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Thursday, June 4, 2026
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Where do you get your ideas?
Readers always ask where I get my ideas.
With my latest book, The Burnout Cure, I didn’t have far to look. While Wolf, Lily, and the characters who inhabit their world are fictional, the issues of physician burnout, depression, and suicide are very real—as are the sobering statistics that Lily quotes about how many physicians are affected.
The first seeds of this story were planted back when I was a young doctor-in-training. As Lily, the heroine of The Burnout Cure describes in the book, the hours and work conditions during internship and residency were brutal. I lucked out with a program that provided wonderful role models and great institutional support. Unlike many of my peers, I didn’t have to race from one hospital room to another throughout the night, drawing blood and starting IV’s—our main teaching hospital had in-house phlebotomists and a great nursing staff who were paid to do that.
But there were still entire months when I never saw the sun because I was pre-rounding on patients at 4:30 a.m., spending the day in the O.R., doing evening rounds on post-op patients in the SICU (surgical intensive care unit), and then signing out to the night team at 9 or 10 p.m.—when I wasn’t on call myself.
Speaking of call, I lucked out there too. I was never on call more often than every third night, and my longest stretch of working straight through without sleep was forty-two hours. I had friends, though, who suffered through training programs like Nick’s. They took call every other night, worked a hundred-plus hours each week, and lied to Joint Commission inspectors to keep their programs—and ultimately themselves—out of regulatory hot water for flouting the rules.
Fast forward ten years to another milestone event, when three excellent, successful, well-respected physicians in our community committed suicide within months of each other. Our local medical society held a dinner to honor their memory, and the keynote speaker talked about physician burnout.
I’d never heard about burnout prior to that night. But before long, the term seemed to be on everyone’s lips. As Wolf notes in the opening chapter:
"Whenever he opened a medical journal, or stepped into the doctors’ lounge, or went to the ER to admit a patient, there was always someone talking about wellness, burnout, or both."
Practically overnight, it seemed that physician burnout burgeoned to epidemic proportions, and even the popular press started quoting the grim statistics that those of us in the trenches lived with every day.
A few years ago, I came across a TEDMED talk by Pamela Wible, a family physician from Eugene, Oregon. She talks about “Why Doctors Kill Themselves”—and she doesn’t mince words. She describes a broken system that dehumanizes aspiring physicians and perpetuates abuses in medical education and practice.
Dr. Wible’s passion about the topic got me thinking.
What if a woman who is smart, mouthy, and willing to challenge the establishment decides to turn her personal tragedy into a cautionary lesson for other physicians? What if the one man who can help her spread the message is an irreverent, unapologetic chauvinist who doesn’t believe in burnout? And what if they strike sparks off each other, hot enough to burn up the sheets?
And so, The Burnout Cure was born.
With my latest book, The Burnout Cure, I didn’t have far to look. While Wolf, Lily, and the characters who inhabit their world are fictional, the issues of physician burnout, depression, and suicide are very real—as are the sobering statistics that Lily quotes about how many physicians are affected.
The first seeds of this story were planted back when I was a young doctor-in-training. As Lily, the heroine of The Burnout Cure describes in the book, the hours and work conditions during internship and residency were brutal. I lucked out with a program that provided wonderful role models and great institutional support. Unlike many of my peers, I didn’t have to race from one hospital room to another throughout the night, drawing blood and starting IV’s—our main teaching hospital had in-house phlebotomists and a great nursing staff who were paid to do that.
But there were still entire months when I never saw the sun because I was pre-rounding on patients at 4:30 a.m., spending the day in the O.R., doing evening rounds on post-op patients in the SICU (surgical intensive care unit), and then signing out to the night team at 9 or 10 p.m.—when I wasn’t on call myself.
Speaking of call, I lucked out there too. I was never on call more often than every third night, and my longest stretch of working straight through without sleep was forty-two hours. I had friends, though, who suffered through training programs like Nick’s. They took call every other night, worked a hundred-plus hours each week, and lied to Joint Commission inspectors to keep their programs—and ultimately themselves—out of regulatory hot water for flouting the rules.
