You know you can be a little backward. But it's time to get with the times ... 'cause they are a-changin'.
WHY AM I THE ONE THE VETERINARY Economics editors asked to write an article about Stubborn Old Cusses? (I'll call them SOCs.) Was it something I said? Perhaps my pathetic attempt at congeniality finally slipped, and my true cranky self blazed forth like the July sun through SPF 2 sunscreen.
Dr. Craig Woloshyn
Maybe I was picked because I've been in practice for 22 years—not as many as some SOCs, but long enough to know on which side the scalpel cuts.
Or maybe they figure cussedness increases with age, making me knowledgeable, if not an expert. But on reflection, I've met quite a few young docs who made for some mean SOCs.
Maybe it's because I'm a guy. When was the last time you heard someone call a woman a cuss? Well, on second thought, there is that female doctor I interviewed ... never mind.
Well, for whatever reason, I started by checking the dictionary to make sure that I understood just what this cussedness was all about. Cussedness: "Obstinate, cantankerous, stubborn." Or my favorite: "Mean-spirited disagreeable contrariness."
Surely I don't know a doctor who fits that description. After all, we're a pretty congenial group, and we all seem to get by in our practices. But on reflection, I think I just might harbor one of the traits of a Stubborn Old Cuss. OK, maybe two. And looking around, I think I'm not the only one.
My mission is to help you identify that trace of cussedness that dwells in those around you and so expose and destroy it—or at least have some fun with it, right? Here's what to look for.
By definition, an SOC thinks continuing education is a waste of valuable vaccination time. He clings to outdated notions of what's vital and correct in the medical world and rejects any thought of changing protocols that have "worked fine for a long darn time." That's not to say years of experience aren't important. But experience without change is personally stultifying and professionally dangerous.
There are those who say CE won't make a bad doctor better, and I agree. Doctors benefit from CE only if they're open to new ideas. It's your attitude that must be open to change. Sure, discarding something you've thought to be a foundation of practice for many years is hard to do, but the thrill of finding a solution to an old vexing problem far outweighs any emotional ties you might have to the past.
There's a saying I can paraphrase to fit us here: You can have 20 years of experience, or you can have one year 20 times over.
When I think I've located an SOC, I usually offer to buy him a drink. And if I'm right, with a few liquid refreshments under his belt, the conversation will turn to the new generation of doctors. These sprouts of doctors will be vilified for being lazy and spendthrift, letting personal life get in the way, getting pregnant, moving around, and not watching the gas mileage. They may also be responsible for global warming, depending on how much refreshment the SOC imbibes.
Trapped by an SOC?
Well, cusses, the generation war's lost, so get over it. Those new doctors are becoming experienced associates and practice owners. But not in our image, thank goodness. Instead they're looking for ways to move the profession forward while maintaining that tricky work-life balance. And they're succeeding pretty well, by most accounts.
I'd like to take this opportunity, on behalf of all the old cusses who won't admit they're indebted, to thank the younger generation. They've taught us that it's possible to practice a high level of medicine in a satisfying environment, keep clients happy, earn a good income, and still hang on to their time and sanity thanks to their rich personal lives. Veterinary medicine is becoming a much more reasonable field, thanks to young doctors who've taught us old cusses what balance is about.
Wait, did I say us? I meant those other cusses, not me.
If you still remember Combi-Pen fondly, you may be an old cuss. Or if you think MIC is the volume control at karaoke night. Or if you don't want to figure out those new insulin thingies.
Yep, it's hard to keep up with new medicine, and as the years go by it gets even harder. And sure, experience counts. Probably the stuff you've used for 10 years still works. But there are better methods and resources now. To keep from falling into stubborn cussedness, you gotta keep up.
So go ahead and try some of that new transdermal gel, or that new cTLI thingamajig. Keeping up with change—nay, embracing it—is the path away from cussedness.
If you're a practice owner—and most SOCs are—the easiest way to avoid the anti-new trap is to hire an enthusiastic new graduate and take her advice. Buy some of that new antibiotic she's been talking about. Find out what that weird test is she's trying to explain to you. Subscribe to VIN.
Just don't go overboard. After all, Combi-Pen is still a pretty good drug.
One of the hallmarks of an SOC is the compulsion to work long hours. No modern time-management methods for him. He's keeping tradition: late evenings, surgeries during lunch, weekends until dark-thirty.
If he's a real hero-martyr, he's on call every night. That's how he's always done it and always will. What has gone before is good enough for him, and there's no better way to do things, so why look?
Aside from new drugs, one of the greatest discoveries in the profession has been the real possibility of a good income at a thriving practice working a reasonable number of hours each week. Like 40 or so. When everyone else in the world is awake.
You really don't need to work those long, undisciplined hours. Work some, play some, and lead a balanced life. It may be difficult for an SOC to make time to see daylight on a regular basis, but those who've done it are thrilled with the experience.
The corollary to working long hours is doing it all yourself. This ties in with the "useless younger generation" argument and the "there are no good employees out there" diatribe. This inability to admit that others can work as well as you (or, heaven forbid, better than you) is an SOC standby. The old catch phrase "If you want it done right, do it yourself" is emblazoned into the SOC's frontal cortex.
Truth is, lots of people can perform clinic chores as well or better than the average DVM. There may be a young associate who's better versed in endocrinology or a certified technician who can draw blood from a fractious cat that has your name on her incisors. There isn't a doctor alive who's qualified to answer the phone or collect payments, and a lot of the business chores are truly best left to others.
The biggest obstacle to delegation is the insane idea that you're qualified to do all things better than anyone else. A brief review of the average medical school curriculum will quickly reveal the absurdity of this position. Nowhere did you learn bookkeeping, employee management, client relations, business 101, or a host of other necessary skills. But other folks out there have these abilities. If you hire them, they can do those things for you. And you can go home early. (Please refer back to the previous section on work hours.)
Now if you do hire these qualified helpers, you have to let them do things their way, not yours. That's the only way jobs at the clinic become theirs, so you no longer have to do them.
A recent poll of credentialed technicians indicated that limiting their freedom to use their skills was their biggest work frustration. There's a message for us there.
Take my word for it: Once you try it, delegation will change your life.
I hope I've identified a few of the visible behaviors of the Stubborn Old Cuss. Use this field guide when observing your colleagues in their natural surroundings. Should you recognize any of these traits in yourself, I wouldn't worry. I'm sure it's just coincidence.
Dr. Craig Woloshyn, a Veterinary Economics Editorial Advisory Board member, doesn't answer to "stubborn old cuss" at his Animal Medical Clinic in Spring Hill, Fla. He shares his newfangled advice through Sun Dog Veterinary Consulting. Please send questions or comments to ve@advanstar.com
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