment of tradition, corporations were happy to step in with easy-to-prepare baby food that lacks in nutritional and dietary variety. Baby-led weaning is just one more logical step in the metamorphosis of our society’s infant feeding patterns.

I still have no problem with baby-led weaning as an option for parents, particularly if with just a click of a mouse they can access safe and healthy advice to make up for generations of grandmotherly experience acquired over hundreds of years. However, I am deeply concerned when baby-led weaning is confused with the all-too-common disaster of child-led family meals.

It is one thing when parents hoping to encourage the process of self-feeding offer their infants an edible that may not be in the family’s usual diet. However, it is a totally different matter when a family allows itself to become dietary contortionists to a accommodate a 4-year-old whose diet consists of a monotonous rotation of three pasta shapes topped with grated Parmesan cheese, and on a good day a raw carrot slice or two. Parents living in this nutritional wasteland may have given up on managing their children’s pickiness, and may find it is less stressful to join the child and eat a few forkfuls of pasta to preserve some semblance of a family dinner. Then after the child has been put to bed they have their own balanced meal.

Almost by definition family meals are a compromise. Even adults without children negotiate often unspoken menu patterns with their partners. “This evening we’ll have your favorite, I may have my favorite next week.”

Most parents of young children understand that their diet may be a bit heavier on pasta than they might prefer and a little less varied when it comes to vegetables. It is just part of the deal. However, when mealtimes become totally dictated by the pickiness of a child there is a problem. While a poorly structured child-led family diet may be nutritionally deficient, the bigger problem is that it is expensive in time and labor, two resources usually in short supply in young families.

Theoretically, infants who have led their own weaning are more likely to have been introduced to a broad variety of flavors and textures and this may carry them into childhood as more adventuresome eaters. Picky eating can be managed successfully and result in a family that can enjoy the psychological and emotional benefits of nutritionally balanced family meals, but it requires a combination of parental courage and patience.

It is unclear exactly how we got into a situation in which a generation of parents makes things more difficult for themselves by favoring practices that overemphasize child autonomy. It may be that the parents had suffered under autocratic parents themselves, or more likely they have read too many novels or watched too many movies and TV shows in which the parents were portrayed as overbearing or controlling. Or, it may simply be that they haven’t had enough exposure to young children to realize that they all benefit from clear limits to a varying degree.

In the process of watching tens of thousands of parents, it has become clear to me that those who are the most successful are leaders and that they lead primarily by example. They have learned to be masters in the art of deception by creating a safe environment with sensible limits while at the same time fostering an atmosphere in which the child sees himself as participating in the process.

The biblical prophet Isaiah (11:6-9) in his description of how things will be different after the Lord acts to help his people predicts: “and a little child shall lead them.” This prediction fits nicely as the last in a string of crazy situations that includes a wolf living with a lamb and a leopard lying down with a calf.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I first heard the term “baby-led weaning” about 20 years ago, which turns out was just a few years after the concept was introduced to the public by a public health/midwife in Britain. Starting infants on solid foods when they could feed themselves didn’t sound as off-the-wall to me as it did to most other folks, but I chose not to include it in my list of standard recommendations at the 4- and 6-month well child visits. If any parent had asked me my opinion I would have told them to give it a try with a few specific cautions about what and how. But, I don’t recall any parents asking me. The ones who knew me well or had read, or at least heard about, my book on picky eating must have already figured out what my answer would be. The parents who didn’t know me may have been afraid I would tell them it was a crazy idea.

Twelve years ago I retired from office practice and hadn’t heard a peep about baby-led weaning until last week when I encountered a story in The New York Times. It appears that while I have been reveling in my post-practice existence, baby-led weaning has become a “thing.” As the author of the article observed: “The concept seems to appeal to millennials who favor parenting philosophies that prioritize child autonomy.”

Baby-led weaning’s traction has been so robust that the largest manufacturer of baby food in this country has been labeling some of its products “baby-led friendly since 2021.” There are several online businesses that have tapped into the growing market. One offers a very detailed free directory that lists almost any edible you can imagine with recommendations of when and how they can be presented in a safe and appealing matter to little hand feeders. Of course the company has also figured out a way to monetize the product.

Not surprisingly the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has remained silent on baby-led weaning. However, in The New York Times article, Dr. Mark R. Corkins, chair of the AAP nutrition committee, is quoted as describing baby-led weaning is “a social media–driven invention.”

While I was interested to learn about the concept’s growth and commercialization, I was troubled to find that like co-sleeping, sleep training, and exclusive breastfeeding, baby-led weaning has become one of those angst-producing topics that is torturing new parents who live every day in fear that they “aren’t doing it right.” We pediatricians might deserve a small dose of blame for not vigorously emphasizing that there are numerous ways to skin that cat known as parenting. However, social media websites and Mom chat rooms are probably more responsible for creating an atmosphere in which parents are afraid of being ostracized for the decisions they have made in good faith whether it is about weaning or when to start toilet training.

In isolated cultures, weaning a baby to solids was probably never a topic for discussion or debate. New parents did what their parents did, or more likely a child’s grandmother advised or took over the process herself. The child was fed what the rest of the family ate. If it was something the infant could handle himself you gave it to him. If not you mashed it up or maybe you chewed it for him into a consistency he could manage.

However, most new parents have become so distanced from their own parents’ childrearing practices geographically, temporally, and philosophically, that they must rely on folks like us and others whom they believe are, or at least claim to be, experts. Young adults are no longer hesitant to cross ethnic thresholds when they decide to be co-parents, meaning that any remnant of family tradition is either diluted or lost outright. In the void created by this abandonment of tradition, corporations were happy to step in with easy-to-prepare baby food that lacks in nutritional and dietary variety. Baby-led weaning is just one more logical step in the metamorphosis of our society’s infant feeding patterns.

I still have no problem with baby-led weaning as an option for parents, particularly if with just a click of a mouse they can access safe and healthy advice to make up for generations of grandmotherly experience acquired over hundreds of years. However, I am deeply concerned when baby-led weaning is confused with the all-too-common disaster of child-led family meals.

It is one thing when parents hoping to encourage the process of self-feeding offer their infants an edible that may not be in the family’s usual diet. However, it is a totally different matter when a family allows itself to become dietary contortionists to a accommodate a 4-year-old whose diet consists of a monotonous rotation of three pasta shapes topped with grated Parmesan cheese, and on a good day a raw carrot slice or two. Parents living in this nutritional wasteland may have given up on managing their children’s pickiness, and may find it is less stressful to join the child and eat a few forkfuls of pasta to preserve some semblance of a family dinner. Then after the child has been put to bed they have their own balanced meal.

Almost by definition family meals are a compromise. Even adults without children negotiate often unspoken menu patterns with their partners. “This evening we’ll have your favorite, I may have my favorite next week.”

Most parents of young children understand that their diet may be a bit heavier on pasta than they might prefer and a little less varied when it comes to vegetables. It is just part of the deal. However, when mealtimes become totally dictated by the pickiness of a child there is a problem. While a poorly structured child-led family diet may be nutritionally deficient, the bigger problem is that it is expensive in time and labor, two resources usually in short supply in young families.

Theoretically, infants who have led their own weaning are more likely to have been introduced to a broad variety of flavors and textures and this may carry them into childhood as more adventuresome eaters. Picky eating can be managed successfully and result in a family that can enjoy the psychological and emotional benefits of nutritionally balanced family meals, but it requires a combination of parental courage and patience.

It is unclear exactly how we got into a situation in which a generation of parents makes things more difficult for themselves by favoring practices that overemphasize child autonomy. It may be that the parents had suffered under autocratic parents themselves, or more likely they have read too many novels or watched too many movies and TV shows in which the parents were portrayed as overbearing or controlling. Or, it may simply be that they haven’t had enough exposure to young children to realize that they all benefit from clear limits to a varying degree.

In the process of watching tens of thousands of parents, it has become clear to me that those who are the most successful are leaders and that they lead primarily by example. They have learned to be masters in the art of deception by creating a safe environment with sensible limits while at the same time fostering an atmosphere in which the child sees himself as participating in the process.

The biblical prophet Isaiah (11:6-9) in his description of how things will be different after the Lord acts to help his people predicts: “and a little child shall lead them.” This prediction fits nicely as the last in a string of crazy situations that includes a wolf living with a lamb and a leopard lying down with a calf.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I suspect that many of you have seen or read about a recent study regarding the “long COVID” enigma. The investigators surveyed the records of more than 4000 pediatric patients who had been infected and nearly 1400 who had not. The researchers then developed models in which 14 symptoms were more common in previous SARS-CoV2–infected individuals in all age groups, compared with the uninfected. There were four additional symptoms in children only and three additional symptoms in the adolescents.

