EPtalk by Dr. Jayne 1/23/25
I had a bittersweet moment today. I watched one of my favorite pieces of healthcare software fade into the sunset. The health system where I spent the majority of my career finally retired the clinical repository that it built back in the 1990s when it was on the cutting edge of innovation.
As students, we were fascinated by the idea that we could see information from different hospitals in the network. The system served as the core of what eventually became a homegrown EHR. Although the EHR piece has since been replaced by a sequence of vendors, the repository continued chugging along in the background, serving as both an archive and as a testament to the system’s longstanding commitment to technology use in patient care. Farewell, my dependable and sturdy app. I never thought you’d last this long.
I’m a card-carrying member of Generation X and remember learning a thing or two from TV shows like “Sesame Street” and “The Electric Company.” Understandably, this press release from NewYork-Presbyterian caught my eye as the organization is partnering with Sesame Workshop to create campaigns that promote children’s health.
The project starts with an “Ask a Doctor” video series that includes Sesame Street characters alongside physicians covering topics like healthy sleep, food allergies, and routine health visits. Some of the episodes are already live on YouTube. As a primary care physician, I give the wellness visit episode two thumbs up. Watching it took me into an internet rabbit hole involving The Count, who has been my crush for longer than I care to admit. Watching him sing a duet with Billie Eilish was amazing. If anyone knows the physicians who were featured in the videos, I’d love to hear what it was like to film them.
Mr. H recently pondered on the question of why telehealth physicians need to wear scrubs or a white coat, going on to note that maybe he will buy “one of those ill-concealing exam gowns for future use in amusing the online doctor.” As someone who has delivered quite a bit of telehealth care over the last decade, that would absolutely make my day if I popped into my virtual visit and saw someone wearing a gown.
I’ve certainly had experience with the varying dress codes in telehealth organizations. One of my former telehealth employers required that we wear white coats for all of our patient-facing interactions, and I wasn’t a fan. When I was an old-timey primary care physician in solo practice, I never wore a white coat. The primary reason was that they have a tendency to store and spread germs. I also felt that some patients were intimidated by it, and that not wearing a lab coat helped build rapport with those patients.
When I moved to the emergency department, I wore a white coat because it was policy. My hospital also provided scrubs for us to wear and always ensured that we had two white coats laundered for every shift. That way, if you ended up being soiled by something unpleasant, you could quickly swap it out.
Once our group stopped being employed by the hospital and was outsourced to a staffing company, the laundry services stopped. I’d say we were then 50/50 on wearing white coats. If you ran into something messy, you either had to go coatless or have a spare in your locker. Given that change, many of us opted to wear isolation gowns to protect our clothing more frequently. Although this probably increased costs, no one really cared.
When I started seeing patients in telehealth, only one of the three companies that I worked for required white coats. The others required “professional dress,” and some of those dress codes were nebulous. One called for collared shirts, with no recognition of feminine norms of business dress where someone might wear a suit jacket with a non-collared blouse underneath. That undoubtedly is more formal / professional than, say, a collared golf shirt, but the latter was allowed while the former was technically against the rules.
Another company was more specific, calling for dress that is “business casual or greater in formality.” It went on to further evaluate that clothing should be clean, in good repair, and without excessive wrinkles. I personally thought that was pretty reasonable, because we all know that even if you start your day fully pressed, you’re likely to be at least a tiny bit rumpled by the end of the day. You shouldn’t look like you’ve just exited your bed, however.
For me, a white coat is strictly functional rather than ceremonial. Are you a medical student who needs to tote a lot of things in your pockets? Then a lab coat may be for you. I’ve also seen students wearing the equivalent of a Batman utility belt, and that always makes me smile. Are you in a surgical subspecialty that requires that you keep your scrubs covered if you’re not actively in an operating suite? Then it may be for you, too, with a couple of caveats such as remaining in designated areas of the hospital and changing to street clothes if you’re going to leave them. Personally, I’ve practiced medicine wearing an evening gown, hiking boots, and everything in between, and I’ve brought my A-game regardless of my outfit.
In many hospitals, people of all different roles wear white coats, so it doesn’t help differentiate whether you’re a physician or not. It’s not a mantle of authority, so when those of us who are normally in those environments are forced to wear them so that we “look like physicians,” it doesn’t ring true.
Do you know how people tell physicians from non-physicians in the hospital? Name tags. Especially the ones that have “MD” or “DO” or “RN” or “PharmD” or a host of other titles in big bold letters so that patients know with whom they are interacting. Do you know what I never had in telehealth? If you guessed “name tag,” then you’re a winner. Even though patients aren’t seeing us in person, I think that having a professional name tag with a photo and credentials just like the hospital ones would help build credibility and trust in the same way as a white coat. And for those of us who feel that wearing a white coat might be an issue for our patients, it would allow us to make the choice.
What do you think? Should telehealth physicians be required to wear white coats, or be empowered to dress like the professionals they are? Leave a comment or email me.
Email Dr. Jayne.
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