What the Failure of the ER Match Says About the State of Health Care

And How Physician Coaches Can Change The Story

When I was in medical school, the cool, smart kids went into ER medicine. It was a hotly competitive residency, and there was no guarantee that you would match. Now things are entirely different. Over 550 residency spots went unfilled by US med school grads in the residency match this month. Some centers had zero applicants match to their programs. Compare this to 2021, when only 14 ER residency spots were not filled.

The reasons? Just about any physician in the US can tell you:

• Disrespect fueled by social media personalities and irresponsible "news" outlets

• Dangerous working conditions

• Overloaded ERs being used as a source of primary care, often because people lack insurance or access

• Corporatization of medicine with a focus on numbers of patients seen and metrics that often don't relate to patient care

• Management of physicians by business people and those with less responsibility and training

• Intrusive, redundant, and burdensome EHR requirements

• Lack of adequate support staff

Some of my best friends are ER physicians. They are some of the hardest working people I know. These are the doctors who will save your life at 2 am, no matter who you are or whether or not you have insurance. And they are also the doctors that are tasked with waking up their colleagues at all hours of the night to request a consult or hospital admission. Most manage their work with grace, strength, and courage.

The steep decline in the desirability of ER residencies is a really scary trend. It’s easy to say that doctors can be replaced with mid-level care providers, but the truth is that the expertise, skill, responsibility and knowledge that an ER physician provides requires years of education, training, and commitment. Mid-levels can reduce some of the burden of less complex patients, but they are no substitute for a physician.

This sudden and shocking shift should be a call to action for hospital directors, ER directors, and the corporations and private equity firms who own and manage many of these practices.

As we wait to see how this recent revelation will impact the decisions and practices that affect ER physicians, it’s important that physicians take steps to stand up for ourselves and our profession. This is a new way of thinking about medical practice, but times have changed irrevocably. By learning how to work within the systems we now have, we can start to make important changes from the inside out. Ultimately, such changes will benefit not only physicians, but also their patients and indeed the very institutions and corporations that currently control our healthcare systems.

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 How can coaching help? Well clearly, coaching will not fix the problem. Coaching means working with one physician at a time, very much like patient care. But coaching will help you clarify your goals, identify your frustrations and obstacles, and give you the tools to create your way forward. Will that be

• Negotiation, understanding your own value?

• Creating a streamlined workflow that will allow you greater efficiency?

• Acquiring new skills to make your time more effective?

• Courage to make a lateral move to a new facility?

• A switch to a different type of practice altogether?

• A change in working hours?

• Reframing conflicts so that you are able to create a more positive working environment?

• Honing interpersonal skills?

• Advocating for change in EHR management?

Regardless of your specialty, the healthcare world is shifting. The work you do matters. By recognizing your own worth and power, and by taking action that is beneficial to both you and your patients, you will be able to create a happier and more sustainable life.

If you’ve enjoyed this article and would like to stay in the loop for more insights on creating a sustainable, fulfilling, and happy life as a physician, sign up for my newsletter or reach out on my website. I’d love to hear from you.

My Podcast Interview with Dr. Naomi Lawrence-Reid

After appearing on a recent segment of TechLink Health’s Podcast, I was invited to interview Dr. Naomi Lawrence-Reid of Doctoring Differently. Dr. Naomi, as she prefers to be called, describes how she pivoted from full-time practice and found new opportunities to use her skills as a physician.

Her story is inspiring and engaging. You can take a listen right here.

How My Experience with Pain Made me a Better Physician

This article originally appeared in Doximity.com, where I am an Op-Med Fellow.

Although I don’t like to admit it, I am a typical Type A cardiologist who takes absolutely everything far too seriously. Like many physicians, this extends well beyond my professional life and reaches into every corner of my existence.

I am also a competitive equestrian. And my big, red, and rather fancy horse really doesn’t care what I do for a living, or how seriously I take myself. In his mind, I am both a reliable source of carrots and a nuisance who sometimes keeps him away from his friends while trying to boss him around. My horse is a source of joy and a beautiful connection to the natural world. He also seems to delight in keeping me humble. But I never expected him to teach me a profound and enduring lesson about the nature of pain, empathy, and mindful compassion.

Several years ago, while training on a cross country jumping course, I suffered a serious fall. One minute I was on top of the world, flying across the open fields with my beloved equine partner, and the next I was on the hard ground, writhing in excruciating pain and unable to walk without assistance. My horse, meanwhile, high-tailed it back to his friends, grateful for the unexpected interruption.