Using these data, the investigators created research indices that “correlated with poor overall health and quality of life” and emphasized “neurocognitive, pain, and gastrointestinal symptoms in school-age children” and a “change or loss in smell or taste, pain, and fatigue/malaise-related symptoms in adolescents.”

So now thanks to these investigators we have research indices for characterizing PASC (post-acute sequelae of SARS-CoV-2, aka. long COVID). What should we to do with them? I’m not sure these results move us any further if our goal is finding something to help patients who believe, or have been told, that they have long COVID.

Even to a non-statistician like myself there appear to be some problems with this study. In an editorial accompanying this study, Suchitra Rao, MBBS, MSCS in the Department of Pediatrics, University of Colorado School of Medicine, Aurora, noted the study has the potential for ascertainment bias. For example, the researchers’ subject recruitment procedure resulted in a higher “proportion of neurocognitive/behavioral manifestations” may have skewed the results.

Also, some of the patient evaluations were not done at a consistent interval after the initial infection, which could result in recall bias. And, more importantly, because there were no baseline measurements to determine preinfection status, the investigators had no way of determining to what degree the patients’ underlying conditions may have reflected the quality of life scores.

Although I wouldn’t consider it a bias, I wonder if the investigators have a preconceived vision of what long COVID is going to look like once it is better understood. The fact that they undertook this project suggests that they believe the truth about the phenomenon will be discoverable using data based on collections of vague symptoms.

Or, do the researchers share my vision of long COVID that if it exists it will be something akin to the burst of Parkinson’s disease seen decades later in survivors of the 1918-1920 flu pandemic. Or, maybe it is something like post-polio syndrome, in which survivors in childhood develop atrophy and muscle weakness as they age. Do the researchers believe that COVID survivors are harboring some remnant of SARS-CoV-2 or its genome inside their bodies ticking like a time bomb ready to surface in the future? Think shingles.

I suspect that there are some folks who may or not share my ticking time bomb vision, but who, like me, wonder if there is really such a thing as long COVID – at least one in the form characterized by the work of these investigators. Unfortunately, the $1 billion the National Institutes of Health has invested in the Researching COVID to Enhance Recovery (RECOVER) initiative is not going to discover delayed sequelae until time is ready to tell us. What researchers are looking at now is a collection of patients, some who were not well to begin with but now describe a collection of vague symptoms, some of which are unique to COVID, but most are not. The loss of taste and smell being the one notable and important exception.

It is easy to understand why patients and their physicians would like to have a diagnosis like “long COVID” to at least validate their symptoms that up until now have eluded explanation or remedy. Not surprisingly, they may feel that, if researchers can’t find a cure, let’s at least have something we can lay the blame on.

A major flaw in this current attempt to characterize long COVID is the lack of a true control group. Yes, the subjects the researchers labeled as “uninfected” lived contemporaneously with the patients unfortunate enough to have acquired the virus. However, this illness was mysterious from its first appearance, continued to be more frightening as we struggled to learn more about it, and was clumsily managed in a way that turned our way of life upside down. This was particularly true for school-age children. It unmasked previously unsuspected underlying conditions and quickly acquired a poorly documented reputation for having a “long” variety.

Of course the “uninfected” also lived through these same tumultuous times. But knowing that you harbored, and may still harbor, this mysterious invader moves the infected and their families into a whole new level of concern and anxiety the rest of us who were more fortunate don’t share.

We must not ignore the fact that patients and their caregivers may receive some comfort when they have something to blame for their symptoms. However, we must shift our focus away from blame hunting, which up to this point has been fruitless. Instead, we must invest our energies into helping those struggling with long COVID find a manageable pathway toward improvement. Each patient should be treated as an individual and not part of a group with similar symptoms cobbled together with data acquired under a cloud of bias.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I suspect that many of you have seen or read about a recent study regarding the “long COVID” enigma. The investigators surveyed the records of more than 4000 pediatric patients who had been infected and nearly 1400 who had not. The researchers then developed models in which 14 symptoms were more common in previous SARS-CoV2–infected individuals in all age groups, compared with the uninfected. There were four additional symptoms in children only and three additional symptoms in the adolescents.

Using these data, the investigators created research indices that “correlated with poor overall health and quality of life” and emphasized “neurocognitive, pain, and gastrointestinal symptoms in school-age children” and a “change or loss in smell or taste, pain, and fatigue/malaise-related symptoms in adolescents.”

So now thanks to these investigators we have research indices for characterizing PASC (post-acute sequelae of SARS-CoV-2, aka. long COVID). What should we to do with them? I’m not sure these results move us any further if our goal is finding something to help patients who believe, or have been told, that they have long COVID.

Even to a non-statistician like myself there appear to be some problems with this study. In an editorial accompanying this study, Suchitra Rao, MBBS, MSCS in the Department of Pediatrics, University of Colorado School of Medicine, Aurora, noted the study has the potential for ascertainment bias. For example, the researchers’ subject recruitment procedure resulted in a higher “proportion of neurocognitive/behavioral manifestations” may have skewed the results.

Also, some of the patient evaluations were not done at a consistent interval after the initial infection, which could result in recall bias. And, more importantly, because there were no baseline measurements to determine preinfection status, the investigators had no way of determining to what degree the patients’ underlying conditions may have reflected the quality of life scores.

Although I wouldn’t consider it a bias, I wonder if the investigators have a preconceived vision of what long COVID is going to look like once it is better understood. The fact that they undertook this project suggests that they believe the truth about the phenomenon will be discoverable using data based on collections of vague symptoms.

Or, do the researchers share my vision of long COVID that if it exists it will be something akin to the burst of Parkinson’s disease seen decades later in survivors of the 1918-1920 flu pandemic. Or, maybe it is something like post-polio syndrome, in which survivors in childhood develop atrophy and muscle weakness as they age. Do the researchers believe that COVID survivors are harboring some remnant of SARS-CoV-2 or its genome inside their bodies ticking like a time bomb ready to surface in the future? Think shingles.

I suspect that there are some folks who may or not share my ticking time bomb vision, but who, like me, wonder if there is really such a thing as long COVID – at least one in the form characterized by the work of these investigators. Unfortunately, the $1 billion the National Institutes of Health has invested in the Researching COVID to Enhance Recovery (RECOVER) initiative is not going to discover delayed sequelae until time is ready to tell us. What researchers are looking at now is a collection of patients, some who were not well to begin with but now describe a collection of vague symptoms, some of which are unique to COVID, but most are not. The loss of taste and smell being the one notable and important exception.

It is easy to understand why patients and their physicians would like to have a diagnosis like “long COVID” to at least validate their symptoms that up until now have eluded explanation or remedy. Not surprisingly, they may feel that, if researchers can’t find a cure, let’s at least have something we can lay the blame on.

A major flaw in this current attempt to characterize long COVID is the lack of a true control group. Yes, the subjects the researchers labeled as “uninfected” lived contemporaneously with the patients unfortunate enough to have acquired the virus. However, this illness was mysterious from its first appearance, continued to be more frightening as we struggled to learn more about it, and was clumsily managed in a way that turned our way of life upside down. This was particularly true for school-age children. It unmasked previously unsuspected underlying conditions and quickly acquired a poorly documented reputation for having a “long” variety.

Of course the “uninfected” also lived through these same tumultuous times. But knowing that you harbored, and may still harbor, this mysterious invader moves the infected and their families into a whole new level of concern and anxiety the rest of us who were more fortunate don’t share.

We must not ignore the fact that patients and their caregivers may receive some comfort when they have something to blame for their symptoms. However, we must shift our focus away from blame hunting, which up to this point has been fruitless. Instead, we must invest our energies into helping those struggling with long COVID find a manageable pathway toward improvement. Each patient should be treated as an individual and not part of a group with similar symptoms cobbled together with data acquired under a cloud of bias.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

I suspect that many of you have seen or read about a recent study regarding the “long COVID” enigma. The investigators surveyed the records of more than 4000 pediatric patients who had been infected and nearly 1400 who had not. The researchers then developed models in which 14 symptoms were more common in previous SARS-CoV2–infected individuals in all age groups, compared with the uninfected. There were four additional symptoms in children only and three additional symptoms in the adolescents.

Using these data, the investigators created research indices that “correlated with poor overall health and quality of life” and emphasized “neurocognitive, pain, and gastrointestinal symptoms in school-age children” and a “change or loss in smell or taste, pain, and fatigue/malaise-related symptoms in adolescents.”

