The Twelve Gifts of Direct Primary Care
As the season of giving approaches, I’ve been thinking about the gifts Direct Primary Care has given me. Not the BS, superficial benefits presented in some consultant slide decks, but rather the tangible gifts that have enriched my life.
Some of these gifts are practical, while others are philosophical. A few even came as surprises.
1. Time
The most obvious gift is the time I’ve gained with patients, family, and myself. It’s time to think, to relax, and to simply be. Time is a precious commodity that I cherish every day.
Previously, time was a constant struggle. I was constantly trying to manage and optimize my schedule, always feeling like I was running out of time. But now, I’ve learned to embrace the concept of “enough time.” I have enough time to do what I love, to spend quality time with my loved ones, and to simply enjoy life.
2. My Cell Phone Number as a Gift, Not a Burden
I was warned that giving patients my cell phone number would be a professional mistake. I was told that it would lead to midnight calls about hangnails, blurred boundaries, and a life consumed by other people’s anxieties. But I’ve discovered that my cell phone number is one of the best gifts I can give my patients.
My patients treat my cell phone number, generally, with respect and restraint. They understand that access to my phone is a privilege, not a weapon.
3. Lunch
I now take the time to sit down and enjoy my lunch. Sometimes, I even eat it while it’s still warm.
This may seem like a small thing, but it’s a significant difference from the years of inhaling cold coffee and graham crackers between patients. Lunch is no longer a luxury; it’s a basic human function that I’ve rediscovered.
4. Sundays
I’ve learned to embrace Sundays as a day of rest and relaxation. I spend my Sundays attending church, spending time with my family, watching football, working on home projects, playing guitar and committing to not thinking about medicine unless someone is actively dying.
The gift of Sundays is not just the day itself; it’s the absence of dread and anxiety. I no longer have to worry about Monday’s schedule or the demands of my job. Instead, I can enjoy a day of rest and rejuvenation.
5. The Delivery Room
I still get to deliver babies.
The gift of the delivery room is the opportunity to make a positive impact on people’s lives. It’s a privilege to be able to help women give birth and to be a part of the journey of new life.
In rural Maine, hospitals are abandoning obstetrics, but now I have the flexibility to continue practicing “full” family medicine. The trifecta of meconium, vernix and fetal excrement always tickles my ticker.
6. My Patients’ Stories
When you have time, people share their real stories with you. Ones that matter and impact their health but don’t fit into a fifteen-minute visit.
You learn about job stressors, marital issues, childhood trauma, life’s victories and losses and, of course the challenging in-laws.
I hear about their gardens, grandkids, and the aging dog. “Patients” become “people”. You start to see less “problems” and more of the “person”
This isn’t weakness; it’s the essence of effective medicine.
7. The Word “No”
I can now confidently say “no” to ALOT of things. “No” to the insurance company bureaucracy, metrics that don’t benefit my patients, and administrative requests that serve only to justify someone else’s job.
This might be the most underrated gift. The freedom to decline is a powerful tool. It allows me to protect my time and my patients’ time from the relentless demands of a system designed to extract rather than heal.
8. Medical Records I Can Actually Read
My notes are for me and my patients, not for billers, coders, or auditors seeking documentation errors.
I write what matters and often in a minimalist style. I skip unnecessary details. My charts are clean, useful, and blissfully free of copy-pasted garbage that serves to justify billing levels. This is a revolutionary concept, I know.
9. My Reputation Back
I’m the doctor who answers the phone, calls back, and shows up.
After years in a system that made it nearly impossible to be that doctor, DPC restored my reputation. Patients don’t thank me for being accessible; they thank me for embodying the qualities they want in a doctor, someone “real”, “honest” and present.
10. Pride in My Work
It’s not just about survival or getting through the day; it’s about genuine pride in my work.
I had forgotten what it felt like to feel good about my work. Somewhere along the way, I lost that sense of fulfillment. DPC restored it, one unhurried visit at a time.
11. Uncertainty
This might sound unusual, but hear me out. DPC gave me the freedom to admit “I don’t know” without the pressure of a ticking clock.
I can embrace uncertainty. I can openly discuss it with patients. I can order tests that make sense rather than those that cover my own shortcomings. Uncertainty is no longer a liability—it’s simply an integral part of the process.
12. A Reason to Stay
This is the most significant gift, the one that lies beneath all the others.
I was on the verge of leaving medicine. Exhausted, defeated, and convinced that the profession I loved had become unsustainable. DPC didn’t offer me a new career. Instead, it provided me with a reason to stay in the one I had.
That’s no small matter. For those of us who dedicated a decade to training and another decade to practicing, leaving is not an easy decision. It’s a form of grief. DPC allowed me to bypass that grief and retain my passion for medicine.
Twelve years. Twelve gifts. Some I sought out, some I didn’t realize I needed.
Wishing you a joyful holiday season. May your waiting room be peaceful, your hot chocolate be steaming, and your marshmallows fluffy.
LOVE THIS POST JACK!
and Ill add ~ some of the BEST friends medicine has to offer.