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It’s that time of year again. A new year is upon us. It’s resolution time.
I must admit, somewhat sheepishly, that I am a bit of “resolver.” What can I say? I like to resolve. I like to think about resolutions. I like to plan resolutions. I like to regale my uninterested wife with my resolutions. And I am, in fact, actually quite good at all phases of resolving, with one small exception—the follow-through.
You see, while I love to plan changes in my life, I’m horrible at making changes in my life. There’s nothing too shocking about that, I suppose. Most people fail when change is required. What is interesting, though, is that years of failure have yet to imbue me with the sense to stop resolving. I mean, how many times can a man fail at resolutions before he stumbles upon a resolution to stop resolving—a resolution I’d surely fail at?
But what are perhaps even more interesting are the things I’ve apparently resolved to do. I say “apparently” because not only do I typically not remember making the resolutions, but most often I also can’t even fathom why I’d resolve such things in the first place. But clearly I do. In fact, every year, I commit to about 10-20 resolutions. I actually write them down, threaten to make my wife read them, then stow them safely in my desk drawer, only to unearth them a year later to discover that I actually resolved to write a children’s book. True story; I just reviewed my resolutions from last year. I don’t remember why I put that on the list. But I did. And, of course, I failed—but I did, in fact, read a children’s book. Maybe that’s what I meant.
Over the years I’ve also resolved to make a hole-in-one, get better hair, and read War and Peace (on the toilet, during medical school). Fail, fail, and fail. The last one’s a great example of good intentions and no follow-through. Driven by the numerology (1,296 pages+1,296 days of medical school, excluding the last semester, of course, as most of us did=one page per day!) and the symbolism (medical school+grueling+war=challenging, long, grueling book about war) of the goal, I was ultimately undone by an inability to reliably differentiate a Bezukhov from a Bolkonsky, and constipation.
I bring this all up because it is time again for New Year’s resolutions. So here, in no particular order, are my 2012 resolutions.
Oh, That’s How Full Feels!
In 2012, I resolve to finally have a fully staffed HM group. From our group’s origins in 2003 to our current 30-member group, we have been intermittently understaffed to various degrees—a feeling I know most of you have experienced. For a couple of years we were fully staffed, but recent hospital expansions again place us at risk of being understaffed. As most of you know, it is exceedingly difficult to move the clinical, quality, and efficiency goals of a group forward without enough boots on the ground. So, if you’re in the market, the skiing in Colorado can’t be beat!
Appreciate VBP
I resolve to position our hospitalist group for the coming value-based purchasing world. We all know that the future belongs to those who can provide fundamental value—that is, higher-quality care at lower cost. This has been HM’s mantra the past decade. 2012 is the year I resolve to see our group fully realize this.
Leave the Cave
I resolve to (really) learn how to use Epic. We implemented our new Epic electronic health record in 2011. I’m a big proponent, but also a Luddite. I tinker around the edges of what is a truly powerful tool in advancing clinical care. I resolve to move past casual to highly functional user.
Make “10” Perfect
I resolve to figure out this new ICD-10 system. OK, technically it’s not “new.” It’s been complete since 1992 and in use in many countries for the better part of a decade. This is not a simple update of the ICD-9 system; rather, this is an entire overhaul that adds two more digits to the system. This takes the number of possible codes from 13,000 (ICD-9) to 68,000 (ICD-10). This allows for much more specificity and laterality—that is, you could have cellulitis of the right or left foot.
These changes are more than just job security for coders. The issue monetizes as payors decide not to pay for readmissions. Consider a patient who had a right-foot cellulitis, only to be admitted two weeks later with a left-foot cellulitis. ICD-9 does not have laterality, such that both stays would have the same code and the second admit could be denied as a 30-day readmission.
Twitter With Excitement
I resolve to figure out social media. I must admit that this is a red-alert, high-risk-of-failure resolution, partly because I don’t Facebook, tweet, or blog; heck, I’m not even LinkedIn! Additionally, I don’t have any friends. And finally, I just don’t get it. Then again, I didn’t get “The Simpsons” when they first came out. D’oh!
Get Hipper
And I resolve to re-enter the pop culture world in general. My social and cultural life came to a screeching halt near midnight on Sept. 29, 2007: One moment I was innocently watching the Colorado Rockies battle into their first playoffs in 12 years, and the next I was blasted onto a four-year hyper-blur of crying, spoon-feeding, and diaper-changing—for the non-parent readers, I’m describing child-rearing, not residency training, which is admittedly often marked by these same mileposts. Now 4 and 2 years old, my kiddos have finally reached the stages of self-care that allow for my gradual re-entry into the outside world.
As such, I resolve to go to a movie (in the theater) again. The last two movies we saw in the theatre in 2007 were chosen by my pregnant wife and contained an uncomfortable subliminal theme—Knocked Up (pregnant woman hates impregnating sloth of a man), Juno (pregnant woman has love-hate relationship with pasty, impregnating nerd in tight gym shorts).