So now thanks to these investigators we have research indices for characterizing PASC (post-acute sequelae of SARS-CoV-2, aka. long COVID). What should we to do with them? I’m not sure these results move us any further if our goal is finding something to help patients who believe, or have been told, that they have long COVID.

Even to a non-statistician like myself there appear to be some problems with this study. In an editorial accompanying this study, Suchitra Rao, MBBS, MSCS in the Department of Pediatrics, University of Colorado School of Medicine, Aurora, noted the study has the potential for ascertainment bias. For example, the researchers’ subject recruitment procedure resulted in a higher “proportion of neurocognitive/behavioral manifestations” may have skewed the results.

Also, some of the patient evaluations were not done at a consistent interval after the initial infection, which could result in recall bias. And, more importantly, because there were no baseline measurements to determine preinfection status, the investigators had no way of determining to what degree the patients’ underlying conditions may have reflected the quality of life scores.

Although I wouldn’t consider it a bias, I wonder if the investigators have a preconceived vision of what long COVID is going to look like once it is better understood. The fact that they undertook this project suggests that they believe the truth about the phenomenon will be discoverable using data based on collections of vague symptoms.

Or, do the researchers share my vision of long COVID that if it exists it will be something akin to the burst of Parkinson’s disease seen decades later in survivors of the 1918-1920 flu pandemic. Or, maybe it is something like post-polio syndrome, in which survivors in childhood develop atrophy and muscle weakness as they age. Do the researchers believe that COVID survivors are harboring some remnant of SARS-CoV-2 or its genome inside their bodies ticking like a time bomb ready to surface in the future? Think shingles.

I suspect that there are some folks who may or not share my ticking time bomb vision, but who, like me, wonder if there is really such a thing as long COVID – at least one in the form characterized by the work of these investigators. Unfortunately, the $1 billion the National Institutes of Health has invested in the Researching COVID to Enhance Recovery (RECOVER) initiative is not going to discover delayed sequelae until time is ready to tell us. What researchers are looking at now is a collection of patients, some who were not well to begin with but now describe a collection of vague symptoms, some of which are unique to COVID, but most are not. The loss of taste and smell being the one notable and important exception.

It is easy to understand why patients and their physicians would like to have a diagnosis like “long COVID” to at least validate their symptoms that up until now have eluded explanation or remedy. Not surprisingly, they may feel that, if researchers can’t find a cure, let’s at least have something we can lay the blame on.

A major flaw in this current attempt to characterize long COVID is the lack of a true control group. Yes, the subjects the researchers labeled as “uninfected” lived contemporaneously with the patients unfortunate enough to have acquired the virus. However, this illness was mysterious from its first appearance, continued to be more frightening as we struggled to learn more about it, and was clumsily managed in a way that turned our way of life upside down. This was particularly true for school-age children. It unmasked previously unsuspected underlying conditions and quickly acquired a poorly documented reputation for having a “long” variety.

Of course the “uninfected” also lived through these same tumultuous times. But knowing that you harbored, and may still harbor, this mysterious invader moves the infected and their families into a whole new level of concern and anxiety the rest of us who were more fortunate don’t share.

We must not ignore the fact that patients and their caregivers may receive some comfort when they have something to blame for their symptoms. However, we must shift our focus away from blame hunting, which up to this point has been fruitless. Instead, we must invest our energies into helping those struggling with long COVID find a manageable pathway toward improvement. Each patient should be treated as an individual and not part of a group with similar symptoms cobbled together with data acquired under a cloud of bias.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Our son works for a Maine-based company that produces and sells clothing and outdoor recreation equipment. One of its tag lines is “Be an Outsider.” In his role as chief marketing officer, he was recently given an app for his phone that can calculate how many minutes he spends outside each day. He assured me: “Dad, you don’t need one of these on your phone. Your weather-beaten skin says you are already logging in way more than enough minutes outdoors.”

But, it got me thinking about several avenues of research where an app like that would be useful. As luck would have it, the following week I stumbled across a paper describing just such a study.

Researchers in Shanghai, China, placed smartwatches with technology similar to my son’s phone on nearly 3000 children and found “that outdoor exposure patterns characterized by a continuous period of at least 15 minutes, accompanied by a sunlight intensity of more than 2000 lux, were associated with less myopic shift.” In other words, children getting more time outside were less likely to become nearsighted.” Whether this was an effect of being outside instead of staring at a screen indoors is an interesting question.

I have alway suspected that being outdoors was important for wellness and this paper meshed nicely with an article I had recently read in The Washington Post titled, “How time in nature builds happier, healthier and more social children” (Jamie Friedlander Serrano, 2024 Aug 4). The reporter quotes numerous experts in child health and includes links to several articles that tout the benefits of outdoor experiences, particularly ones in a natural environment. There are the vitamin D effects on growth and bone health. There are studies suggesting that being out in nature can reduce stress, anxiety, and aggression, and improve working memory and attention.

In this country there is a small but growing group of schools modeling themselves after the “Forest kindergartens” that have become popular in Europe in which a large portion of the students’ days are spent outside surrounded by nature. It will be interesting to see how robustly this trend grows here in the United States. However, in a nation like ours in which the Environmental Protection Agency estimates that the average American spends 90% of his day indoors, it’s going to require a seismic shift in our societal norms.

I think my mother always knew that being outdoors was healthy for children. I also suspect that she and most my friends’ mothers were primarily motivated by a desire to have the house to themselves. This was primarily to allow them to get the housework done unimpeded by pestering children. But, there may have been times when a busy housewife simply needed to sit down with a book in the peace and quiet of a childless environment. We kids were told to get out of the house and return for lunch and dinner, hopefully not in the tow of a police officer. There were few rules and for the most part we were left to invent our own amusement.

Yes, you’ve heard this old-fogey legend before. But it was true. Those were the halcyon days of the 1950s in a small suburban town of 5000 of a little more than 1 square mile with its own swimming pool. My particular idyll was aptly named Pleasantville but I know we were not alone as the only community where children were allowed – or let’s say “encouraged” – to be outdoors if they weren’t in school. It was a different time.

I am not so naive to believe that we will ever return to those good old days when children roamed free, but it is worth considering what has changed to drive children inside and away from all the health benefits of being outdoors. Is there anything we can do to reverse this unfortunate trend?

First, we must first face up to the reality that our society has become so focused on the potential downsides of everything that we seem to be driven primarily by risk avoidance. We hear how things can go terribly wrong in the world outside, a world we can’t control. Although the data from the pandemic don’t support it, more of us believe children are safer indoors. Parents in particular seem to worry more now than they did 75 years ago. I don’t think we can point to a single event such as the tragedies of September 11 to explain the shift.

While bad news has always traveled fast, today (with communication being almost instantaneous) a story about a child abduction at 6 in the morning in Nevada can be on my local TV channel by lunchtime here in Maine. Parents worry that if bad stuff can happen to a child in Mount Elsewhere, it could happen to my child playing in the backyard across the street.

I think we pediatricians should consider how large a role we may be playing in driving parental anxiety with our frequent warnings about the dangers a child can encounter outdoors whether they come in the form of accidents or exposure to the elements.

While parents have grown more hesitant to send their children outside to play, as a society we have failed to adequately acknowledge and respond to the role that unhealthy attraction of indoor alternatives to outdoor play may be contributing to indoorism. Here we’re talking about television, smartphones, and the internet.

So, what can we do as pediatricians to get our patients outside? First, we can set an example and cover our office walls with pictures of ourselves and our families enjoying the outdoors. We can be vocal advocates for creating and maintaining accessible outdoor spaces in our community. We can advocate for more outside time during recess in school and encourage the school officials to consider having more courses taught outside.

We can be more diligent in asking families about their screen use and not be afraid to express our concern when we hear how little outdoor time their child is getting. Finally, we can strive for more balance in our messaging. For example for every warning we give about playing outside on poor air quality days there should be a reminder of the health benefits of being outdoors on the other days. Every message about the importance of sunscreen should be preceded by a few sentences promoting outdoor activities in wooded environments where sun exposure is less of a concern.

We should all be looking for ways in which our communities can remove the barriers that prevent our patients for reaping the health benefits of being outdoors. Being an outsider is just as important as getting enough sleep, eating the right food and staying physically active.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Our son works for a Maine-based company that produces and sells clothing and outdoor recreation equipment. One of its tag lines is “Be an Outsider.” In his role as chief marketing officer, he was recently given an app for his phone that can calculate how many minutes he spends outside each day. He assured me: “Dad, you don’t need one of these on your phone. Your weather-beaten skin says you are already logging in way more than enough minutes outdoors.”

