Are resident doctors unhappy? Why?

In a New York Times “Upshot” piece on December 7, 2017, Dhruv Khullar notes that “Being a doctor is hard. It’s harder for women”. I do not doubt it, especially the second part. Dr. Khullar goes through a host of reasons for why it is harder for women, most of them related to sexism (including internalized sexism) such as having children, having the bulk of the responsibility for maintaining a household, being seen as less smart or competent by supervisors and colleagues, and on and on. The idea that “being a doctor is hard” is also one I can agree with. However, Dr. Khullar’s piece focuses mainly on residents, medical school graduates who are in specialty training. He opens it with a parody of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina: “Happy medical residents are all alike. Every unhappy resident would take a long time to count.”

This is where I take issue, at least a little, with his perspective. Mainly this is because I do not remember being unhappy as a resident several decades ago. Tired, often, but not unhappy. I liked the work I did, as a family medicine resident at Cook County Hospital in the late 1970s, both caring for patients in the hospital on a variety of specialty services and in our hospital and community-based outpatient practices. I liked my colleagues, in family medicine and in other departments, and liked working with them. I learned a lot from them. I don’t recall most of my colleagues being unhappy either, and checked with a few with whom I am still in touch, and they also do not recall being unhappy. One, indeed, said he wasn’t even that tired, as he slept through most noon conferences!

There were not only fewer women residents and medical students, but they were (in my  experience) less likely to be married and have children. A small minority of students in my medical school class were married, but now it is common. I married (another resident) and we had our first child during residency, but when I was a program director, the majority of my residents were married by the time they started (I remember a year when five women started the program with different last names than they had interviewed with).

Yet several studies do tend to support Dr. Khullar’s assertions about residents in general being unhappy, as well as feeling overworked, and I think my experience as a family medicine program director and that of one of my colleagues (and former wife) as an internal medicine program director, support the idea that more recent residents seem unhappier, at least compared to us, then, at that hospital. There could be many reasons for this, including the possibility that memory is inaccurate, and distance dulls the pain, but I don’t think that this is the main one.

Another reason could, theoretically, be that the work was less or easier back then. Indeed, at Cook County Hospital in the late 1970s most residents had every-fourth-night call, a direct result of having a residents’ union in the hospital that negotiated working conditions. Dr. Khullar asserts that “The structure of medical training has changed little since the 1960s, when almost all residents were men with few household duties.” I think that he is wrong about this. Residents who trained in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, before me and the union, often had every other night call (yes, work all day and all night and the next day, then go home and crash and come back to work). There is a reason that these doctors in training are called “residents” and “interns”; Cook County had a residents’ residence, where many actually lived and all had “call rooms” where we could get, maybe, a couple of hours rest. Although call was every 4^th night, there were no other “hours rules”; Cook County had 16 medical services, with 4 taking call every 4^th night and taking every 4^th admission, and the two interns on each service thus taking every 8^th, but this could easily be 10 or more patients per intern per night. And one didn’t get to go home the next day at a certain time even though other services were on call. One specific example was CT scans; Cook County Hospital didn’t have one then, but the private hospital across the street, Rush, did. We could take our patients there, but only at night, when they were finished with their routine scans, and the patients had to be accompanied by the Cook County intern caring for them. Often at midnight, the night after they had been admitted. Residents also did most of the work; attending physicians were not in the hospital at night, and in the day had time only to round on new admissions and those who were very sick. Even having every 4^th night call was a big change from every other or 3^rd night, but I do not think we had less work than most residents have today.

My point is not to try to disparage the tiredness or unhappiness of more recent residents by citing the “bad old days” when things were worse and we had to walk to school in the snow uphill both ways (although the weather was worse in Chicago then, thanks to global warming, and it was possible in winter to arrive and leave in the dark, and thanks to the system of tunnels under Cook County never see the sun). It is simply to note that workload is not the sole, or main, determinant of whether residents are happy or not. And here I can just speak from my limited experience. Many of us who were residents at Cook County Hospital were there for a reason. From the several Chicago medical schools and those further afield, we came because we were committed to providing the best possible care for people who were poor, underserved, and often ignored. We knew, and daily had reinforced, that our best efforts could not make up for the impact of poverty and discrimination; that despite the fact that the hospital did not charge patients, even for outpatient medications (although they had to wait hours for their prescriptions to be filled) the obstacles to their health were enormous. But we, most of us, cared, and tried to do our best. Our residency was not just a step on the path to a career as a successful physician, but an opportunity to work with and try to help people who had real need. We had a mission, not necessarily in the religious sense (although many who came as residents to Cook County were inspired and motivated by their religious convictions).