I’m also interested to see what’s on TV and on the radio. When I last turned off the cathodes, “Lost” was big; ditto “The Sopranos.” And in a clearly ill-fated second season, “Dancing with the Stars” was well on its way to its undeniable cancellation. Musically, Britney was shaving her head and Jordin Sparks was edging out Sanjaya’s faux-hawk on “Idol.”
I’m also looking forward to learning what a Kardashian is (a sweater?), explaining the strange pull toward vampire romances, and discovering the difference between a Pippa and a Snooki. Should be fun. I just hope I don’t catch “Bieber Fever.”
Aspire To “Be The Cup”
Finally, in 2012, I resolve to live up to the coffee cup—you know, the Father’s Day 2011 gift emblazoned with “World’s Best Dad.” I’m sure you all feel this in your own way—that constant tension between work and life. In 2011, work won a few too many of the tug-o’-wars. Too many missed gymnastics lessons, soccer practices, parent events at daycare, and late dinners. 2012 will be different.
I resolve to teach my son the art of hitting a curveball (even if it’s off a tee) and my daughter her letters and numbers. The dogs will get more tennis balls, the wife fewer resolutions to review.
In fact, this year is going to be totally different. This is the year my to-do list doesn’t once again end as an “undid list.” This is the year I will accomplish my resolutions … not just one or two, but all of my resolutions.
And I might just write a children’s book for good measure.
Dr. Glasheen is The Hospitalist’s physician editor.
It’s that time of year again. A new year is upon us. It’s resolution time.
I must admit, somewhat sheepishly, that I am a bit of “resolver.” What can I say? I like to resolve. I like to think about resolutions. I like to plan resolutions. I like to regale my uninterested wife with my resolutions. And I am, in fact, actually quite good at all phases of resolving, with one small exception—the follow-through.
You see, while I love to plan changes in my life, I’m horrible at making changes in my life. There’s nothing too shocking about that, I suppose. Most people fail when change is required. What is interesting, though, is that years of failure have yet to imbue me with the sense to stop resolving. I mean, how many times can a man fail at resolutions before he stumbles upon a resolution to stop resolving—a resolution I’d surely fail at?
But what are perhaps even more interesting are the things I’ve apparently resolved to do. I say “apparently” because not only do I typically not remember making the resolutions, but most often I also can’t even fathom why I’d resolve such things in the first place. But clearly I do. In fact, every year, I commit to about 10-20 resolutions. I actually write them down, threaten to make my wife read them, then stow them safely in my desk drawer, only to unearth them a year later to discover that I actually resolved to write a children’s book. True story; I just reviewed my resolutions from last year. I don’t remember why I put that on the list. But I did. And, of course, I failed—but I did, in fact, read a children’s book. Maybe that’s what I meant.
Over the years I’ve also resolved to make a hole-in-one, get better hair, and read War and Peace (on the toilet, during medical school). Fail, fail, and fail. The last one’s a great example of good intentions and no follow-through. Driven by the numerology (1,296 pages+1,296 days of medical school, excluding the last semester, of course, as most of us did=one page per day!) and the symbolism (medical school+grueling+war=challenging, long, grueling book about war) of the goal, I was ultimately undone by an inability to reliably differentiate a Bezukhov from a Bolkonsky, and constipation.
I bring this all up because it is time again for New Year’s resolutions. So here, in no particular order, are my 2012 resolutions.
Oh, That’s How Full Feels!
In 2012, I resolve to finally have a fully staffed HM group. From our group’s origins in 2003 to our current 30-member group, we have been intermittently understaffed to various degrees—a feeling I know most of you have experienced. For a couple of years we were fully staffed, but recent hospital expansions again place us at risk of being understaffed. As most of you know, it is exceedingly difficult to move the clinical, quality, and efficiency goals of a group forward without enough boots on the ground. So, if you’re in the market, the skiing in Colorado can’t be beat!
Appreciate VBP
I resolve to position our hospitalist group for the coming value-based purchasing world. We all know that the future belongs to those who can provide fundamental value—that is, higher-quality care at lower cost. This has been HM’s mantra the past decade. 2012 is the year I resolve to see our group fully realize this.
Leave the Cave
I resolve to (really) learn how to use Epic. We implemented our new Epic electronic health record in 2011. I’m a big proponent, but also a Luddite. I tinker around the edges of what is a truly powerful tool in advancing clinical care. I resolve to move past casual to highly functional user.
Make “10” Perfect
I resolve to figure out this new ICD-10 system. OK, technically it’s not “new.” It’s been complete since 1992 and in use in many countries for the better part of a decade. This is not a simple update of the ICD-9 system; rather, this is an entire overhaul that adds two more digits to the system. This takes the number of possible codes from 13,000 (ICD-9) to 68,000 (ICD-10). This allows for much more specificity and laterality—that is, you could have cellulitis of the right or left foot.
