Im a young, female doctor.

Calling me
sweetie wont help me save your life.
Its not just condescending. To provide patients with the
best possible care, I need their trust.
By Faye Reiff-Pasarew June 29
Faye Reiff-Pasarew is an assistant professor of hospital medicine, director of the humanism
in medicine program and unit medical director at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount
Sinai.

Sweetheart, youre too young to understand, my patient a man in his 60s, someone
accustomed to commanding a room barked at me from his hospital bed. Medical
problems had recently upended his life, and he was having a hard time adjusting. I cant
believe I have to talk about this stuff to a young girl.

I hear it all the time. Though Im 34 and have been an attending physician for several years,
after nearly a decade of medical training, patients routinely ask how old I am, tell me I look
like a baby and, most infuriating, call me cute or adorable, as if I were a preschooler
playing dress-up. A few have even asked to be seen by a real doctor instead of a girl.
Its an experience thats not unique to me but familiar to many other young women in the
profession. And while young men may similarly struggle to prove themselves as doctors,
theyre never called sweetie.

Yes, its condescending and annoying. But this is not about being thin-skinned. My job is
to provide the best possible care and to do that, I need my patients trust. Caring for them
depends on their confidence in me.

Every time a doctor walks into a room, they have a professional obligation to overcome
potential misgivings. I care for people whove been admitted to the hospital because
something has just gone very wrong as an internist specializing in hospital medicine, I
deal with everything from heart attacks to potentially life-threatening infections and they
need medical interventions right away. I dont have the luxury of time during multiple
office visits to earn their trust. Any delay can be dangerous. We cant afford nor can our
patients for our recommendations to be taken with a grain of salt.

Case in point: Last year on a flight from Detroit to Minneapolis, a passenger became
unresponsive, and flight attendants called for medical help. But according to passenger
Tamika Cross, a young African American obstetrician, when she offered to assist, she was
told: Oh no sweetie put [your] hand down, and we are looking for actual physicians or
nurses. Eventually, another doctor, an older white man, was allowed to help. Cross said
she was waved off because she didnt fit the flight attendants description of a doctor.
The problem here apart from race and gender stereotyping is that when a physician
treats a patient in an emergency, every minute counts. And it raises the question: what did
even the presumably short delay cost the sick passenger? If the older white male doctor
hadnt been on board, would Dr. Cross have been permitted to try to save the passengers
life?

Just last week, a woman at a medical facility in Canada was recorded saying, Can I see a
doctor please thats white, that doesnt have brown teeth, that speaks English? The video
went viral and the episode, appropriately, prompted outrage, but women and people of
color in the medical profession arent shocked.

These patient biases have been well documented, and are unfortunately reinforced by the
healthcare system. Even though studies have shown that female providers produce lower
mortality rates among older patients and are more patient-centered than men, our
effectiveness is not reflected in patient satisfaction scores that wind up influencing doctor
compensation: Female doctors earn 74 percent of what male physicians do. Even in the
relatively new field of hospital medicine, which skews younger and closer to even on
gender, women are still underrepresented in leadership positions and scholarship.

Physicians today are encouraged to navigate these difficult interactions with humility and
empathy sit at the bedside, listen without interrupting and avoid giving orders. At the
same time, female doctors are encouraged to exude confidence and assertiveness, to
demand the respect were not always initially given. This is a tricky balance. If my patient
calls me nurse, I have to clarify my role, refocus the conversation on the medical
situation and yet not undermining our delicate rapport.

Ive focused my career on trying to foster humanism in medicine. That includes using
poetry to teach medical students about diagnosing cancer; podcasting about art and illness;
creating resources for caregivers and inviting patients to speak at grand rounds. Ive come
of age influenced by narrative medicine, engaging with patients through their stories. But
my belief in embracing patient perspectives sometimes runs up against my sense of social
justice. When patients belittle me, even unintentionally, I grapple with respecting their
narrative and maintaining respect for myself.

Should I, and other women physicians, continue our patient-centered approach and hope the
arc of history bends towards gender equity? Or do we have to train ourselves to project
confidence in a way that doesnt threaten male patients or undermine our inclination to be
less authoritative than our medical predecessors? Either way, we need to ask our
institutions medical schools, hospitals and private practice groups to stand behind us,
acknowledge the realities we face and work with us to find solutions. That might mean
featuring female doctors in ad campaigns; providing sufficient gender-neutral parental
leave so young women are not disadvantaged at the start of their careers; or tailoring the
medical school curriculum to include practical strategies for female physicians to respond
to demeaning language and to communicate with both confidence and empathy.

What it definitely means is that patients should understand that our ability to effectively
direct their treatment is in their interest.
The day after my sexagenarian patient decried having to deal with a young girl, he
introduced me to his wife as the young nurse. I briefly corrected him, introduced myself
again as his physician and then sat and listened to his story because, ultimately, that is my
job. I tried to understand how this unexpected illness had led to his feeling a loss of control
and vulnerability. I saw how that might make him feel defensive. I cant brush aside
demeaning language, but I can understand what motivates it. I can find a way to empathize
with patients who are suffering, even when they offend me. And, hopefully, I may
eventually change my patients ideas about what a real doctor is.

Fuente: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/posteverything/wp/2017/06/29/im-a-young-female-
doctor-calling-me-sweetie-wont-help-me-save-your-life/?utm_term=.a1d68bea3aab