Thursday, January 4, 2024

Professionalism Lapses in GME: Oops, Can’t, and Won’t

From the August 4, 2023 issue of the Transformational Times



Professionalism Lapses in Graduate Medical Education: Oops, Can’t, and Won’t 



Chad Carlson, MD, FAAN 


Program Director Carlson shares takeaways about remediation in residency training: Intent is important. In broad terms, the categories of “oops,” “can’t,” and “won’t,” divide learners into those who have a lapse in behavior they know and understand, those who currently lack or cannot access a set of skills or tools, and those who choose not to do something, despite having access to and knowledge of the appropriate path forward... 


Anyone involved in medical education, regardless of the level of learners, can relate to issues of professionalism in situations needing to be addressed.  If you are like me, this is followed by a pit in the stomach and concerns about the best next steps: Can I fix this? How do I help? Is this even a “fixable” problem?

These thoughts are often compounded by a feeling of relative isolation; while we all help learners address these issues, we often feel like we are doing so in a relative vacuum. Often, our own experiences and feelings complicate remediation and lead to the belief that these sorts of problems cannot be fixed.  

The concerns and limitations program directors face in addressing issues of professionalism prompted us to focus on this topic at the Medical College of Wisconsin Affiliated Hospitals (MCWAH) Program Directors retreat. A presentation and discussion session led by invited speakers Betsy Williams, PhD, MPH, FSACME (Clinical Director of the Professional Renewal Center) and Karen Warburton, MD, FASN, FACP (Associate Professor of Medicine and Director of GME Advancement and Clinician Wellness Program at the University of Virginia Health System) outlined several key features and highlighted some common themes. The retreat also focused on the potentially daunting topic of remediation of professionalism issues in graduate medical education through interactive and case-based talks. 

Key takeaway: Professionalism issues are not inherently irremediable.


The process of remediation itself can be broken down into: Identification, Assessment, Active Coaching, and Ongoing Evaluation

Identification has already occurred if you have a pit in your stomach about what comes next with a resident. But most medical educators can recall situations where, if they had better documentation or more feedback or input, they would have better understood both the scope and nature of issues with a learner. The earlier that identification occurs, the less likely it will negatively impact the timing of training for a learner. Dr. Williams lamented the frequent occurrence of hearing about a struggling learner in April or May of their final year of training when there is little time to implement an effective coaching plan.  

Within the realm of assessment, intent is important. The difference between an “oops,” “can’t,” and “won’t,” is an important distinction.  

In broad terms, these categories divide learners into those who have a lapse in behavior they know and understand, those who currently lack or cannot access a set of skills or tools, and those who choose not to do something, despite having access to and knowledge of the appropriate path forward. 

A comprehensive assessment also includes looking for potential mental health contributors. Evidence supports that about a third of struggling learners have an underlying mental health concern such as anxiety, depression, and cognitive or learning disorders. It is no surprise these underlying conditions often contribute to a “can’t.” 

The results of the assessment should drive the approach to coaching (or discipline). 

While a program or course director’s approach is often to take the lead on remediation or other issues to spare busy faculty colleagues and team members, in these settings, the program director may not be the best person to do the coaching. 

Involve someone not part of the Clinical Competency Committee (or recuse that person from discussions in the Clinical Competency Committee if this is unavoidable).  


Planning the intervention

In planning the type of intervention, the concept of intent is important. 

  • Support with little formal coaching is likely adequate for an “oops." 
  • Formal coaching is typically necessary for a “can’t.” 
  • In the case of a “won’t,” rapid escalation beyond coaching to formal disciplinary measures may be necessary. 

In thinking about a “can’t,” we need to consider both the realm of teaching about professional norms and recognize when there are barriers (personal or systemic) to following them. 

As educational leaders, we need to look at individual professionalism violations and consider whether the issues represent a broader systemic issue or are related to individual factors alone. 


Ongoing systemic monitoring and intervention is critical 

Importantly, whatever the remediation methods, one cannot think of this as a single episode or course of treatment; a systemic approach for regular monitoring and evaluation must be in place to identify potential lapses in professionalism, prior to them rising to the level of a problem.   

The systematic approach to thinking about issues of professionalism was a welcome discussion during the retreat. But perhaps more important was the recognition that these are challenging, but not insurmountable problems with which we, as educators, all struggle. 