But, it got me thinking about several avenues of research where an app like that would be useful. As luck would have it, the following week I stumbled across a paper describing just such a study.

Researchers in Shanghai, China, placed smartwatches with technology similar to my son’s phone on nearly 3000 children and found “that outdoor exposure patterns characterized by a continuous period of at least 15 minutes, accompanied by a sunlight intensity of more than 2000 lux, were associated with less myopic shift.” In other words, children getting more time outside were less likely to become nearsighted.” Whether this was an effect of being outside instead of staring at a screen indoors is an interesting question.

I have alway suspected that being outdoors was important for wellness and this paper meshed nicely with an article I had recently read in The Washington Post titled, “How time in nature builds happier, healthier and more social children” (Jamie Friedlander Serrano, 2024 Aug 4). The reporter quotes numerous experts in child health and includes links to several articles that tout the benefits of outdoor experiences, particularly ones in a natural environment. There are the vitamin D effects on growth and bone health. There are studies suggesting that being out in nature can reduce stress, anxiety, and aggression, and improve working memory and attention.

In this country there is a small but growing group of schools modeling themselves after the “Forest kindergartens” that have become popular in Europe in which a large portion of the students’ days are spent outside surrounded by nature. It will be interesting to see how robustly this trend grows here in the United States. However, in a nation like ours in which the Environmental Protection Agency estimates that the average American spends 90% of his day indoors, it’s going to require a seismic shift in our societal norms.

I think my mother always knew that being outdoors was healthy for children. I also suspect that she and most my friends’ mothers were primarily motivated by a desire to have the house to themselves. This was primarily to allow them to get the housework done unimpeded by pestering children. But, there may have been times when a busy housewife simply needed to sit down with a book in the peace and quiet of a childless environment. We kids were told to get out of the house and return for lunch and dinner, hopefully not in the tow of a police officer. There were few rules and for the most part we were left to invent our own amusement.

Yes, you’ve heard this old-fogey legend before. But it was true. Those were the halcyon days of the 1950s in a small suburban town of 5000 of a little more than 1 square mile with its own swimming pool. My particular idyll was aptly named Pleasantville but I know we were not alone as the only community where children were allowed – or let’s say “encouraged” – to be outdoors if they weren’t in school. It was a different time.

I am not so naive to believe that we will ever return to those good old days when children roamed free, but it is worth considering what has changed to drive children inside and away from all the health benefits of being outdoors. Is there anything we can do to reverse this unfortunate trend?

First, we must first face up to the reality that our society has become so focused on the potential downsides of everything that we seem to be driven primarily by risk avoidance. We hear how things can go terribly wrong in the world outside, a world we can’t control. Although the data from the pandemic don’t support it, more of us believe children are safer indoors. Parents in particular seem to worry more now than they did 75 years ago. I don’t think we can point to a single event such as the tragedies of September 11 to explain the shift.

While bad news has always traveled fast, today (with communication being almost instantaneous) a story about a child abduction at 6 in the morning in Nevada can be on my local TV channel by lunchtime here in Maine. Parents worry that if bad stuff can happen to a child in Mount Elsewhere, it could happen to my child playing in the backyard across the street.

I think we pediatricians should consider how large a role we may be playing in driving parental anxiety with our frequent warnings about the dangers a child can encounter outdoors whether they come in the form of accidents or exposure to the elements.

While parents have grown more hesitant to send their children outside to play, as a society we have failed to adequately acknowledge and respond to the role that unhealthy attraction of indoor alternatives to outdoor play may be contributing to indoorism. Here we’re talking about television, smartphones, and the internet.

So, what can we do as pediatricians to get our patients outside? First, we can set an example and cover our office walls with pictures of ourselves and our families enjoying the outdoors. We can be vocal advocates for creating and maintaining accessible outdoor spaces in our community. We can advocate for more outside time during recess in school and encourage the school officials to consider having more courses taught outside.

We can be more diligent in asking families about their screen use and not be afraid to express our concern when we hear how little outdoor time their child is getting. Finally, we can strive for more balance in our messaging. For example for every warning we give about playing outside on poor air quality days there should be a reminder of the health benefits of being outdoors on the other days. Every message about the importance of sunscreen should be preceded by a few sentences promoting outdoor activities in wooded environments where sun exposure is less of a concern.

We should all be looking for ways in which our communities can remove the barriers that prevent our patients for reaping the health benefits of being outdoors. Being an outsider is just as important as getting enough sleep, eating the right food and staying physically active.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Our son works for a Maine-based company that produces and sells clothing and outdoor recreation equipment. One of its tag lines is “Be an Outsider.” In his role as chief marketing officer, he was recently given an app for his phone that can calculate how many minutes he spends outside each day. He assured me: “Dad, you don’t need one of these on your phone. Your weather-beaten skin says you are already logging in way more than enough minutes outdoors.”

But, it got me thinking about several avenues of research where an app like that would be useful. As luck would have it, the following week I stumbled across a paper describing just such a study.

Researchers in Shanghai, China, placed smartwatches with technology similar to my son’s phone on nearly 3000 children and found “that outdoor exposure patterns characterized by a continuous period of at least 15 minutes, accompanied by a sunlight intensity of more than 2000 lux, were associated with less myopic shift.” In other words, children getting more time outside were less likely to become nearsighted.” Whether this was an effect of being outside instead of staring at a screen indoors is an interesting question.

I have alway suspected that being outdoors was important for wellness and this paper meshed nicely with an article I had recently read in The Washington Post titled, “How time in nature builds happier, healthier and more social children” (Jamie Friedlander Serrano, 2024 Aug 4). The reporter quotes numerous experts in child health and includes links to several articles that tout the benefits of outdoor experiences, particularly ones in a natural environment. There are the vitamin D effects on growth and bone health. There are studies suggesting that being out in nature can reduce stress, anxiety, and aggression, and improve working memory and attention.

In this country there is a small but growing group of schools modeling themselves after the “Forest kindergartens” that have become popular in Europe in which a large portion of the students’ days are spent outside surrounded by nature. It will be interesting to see how robustly this trend grows here in the United States. However, in a nation like ours in which the Environmental Protection Agency estimates that the average American spends 90% of his day indoors, it’s going to require a seismic shift in our societal norms.

I think my mother always knew that being outdoors was healthy for children. I also suspect that she and most my friends’ mothers were primarily motivated by a desire to have the house to themselves. This was primarily to allow them to get the housework done unimpeded by pestering children. But, there may have been times when a busy housewife simply needed to sit down with a book in the peace and quiet of a childless environment. We kids were told to get out of the house and return for lunch and dinner, hopefully not in the tow of a police officer. There were few rules and for the most part we were left to invent our own amusement.

Yes, you’ve heard this old-fogey legend before. But it was true. Those were the halcyon days of the 1950s in a small suburban town of 5000 of a little more than 1 square mile with its own swimming pool. My particular idyll was aptly named Pleasantville but I know we were not alone as the only community where children were allowed – or let’s say “encouraged” – to be outdoors if they weren’t in school. It was a different time.

I am not so naive to believe that we will ever return to those good old days when children roamed free, but it is worth considering what has changed to drive children inside and away from all the health benefits of being outdoors. Is there anything we can do to reverse this unfortunate trend?

First, we must first face up to the reality that our society has become so focused on the potential downsides of everything that we seem to be driven primarily by risk avoidance. We hear how things can go terribly wrong in the world outside, a world we can’t control. Although the data from the pandemic don’t support it, more of us believe children are safer indoors. Parents in particular seem to worry more now than they did 75 years ago. I don’t think we can point to a single event such as the tragedies of September 11 to explain the shift.

While bad news has always traveled fast, today (with communication being almost instantaneous) a story about a child abduction at 6 in the morning in Nevada can be on my local TV channel by lunchtime here in Maine. Parents worry that if bad stuff can happen to a child in Mount Elsewhere, it could happen to my child playing in the backyard across the street.

I think we pediatricians should consider how large a role we may be playing in driving parental anxiety with our frequent warnings about the dangers a child can encounter outdoors whether they come in the form of accidents or exposure to the elements.

While parents have grown more hesitant to send their children outside to play, as a society we have failed to adequately acknowledge and respond to the role that unhealthy attraction of indoor alternatives to outdoor play may be contributing to indoorism. Here we’re talking about television, smartphones, and the internet.

So, what can we do as pediatricians to get our patients outside? First, we can set an example and cover our office walls with pictures of ourselves and our families enjoying the outdoors. We can be vocal advocates for creating and maintaining accessible outdoor spaces in our community. We can advocate for more outside time during recess in school and encourage the school officials to consider having more courses taught outside.