These changes are more than just job security for coders. The issue monetizes as payors decide not to pay for readmissions. Consider a patient who had a right-foot cellulitis, only to be admitted two weeks later with a left-foot cellulitis. ICD-9 does not have laterality, such that both stays would have the same code and the second admit could be denied as a 30-day readmission.
Twitter With Excitement
I resolve to figure out social media. I must admit that this is a red-alert, high-risk-of-failure resolution, partly because I don’t Facebook, tweet, or blog; heck, I’m not even LinkedIn! Additionally, I don’t have any friends. And finally, I just don’t get it. Then again, I didn’t get “The Simpsons” when they first came out. D’oh!
Get Hipper
And I resolve to re-enter the pop culture world in general. My social and cultural life came to a screeching halt near midnight on Sept. 29, 2007: One moment I was innocently watching the Colorado Rockies battle into their first playoffs in 12 years, and the next I was blasted onto a four-year hyper-blur of crying, spoon-feeding, and diaper-changing—for the non-parent readers, I’m describing child-rearing, not residency training, which is admittedly often marked by these same mileposts. Now 4 and 2 years old, my kiddos have finally reached the stages of self-care that allow for my gradual re-entry into the outside world.
As such, I resolve to go to a movie (in the theater) again. The last two movies we saw in the theatre in 2007 were chosen by my pregnant wife and contained an uncomfortable subliminal theme—Knocked Up (pregnant woman hates impregnating sloth of a man), Juno (pregnant woman has love-hate relationship with pasty, impregnating nerd in tight gym shorts).
I’m also interested to see what’s on TV and on the radio. When I last turned off the cathodes, “Lost” was big; ditto “The Sopranos.” And in a clearly ill-fated second season, “Dancing with the Stars” was well on its way to its undeniable cancellation. Musically, Britney was shaving her head and Jordin Sparks was edging out Sanjaya’s faux-hawk on “Idol.”
I’m also looking forward to learning what a Kardashian is (a sweater?), explaining the strange pull toward vampire romances, and discovering the difference between a Pippa and a Snooki. Should be fun. I just hope I don’t catch “Bieber Fever.”
Aspire To “Be The Cup”
Finally, in 2012, I resolve to live up to the coffee cup—you know, the Father’s Day 2011 gift emblazoned with “World’s Best Dad.” I’m sure you all feel this in your own way—that constant tension between work and life. In 2011, work won a few too many of the tug-o’-wars. Too many missed gymnastics lessons, soccer practices, parent events at daycare, and late dinners. 2012 will be different.
I resolve to teach my son the art of hitting a curveball (even if it’s off a tee) and my daughter her letters and numbers. The dogs will get more tennis balls, the wife fewer resolutions to review.
In fact, this year is going to be totally different. This is the year my to-do list doesn’t once again end as an “undid list.” This is the year I will accomplish my resolutions … not just one or two, but all of my resolutions.
And I might just write a children’s book for good measure.
Dr. Glasheen is The Hospitalist’s physician editor.
It’s that time of year again. A new year is upon us. It’s resolution time.
I must admit, somewhat sheepishly, that I am a bit of “resolver.” What can I say? I like to resolve. I like to think about resolutions. I like to plan resolutions. I like to regale my uninterested wife with my resolutions. And I am, in fact, actually quite good at all phases of resolving, with one small exception—the follow-through.
You see, while I love to plan changes in my life, I’m horrible at making changes in my life. There’s nothing too shocking about that, I suppose. Most people fail when change is required. What is interesting, though, is that years of failure have yet to imbue me with the sense to stop resolving. I mean, how many times can a man fail at resolutions before he stumbles upon a resolution to stop resolving—a resolution I’d surely fail at?
But what are perhaps even more interesting are the things I’ve apparently resolved to do. I say “apparently” because not only do I typically not remember making the resolutions, but most often I also can’t even fathom why I’d resolve such things in the first place. But clearly I do. In fact, every year, I commit to about 10-20 resolutions. I actually write them down, threaten to make my wife read them, then stow them safely in my desk drawer, only to unearth them a year later to discover that I actually resolved to write a children’s book. True story; I just reviewed my resolutions from last year. I don’t remember why I put that on the list. But I did. And, of course, I failed—but I did, in fact, read a children’s book. Maybe that’s what I meant.
Over the years I’ve also resolved to make a hole-in-one, get better hair, and read War and Peace (on the toilet, during medical school). Fail, fail, and fail. The last one’s a great example of good intentions and no follow-through. Driven by the numerology (1,296 pages+1,296 days of medical school, excluding the last semester, of course, as most of us did=one page per day!) and the symbolism (medical school+grueling+war=challenging, long, grueling book about war) of the goal, I was ultimately undone by an inability to reliably differentiate a Bezukhov from a Bolkonsky, and constipation.