And, as a result of this shared mission we were each others’ greatest support, personally as well as medically. Medically, the 4 services with 4 residents, 8 interns, a chief resident, and medical students, shared an “admitting ward”, as so we were all together, to consult, to review x-rays, and help with procedures. But personally, we could reinforce each others’ beliefs, and provide support, succor, and even inspiration. I think that was the biggest part, for me at least.

Certainly, my experience at Cook County may not have been typical for residents of the era (indeed, that is part of why I chose it). Certainly, there were unhappy residents then, and uncommitted residents then, and women residents who were burdened with the care of the household and children. And, as certainly, there are now and have been ever since, happy and committed and inspirational residents. I guess “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen one”. But I am pretty sure that a commitment to something greater than yourself and your self-interest helps a lot, as does training in a place where many of your colleagues feel the same way. And maybe that’s a lot of what we need as doctors, not just residents.

And as people.

A New Way of Ranking Medical Schools: Social Mission

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In the June issue of the Annals of Internal Medicine, Fitzhugh Mullan, Candice Chen, Stephen Petterson, Gretchen Kolsky, and Michael Spagnola, mostly from the Department of Health Policy at the George Washington University (and one from the Robert Graham Center) report on “The social mission of medical education: ranking the schools”. This study, sponsored by the Josiah Macy, Jr. Foundation as part of the Medical Education Futures Study (MEFS) is the first report to look at this area, and should be eye-opening to those who assume that “good” medical schools are “good” at everything. Most ranking systems, most notably those of US News and World Report, are based on NIH research funding, grades and test scores of entering students, “competitiveness” (how low a percent of applicants they accept) and reputation. Obviously, the grades and test scores are related to competitiveness and reputation is a tautology, because it reinforces itself. It should depend upon what you are looking at, of course. I addressed this in “Rankings of Medical Schools: Do they tell us anything?” (September 25, 2009), and observed that what they tell us is who does well in what is measured, and that this should only be important to us if those are the outcomes we value.

Mullan and colleagues evaluate different outcomes, the degree to which medical schools meet their “social mission”, or to put it another way, the degree to which they produce the physicians that will take care of the American people. More to the point, since it can be argued that most medical school graduates take care of some American people, physicians who will take care of those people who need it the most because they don’t already have doctors. This means largely those in poor communities, rural communities, and minority communities (and especially those communities that are two or three of these). They look at 3 characteristics of graduates: 1) what percent of their graduates are practicing primary care, 2) what percent of their graduates are practicing in designated Health Professions Shortage Areas (HPSAs), and 3) what percent of their graduates are members of underrepresented minority groups? This is pretty straightforward, and they take two other steps to try and ensure that this is an accurate reflection.

The first is that they examined students, in the graduating classes of 1999-2001, 8 years after graduation. As I have pointed out several times (Primary Care and Residency Expansion, January 7, 2010; Funding Graduate Medical Education, May 25, 2009), the “credit” medical schools claim for students entering “primary care” residencies includes all those entering internal medicine programs, the vast majority of whom will enter subspecialty training. By looking at students 8 years after graduation, after they have completed residency and subspecialty fellowship training, they are able to get a much more accurate picture of who is actually doing primary care. Similarly, it also means that those who are practicing in HPSAs have been doing it for several years. Overall, public schools did much better than private schools, and Southern, Midwestern, and Western schools better than Northeastern schools.

In terms of underrepresented minority students, the percent of graduates, for public medical schools, is compared to the percent of the underrepresented minority population for the state, while for private schools, which are presumed to draw from a more national base, it is the national percentage (26.5%). Thus, for example, the University of Iowa has a positive ratio with 8.1% minority students in a state that is only 6% minority, while the Universidad de Puerto Rico en Ponce has a negative ratio because, even though their students are 82.5% underrepresented minorities, their “state” is 98.8%. The underrepresented minority scores for the 3 historically black medical schools, Morehouse, Meharry and Howard are so high, compared to the national average (as they are all private) that they are easily the top 3 in the overall social mission score. This tends to wash out the significant differences between them on the other two areas. For example Meharry does well in producing primary care physicians (49.3%, or 2 standard deviations [SD] above the national mean) compared to Howard, which at 36.5% is only 0.19 SD above the mean; Howard, however, does better at placing students in HPSAs (33.7%, +0.78 SD) than Meharry (28.1%, +0.12 SD). Ponce, despite its negative underrepresented minority score and also a negative primary care physician score (-0.31 SD*), ranks #9 nationally in total social mission score. This is based on its high rate of physicians practicing in HPSAs (43.8%, +1.94 SD), because so much of its service area are HPSAs.