We can be more diligent in asking families about their screen use and not be afraid to express our concern when we hear how little outdoor time their child is getting. Finally, we can strive for more balance in our messaging. For example for every warning we give about playing outside on poor air quality days there should be a reminder of the health benefits of being outdoors on the other days. Every message about the importance of sunscreen should be preceded by a few sentences promoting outdoor activities in wooded environments where sun exposure is less of a concern.

We should all be looking for ways in which our communities can remove the barriers that prevent our patients for reaping the health benefits of being outdoors. Being an outsider is just as important as getting enough sleep, eating the right food and staying physically active.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

You see it all the time. It’s the family at the table next to you in the restaurant where the two teenage children are texting away on their phones. Or the playground, where a 3-year-old is playing with his toy truck and bulldozer in the sand and his father, immersed in his laptop, hasn’t said a word to his child.

It may trouble you when you witness social situations like that in which an electronic device is preventing or certainly interfering with interpersonal interactions. Or at least I hope it troubles you. Maybe it is so ubiquitous that you have come to accept it as the norm. It’s likely you may even be a participant. But, do you have a name for it?

It’s called “technoference,” a word coined by a doctoral student in human development and family studies at Penn State a decade ago “to describe the everyday intrusions and interruptions in couple interactions that take place due to technology devices and their always-on, ever-present nature.” Although, the original research that triggered the coinage was about couples, obviously the phenomenon occurs whenever people of any age are together in social situations.

While the word may not have crept into common parlance, we all know it when we see it. Technoference may not appear in the paper’s title, but it is a subject being investigated across a broad array of disciplines. One phone tracking study found that parents of young infants spend more than 5 hours each day on their smartphones. More than a quarter of that time the infant is engaged with the parent’s digital device. Technoference has been associated with decreased parent-child interaction during early childhood. It has been associated with more negative responses to children’s behavior, as well as an increased risk of child injury.

There are numerous studies suggesting an association between parental technoference and mental health difficulties in children. I have recently reviewed one of these studies that looks at the relationship of perceived parental technoference and the mental health of children entering adolescents. The authors collected longitudinal data of more than 1300 emerging adolescents, hoping to determine if the relationship between parental distraction and mental health was bidirectional. In other words, could a child’s mental health be contributing to his parents’ perceived distraction? Or was it primarily the parents’ technoference that was playing a role in the child’s mental health problems?

What investigators found was that higher levels of parental distraction were associated with higher levels of inattention and hyperactivity in the emerging adolescents, but not vice versa. On the other hand, higher levels of adolescent anxiety was associated with higher levels of perceived parental technoference, but not vice versa.

I know this sounds a bit confusing and a bit chicken-egg-chicken-eggish. The study was not designed to determine causation in these associations. However, the authors offer some possible scenarios that may provide a bit of clarity. It could be that parents who are concerned about their anxious child respond by retreating into the cyberspace to avoid tense situations or for support or information.

On the other hand, emerging adolescents who are exhibiting hyperactivity and inattention may be responding to an environment infused with their parents’ higher level of technoference. This explanation meshes with other studies demonstrating an association between parental distraction and aggression and attention problems in early childhood.

While one could spend more time imagining other factors that could be driving these bidirectional relationships, I’m not sure that it makes a heckuva lot of difference. Whether the child’s mental illness is the primary driver or the parent’s device-associated distraction is the dominant force isn’t the point. These are bidirectional relationships. If we are interested in pointing fingers, the common denominator is the device and our failure as a society to keep it in proper perspective. We all know that smartphones, tablets, and computers create an unhealthy distraction in personal relationships. The parents know and most of the children know. It’s time for us all to demonstrate some self-discipline. And that can begin for us as health care providers as we sit behind our computers spending more time looking at the screen than we do engaging the patient with our eyes.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

You see it all the time. It’s the family at the table next to you in the restaurant where the two teenage children are texting away on their phones. Or the playground, where a 3-year-old is playing with his toy truck and bulldozer in the sand and his father, immersed in his laptop, hasn’t said a word to his child.

It may trouble you when you witness social situations like that in which an electronic device is preventing or certainly interfering with interpersonal interactions. Or at least I hope it troubles you. Maybe it is so ubiquitous that you have come to accept it as the norm. It’s likely you may even be a participant. But, do you have a name for it?

It’s called “technoference,” a word coined by a doctoral student in human development and family studies at Penn State a decade ago “to describe the everyday intrusions and interruptions in couple interactions that take place due to technology devices and their always-on, ever-present nature.” Although, the original research that triggered the coinage was about couples, obviously the phenomenon occurs whenever people of any age are together in social situations.

While the word may not have crept into common parlance, we all know it when we see it. Technoference may not appear in the paper’s title, but it is a subject being investigated across a broad array of disciplines. One phone tracking study found that parents of young infants spend more than 5 hours each day on their smartphones. More than a quarter of that time the infant is engaged with the parent’s digital device. Technoference has been associated with decreased parent-child interaction during early childhood. It has been associated with more negative responses to children’s behavior, as well as an increased risk of child injury.

There are numerous studies suggesting an association between parental technoference and mental health difficulties in children. I have recently reviewed one of these studies that looks at the relationship of perceived parental technoference and the mental health of children entering adolescents. The authors collected longitudinal data of more than 1300 emerging adolescents, hoping to determine if the relationship between parental distraction and mental health was bidirectional. In other words, could a child’s mental health be contributing to his parents’ perceived distraction? Or was it primarily the parents’ technoference that was playing a role in the child’s mental health problems?

What investigators found was that higher levels of parental distraction were associated with higher levels of inattention and hyperactivity in the emerging adolescents, but not vice versa. On the other hand, higher levels of adolescent anxiety was associated with higher levels of perceived parental technoference, but not vice versa.

I know this sounds a bit confusing and a bit chicken-egg-chicken-eggish. The study was not designed to determine causation in these associations. However, the authors offer some possible scenarios that may provide a bit of clarity. It could be that parents who are concerned about their anxious child respond by retreating into the cyberspace to avoid tense situations or for support or information.

On the other hand, emerging adolescents who are exhibiting hyperactivity and inattention may be responding to an environment infused with their parents’ higher level of technoference. This explanation meshes with other studies demonstrating an association between parental distraction and aggression and attention problems in early childhood.

While one could spend more time imagining other factors that could be driving these bidirectional relationships, I’m not sure that it makes a heckuva lot of difference. Whether the child’s mental illness is the primary driver or the parent’s device-associated distraction is the dominant force isn’t the point. These are bidirectional relationships. If we are interested in pointing fingers, the common denominator is the device and our failure as a society to keep it in proper perspective. We all know that smartphones, tablets, and computers create an unhealthy distraction in personal relationships. The parents know and most of the children know. It’s time for us all to demonstrate some self-discipline. And that can begin for us as health care providers as we sit behind our computers spending more time looking at the screen than we do engaging the patient with our eyes.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

You see it all the time. It’s the family at the table next to you in the restaurant where the two teenage children are texting away on their phones. Or the playground, where a 3-year-old is playing with his toy truck and bulldozer in the sand and his father, immersed in his laptop, hasn’t said a word to his child.

It may trouble you when you witness social situations like that in which an electronic device is preventing or certainly interfering with interpersonal interactions. Or at least I hope it troubles you. Maybe it is so ubiquitous that you have come to accept it as the norm. It’s likely you may even be a participant. But, do you have a name for it?

It’s called “technoference,” a word coined by a doctoral student in human development and family studies at Penn State a decade ago “to describe the everyday intrusions and interruptions in couple interactions that take place due to technology devices and their always-on, ever-present nature.” Although, the original research that triggered the coinage was about couples, obviously the phenomenon occurs whenever people of any age are together in social situations.

While the word may not have crept into common parlance, we all know it when we see it. Technoference may not appear in the paper’s title, but it is a subject being investigated across a broad array of disciplines. One phone tracking study found that parents of young infants spend more than 5 hours each day on their smartphones. More than a quarter of that time the infant is engaged with the parent’s digital device. Technoference has been associated with decreased parent-child interaction during early childhood. It has been associated with more negative responses to children’s behavior, as well as an increased risk of child injury.

There are numerous studies suggesting an association between parental technoference and mental health difficulties in children. I have recently reviewed one of these studies that looks at the relationship of perceived parental technoference and the mental health of children entering adolescents. The authors collected longitudinal data of more than 1300 emerging adolescents, hoping to determine if the relationship between parental distraction and mental health was bidirectional. In other words, could a child’s mental health be contributing to his parents’ perceived distraction? Or was it primarily the parents’ technoference that was playing a role in the child’s mental health problems?

