We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.
~Joy Harjo: Eagle Poem
Dear Reader,
In the first blog post, I hope I was able to clearly communicate why I wanted to be a physician. In this second post, I will share why I wanted to start my own practice.
(For millennial readers: TL,DR - doctor undergoes cancer treatment during the COVID pandemic and finally has time to re-evaluate her life goals).
Like most people, I’ve dreamed of doing brave things. And there are people who have the privilege to do it but take it for granted. Or more often, we just do not have the courage nor the time nor the opportunity, or all three.
But strangely, the years 2019-2022 happened to me and I was granted all of these.
I had heard about direct primary care (DPC) in 2012. Occasionally, I would let myself dream of starting my own practice. It’s what a lot of people would think is the “old school” way of practicing: the patient pays the doctor directly for services provided and there is no insurance involved. It is truly just between the patient and the physician. I thought it was a very beautiful and honest yet practical way to practice medicine. It made a lot of sense to me. (More on this on my next post.)
But I never thought having my own practice would actually happen because of several reasons:
Basically, I didn’t think I had the guts.
During the first COVID quarantine on March 2020, I had just started my second month of one of the most intense chemotherapy regimens in medicine for my surprise breast cancer diagnosis of 2019. I was also grieving the loss of my adoptive dad - a painful death from esophageal cancer.
I had been working about 2 days a week throughout my treatment until my boss told me it’s probably unsafe for me to keep seeing my patients, especially with the shortage of protective equipment once the pandemic started.
My work accommodated for me to do online tasks for them. I then found out a few days later that I also had to homeschool my children. Thus began the year of staying home 24/7 with my boys, except for my chemo days when I went to the cancer clinic to get my bloodstream infused with extremely toxic medications that would hopefully help the cancer stay away so I would live longer than 38 years old. It would also make me more prone to severe COVID, neuropathy, leukemia, heart disease, etc. It was a year of very tough decisions, to put it mildly.
It would seem that this time of toxic medications and isolation should just be full of pain and despair.
Yes, there was so much pain. But I also found this time of my life to be one of the most blessed, beautiful and peaceful. It was truly the height of privilege. I took daily walks with my boys in our little mountain. I actually slept at the same time and woke up with my husband daily. I read a lot of wonderful literature that I have been putting off. I read the Bible and poetry. I made fresh bread regularly. There was silence, fresh air, gardening and so much love. I breathed and breathed and breathed - It was wonderful.
I started to see what I had kept buried under all the busy work of medicine and mothering. There was so much pent up resentment and ugliness within me that would emerge as I dealt with all the unnecessary tasks that were connected with my work as a physician.
I finally admitted to myself that I did not love my work anymore. That it no longer provided the meaning and the beauty that my idealistic self had envisioned many years ago. Even though I knew a lot of people were experiencing the same thing - especially fellow health professionals, it took me some months to get through the shame of admitting this.
Each day I had to work, I would feel rage build up when I would see how much was left in my “inbox” - a conglomeration of tasks that are sent to the physician in the computer on a daily basis. Some tasks were meaningful and helpful for patients and I got those done quickly. But a lot of the tasks were commands from insurance companies: put this patient in a cholesterol medication (even though it’s not indicated based on patient’s history/preference), switch this patient’s medication to something else because the formulary was changed for no reason all of a sudden, sign this extra document with lots of verbiage for unknown reasons when the order for service has already been signed, etc, etc, etc.
All health professionals know about this refrain. All of the these tasks, on average, multiplied x 100 on a daily basis amongst lab results, consults and other paperwork that come across our screens. And it’s not just the tasks in the “inbox”.
In primary care, we are supposed to get to know 1500-2500 patients and see 18-25 of them per day and incorporate all of this into the complex interplay of the patient-physician relationship and provide medical care that is compassionate and evidence-based in a span of 15 minutes per patient.
In each of these visits, doctors are expected to also enter data so that insurance companies can be billed and data could be analyzed by administrators. This often reduced the 15 minutes allotted for a typical primary care visit to 7 minutes with the patient. Our charting was no longer about the patient’s story; and our time with them was also no longer theirs.
None of this is an exaggeration. You may ask all health professionals and they will tell you the same thing. And yet I kept doing it. Why?
The pandemic and cancer allowed me to have the time to say to myself: the job of a family physician in the context of the current health care system no longer makes sense. I have to stop making excuses, feeling afraid and ashamed, and do something about it!
This painful time of my life ultimately gave me the permission and the pathway to do what I really wanted to do: start my own practice.
I had the time to read about the business of direct primary care. In between the hours when I was not homeschooling my kids, I could work online and see patients on my own schedule. I then could raise the money for my business.
And going through the diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer, the profound grief I experienced in the possibility of not seeing my children grow up, and facing the heartbreak of the deaths of my dad and then my brother - how much more courage could I possibly need to stand up to this system that is broken and is continuously causing more brokenness in my patients and fellow physicians?
How much more courage do I need not to return to the current system of health care and finally give myself the chance to be the physician I have written about in my application to medical school?
And that is how I decided.
I do have the courage to start a new adventure called Lupine Family Medicine. Health care that makes sense.
I would love to hear responses about any of the posts here, so please email me comments and also send blog post ideas to hello@lupinemd.com.
Sincerely,
Dr. Hendrick
© 2023 Angela C. Hendrick
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