While I fortunately had no broken bones, it turned out I had sustained a severe injury to my right psoas and my left piriformis muscles. I returned to work soon after, hobbling on crutches for support and trying to shrug off my injury as a minor nuisance. However, I quickly became intimately familiar with the anatomy of my lower musculoskeletal system. Initially, it was the psoas muscle that I noticed, since it kept me from walking. But within a few days, the piriformis injury became the center of my existence, as it cruelly squeezed my sciatic nerve. The pain was truly mind-blowing and would sometimes escalate without warning. Because I was back at work, my options for medications were limited.

I am by nature a quiet person, but during this time one of the only ways I could deal with this monstrously searing pain was to scream my head off. This was only possible when I was safely out of earshot of my patients, partners, or any other human beings. I don’t know if it was the endorphins or the temporary distraction, but it was remarkable how well screaming helped, if only for a few minutes.

After more than a week of unrelenting agony, I began Googling similar injuries (because, of course, you Google). I realized with dread that there was no promise that my pain would ever completely go away. Thankfully I had an excellent orthopaedic team. And, as a physician, my pain was always taken seriously. Sadly, I knew this was not the case for many of my patients. 

Although I don’t treat pain, my cardiology patients are among the estimated 8% of Americans who live with what is termed “high-impact chronic pain.” Like a light switch turning on, after my accident I began to recognize the manifestations of pain and misery in their faces. The anxiety of being asked to change positions on the exam table, the fear of having their medications taken away, and the frustration of feeling dismissed and disrespected. I understood deeply that pain could not always be measured, proven, or relieved. 

I found myself engaging more empathetically with these patients, acknowledging their fear and our shared humanity. The 55-year-old woman with chronic back pain who always remained standing during our visits, shifting back and forth, who used to perplex me? Now I realized just how difficult sitting could be. The anxious 45-year-old man with the perpetually furrowed brow and litany of complaints about his medical team whom I had previously written off as a chronic malcontent? With my newly informed awareness, he now came into sharper focus as a suffering human being. And the 70-year-old woman with severe arthritis and scoliosis, who was nonetheless always ready with a smile and a thank you? She became a messenger of grace — someone who showed me that it was possible to rediscover an innate good nature, despite the difficulties life presented. In acknowledging my patients’ pain, and accepting their well wishes for me, our sense of mutual trust and connection deepened.

As physicians, we learn early on to create healthy boundaries between ourselves and our patients. Hard-earned experience teaches us that we can’t always take everyone at their word, and that in some cases patients will exploit their doctors’ compassion for personal gain. For instance, most medical and surgical interns will eventually encounter characters who seek pain medications for what sound like legitimate reasons, but are eventually discovered to have visited multiple doctors and ERs with similar stories. Often a call from an astute pharmacist uncovers the ruse. Consequently, by the end of residency, it’s common to have developed at least a little cynicism. And indeed, we learn quickly that objectivity is critical not only to our decision-making but also to our ability to leave our work behind at the end of the day. 

My practice, as I mentioned, does not include treating pain or prescribing pain medications, and I have not lost my natural sense of vigilance. Yet my intensely personal experience has opened a window of understanding and taught me a new way of relating to my patients without judgment. This shared experience of pain was something I could acknowledge and be a witness to, without the expectation of a solution. In fact, I found that simply recognizing a patient’s pain often created greater trust and made it easier for them to accept my medical advice. On a practical level, our encounters became more efficient and resulted in fewer after-visit phone calls and cancellations. And as a result, I felt that I was able to offer a higher quality of care, with greater satisfaction from all standpoints, despite being powerless to impact their unremitting pain. 

In my case, I was fortunate: after a combination of several rounds of steroids, high quality physical therapy, a mindfulness practice, and time and patience (plus bedtime narcotics on non-call nights), my symptoms subsided and I was granted a near complete recovery. Still, this is not guaranteed for all pain patients — and I know that not everyone has the resources, good fortune, or support to come out mended on the other side. I was also lucky to have friends and family who tolerated my pain-fueled bouts of insolence and short temper. But many people with chronic pain understandably become so focused on their misery that they drive away loved ones and others who offer help or kindness.

Although I would not wish my experience on anyone, I cannot deny that it has taught me so much. Today, I recognize how chronic pain affects everything — it changes our sense of self, and can make even kind and gentle people become mean, angry, and impatient. As a physician and as a patient, I am tremendously grateful for the unexpected pearls of wisdom and empathy that emerged from beneath the layers of pain.