Fast forward ten years to another milestone event, when three excellent, successful, well-respected physicians in our community committed suicide within months of each other. Our local medical society held a dinner to honor their memory, and the keynote speaker talked about physician burnout.
I’d never heard about burnout prior to that night. But before long, the term seemed to be on everyone’s lips. As Wolf notes in the opening chapter:
"Whenever he opened a medical journal, or stepped into the doctors’ lounge, or went to the ER to admit a patient, there was always someone talking about wellness, burnout, or both."
Practically overnight, it seemed that physician burnout burgeoned to epidemic proportions, and even the popular press started quoting the grim statistics that those of us in the trenches lived with every day.
A few years ago, I came across a TEDMED talk by Pamela Wible, a family physician from Eugene, Oregon. She talks about “Why Doctors Kill Themselves”—and she doesn’t mince words. She describes a broken system that dehumanizes aspiring physicians and perpetuates abuses in medical education and practice.
Dr. Wible’s passion about the topic got me thinking.
What if a woman who is smart, mouthy, and willing to challenge the establishment decides to turn her personal tragedy into a cautionary lesson for other physicians? What if the one man who can help her spread the message is an irreverent, unapologetic chauvinist who doesn’t believe in burnout? And what if they strike sparks off each other, hot enough to burn up the sheets?
And so, The Burnout Cure was born.
http://amzn.to/2hJVBEv
watch the book trailer: https://youtu.be/kb2axKzTuy8
Thursday, July 27, 2017
#RealLife - a doctor's story
Hello, lovely readers!
I haven't blogged in a while. Because, well...real life. Kids: three. Husband: one. Day job: ah, the day job. That's where things got tricky.
I started my medical career in private practice. Over the past decade or so, changes in the medical marketplace have forced more and more physicians to joined larger organizations in order to stay afloat. Our group joined a large academic center, and for a while things were good.
But bureaucracy is like a huge boa constrictor. It squeezes tighter and tighter. First you can't move. Then you can't breathe. Then you're done. Buh-bye.
We became cogs in a big system, forced to check "meaningful use" boxes that had nothing to do with patient care. When we went the extra mile to help our patients, we'd get reprimanded for not following the rules. It was all about the system. The liability. The bottom line.
This year, we decided: enough.
We left Big Medicine and went back to private practice. A smaller, leaner group for sure. Age, illness, and the desire for a steady paycheck whittled down our numbers. Some doctors retired. Others decided to remain in the university hospital setting. The rest of us embarked on an exciting new venture, hoping to rediscover the joys of practicing medicine.
Are we there yet? No.
I'm working harder than ever, trying to organize everything while still seeing patients. There are new offices to set up, new staff to train, new workflows to design, new computer systems, new equipment, new...well, you get the picture. It's a process, with a steep learning curve.
But those patients who followed us on this grand adventure already appreciate the difference. More personalized care. Smiling, friendly staff. Doctors who can and do go that extra mile.
Which brings me back to where I started: real life has a way of messing with the best intentions. My New Year's resolution to write more (or at least more regularly) gave way to other priorities. I'm getting back on track now, and hope to finish my next book soon.
Thanks for sticking with me, and stay tuned for The Burnout Cure. Art imitating life, but with a happy ending. Guaranteed.
Hugs,
Jill
I haven't blogged in a while. Because, well...real life. Kids: three. Husband: one. Day job: ah, the day job. That's where things got tricky.
I started my medical career in private practice. Over the past decade or so, changes in the medical marketplace have forced more and more physicians to joined larger organizations in order to stay afloat. Our group joined a large academic center, and for a while things were good.But bureaucracy is like a huge boa constrictor. It squeezes tighter and tighter. First you can't move. Then you can't breathe. Then you're done. Buh-bye.
We became cogs in a big system, forced to check "meaningful use" boxes that had nothing to do with patient care. When we went the extra mile to help our patients, we'd get reprimanded for not following the rules. It was all about the system. The liability. The bottom line.
This year, we decided: enough.
