A Doctor in the Family

We often assume that having a physician in the family makes illness easier to face. Experience teaches a more complicated reality — that medical knowledge can guide decisions, but it does not separate a doctor from the fears and responsibilities of being family.

I believe having a physician in the family offers some distinct advantages.

The most obvious one is access. Medical information, advice, prescriptions when appropriate, and connections within the healthcare system become easier to obtain. With a physician relative, navigating the maze of a complex healthcare system becomes a little more bearable for the average patient.

But these advantages come with their own complications.

Family dynamics can interfere with a physician’s ability to remain objective. This is why many doctors choose to entrust the treatment of their own family members to colleagues. In these situations, the physician in the family often assumes a different role — not as the primary doctor, but as a healthcare facilitator.

The physician becomes the person who helps navigate the system, coordinates care, explains procedures, and translates medical information into something understandable for everyone else.

In bureaucratic terms, maybe we become a kind of “fixer.”

Not exactly the most flattering title for someone with several letters after their name, but in many ways, that is what we do when someone we love gets sick.

Some physicians still choose to manage their own family members despite the potential bias. It is possible, but it is never easy. Sometimes it takes a personal toll.

I squirm at the sight of my mother being stung by needles. If she winces in pain, I wince too. I feel terrible whenever she complains about swallowing several pills, even when I know those medications are necessary.

When she asks me, “Are you going to cut me again?” my heart melts.

In those moments, I hate being the doctor in the family.

Nobody likes causing pain to someone they love with the promise that it will eventually help them get better.

Is it easier, then, for physicians to manage a sick family member?

No. It isn’t.

I do not find conversations about illness within the family any less painful. Simplifying medical information is challenging. Even when aiming for shared decision-making, you often end up carrying much of the responsibility because everyone sees you as the one who understands the situation best.

And sometimes, not making a decision is also a decision.

There is an unavoidable reality that families with doctors are not exempt from the same problems every other family faces. The cost of healthcare, the complexity of the system, family expectations, fear, and uncertainty do not disappear simply because someone owns a stethoscope.

The hardest part may be carrying the responsibility when medical knowledge reaches its limits.

I have rarely met physicians who proudly claim they “healed” their own family members. But I have met doctors who quietly carry the burden of wondering if they could have done more.

So is having a physician in the family truly an advantage?

As both a physician and a son, I am not always sure.

Let me hear what you think.

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Balancing Act: Community and Tertiary Care Orthopedic Practice

Early in practice, choosing where and how to work is not only a professional decision. It also shapes how physicians learn, teach, serve their communities, and build a sustainable life around medicine.

Barely five years into private medical-surgical practice, some people have asked how I am “doing” with my kind of orthopedic practice.

By orthopedic practice, I mean the working environment of an orthopedic surgeon — the type of patients and cases handled, the time, effort, and resources invested, and the returns, monetary or otherwise, gained from this professional career.

This is a simple definition, maybe even a business-oriented one, but it approximates what medical-surgical practice looks like in the real Philippine healthcare setting. The definition becomes even more complicated because of different practice styles and the way many orthopedic surgeons mix and match these approaches.

Before explaining my own practice, let me describe what I think are two ends of the spectrum: community-based general orthopedic practice and tertiary-level academic orthopedic practice.

A community orthopedic practice usually handles general orthopedic problems and extremity trauma such as fractures. It is often the first line of orthopedic care in the provinces. Patients are usually admitted to primary or secondary-level healthcare institutions within the surgeon’s community.

Academic orthopedic practice, on the other hand, is usually based in tertiary hospitals or trauma centers. It deals with more specialized and complicated orthopedic problems such as arthroplasty, spine cases, or cases requiring advanced facilities and support systems. This practice is often combined with teaching and training orthopedic residents. Some institutions also involve surgeons in administrative responsibilities.

The difference between these two types of practice is often seen in the amount of time, effort, and resources invested in each case.

Specialized academic orthopedics is generally considered more intensive in terms of learning, preparation, and complexity. It is also often perceived as more rewarding financially and professionally.

Of course, there are exceptions.

The separation between learning in urban centers and learning in the provinces is becoming less distinct because of easier access to information and technology. But for simplicity, these two models represent different ends of the spectrum.

So why differentiate between them?

Because somewhere between these two approaches is what I consider the desirable middle ground.

A balanced orthopedic practice, at least for me, involves continuous learning while maintaining a working environment focused on delivering quality orthopedic care within a community.

Many surgeons believe this balance is difficult to find or sustain.

Orthopedics naturally depends on implants, technology, specialized equipment, and hospital infrastructure. Because of this, many orthopedic surgeons continue to concentrate in urban centers and tertiary hospitals.

However, with improving information technology and better availability of orthopedic resources, community orthopedic practice is slowly becoming more feasible.

A former mentor once asked me if I was happy with this dual type of orthopedic practice.

I answered yes.

But I immediately added:

“With some necessary lifestyle and living adjustments.”

Personally, I find that these two forms of practice complement each other.

A community practice without continuous learning can become limiting.

Teaching orthopedics without actually practicing what you teach also feels incomplete.

Somewhere between these two worlds is a compromise — the balancing act.

But what about the lifestyle adjustments?

For me, I chose this balance because it fits my lifestyle.

Compared with a high-volume urban practice, I prefer the relatively quieter working environment of community practice.

At the same time, I cannot let go of the opportunities for learning that academic institutions provide.

Besides, I love teaching.

Teaching might have been my career if I had not discovered medicine. As one mentor said:

“There is no better way of learning than helping others learn.”

A community practice may rarely make you rich, but it can provide a good life. More importantly, it can provide something else — time with the people who matter.

In the end, I think it depends on what fits your lifestyle and priorities.

Mine just happens to be close to the kind of life I imagined years before I became a doctor.

So which would you prefer?

Community practice?

Academic practice?

Or a little of both?

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