The desire to help our students, residents, and fellows succeed is--and should be--strong. But the frustration and disappointment when those expectations are not met is very real for all involved. This can be particularly true in graduate medical education, where we work closely with small classes of trainees, typically for multiple years. These personal bonds can be both a strength and a liability when professionalism is challenged.   


Our community of educators is our greatest resource

Our community of educators committed to improving learner well-being is, undoubtedly, our greatest resource; learners struggling with professionalism issues are not unique to any one campus, course, or program. We can, and should, make use of the depth of expertise across the institution instead of staying in silos in our individual departments and programs.   

Drs. Warburton and Williams made it clear through their experience and work on this topic that learners who encounter these issues can, in most cases, be helped and put back on a path to success. 

Proper diagnosis and management, just like in patient care, is the key to success. 


Chad Carlson, MD, FAAN, is a Professor in the Department of Neurology at Medical College of Wisconsin and serves as the Program Director for the Adult Neurology Residency, Associate Program Director for the Clinical Neurophysiology and Epilepsy Fellowships, and Vice Chair of Education.  

Monday, January 1, 2024

Whoosh! Goes My Heart

From the December 21, 2023 issue of the Transformational Times




Whoosh! Goes My Heart  




Himanshu ‘Tinu’ Agrawal, MD, DF-APA 


Dr. Agrwawal shared this story from his childhood in the holiday issue of the Transformational Times. You can read other stories by Transformational Times team members, Kathlyn FletcherBruce Campbell, and Karen Herzog.  


From ages six until nine, I lived in London. My mother worked in the Indian embassy there, and one day she brought home a chocolate-filled Santa, sitting on a plastic sleigh. 

“Oh my God!” I squealed. ”Is it from Santa Claus?” I couldn’t believe it; it was finally happening. After hearing so much about the big guy from kids at school, I was finally getting a gift from him!  

"No, it’s from Mrs. Malhotra, she works on the desk next to me, you’ve met her,” my mother responded. 

“No! It’s from Santa Claus. You’re teasing me aren’t you, Mom?” I smiled. I could see through her attempts to trick me. 

“I told you. It’s from Mrs. Malhotra,” she repeated. 

“No! It’s from Santa!” I insisted. 

“No! It’s from Mrs. Malhotra!” she snapped back. My mom wanted to make sure poor Mrs. Malhotra received the credit she deserved. 

“You’re lying, Mom! Why are you lying?!” I yelled. I wanted so much to believe Santa had finally read my letters. 

A slap on my face ended any further arguments, as it usually did back in those days.  

Whoosh! went my heart.  


A couple of years later, we returned to our apartment in India, where Santa did not make pit stops. 

Now, four decades later, I find myself back in the land of Santa.  


Now, my son is 8 years old, and he writes letters to Santa every year. 

Now, every Christmas Eve, we tuck in, and I read him ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement C. Moore. 

Whoosh! goes my heart. 

Whoosh! Whoosh! goes Krishna’s heart. 

Whoosh! is the sound that magic makes. 

And you can’t snuff it out with a slap on the face. 


Himanshu Agrawal, MD is an Associate Professor in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Medicine at MCW. He is one of the co-Editors-in-Chief of the Transformational Times. 

Thursday, December 28, 2023

The Gift of Presence

 From the December 20, 2023 issue of the Transformational Times


The Gift of Presence  


Karen Herzog



“Greetings from Milwaukee! It’s the season of miracles, and we have a little one named Kelsey Marie. She views the world through big, blue eyes, and has an Eveready smile. Seven months into her life, we’re still in awe of everything she does. All Kelsey wants for Christmas is to crawl, and we believe she’ll get her wish any day now…” 

– Our Family’s 1995 Christmas letter 


Despite the magical lead-up to our firstborn daughter’s first Christmas, a painful ear infection and high fever made her inconsolable, and left us at wit’s end, on Christmas Eve. We finally did what many parents do when physician offices are closed and there’s no urgent care: We bundled her up in the wee hours of Christmas morning and drove her to the ER of the small hospital in my hometown, where we were visiting my parents. 

Kelsey was the only patient at that hour, and the ER was peaceful before her crying pierced the silence. Thankfully, relief was on the way when a young resident appeared in the examining room. The amoxicillin he prescribed (with a dose of reassurance for her anxious, sleep-deprived parents) was a small Christmas miracle. 