The data can be analyzed in a number of ways. Osteopathic schools have a much higher rate of producing primary care doctors, but none were in the top 20 because their percent of underrepresented minorities are low. Adding only the two dimensions of primary care and HPSA practice shows only 7 schools with a standardized score above 3, all of them public allopathic schools and 4 of them “community based” medical schools with a specific commitment to primary care (as is Wright State, the #4 ranked school in overall social mission). A few top NIH research schools (4, to be exact) “defied the trend” and were in, at least, the top quartile of social mission scores, again all public schools. Other than the historically black schools, private schools were nowhere to be seen.

The schools that traditionally do well on rankings such as that of US News tended to be at the bottom of this scale. They are overwhelmingly private (14 of the bottom 20) and generally highly NIH-funded. Comments from the leaders of those schools, unsurprisingly, tended to disparage the study and its methods, and to assert, essentially, that “our school does well on all of its missions.” If those missions include the social missions of meeting the health needs of the American people by producing minority and primary care physicians, and those that practice in underserved areas, they clearly do not. And, while some are better than others, no medical schools are doing very well at enrolling underrepresented minorities (except the historically black schools and the Puerto Rican schools) or at producing physicians for rural areas at anything approaching the percent of Americans who live in those areas (Primary Care and Rural Areas, April 28, 2010).

This is not to say that other missions of medical schools, such as biomedical research, cutting-edge medical care, and training of the future generations of academics, including the MD/PhDs who will be laboratory-based researchers, are unimportant. Lawrence G. Smith and Veronica M. Catanese emphasize this point in their accompanying editorial, “The Many Missions of Medical Schools”, as well as noting various possible ways in which the production of physicians who fulfill a social mission might have been underestimated by Mullan, et. al. They also note, as I have above, that different schools do better or worse on the different social mission measures, but also that success in the social mission needs to be pursued, as success in all other missions: “The lack of concordance among the 3 elements of Mullan and colleagues' social mission score suggests that medical schools that accept this mission—as they must—cannot define social mission narrowly. They must have multipronged initiatives and not simply 'wait' for programs aimed at recruiting and retaining underrepresented minority students, or at specifically incentivizing primary care, to bear fruit.”

The key point is that the data produced by Mullan and colleagues that shows that schools which are historically highly ranked do relatively poorly in social mission is not due to a flawed methodology. “The level of NIH support that medical schools received was inversely associated with their output of primary care physicians and physicians practicing in underserved areas.” It is because these schools do not emphasize the characteristics that they are measuring, combined into the concept of social mission, nearly as highly as they do their other missions and do not put as much energy, time, or especially money into them. Mullan et. al. conclude that “Some schools may choose other priorities, but in this time of national reconsideration, it seems appropriate that all schools examine their educational commitment regarding the service needs of their states and the nation. A diverse, equitably distributed physician workforce with a strong primary care base is essential to achieve quality health care that is accessible and affordable, regardless of the nature of any future health care reform.”

The authors note that “Medical schools, however, are the only institutions in our society that can produce physicians”. It is up to the people of the US, particularly the communities in need and the policy makers who represent them, to decide how high a priority producing physicians who will meet our social need by practicing in specialties, in areas, and with populations who do not have doctors, and how to use the public coffers to achieve this. The time is long past, however, for these characteristics not to be measured. We can no longer, in self-indulgence or ignorance, assume that those schools that are the “best” on US News rankings because of NIH research funding, selectivity, and “reputation” are the best in every area. In producing the doctors most needed by this nation’s most needy, they are, with few exceptions, mostly the worst.

*Like the other Puerto Rican Schools, Ponce has a low production of family physicians, ranking 117 out of 128 medical schools for producing FPs in the 10 years from 1999-2008, as reported by the American Academy of Family Physicians (AAFP) annual analysis.
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