The amphetamine generation
Yesterday an old friend stopped by for a visit. Jack and I ran cross-country against each other in high school, pledged the same fraternity, moved out together into a rental house (the three guys upstairs ended up in medical school, the three downstairs smoked dope – this was the ‘60s), and graduated together as physicians. Probably hadn’t seen him in 20 years, though, as we went to opposite coasts for our family practice residencies.
Talking to him about life in California reinforced my conviction that all medical politics are local. Managed care is still maybe 40 percent of his practice (it’s now zip for me) and Blue Cross pays him 90 percent of Medicare values (it’s much better in Kansas).
Jack is smart, dedicated and fit. He sees patients the same day they need to be seen, and his practice schedules office hours until 8 p.m. Even on days when he doesn’t have late hours, he may not get home for dinner. As reimbursement has been squeezed, he has responded by simply seeing more patients each day, up to 36. Don’t worry about the quality of their care.
Still, it hasn’t been a hardscrabble existence. He owns a condo in Hawaii and a 700-acre ranch in northern California, to which he escapes to mend fences weeks at a time. It’s a five-hour flight to Hawaii, and a five-hour drive to the ranch. But he’s kept the same wife, a fine one, and raised three boys in the process.
He works at medicine more than I do. That’s just bad luck, but more docs want to live in California than Kansas. As he points out, there’s warmth and sunshine every day. That’s the same argument the Left-Coasters made when Utah tried to poach businesses with TV ads promoting low taxes: “Kiss your assets goodbye” is the way they put it. California responded: “Who wants to live in the desert?”
The solo FP with whom I own a building worked hard for a long time, but he’s smelling the roses more these days. Not roses, exactly. He keeps a live-aboard sailing yacht on the Chesapeake.
Why the shameless capitalist-pig boosterism?
Because I’m conflicted, as anyone can tell if they've read these posts from the beginning, last October. On the one hand, I believe that the income delta vis-à-vis the procedural specialties is pirating the primary care physicians we need to make health care work. On the other hand, if you’re willing to work hard, family practice still offers a better life than maybe 99 percent of the other opportunities outside the medical profession.
I had a couple of beers with an old student from the Great Ideas class I taught for six years – at the private school I started in my spare time (there’s that lifestyle argument again). He’s in his final year of a family practice residency and halfway believes what I’ve been preaching. He confirms that his classmates don’t have much stomach for the rigors of private practice.
The dénouement is this: Due to this generational tectonic shift in animal spirits, the AAFP is forced to gallop to the rescue with an initiative that chiefly appeals to bureaucrats, and individuals who used to occupy the low end of the animal spirit Bell curve – which has now shifted to the left.
I suspect this is why so many of my college-age patients make an appointment to beg for Adderall to get them through finals. This is a generation that needs chemical pepping-up. (Mine apparently needed marijuana, but let’s not go there.)
In the interim, I just got word that I passed my boards, so I get another decade to watch the world pass me by.