I wish the bleary-eyed resident who crawled out of an on-call room bed at 4 a.m., because of a crying child’s non-emergency ear infection could have seen that tiny patient a few hours later, once the amoxicillin kicked in. There’s nothing sweeter than a sweet baby, cheeks still flushed from fever, staring in awe at the twinkling lights on her grandparents’ Christmas tree, her first Christmas morning. 

Of course, first holidays of life often stand in contrast to last holidays of life. I can’t think about one without the other, as my mom died four days before Christmas four years ago. She was 90. 

The awe I felt at the end of my mom’s life was for the healthcare workers. Their presence was as warm as the Christmas lights that filled her room in a skilled care facility. 

This holiday season, my wish for healthcare workers who make tremendous sacrifices to “be there” for patients in hospitals and skilled care centers is to know their presence is a gift that will hold a special place in the holiday memories of those they touch. 


Karen Herzog is the copy editor of the Transformational Times. In a previous life, she was an education reporter at the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel.  

Monday, December 25, 2023

Christmas Morning Rounds

From the December 21, 2023 issue of the Transformational Times



Christmas Morning Rounds




Bruce H. Campbell, MD FACS


In the days running up to the Christmas Holiday, the Transformational Times editors offered reflections. Here, we publish an essay by editorial board member, Dr. Bruce Campbell.


Many years ago (even before HIPAA), my family was visiting for the holidays. On several occasions I had tried, without a lot of success, to explain to my father what I did for a living as a head and neck cancer surgeon. On this day, I looked at him and said, "Dad, I have to see a couple of people in the hospital this morning. Do you want to come with me?" He readily agreed.  

A few minutes later, we arrived at the inpatient floor. One of my patients that day was a man in his early 30s who had undergone cancer surgery to remove part of his cheekbone the day before. He had done well overnight and was recovering. I stuck my head in his room.  

“Merry Christmas!” I said. “I know this is unusual, but my father is with me this morning to make rounds. He is not a doctor—actually, he is a retired dime store owner—but he would love to meet you. Do you mind if he comes in with me?”  

“Really?” replied my patient. “Sure! That would be fine.” 

I returned to the hallway and explained that the patient’s face was pretty swollen but that he was otherwise doing fine. My dad nodded and we went in. I introduced them to each other. If my father was surprised by the man’s early post-operative appearance, he did not let on.    

“Good morning!" said my dad. “Nice to meet you! How are you doing today?”  

Despite his swelling, my patient replied, “Actually, I’m doing very well, thanks. Better than I expected.” The young man was lying in bed with one eye nearly shut and his cheek full of packing material. His upper lip was swollen, making conversation a bit of a challenge. Nevertheless, as I checked his surgical sites and looked through the notes in his chart, my dad asked the patient about his cancer, his hometown, and his family. My dad, a distinguished looking gentleman with graying temples, nodded and smiled, absorbing the story.  

The patient asked my dad, “So, how long do you think I will be in the hospital?” My dad smiled and glanced at me.  

“I don’t know what my dad thinks, but I think you’re doing great,” I said. “I predict you’ll be ready to go home the day after tomorrow.”  

“Thanks again, Doc. I’ll let my family know.” We all said goodbye and Dad wished him well. After we finished seeing my other patients, Dad and I headed home for our family’s Christmas meal. 

For years, my father recalled the day we made rounds together. He would remind me what he had seen and would ask how the patients were doing. Those few minutes had given him a glimpse into my life and work that I had never, ever been able to adequately share by trying to tell him what I did. 

A few years ago—and long after my dad had died—I received a holiday card from the patient, marking the anniversary of his hospitalization. “I remember you and your father even came in to see me on Christmas Day! I will never forget that,” he wrote.  

I was surprised by how much that one brief Christmas morning rounds encounter had impacted both my father and the patient. The shared experience had preserved the memory and sharpened our senses. I wrote back to the man, now a long-term cancer survivor, that I was very grateful I had been able to share that moment of insight, healing, and presence, both with him and with my dad.

It is a Christmas present I have always treasured.



Bruce H. Campbell, MD FACS is a retired professor in the Department of Otolaryngology and Communication Sciences at MCW. He has been on the Transformational Times editorial board since March 2020. www.BruceCampbellMD.com