What investigators found was that higher levels of parental distraction were associated with higher levels of inattention and hyperactivity in the emerging adolescents, but not vice versa. On the other hand, higher levels of adolescent anxiety was associated with higher levels of perceived parental technoference, but not vice versa.

I know this sounds a bit confusing and a bit chicken-egg-chicken-eggish. The study was not designed to determine causation in these associations. However, the authors offer some possible scenarios that may provide a bit of clarity. It could be that parents who are concerned about their anxious child respond by retreating into the cyberspace to avoid tense situations or for support or information.

On the other hand, emerging adolescents who are exhibiting hyperactivity and inattention may be responding to an environment infused with their parents’ higher level of technoference. This explanation meshes with other studies demonstrating an association between parental distraction and aggression and attention problems in early childhood.

While one could spend more time imagining other factors that could be driving these bidirectional relationships, I’m not sure that it makes a heckuva lot of difference. Whether the child’s mental illness is the primary driver or the parent’s device-associated distraction is the dominant force isn’t the point. These are bidirectional relationships. If we are interested in pointing fingers, the common denominator is the device and our failure as a society to keep it in proper perspective. We all know that smartphones, tablets, and computers create an unhealthy distraction in personal relationships. The parents know and most of the children know. It’s time for us all to demonstrate some self-discipline. And that can begin for us as health care providers as we sit behind our computers spending more time looking at the screen than we do engaging the patient with our eyes.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Bicycles have been woven into my life since I first straddled a hand-me-down with a fan belt drive when I was 3. At age 12 my friend Ricky and I took a 250 mile–plus 2-night adventure on our 3-speed “English” style bikes. We still marvel that our parents let us do it when neither cell phones nor GPS existed.

I have always bike commuted to work, including the years when that involved a perilous navigation into Boston from the suburbs. In our mid-50s my wife and I biked from Washington state back here to Maine with another couple unsupported. We continue to do at least one self-guided cycle tour out of the country each year.

Not surprisingly, I keep a close eye on what’s happening in the bicycle market. For decades the trends have shifted back and forth between sleek road models and beefier off-roaders. There have been boom years here and there for the dealers and manufacturers, but nothing like what the bike industry is experiencing now with the arrival of e-bikes on the market. Driven primarily by electrification, micromobility ridership (which includes conventional bikes and scooters) has grown more than 50-fold over the last 10 years. Projections suggest the market’s value will be $300 billion by 2030.

It doesn’t take an MBA with a major in marketing to understand the broad appeal of electrification. Most adults have ridden a bicycle as children, but several decades of gap years has left many of them with a level of fitness that makes pedaling against the wind or up any incline difficult and unappealing. An e-bike can put even the least fitness conscious back in the saddle and open the options for outdoor recreation they haven’t dreamed of since childhood.

In large part the people flocking to e-bikes are retiree’s who thought they were “over the hill.” They are having so much fun they don’t care if the Lycra-clad “serious” cyclists notice the battery bulge in the frame on their e-bikes. Another group of e-bike adopters are motivated by the “greenness” of a fossil-fuel–free electric powered transportation which, with minimal compromise, can be used as they would a car around town and for longer commutes than they would have considered on a purely pedal-powered bicycle.

Unfortunately, there is a growing group of younger e-bike riders who are motivated and uninhibited by the potential that the power boost of a small electric motor can provide. And here is where the ugliness begins to intrude on what was otherwise a beautiful and expanding landscape. With the increase in e-bike popularity, there has been an understandable increase in injuries in all age groups. However, it is the young who are, not surprisingly, drawn to the speed, and with any vehicle – motorized or conventional – as speed increases so does the frequency and seriousness of accidents.

The term e-bike covers a broad range of vehicles, from those designated class 1, which require pedaling and are limited to 20 miles per hour, to class 3, which may have a throttle and unmodified can hit 28 mph. Class 2 bikes have a throttle that will allow the rider to reach 20 mph without pedaling. Modifying any class of e-bike can substantially increase its speed, but this is more common in classes 2 and 3. As an example, some very fast micromobiles are considered unclassified e-bikes and avoid being labeled motorcycles simply because they have pedals.

One has to give some credit to the e-bike industry for eventually adopting this classification system. But, we must give the rest of us, including parents and public safety officials, a failing grade for doing a poor job of translating these scores into enforceable regulations to protect both riders and pedestrians from serious injury.

On the governmental side only a little more than half of US states have used the three category classification to craft their regulations. Many jurisdictions have failed to differentiate between streets, sidewalks, and trails. Regulations vary from state to state, and many states leave it up to local communities. From my experience chairing our town’s Bicycle and Pedestrian Advisory Committee, I can tell you that even “progressive” communities are struggling to decide who can ride what where. The result has been that people of all ages, but mostly adolescents, are traveling on busy streets and sidewalks at speeds that put themselves and pedestrians at risk.

On the parental side of the problem are families that have either allowed or enabled their children to ride class 2 and 3 e-bikes without proper safety equipment or consideration for the safety of the rest of the community. Currently, this is not much of a problem here in Maine thanks to the weather and the high price of e-bikes. However, I frequently visit an affluent community in the San Francisco Bay Area, where it is not uncommon to see middle school children speeding along well in excess of 20 mph.

Unfortunately this is another example, like television and cell phone, in which our society has been unable to keep up with technology by molding the behavior of our children and/or creating enforceable rules that allow us to reap the benefits of new discoveries while minimizing the collateral damage that can accompany them.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Bicycles have been woven into my life since I first straddled a hand-me-down with a fan belt drive when I was 3. At age 12 my friend Ricky and I took a 250 mile–plus 2-night adventure on our 3-speed “English” style bikes. We still marvel that our parents let us do it when neither cell phones nor GPS existed.

I have always bike commuted to work, including the years when that involved a perilous navigation into Boston from the suburbs. In our mid-50s my wife and I biked from Washington state back here to Maine with another couple unsupported. We continue to do at least one self-guided cycle tour out of the country each year.

Not surprisingly, I keep a close eye on what’s happening in the bicycle market. For decades the trends have shifted back and forth between sleek road models and beefier off-roaders. There have been boom years here and there for the dealers and manufacturers, but nothing like what the bike industry is experiencing now with the arrival of e-bikes on the market. Driven primarily by electrification, micromobility ridership (which includes conventional bikes and scooters) has grown more than 50-fold over the last 10 years. Projections suggest the market’s value will be $300 billion by 2030.

It doesn’t take an MBA with a major in marketing to understand the broad appeal of electrification. Most adults have ridden a bicycle as children, but several decades of gap years has left many of them with a level of fitness that makes pedaling against the wind or up any incline difficult and unappealing. An e-bike can put even the least fitness conscious back in the saddle and open the options for outdoor recreation they haven’t dreamed of since childhood.

In large part the people flocking to e-bikes are retiree’s who thought they were “over the hill.” They are having so much fun they don’t care if the Lycra-clad “serious” cyclists notice the battery bulge in the frame on their e-bikes. Another group of e-bike adopters are motivated by the “greenness” of a fossil-fuel–free electric powered transportation which, with minimal compromise, can be used as they would a car around town and for longer commutes than they would have considered on a purely pedal-powered bicycle.

Unfortunately, there is a growing group of younger e-bike riders who are motivated and uninhibited by the potential that the power boost of a small electric motor can provide. And here is where the ugliness begins to intrude on what was otherwise a beautiful and expanding landscape. With the increase in e-bike popularity, there has been an understandable increase in injuries in all age groups. However, it is the young who are, not surprisingly, drawn to the speed, and with any vehicle – motorized or conventional – as speed increases so does the frequency and seriousness of accidents.

The term e-bike covers a broad range of vehicles, from those designated class 1, which require pedaling and are limited to 20 miles per hour, to class 3, which may have a throttle and unmodified can hit 28 mph. Class 2 bikes have a throttle that will allow the rider to reach 20 mph without pedaling. Modifying any class of e-bike can substantially increase its speed, but this is more common in classes 2 and 3. As an example, some very fast micromobiles are considered unclassified e-bikes and avoid being labeled motorcycles simply because they have pedals.

One has to give some credit to the e-bike industry for eventually adopting this classification system. But, we must give the rest of us, including parents and public safety officials, a failing grade for doing a poor job of translating these scores into enforceable regulations to protect both riders and pedestrians from serious injury.

