Too little time and too many worries for social media

I’m not on Facebook, either professionally or personally.

My office doesn’t have a Twitter account.

In fact, my only nod to social media at all is a rarely updated LinkedIn page, which is really just a public CV.

Why, in this age of connectedness, do I hide from these things? One reason is time. There isn’t much of it in the course of a day. Between my practice (patients, dictations, forms, returning calls, reviewing tests, rinse, wash, repeat), my family (wife, kids, dogs, house), and all the other things that make up a day (driving, finances, bathing, sleep), I don’t have much extra time. I really have no desire to see what others had for breakfast, look at pictures of a distant cousin’s kids, or have an online political argument with in-laws.

Another reason is privacy. Most patients are good people, but there are scary ones, too. I don’t want them knowing my kids’ names, or what school they go to, or seeing their pictures. In this age trying to have a degree of personal privacy is hard enough. I don’t want to make it any easier for someone looking to cause trouble.

I have nothing against my patients. I like the majority of them. But I don’t want to be online friends with them, either. Practicing objective medicine requires a degree of emotional distance, and I don’t want to do anything to shorten that. Social media connections with someone may also clue you into their personal and political beliefs, and, as I’ve said before, I think knowing those about patients (and them knowing mine) can only make the relationship difficult.

And the last is from a medical-legal view. The definition of what constitutes medical advice seems to be quite vague, and I worry anything I innocuously post or tweet could be taken to mean that I had an established treating medical relationship with someone or that my malpractice carrier could raise my rates by saying I was doing online medicine.

There’s also the simple fact that anything can be interpreted in any way. I worry that something I might put up could be used against me in court. Let’s say a patient dies while I’m on vacation, and the family decides to sue. Pictures of me relaxing with my kids on the trip could be used to make me look like an uncaring, callous doctor, even if I had no idea what was going on back home.

I’ll keep my somewhat under-the-radar personal existence as it is. Others may feel I’m missing out on the wonders of the social age, but I’m happy with keeping my home life just that – at home.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

I’m not on Facebook, either professionally or personally.

My office doesn’t have a Twitter account.

In fact, my only nod to social media at all is a rarely updated LinkedIn page, which is really just a public CV.

Why, in this age of connectedness, do I hide from these things? One reason is time. There isn’t much of it in the course of a day. Between my practice (patients, dictations, forms, returning calls, reviewing tests, rinse, wash, repeat), my family (wife, kids, dogs, house), and all the other things that make up a day (driving, finances, bathing, sleep), I don’t have much extra time. I really have no desire to see what others had for breakfast, look at pictures of a distant cousin’s kids, or have an online political argument with in-laws.

Another reason is privacy. Most patients are good people, but there are scary ones, too. I don’t want them knowing my kids’ names, or what school they go to, or seeing their pictures. In this age trying to have a degree of personal privacy is hard enough. I don’t want to make it any easier for someone looking to cause trouble.

I have nothing against my patients. I like the majority of them. But I don’t want to be online friends with them, either. Practicing objective medicine requires a degree of emotional distance, and I don’t want to do anything to shorten that. Social media connections with someone may also clue you into their personal and political beliefs, and, as I’ve said before, I think knowing those about patients (and them knowing mine) can only make the relationship difficult.

And the last is from a medical-legal view. The definition of what constitutes medical advice seems to be quite vague, and I worry anything I innocuously post or tweet could be taken to mean that I had an established treating medical relationship with someone or that my malpractice carrier could raise my rates by saying I was doing online medicine.

There’s also the simple fact that anything can be interpreted in any way. I worry that something I might put up could be used against me in court. Let’s say a patient dies while I’m on vacation, and the family decides to sue. Pictures of me relaxing with my kids on the trip could be used to make me look like an uncaring, callous doctor, even if I had no idea what was going on back home.

I’ll keep my somewhat under-the-radar personal existence as it is. Others may feel I’m missing out on the wonders of the social age, but I’m happy with keeping my home life just that – at home.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

I’m not on Facebook, either professionally or personally.

My office doesn’t have a Twitter account.

In fact, my only nod to social media at all is a rarely updated LinkedIn page, which is really just a public CV.

Why, in this age of connectedness, do I hide from these things? One reason is time. There isn’t much of it in the course of a day. Between my practice (patients, dictations, forms, returning calls, reviewing tests, rinse, wash, repeat), my family (wife, kids, dogs, house), and all the other things that make up a day (driving, finances, bathing, sleep), I don’t have much extra time. I really have no desire to see what others had for breakfast, look at pictures of a distant cousin’s kids, or have an online political argument with in-laws.

Another reason is privacy. Most patients are good people, but there are scary ones, too. I don’t want them knowing my kids’ names, or what school they go to, or seeing their pictures. In this age trying to have a degree of personal privacy is hard enough. I don’t want to make it any easier for someone looking to cause trouble.

I have nothing against my patients. I like the majority of them. But I don’t want to be online friends with them, either. Practicing objective medicine requires a degree of emotional distance, and I don’t want to do anything to shorten that. Social media connections with someone may also clue you into their personal and political beliefs, and, as I’ve said before, I think knowing those about patients (and them knowing mine) can only make the relationship difficult.

And the last is from a medical-legal view. The definition of what constitutes medical advice seems to be quite vague, and I worry anything I innocuously post or tweet could be taken to mean that I had an established treating medical relationship with someone or that my malpractice carrier could raise my rates by saying I was doing online medicine.

There’s also the simple fact that anything can be interpreted in any way. I worry that something I might put up could be used against me in court. Let’s say a patient dies while I’m on vacation, and the family decides to sue. Pictures of me relaxing with my kids on the trip could be used to make me look like an uncaring, callous doctor, even if I had no idea what was going on back home.

I’ll keep my somewhat under-the-radar personal existence as it is. Others may feel I’m missing out on the wonders of the social age, but I’m happy with keeping my home life just that – at home.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.