The 2 short years in the cocoon of residency ended, and I was flying solo on the picturesque but sparsely populated coast of Maine. My colleagues and I were fulfilling our 2-year military obligations at the Brunswick Naval Air Station, hundreds of miles from the support systems our tertiary care centers had provided. As the only pediatrician on the dispensary staff, I felt particularly vulnerable.
At least I was in the same time zone in which I had trained. I still knew most of the beeper numbers or could remember the extensions and the first names of the department secretaries. Usually within minutes, the familiar and calming voice of one of my favorite subspecialists or pediatric mentors would set me on the path to the correct diagnosis and management plan. Of course, I could have asked one of the pediatricians in town for advice, and eventually, I did. But, in the beginning, I was embarrassed to reveal my soft underbelly to the townies.
Within a few months, I was moonlighting for a local pediatrician and, after 2 years, I joined him as a partner. However, it took another several years to wean myself off my dependency on the subspecialists at the big-city medical center where I had trained. To some extent, this was because in the 1970s and 1980s, Maine had few pediatric subspecialists.
Eventually, I developed my own list of favorite local consultants. While the quality of advice was the prime determinant in my choice of a consultant, availability was a close second. How easy was it to get the specialist on the phone? If the clinical situation was not terribly time sensitive and I knew the consultant always was painfully overbooked, I would ask my question in a short typed note, and even include a S.A.S.E. (self-addressed stamped envelope). This – of course – was before email had been invented.
How likely was the consultant going to provide the answer I wanted to hear? If I thought the patient needed P-E (pressure equalizer) tubes, I could choose any ENT specialist. If, on the other hand, I felt that watching and waiting was the better option, I would choose the physician I knew was least likely to advise surgery.
I am unaware that any of the physicians I consulted ever charged the patient for my phone calls or notes. In some cases, their reward came in the opportunity to perform surgery. I rarely received small gifts during the holidays from consultants who were trying to build their practices. And I never gave tokens of appreciation to consultants or their staff to secure their timely response to my pleas for help. However, I always included a personal thank-you note with the self-designed holiday cards I sent to my favorites. And when a consultant had bailed me out of a particularly challenging situation, I often sent a handwritten note in follow-up.
Dr. William G. Wilkoff
But, for me, the care and grooming of a good stable of consultants began with acknowledging that their time was at least as valuable as mine. The more carefully I crafted my question and the more complete the history I could provide, the more efficiently the consultant could provide me with the answer I needed.
Regrettably, but predictably, those days of free advice are fading away. The new revision of the CPT codes includes at least twelve codes for “interprofessional consultation.” Time is – and has always been – money. As everyone’s time is increasingly being gobbled up by electronic advancements that promised to save us time, no one seems to have time to make or answer that call that begins, “Can I ask you a quick question about a patient?”
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.” Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.