On the governmental side only a little more than half of US states have used the three category classification to craft their regulations. Many jurisdictions have failed to differentiate between streets, sidewalks, and trails. Regulations vary from state to state, and many states leave it up to local communities. From my experience chairing our town’s Bicycle and Pedestrian Advisory Committee, I can tell you that even “progressive” communities are struggling to decide who can ride what where. The result has been that people of all ages, but mostly adolescents, are traveling on busy streets and sidewalks at speeds that put themselves and pedestrians at risk.

On the parental side of the problem are families that have either allowed or enabled their children to ride class 2 and 3 e-bikes without proper safety equipment or consideration for the safety of the rest of the community. Currently, this is not much of a problem here in Maine thanks to the weather and the high price of e-bikes. However, I frequently visit an affluent community in the San Francisco Bay Area, where it is not uncommon to see middle school children speeding along well in excess of 20 mph.

Unfortunately this is another example, like television and cell phone, in which our society has been unable to keep up with technology by molding the behavior of our children and/or creating enforceable rules that allow us to reap the benefits of new discoveries while minimizing the collateral damage that can accompany them.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Bicycles have been woven into my life since I first straddled a hand-me-down with a fan belt drive when I was 3. At age 12 my friend Ricky and I took a 250 mile–plus 2-night adventure on our 3-speed “English” style bikes. We still marvel that our parents let us do it when neither cell phones nor GPS existed.

I have always bike commuted to work, including the years when that involved a perilous navigation into Boston from the suburbs. In our mid-50s my wife and I biked from Washington state back here to Maine with another couple unsupported. We continue to do at least one self-guided cycle tour out of the country each year.

Not surprisingly, I keep a close eye on what’s happening in the bicycle market. For decades the trends have shifted back and forth between sleek road models and beefier off-roaders. There have been boom years here and there for the dealers and manufacturers, but nothing like what the bike industry is experiencing now with the arrival of e-bikes on the market. Driven primarily by electrification, micromobility ridership (which includes conventional bikes and scooters) has grown more than 50-fold over the last 10 years. Projections suggest the market’s value will be $300 billion by 2030.

It doesn’t take an MBA with a major in marketing to understand the broad appeal of electrification. Most adults have ridden a bicycle as children, but several decades of gap years has left many of them with a level of fitness that makes pedaling against the wind or up any incline difficult and unappealing. An e-bike can put even the least fitness conscious back in the saddle and open the options for outdoor recreation they haven’t dreamed of since childhood.

In large part the people flocking to e-bikes are retiree’s who thought they were “over the hill.” They are having so much fun they don’t care if the Lycra-clad “serious” cyclists notice the battery bulge in the frame on their e-bikes. Another group of e-bike adopters are motivated by the “greenness” of a fossil-fuel–free electric powered transportation which, with minimal compromise, can be used as they would a car around town and for longer commutes than they would have considered on a purely pedal-powered bicycle.

Unfortunately, there is a growing group of younger e-bike riders who are motivated and uninhibited by the potential that the power boost of a small electric motor can provide. And here is where the ugliness begins to intrude on what was otherwise a beautiful and expanding landscape. With the increase in e-bike popularity, there has been an understandable increase in injuries in all age groups. However, it is the young who are, not surprisingly, drawn to the speed, and with any vehicle – motorized or conventional – as speed increases so does the frequency and seriousness of accidents.

The term e-bike covers a broad range of vehicles, from those designated class 1, which require pedaling and are limited to 20 miles per hour, to class 3, which may have a throttle and unmodified can hit 28 mph. Class 2 bikes have a throttle that will allow the rider to reach 20 mph without pedaling. Modifying any class of e-bike can substantially increase its speed, but this is more common in classes 2 and 3. As an example, some very fast micromobiles are considered unclassified e-bikes and avoid being labeled motorcycles simply because they have pedals.

One has to give some credit to the e-bike industry for eventually adopting this classification system. But, we must give the rest of us, including parents and public safety officials, a failing grade for doing a poor job of translating these scores into enforceable regulations to protect both riders and pedestrians from serious injury.

On the governmental side only a little more than half of US states have used the three category classification to craft their regulations. Many jurisdictions have failed to differentiate between streets, sidewalks, and trails. Regulations vary from state to state, and many states leave it up to local communities. From my experience chairing our town’s Bicycle and Pedestrian Advisory Committee, I can tell you that even “progressive” communities are struggling to decide who can ride what where. The result has been that people of all ages, but mostly adolescents, are traveling on busy streets and sidewalks at speeds that put themselves and pedestrians at risk.

On the parental side of the problem are families that have either allowed or enabled their children to ride class 2 and 3 e-bikes without proper safety equipment or consideration for the safety of the rest of the community. Currently, this is not much of a problem here in Maine thanks to the weather and the high price of e-bikes. However, I frequently visit an affluent community in the San Francisco Bay Area, where it is not uncommon to see middle school children speeding along well in excess of 20 mph.

Unfortunately this is another example, like television and cell phone, in which our society has been unable to keep up with technology by molding the behavior of our children and/or creating enforceable rules that allow us to reap the benefits of new discoveries while minimizing the collateral damage that can accompany them.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Many, many years ago there was a Thanksgiving when as I was just beginning to earn a reputation in my wife’s family. There were no place cards on the table and the usual hovering and jockeying seats was well underway. From behind me I heard one of my young nieces pipe up: “I want to sit next to Doctor I-don’t-know.”

After a few words of negotiation we were all settled in our places and ready to enjoy our meal. It took only a few seconds of introspection for me to grasp how I had received that moniker, which some physicians might consider disrespectful.

I was the only physician within several generations of that family and, as such, my in-laws thought it only appropriate to ask me medical questions. They courteously seemed to avoid personal questions about their own health and were particularly careful not to roll up their sleeves or unbutton their shirts to show me a lesion or a recently acquired surgical scar. No, my wife’s family members were curious. They wanted answers to deeper questions, the hard science so to speak. “How does aspirin work?” was a typical and painful example. Maybe pharmacologists today have better answers but 40 years ago I’m not so sure; I certainly didn’t know back then and would reply, “I don’t know.” Probably for the third or fourth time that day.

Usually I genuinely didn’t know the answer. However, sometimes my answer was going to be so different from the beliefs and biases of my inquisitor that, in the interest of expediency, “I don’t know” seemed the most appropriate response.

If you were reading Letters from Maine 25 years ago, that scenario might sound familiar. I have chosen to pull it out of the archives as a jumping-off point for a consideration of the unfortunate example some of us set when the COVID pandemic threw a tsunami of unknowns at us. Too many physician-“experts” were afraid to say, “I don’t know.” Instead, and maybe because, they themselves were afraid that the patients couldn’t handle the truth that none of us in the profession knew the correct answers. When so many initial pronouncements proved incorrect, it was too late to undo the damage that had been done to the community’s trust in the rest of us.

It turns out that my in-laws were not the only folks who thought of me as Doctor I-don’t-know. One of the perks of remaining in the same community after one retires is that encounters with former patients and their parents happen frequently. On more than one occasion a parent has thanked me for admitting my ignorance. Some have even claimed that my candid approach was what they remembered most fondly. And, that quality increased their trust when I finally provided an answer.

There is an art to delivering “I don’t know.” Thirty years ago I would excuse myself and tell the family I was going to my office to pull a book off the shelf or call a previous mentor. Now one only needs to ask Dr. Google. No need to leave the room. If appropriate, the provider can swing the computer screen so that the patient can share in the search for the answer.

That strategy only works when the provider merely needs to update or expand his/her knowledge. However, there are those difficult situations when no one could know the answer given the current parameters of the patient’s situation. More lab work might be needed. It may be too early in the trajectory of the patient’s illness for the illnesses signs and symptoms to declare themselves.

In these situations “I don’t know” must be followed by a “but.” It is what comes after that “but” and how it is delivered that can convert the provider’s admission of ignorance into a demonstration of his or her character. Is he/she a caring person trying to understand the patient’s concerns? Willing to enter into a cooperative relationship as together they search for the cause and hopefully for a cure for the patient’s currently mysterious illness?

I recently read about a physician who is encouraging medical educators to incorporate more discussions of “humility” and its role in patient care into the medical school and postgraduate training curricula. He feels, as do I, that if more physicians learned to say “I don’t know” early in their careers, the quality of care we are delivering as a profession will improve, as will the trust bestowed by our patients.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Many, many years ago there was a Thanksgiving when as I was just beginning to earn a reputation in my wife’s family. There were no place cards on the table and the usual hovering and jockeying seats was well underway. From behind me I heard one of my young nieces pipe up: “I want to sit next to Doctor I-don’t-know.”

After a few words of negotiation we were all settled in our places and ready to enjoy our meal. It took only a few seconds of introspection for me to grasp how I had received that moniker, which some physicians might consider disrespectful.