We left Big Medicine and went back to private practice. A smaller, leaner group for sure. Age, illness, and the desire for a steady paycheck whittled down our numbers. Some doctors retired. Others decided to remain in the university hospital setting. The rest of us embarked on an exciting new venture, hoping to rediscover the joys of practicing medicine.
Are we there yet? No.
I'm working harder than ever, trying to organize everything while still seeing patients. There are new offices to set up, new staff to train, new workflows to design, new computer systems, new equipment, new...well, you get the picture. It's a process, with a steep learning curve.
But those patients who followed us on this grand adventure already appreciate the difference. More personalized care. Smiling, friendly staff. Doctors who can and do go that extra mile.
Which brings me back to where I started: real life has a way of messing with the best intentions. My New Year's resolution to write more (or at least more regularly) gave way to other priorities. I'm getting back on track now, and hope to finish my next book soon.
Thanks for sticking with me, and stay tuned for The Burnout Cure. Art imitating life, but with a happy ending. Guaranteed.
Hugs,
Jill
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
Don't Give Up ~ Guest Post by Author Susan Barton
My book, Emotional Paramedics, comes in at just about two hundred pages, yet
it took me almost five years to finish and finally publish it. There were
several reasons why it took me so long and I’d be lying if I said
procrastination wasn’t one of them. As a book marketer/book reviewer, I find
myself living the life of a shoemaker. I’m sure you’ve heard it…the shoemaker spends
so much time making shoes for everyone in the village that his own family goes shoeless.
In other words, I was so busy helping other authors publish and market their
books, I had little time to concentrate on my own writing.
A couple of other things had me at a
standstill with my latest book. Emotional
Paramedics is unlike anything I’ve written before. I’ve also written three
children’s books and three non-fiction books and, as proud as I am of them all,
a coming of age novel was an ambitious undertaking for me. I struggled with the
content and dialogue. The book deals with some very serious social issues and
uses strong language at times. Although any strong language in the book is most
definitely not gratuitous, I’d seen the scathing reviews where readers
condemned a book after a couple of pages simply because they didn’t like the
language used. The truth of the matter is that some subjects are just gritty
and real, which means they warrant some gritty and real language. Emotional Paramedics is (at times) one
of those books. Yet, it’s not all doom, gloom and swearing. Not by any means.
At the heart of the book is a young
girl, August, who struggles to overcome some truly awful life experiences,
while trying hard not to let the world change her into something she wasn’t meant
to be. It’s about a young girl who is determined not to give up and who
believes there is something better just around the corner.
I also wondered if anyone else would
be as invested in my main character as I was. Would people enjoy the book? Or
would they groan and say, “ugh, not
another book about a kid with a bad childhood.” Or would they accept it for
the story that it truly is – a story of hope, courage and perseverance?
Maybe you’ve been considering
writing a book and are filled with the same concerns and doubts that I was when
I first began writing Emotional
Paramedics. I’d like to encourage you to continue writing. Do it for
yourself and then share your story with everyone you know. Be like August and
don’t give up!
Wishing you much success and
happiness in all you do!
Susan
Barton
August Gallagher is a sweet and intelligent Brooklyn girl just trying to find her place in the world during the turbulent 1960s. Unfortunately, her mother Alis doesn't make things easy for her. Bad choices, poor parenting and abusive men create chaos at every turn. Yet, through it all, August reluctantly remains a devoted daughter and continues to be Alis's emotional paramedic.
Along the way, August finds friendship, romance and makes a few dangerous enemies. When Alis hits rock bottom, August is forced to come to terms with the fact that it's finally time to cut the dysfunctional cord to save herself from Alis's emotional grasp. This is a wonderful coming-of-age story that will appeal to a wide variety of readers.
*This book deals with serious social issues. It includes some strong language and mature situations. It is recommended for readers 17 and up.*
PURCHASE EMOTIONAL PARAMEDICS ON AMAZON.COM
ABOUT SUSAN BARTON:
Susan Barton is an author, book promoter, marketer and coach. Susan has written several non-fiction and fiction books with several more books in the works. She currently resides in North Texas with her husband and their two dogs. She invites readers to connect with her via her website and on social media:
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