The EMR, and AI: Are they good? Pose risks? Both?

When I worked with residents in the hospital, the electronic medical record, EMR, was relatively new. We were fortunate to work in a hospital that invested heavily in a good, well-regarded EMR, and spent quite a bit on training the doctors to use it. In the end, almost all the “stakeholders” agreed on which one was best, and the hospital bought it, and had us trained. Good for them.

The EMR wasn’t perfect though. In addition, the hospital didn’t buy all the parts. EMRs come in modules, some necessary, some elective, especially back then. It was clear that the hospital had prioritized the modules for billing, and especially for maximizing billing. Also, anything that the subspecialists who earned the hospital lots of money wanted. Other modules, particularly those that would enhance primary care, were more rudimentary or absent. Some of the things that many of us thought would be easily facilitated by a computerized database and looked forward to having were not available. Surely, once everyone is loaded into the computer, it should be simple to print out a list of all the patients with diabetes assigned to a particular doctor! That would really help us to track them, contact them, make sure they didn’t fall through any cracks. Whoops, sorry, we didn’t buy that module. The maximization of potential billing, on the other hand, was not only there but required many different screens to be filled out, effectively transferring work to physicians from someone else.* And it was inconsistent in how it treated health risks. For example, tobacco use had a who series of questions, including information the patient themselves probably forgot about how much, when, etc., but there was only one on whether they drank alcohol.

There were many things that the EMR did make easier, though, including writing long notes in the chart, since people didn’t have to write by hand. Like the Word® program I am using, and most other computer programs, cut-and-paste became easy and routine. Residents’ notes got longer because they could cut-and-paste yesterday’s note and (hopefully) update it. But sometimes they might forget the update part; it could be embarrassing if yesterday’s note said “surgery tomorrow” and it still said it in today’s note, even though the surgery had occurred that morning! The EMR also facilitated making notes longer by importing all the lab results and radiology reports. This is important information, but it is also available elsewhere (i.e., in the lab and radiology sections). A simple “Radiology exams normal” or whatever they showed would have been much better than cutting and pasting the whole report, as well as briefer. Better because it would have required the resident to read it, make an assessment (“it’s normal”, or “it shows a tumor”) and write that. It would have required thinking. Not to say that they didn’t think, but a summary in their own words would have demonstrated that in a way that cut-and-paste couldn’t.

But the biggest problem with the EMR is the amount of time that it takes to complete, especially in outpatient clinic settings, and especially for primary care clinicians who usually have a wider variety of issues to address and less money to hire others (scribes, sometimes nurses or even NPs or PAs) to do their documentation for them. It is not uncommon for primary care physicians to spend more time documenting in the EMR, frequently at home at night**, than seeing the patient! And in the inpatient setting, hospitals hire nurses to comb charts looking for ways to “upcode”, to charge more.*** (A part of the ongoing contest between providers and insurers to see who can hit the other up for more (except when they have been vertically integrated, more common in outpatient settings, see Vertical Integration saves money. And CVS and its competitors use that to line their pockets, not provide healthcare, May 21, 2026). And potentially costing the patient more, if the insurer refuses to pay it all.

And now we have AI. Or AI is having us. The debate on AI, on whether it will create a great new world or a “Brave New World” à la Huxley, rages on, now with the Pope getting involved with a new 42,000 word encyclical. AI is happening, will continue to happen, and will continue to have effects, many untoward, and some of those resolving – but not necessarily in ways that are good for people. And there are many different people, not just in the US but in the world. Recent commentaries have suggested the benefit would be greatest for the well-off and well-educated (well, almost all things do), although what seem to be “regular” people are using it to bolster their “home brewed lawsuits” and clogging up courts (good or bad?)

I know a lot of doctors who are thrilled about AI, and see it as a vehicle for reversing, or at least slowing, the constant drain on their time that comes from more documentation being required for billing, for insurers, and even for government regulations, in some ways a counter-weight to the EMR. They have apps that record the entire encounter, and then AI drafts a progress note that covers all the essential information in the conversation for both clinical and legal/billing purposes. Then the clinician reviews, augments, and corrects the AI-generated note. Hopefully. That is a danger. AI (as well as clinicians, it should be noted) can make mistakes, and provide incorrect information. With people, we know who to blame. However, recent experiences with friends and family encounters with the health care system suggests that once something gets into the medical record, especially a digital one (indeed, all digital data collection), it is there forever and efforts to correct it do not always take.