I bring this all up because it is time again for New Year’s resolutions. So here, in no particular order, are my 2012 resolutions.
Oh, That’s How Full Feels!
In 2012, I resolve to finally have a fully staffed HM group. From our group’s origins in 2003 to our current 30-member group, we have been intermittently understaffed to various degrees—a feeling I know most of you have experienced. For a couple of years we were fully staffed, but recent hospital expansions again place us at risk of being understaffed. As most of you know, it is exceedingly difficult to move the clinical, quality, and efficiency goals of a group forward without enough boots on the ground. So, if you’re in the market, the skiing in Colorado can’t be beat!
Appreciate VBP
I resolve to position our hospitalist group for the coming value-based purchasing world. We all know that the future belongs to those who can provide fundamental value—that is, higher-quality care at lower cost. This has been HM’s mantra the past decade. 2012 is the year I resolve to see our group fully realize this.
Leave the Cave
I resolve to (really) learn how to use Epic. We implemented our new Epic electronic health record in 2011. I’m a big proponent, but also a Luddite. I tinker around the edges of what is a truly powerful tool in advancing clinical care. I resolve to move past casual to highly functional user.
Make “10” Perfect
I resolve to figure out this new ICD-10 system. OK, technically it’s not “new.” It’s been complete since 1992 and in use in many countries for the better part of a decade. This is not a simple update of the ICD-9 system; rather, this is an entire overhaul that adds two more digits to the system. This takes the number of possible codes from 13,000 (ICD-9) to 68,000 (ICD-10). This allows for much more specificity and laterality—that is, you could have cellulitis of the right or left foot.
These changes are more than just job security for coders. The issue monetizes as payors decide not to pay for readmissions. Consider a patient who had a right-foot cellulitis, only to be admitted two weeks later with a left-foot cellulitis. ICD-9 does not have laterality, such that both stays would have the same code and the second admit could be denied as a 30-day readmission.
Twitter With Excitement
I resolve to figure out social media. I must admit that this is a red-alert, high-risk-of-failure resolution, partly because I don’t Facebook, tweet, or blog; heck, I’m not even LinkedIn! Additionally, I don’t have any friends. And finally, I just don’t get it. Then again, I didn’t get “The Simpsons” when they first came out. D’oh!
Get Hipper
And I resolve to re-enter the pop culture world in general. My social and cultural life came to a screeching halt near midnight on Sept. 29, 2007: One moment I was innocently watching the Colorado Rockies battle into their first playoffs in 12 years, and the next I was blasted onto a four-year hyper-blur of crying, spoon-feeding, and diaper-changing—for the non-parent readers, I’m describing child-rearing, not residency training, which is admittedly often marked by these same mileposts. Now 4 and 2 years old, my kiddos have finally reached the stages of self-care that allow for my gradual re-entry into the outside world.
As such, I resolve to go to a movie (in the theater) again. The last two movies we saw in the theatre in 2007 were chosen by my pregnant wife and contained an uncomfortable subliminal theme—Knocked Up (pregnant woman hates impregnating sloth of a man), Juno (pregnant woman has love-hate relationship with pasty, impregnating nerd in tight gym shorts).
I’m also interested to see what’s on TV and on the radio. When I last turned off the cathodes, “Lost” was big; ditto “The Sopranos.” And in a clearly ill-fated second season, “Dancing with the Stars” was well on its way to its undeniable cancellation. Musically, Britney was shaving her head and Jordin Sparks was edging out Sanjaya’s faux-hawk on “Idol.”
I’m also looking forward to learning what a Kardashian is (a sweater?), explaining the strange pull toward vampire romances, and discovering the difference between a Pippa and a Snooki. Should be fun. I just hope I don’t catch “Bieber Fever.”
Aspire To “Be The Cup”
Finally, in 2012, I resolve to live up to the coffee cup—you know, the Father’s Day 2011 gift emblazoned with “World’s Best Dad.” I’m sure you all feel this in your own way—that constant tension between work and life. In 2011, work won a few too many of the tug-o’-wars. Too many missed gymnastics lessons, soccer practices, parent events at daycare, and late dinners. 2012 will be different.
I resolve to teach my son the art of hitting a curveball (even if it’s off a tee) and my daughter her letters and numbers. The dogs will get more tennis balls, the wife fewer resolutions to review.
In fact, this year is going to be totally different. This is the year my to-do list doesn’t once again end as an “undid list.” This is the year I will accomplish my resolutions … not just one or two, but all of my resolutions.
And I might just write a children’s book for good measure.
Dr. Glasheen is The Hospitalist’s physician editor.