I read an interesting article this week that really stood out to me, but it was not the typical medical study that I would normally read. It was about loneliness in the medical profession, and it got me thinking. Only last year the US surgeon general Dr Vivek Murthy (the highest ‘ranked’ doctor in America) described an epidemic of loneliness as the biggest threat to public health, on a par with obesity and smoking. It is a difficult thing to describe accurately, yet we see it all the time in society and especially healthcare. In fact, only last week I wrote a letter of support for an elderly lady to a council housing association who is incredibly isolated and her health has deteriorated because of that; she would like to move somewhere more populated. I donate each month to the North Dorset Age Concern charity who provide support for lonely elderly people. However these more societal issues would seem different to loneliness in medics?
When I graduated in 2001, hospital medicine was a very different place. We had clear team structures, and we all worked together for the good of the team. Many junior doctors lived on site or nearby; social events were frequent (and often raucous!), and we really felt valued. People think of being a junior doctor as hard work, and certainly the hours were very long at the time (before current working time directives, my record was I once in 2001 clocked up 120 hours in a week!) but I genuinely loved it, and have very fond memories of those years.
That is all gone. Teams are no more. Doctors come and go through departments on shifts and as a consultant I rarely know who will be on my ward one day to the next. Consultants are increasingly siloed, and the volume of work will often mean shovelling food into mouth staring at a computer screen rather than meeting a colleague for a sandwich. The irony is that medics are the very people who know that this is all very unhealthy behaviour. I do feel that there are some green shoots, and initiatives aimed at fostering social connection, but the sheer volume of clinical and administrative work to be done feels like swimming upstream.
A part of tackling any problem is of course recognising it, and talking about it. In every walk of life, since the pandemic people have retreated into their own digital world more, with digital solutions, home working and online meetings now the norm. These have their place, but I worry we are losing the very essence of what it is that makes us human.
With that in mind, I have just had the most fabulous of weekends. Once a year in late January, when the weather is miserable, a group of my male friends meet for what we term our ‘wellness weekend’. There are usually 11 of us, 3 of whom I have known since I was in primary school, and the shortest friendship is over 25 years. Although I may only see some of them that one time per year, we always immediately settle into that easy conversation of old friends as if we saw each other regularly. Conversation was deep and meaningful. We discussed our hopes, fears and insecurities in a way that we don’t often do. I will humbly admit, that despite my usually impeccable healthy lifestyle, I ate take-away food, far too many snacks and cookies (never mind ‘eat the rainbow,’ I only ate beige), and was way over my weekly alcohol limit. Perhaps our term ‘wellness weekend’ only applies to our mental wellbeing?! I think men are often less good at sharing their vulnerabilities with each other, but if able, it is so very good for us. I am so fortunate to have this circle of friends and I am truly grateful. Last summer I got offered a job in Australis. 4x the pay, for less work, and much more sunshine. I turned it down. My reason? My friends and family in the UK are more important, it’s as simple as that.
Social connectivity will look very different for each individual, but it is at the heart of what makes us human, and makes us happy. We should all have more wellness weekends like mine.