And, back to the residents copying their notes rather than creating original ones, it is comparable (if more high-stakes than) to students using AI to write their papers. It allows the appearance of creation and completion without the thinking required to learn to do the job right. Of course, AI advocates argue that AI learns to think more reliably than do people. Maybe this is not a scary idea. A recent opinion piece in the New York Times by Dr. Helen Ouyang suggests that AI (ChatGPT, in this case) gives good, well-researched medical information, and, more important, is accessible to answer questions when the doctor isn’t. The author notes that ”Of course, as a doctor, I know when to question the chatbot and when to ignore it. Many other patients don’t.” That’s right, and that’s a concern. Most of us who have used AI know that it isn’t always right, but if it’s a topic we don’t know about, we don’t know.

The other thing that Dr. Ouyang liked about ChatGPT was, ironically, its personality, since “I had always assumed the ‘human side’ of medicine was the part A.I. couldn’t touch.” The AI was unflaggingly positive, upbeat and encouraging, and never got irritated about repeated or “stupid” questions. People miss this when dealing with – people. While some doctors, like other people, are not, by nature, always warm, positive or supportive, the circumstances in which they work, the pressure from their employers (see several previous pieces, recently Why is it so hard to get medical care? And what should we do about it?, March 15, 2026, and The problem with the US healthcare 'system': THE INSATIABLE PURSUIT OF EVER MORE MONEY BY CORPORATIONS AND WALL ST., Feb 25, 2026). We should also remember, that while being nice, and friendly, and supportive is usually good, it is also a strategy for gaining your trust that has been misused by bad actors throughout history. And AI never gets tired of doing it, never wants to go home, never misses its kids, and doesn’t have to worry about spending as much time completing the EMR as it did seeing you! (see Does AI communicate better than real doctors? If so, why is that?, Nov 20, 2025).

So, I guess that the jury is not in on AI, or its most effective and reliable and accurate utilization. When it is, it will probably be too late to change it.

  

*This is only one example of work that has been transferred to the primary user. I have long made my own travel arrangements, and like it because I know what I want, but it takes a lot of my time.

**Another example of work transferred to the clinician, at the expense of their family.

***See this piece for a clear example of widespread and profound upcoding: https://healthcareuncovered.substack.com/p/government-watchdog-agency-finds

Doctors need to care: It's about the patients, not about you

 

 Recently, a friend of a friend had an accident and fell in her driveway. After two days of pain that did not improve, she went to an urgent care center where an x-ray was taken and the PA told her that there was no rib fracture and her lung had not collapsed, so she went home. The next day the urgent care center called back and said “whoops, there is a rib fracture and you do have a collapsed lung”. They said they’d call her primary care doctor, but didn’t. The patient tried to, but the doctor was on vacation. The covering physician refused to see her. So our mutual friend, who is a physician and surgeon who lives 1000 miles away, called someone who lived in the patient’s town to take her to the emergency room. There, they re-x-rayed her, and admitted her to the hospital, telling her that they would need to insert a small tube to remove the air (called a pneumothorax) from around her lung. The doctors said she refused the procedure, although she says she just asked some questions about it. She was admitted for “observation”, and given oxygen. In the morning, since the x-ray was no better, they said that they would have to keep her in the hospital, but this later was reversed on a visit from the resident on the hospitalist service, who said she could go home.

 Our mutual friend called the resident, asked about it, was told that it was OK to discharge her (quoting the “resident’s best friend”, the medical information website UpToDate®) and would not put the friend in touch with the attending physician. However, the patient was terrified about going home, especially given her accident, that she lived alone, that she had had her bad experience with the urgent care center, and that her physician was out of town. I suggested that our mutual friend might try to contact a hospital administrator to see if the attending physician could be reached. Then I got a message that there was a new hospitalist over the weekend, who happened to be a family physician, and who tried a novel approach: she talked to the patient, examined her, and reviewed the chest x-rays. After this, she decided to call a pulmonary specialist, and it was decided to insert a chest tube. The patient, with the proper treatment, improved and should get better.

