Esse Est Percipi
You’re a what?” he asked over the noise of the passing Mardi Gras parade.
“I’m a hospitalist,” I replied.
“Oh.” There was an extended pause. I could tell he was searching his mental database to determine if he had a family member who was a hospitalist. Nope, nothing there. Then it came: “What is that exactly?” I followed with a general description of “what a hospitalist does,” but his response made it apparent that my description hadn’t stuck: “So you’re like a generalist, but you work in the hospital?”
I let it go. Mardi Gras wasn’t the time to launch into all that a hospitalist truly embodies: quality improvement, systems redesign, patient safety, effective transitions of care. And he probably wouldn’t remember it tomorrow anyway. But my reveler friend’s summary statement stayed with me through the night, for it returned me to a core philosophical tenet: Esse est percipi. We are who we appear to be.
There are 30,000 of us now, all facing the same problem: How do we match who we are perceived to be with who we are? The hospitalist is much more than a “generalist who works in a hospital,” but what is perceived to be is equally as important as what is. At the root of the problem is a question of accountability: How do we hold ourselves out to the public as a specialty that possesses the knowledge and skills necessary to advance quality and safety for the hospitalized patient?
This question of public accountability is not new to the profession. The heterogeneity of physicians in the early 1900s, from the authentic to the snake-oil salesmen, prompted the need for independent validation of physicians’ qualifications. Dr. Derrick Vail introduced the concept of a board certification in 1908, with the goal of “issuing credentials that would assure the public of the specialist’s qualifications.” The American Board of Medical Specialties was formed in 1933, and continues to this day to be the entity responsible for ensuring this accountability.
While there are no “snake-oil salesmen” in HM, there is heterogeneity. There are many of us answering the call to advance quality and patient safety, but there are many more of us who are not yet there. And there are some (i.e., those practicing medicine in the hospital while awaiting a subspecialty fellowship) who, while referred to as “hospitalists,” do not embrace the central tenets of the career hospitalist. Thirty-thousand hospitalists is a spectacular achievement, but with that growth comes the new problem of dilution: Without some measure of distinguishing those who are authentic in the value-added services of quality and patient safety from those who have not embraced these tenets, the perception of us all will be merely “physicians who practice in the hospital.”
To my mind, the American Board of Internal Medicine’s (ABIM) Maintenance of Certification (MOC) Focused Practice in Hospital Medicine (FPHM) program answers this question of public accountability. This new MOC process provides an objective way of establishing that hospitalists who claim to be competent in their field have, in fact, demonstrated this competence. Paradoxically, it is even more compelling than a board certification following a residency or fellowship; skills and knowledge fade over time, and new knowledge consistently is added. The MOC certification assures the public that despite these challenges, the certified hospitalist has continued to maintain competence in the field.
Further, the components of the FPHM (www.abim.org/specialty/fphm.aspx) provide assurance that the certified hospitalist has the expertise to practice HM, and has the knowledge and skills necessary to offer the value-added services of quality, patient safety, and performance improvement.
