Observations of a Part-time Doctor
By Dr. Jason Creaghan
Last year I decided to get back to my Generation X roots and slack off a bit. I had been working as a small-town family doctor for three years. I liked my job, but I felt something was missing. In a slightly confused way, I thought I should have more time to explore my creative side, to be a better parent, to travel. Or just have more time to relax. I decided that job sharing was the way.
Job sharing is not a new idea. Lots of people work part-time by choice. Even doctors have been doing it for years. The few family doctors I know who share their practices seem to have more balance and flexibility in their lives – elements usually missing in the typical doctor’s lifestyle.
In the small town where I practise, however, the idea of a male physician not working full time seemed a bit suspect. One colleague felt that I was definitely “pushing the envelope” in wanting to have a few months off every year. Finally, after a few months, I managed to find another general practitioner who was interested in trying it out. We would each work two and a half days a week. Patients would see us as interchangeable and would benefit from two energetic and cheerful doctors as opposed to one tired, slightly angst-ridden one. I awaited the start of our new plan eagerly, making lists of self-improvement projects.
My family, meanwhile, was shocked and appalled. They questioned my work ethic. My father accused me of being a hippie. Didn’t I feel guilty about working part-time when the taxpayers had paid for a good part of my education and so many people couldn't even find a family doctor? Well, yes, I did feel quite guilty. What right did I have to do this when lots of people where I live work full time and can’t even make ends meet? I tried to point out that this situation wasn’t entirely my fault, either. “A-hah!” he pounced, “And what kind of role model are you now? What if your kids decided they only wanted to go to school half time?” No answer. Still, I decided to move ahead with my plan in spite of the psychological and social cost.
My first weekday morning at home arrived and I was hit with an urge to go to the office right away to pick up my mail. I fought it off. I made more lists, cleaned stuff and waited for the kids to come home from school so I could ... parent better. That night my wife, who works at home, asked pointedly if I had anything planned for the next day.
I made it through the rest of my days off and with great relief settled into my half of the week at the office. My identity was apparently more tied up with my work than I had thought.
Like most of my doctor friends, I complain a lot about long work hours. But secretly I take quite a bit of comfort in being overworked. Even as residents, while we griped and moaned our way through stretches of being on-call every second night, we knew the whole thing was an initiation ritual that would make us strong and inspire group loyalty. While it reinforced our fear of free time, of drifting, working like this also gave us an incredible sense of purpose.
Out in the real world, we continue to normalize overwork for reasons of debt or dedication. People settle into patterns. But, after a while, when priorities in our lives shift, what was once a pretty good coping strategy can become a bit dysfunctional.
In the course of the following few weeks, I slowly began to relearn the art of not working so much. I started going for morning walks with my wife. I began to show up for school concerts and parent-teacher days. I read my first novel in more than a year. Quiet, simple things that I wouldn't necessarily put in my curriculum vitae, but things that would probably be on most peoples’ deathbed list of things-I-would-have-liked-to-have-done-more-often.
Back at the office, things were running smoothly in my absence. Patients loved their new doctor and no one seemed to miss me too much. Having had some humility training in medical school, I was prepared for this.
But I was surprised to see that my relationship with my peers had also changed. Over the operating table or in the doctors lounge, while my comrades would try to top each other with the latest outrage at a government conspiring against the medical profession, I would find myself humming a happy tune or, worse, saying something positive about the health system. I had become too relaxed to be irate anymore. I considered going back to the office full time to get some of that edge back. But it was too late, I was committed to cooking a couple of meals a week and tying skates at the rink on Monday mornings. There was no turning back.
Last week, I spent some time helping out in my daughter’s grade-one class. The teacher sat me down with a bunch of five- and six-year-olds and asked me to help them write something in their journals. It was a weekday morning and I wasn’t earning any money. I had no special status. I was just a grownup who could read and write. As usual, just before starting to have fun, I had a vague feeling that I should be working.
I brushed it off, as I do more easily these days. I remind myself that now, after a few months of job-sharing, my status on the fringe of my professional tribe seems more secure. My parents are quietly resigned to what they hope is just a phase. My kids are still going to school full-time. It will be my turn in the office tomorrow. Dr. Jason Creaghan and his wife, Deanna Young, live in Chelsea, Quebec.