I was the only physician within several generations of that family and, as such, my in-laws thought it only appropriate to ask me medical questions. They courteously seemed to avoid personal questions about their own health and were particularly careful not to roll up their sleeves or unbutton their shirts to show me a lesion or a recently acquired surgical scar. No, my wife’s family members were curious. They wanted answers to deeper questions, the hard science so to speak. “How does aspirin work?” was a typical and painful example. Maybe pharmacologists today have better answers but 40 years ago I’m not so sure; I certainly didn’t know back then and would reply, “I don’t know.” Probably for the third or fourth time that day.

Usually I genuinely didn’t know the answer. However, sometimes my answer was going to be so different from the beliefs and biases of my inquisitor that, in the interest of expediency, “I don’t know” seemed the most appropriate response.

If you were reading Letters from Maine 25 years ago, that scenario might sound familiar. I have chosen to pull it out of the archives as a jumping-off point for a consideration of the unfortunate example some of us set when the COVID pandemic threw a tsunami of unknowns at us. Too many physician-“experts” were afraid to say, “I don’t know.” Instead, and maybe because, they themselves were afraid that the patients couldn’t handle the truth that none of us in the profession knew the correct answers. When so many initial pronouncements proved incorrect, it was too late to undo the damage that had been done to the community’s trust in the rest of us.

It turns out that my in-laws were not the only folks who thought of me as Doctor I-don’t-know. One of the perks of remaining in the same community after one retires is that encounters with former patients and their parents happen frequently. On more than one occasion a parent has thanked me for admitting my ignorance. Some have even claimed that my candid approach was what they remembered most fondly. And, that quality increased their trust when I finally provided an answer.

There is an art to delivering “I don’t know.” Thirty years ago I would excuse myself and tell the family I was going to my office to pull a book off the shelf or call a previous mentor. Now one only needs to ask Dr. Google. No need to leave the room. If appropriate, the provider can swing the computer screen so that the patient can share in the search for the answer.

That strategy only works when the provider merely needs to update or expand his/her knowledge. However, there are those difficult situations when no one could know the answer given the current parameters of the patient’s situation. More lab work might be needed. It may be too early in the trajectory of the patient’s illness for the illnesses signs and symptoms to declare themselves.

In these situations “I don’t know” must be followed by a “but.” It is what comes after that “but” and how it is delivered that can convert the provider’s admission of ignorance into a demonstration of his or her character. Is he/she a caring person trying to understand the patient’s concerns? Willing to enter into a cooperative relationship as together they search for the cause and hopefully for a cure for the patient’s currently mysterious illness?

I recently read about a physician who is encouraging medical educators to incorporate more discussions of “humility” and its role in patient care into the medical school and postgraduate training curricula. He feels, as do I, that if more physicians learned to say “I don’t know” early in their careers, the quality of care we are delivering as a profession will improve, as will the trust bestowed by our patients.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Many, many years ago there was a Thanksgiving when as I was just beginning to earn a reputation in my wife’s family. There were no place cards on the table and the usual hovering and jockeying seats was well underway. From behind me I heard one of my young nieces pipe up: “I want to sit next to Doctor I-don’t-know.”

After a few words of negotiation we were all settled in our places and ready to enjoy our meal. It took only a few seconds of introspection for me to grasp how I had received that moniker, which some physicians might consider disrespectful.

I was the only physician within several generations of that family and, as such, my in-laws thought it only appropriate to ask me medical questions. They courteously seemed to avoid personal questions about their own health and were particularly careful not to roll up their sleeves or unbutton their shirts to show me a lesion or a recently acquired surgical scar. No, my wife’s family members were curious. They wanted answers to deeper questions, the hard science so to speak. “How does aspirin work?” was a typical and painful example. Maybe pharmacologists today have better answers but 40 years ago I’m not so sure; I certainly didn’t know back then and would reply, “I don’t know.” Probably for the third or fourth time that day.

Usually I genuinely didn’t know the answer. However, sometimes my answer was going to be so different from the beliefs and biases of my inquisitor that, in the interest of expediency, “I don’t know” seemed the most appropriate response.

If you were reading Letters from Maine 25 years ago, that scenario might sound familiar. I have chosen to pull it out of the archives as a jumping-off point for a consideration of the unfortunate example some of us set when the COVID pandemic threw a tsunami of unknowns at us. Too many physician-“experts” were afraid to say, “I don’t know.” Instead, and maybe because, they themselves were afraid that the patients couldn’t handle the truth that none of us in the profession knew the correct answers. When so many initial pronouncements proved incorrect, it was too late to undo the damage that had been done to the community’s trust in the rest of us.

It turns out that my in-laws were not the only folks who thought of me as Doctor I-don’t-know. One of the perks of remaining in the same community after one retires is that encounters with former patients and their parents happen frequently. On more than one occasion a parent has thanked me for admitting my ignorance. Some have even claimed that my candid approach was what they remembered most fondly. And, that quality increased their trust when I finally provided an answer.

There is an art to delivering “I don’t know.” Thirty years ago I would excuse myself and tell the family I was going to my office to pull a book off the shelf or call a previous mentor. Now one only needs to ask Dr. Google. No need to leave the room. If appropriate, the provider can swing the computer screen so that the patient can share in the search for the answer.

That strategy only works when the provider merely needs to update or expand his/her knowledge. However, there are those difficult situations when no one could know the answer given the current parameters of the patient’s situation. More lab work might be needed. It may be too early in the trajectory of the patient’s illness for the illnesses signs and symptoms to declare themselves.

In these situations “I don’t know” must be followed by a “but.” It is what comes after that “but” and how it is delivered that can convert the provider’s admission of ignorance into a demonstration of his or her character. Is he/she a caring person trying to understand the patient’s concerns? Willing to enter into a cooperative relationship as together they search for the cause and hopefully for a cure for the patient’s currently mysterious illness?

I recently read about a physician who is encouraging medical educators to incorporate more discussions of “humility” and its role in patient care into the medical school and postgraduate training curricula. He feels, as do I, that if more physicians learned to say “I don’t know” early in their careers, the quality of care we are delivering as a profession will improve, as will the trust bestowed by our patients.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

While there may be some lactation consultants who disagree, in my experience counseling women attempting to breastfeed is more art than science. Well before the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) began to offer mini courses on breastfeeding for practitioners I was left to help new mothers based on watching my wife nurse our three children and what scraps of common sense I could sweep up off the floor.

Using my own benchmarks of success I would say I did a decent job with dyads who sought my help. I began by accepting that even under optimal conditions, not every woman and/or child can successfully breastfeed. None of the infants died or was hospitalized with dehydration. A few may have required some additional phototherapy, but they all completed infancy in good shape. On the maternal side I am sure there were a few mothers who had lingering feelings of inadequacy because they had “failed” at breastfeeding. But, for the most part, I think I succeeded in helping new mothers remain as mentally healthy as they could be given the rigors of motherhood. At least I gave it my best shot.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

While there may be some lactation consultants who disagree, in my experience counseling women attempting to breastfeed is more art than science. Well before the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) began to offer mini courses on breastfeeding for practitioners I was left to help new mothers based on watching my wife nurse our three children and what scraps of common sense I could sweep up off the floor.

Using my own benchmarks of success I would say I did a decent job with dyads who sought my help. I began by accepting that even under optimal conditions, not every woman and/or child can successfully breastfeed. None of the infants died or was hospitalized with dehydration. A few may have required some additional phototherapy, but they all completed infancy in good shape. On the maternal side I am sure there were a few mothers who had lingering feelings of inadequacy because they had “failed” at breastfeeding. But, for the most part, I think I succeeded in helping new mothers remain as mentally healthy as they could be given the rigors of motherhood. At least I gave it my best shot.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

While there may be some lactation consultants who disagree, in my experience counseling women attempting to breastfeed is more art than science. Well before the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) began to offer mini courses on breastfeeding for practitioners I was left to help new mothers based on watching my wife nurse our three children and what scraps of common sense I could sweep up off the floor.

Using my own benchmarks of success I would say I did a decent job with dyads who sought my help. I began by accepting that even under optimal conditions, not every woman and/or child can successfully breastfeed. None of the infants died or was hospitalized with dehydration. A few may have required some additional phototherapy, but they all completed infancy in good shape. On the maternal side I am sure there were a few mothers who had lingering feelings of inadequacy because they had “failed” at breastfeeding. But, for the most part, I think I succeeded in helping new mothers remain as mentally healthy as they could be given the rigors of motherhood. At least I gave it my best shot.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.