 So probably the story will have a happy ending, at least from the point of view of ultimately getting the right treatment. The woman who was the patient may recover physically, but is unlikely to recover a lot of faith in what is amusingly called our health care “system”. The number of things done wrong were many, and most could be blamed on the individuals; the PA in urgent care who mistakenly thought that they could accurately read the chest x-ray, the provider in the emergency department who was apparently in too much of a rush to answer her questions and decided the fact that she had them meant she was refusing the recommended treatment, the hospitalist service who changed their mind about her need for hospitalization without explanation, the resident who would not contact the attending physician, and the attending physician who apparently did not want to be contacted.

 But to blame just the individuals would be incorrect, although we can be very enthusiastic in lauding the weekend hospitalist who decided to actually care for the patient. The system is critical here. I do not know that hospital, but I imagine the doctors in both the emergency department and on the hospital floors are stressed an overworked, and that the way they responded to the patient in question, while unjustifiable, was probably caused in part by that overwork and stress. The resident may have been the “point person” in contact with the patient, but the service attending was ultimately the one making the decision. Poor role modeling by attending physicians and senior residents is common and leads to poor behaviors by residents, who are often more concerned with their own workload or pleasing their bosses than providing proper patient care. In such busy situations, patients are often assessed quickly, and judgements are made not just regarding their medical problem, but their personality. Are they going to be a “good patient” – meaning that they will quickly accede to doing what I am recommending -- or are they going to cause me “trouble” and cost me time? That trouble can be real if the patient is aggressive, intoxicated with alcohol or other substances, or has a serious mental health diagnosis, but it is sadly true that the label “troublesome” patient can even be applied to someone who asks perfectly appropriate and reasonable questions about the treatment being proposed for them.

 Racism provides us with a bit of a metaphor, in the sense that there is both an individual and a structural (or institutional) component. Yes, behavior by individuals can be inappropriate and wrong and blameworthy. But if we leave it at that, if we do not understand the overall structure that encourages or facilitates such individual behavior, we will never solve the problem. We will never decrease or end racist behavior, and we will never ensure that patients get treated with the respect and concern that they should. Racism affects the medical system and medical education as it does the rest of society, but disrespect and self-centeredness can inhibit appropriate medical care even when race is not involved. Indeed, in this case the patient was a 70-ish middle-class white woman. One can imagine with what frequency, and to what degree, people are treated with disrespect – and poor medical care – when they are members of minority groups, poor, homeless, have a psychiatric diagnosis, are not clean and nice-smelling, are not coherent, are under the influence of a substance, etc. Of course, if one is a health care worker, one need not imagine it; one sees it all the time.

 As a family doctor, I would like to take pride in the fact that the “hero” of our story also was one. In fact, I will. I actually believe that the training of family physicians, and the emphasis on caring for the patient rather than a particular problem, makes a difference, and enhances the caring characteristics of the individuals who choose to enter this specialty. That is, I think it is more than a coincidence. However, of course there are wonderful caring physicians, including resident physicians, in every other specialty, as well as family physicians who are jerks. I just think that it is a smaller percent.

 Should there be any jerks in medicine? I have heard it argued that in some specialties, it is not necessary to have good “people skills”. In pathology, or diagnostic radiology, or even anesthesiology, where the doctor spends little or no time with living patients. Or in surgical and other procedural specialties, where technical skill, not “bedside manner”, is what matters. Sometimes I have acknowledged that this made some sense. Until I thought about the colleagues I have had in every specialty. And in every case the good ones cared about the patients they were involved with, whether or not they met them face-to-face.

 The pathologist or radiologist knows it is also their patient, and the use of their skills in the performance of their jobs may make the difference in a person’s life, or death. They care. Caring may not be the same as “people skills”; we recognize that some people have greater difficulty connecting directly with others, and are certainly not trying to create a profession full of hucksters and snake-oil salesman with false charm. But we do want one whose practitioners can convey concern, and caring, and at the minimum not disparage the people who are in their care.

 So, yes, I think that everyone admitted to medical school should care about people. And, yes, I think that we need to ensure that our medical education does not beat or role-model it out of them. Our residents need to have schedules and lives that are reasonable enough that, when they are tired or frustrated, they don’t act out. Our attending physicians need to be available.

 Even when you are tired or overworked, it is not ok to be cruel or insensitive any more than to be racist or sexist. After all, there is a reason that this profession exists, and it is not to provide a good life for the practitioners. It is to try to maximize the health of the people for whom it cares.

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.