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Heads up: today’s post is not related at all to personal finance. It’s driven by my recent experiences in medical training, but may apply to many teacher-learner situations, irrespective of work type.

Dear Preceptors:

You are the cornerstone of medical education for medical students and resident physicians. There is sometimes a shortage of positive feedback, so here is one, from learner to teacher.

Thank you so much, for all that you do.

Sometimes, you might overhear learners b**** and complain. You might recall having been one yourself, back in the day. I, too, have taken part in this behaviour.

But really, when I think back on it, the preceptors that I have b****’ed and complained about have been the subject of it because it was so rare. Because most of the ones whom I worked with ranged between good to great – to the few who were downright life-changing. So that ones who weren’t “good” (by the complainant’s subjective view) stood out. They were an exception to this pretty darned good norm.

Taking a deeper dive, the statement of “they were an exception” is probably the wrong statement to use. I’m learning, as I slowly start to mature in my professional journey, that everyone has a different experience. Some people loved working with a preceptor whom I struggled to work with. Others shared in my struggle with this same preceptor. Yet other learners had an even more difficult experience. Taking a step back, it wasn’t my preceptor’s fault that I found it hard to work with this person. It was more likely a mismatch of our personalities, working styles, and/or (on the rare occasion) clinical views. (I try not to hold onto my clinical views too tightly as a resident. That just seems like hubris of epic proportions). Anyways, it would be fallacious of me to say that this person was a “bad preceptor.” We just didn’t fit.

And that is okay.

And I still learned lots from this preceptor. And received valuable feedback.

So, dear preceptors across the country and across the world, thank you for taking on learners. Not everyone is interested in teaching from the get go, but thank you to the ones who make an effort. And almost everyone makes their best effort. What this best effort looks like fluctuates from person to person, day to day, and circumstance to circumstance. If, on the rare occasion, my preceptor seems to not pay heed to me today, or brush me off at first, I get annoyed. I think to myself, Hey, I’m struggling with a patient issue here and am seeking guidance! Aren’t you supposed to be the guiding one? (Translation: Help! Please don’t ignore me!).

But a few breaths later, I wonder what might be happening that I can’t see that is pulling their attention in different directions. Being an avid reader, I can then conjure up all sorts of plausible explanations. Things have been unsettled at home. A child or parent is sick. A relationship is on the rocks. My preceptor is feeling unwell but white-knuckling it through the day. A big grant proposal is due. Another paper has been rejected. There’s some weird hospital policy under discussion or restructuring headache that I, as a learner, am not aware of.

While these musings may be way off target, I feel better. It helps remind me that my preceptor is not JUST my preceptor (duh) and they have a multitude of things to juggle, just like I do. And, as I have risen in postgraduate years, I’ve begun to suspect that many of my preceptors might have even more things to juggle than I do. In some cases, way more.

So, thank you.

Thank you for taking the time to listen to my not-so-subtle panicked questions. For listening to my patient care plans and pointing out areas that are good and areas that could be even better. For taking the time out of busy clinical days to point out a teaching moment, an interesting medical phenomenon, or a clinical pearl. Thank you for providing a supportive learning environment, where I’m not afraid you’re “pimping” me but rather I know that you want to see where I’m at and help target my learning direction. Thank you for stepping outside of normal societal “hushed”ness about financial and business matters relating to medicine. Thank you for showing me how the system that I work with runs by taking me to some administrative meetings, for telling me about how it came to be or why things are set up in their current configurations. Thank you for walking me through your growing pains as a new staff physician, and imparting wisdom so my transition might be smoother as a result.

And thank you, so so much, for providing the most difficult feedback there is to give. You know what I’m talking about. The feedback that nothing to with the “hard” clinical skills or knowledge, and everything to do with the “soft” skills.

For me, those bits of feedback stand out. I know there is so much I’m not aware of, in terms of medical knowledge and know-how. Those soft skill things, though? Those things, I can’t see.

I’m in the midst of reading a book right now, Insight by Dr. Tasha Eurich. Still in the beginning portions, but it’s already got some interesting points about self-awareness. I’d like to think I’m self-aware, but the times where I received feedback on the “soft” skills, I was very surprised. I had no idea I was doing those things or acting that way or gave off that impression.

That feedback is so valuable. I would never have known, if it had not been for someone caring enough to give me the feedback.

So, thank you.

And please keep doing what you do.

-Dr. FIREfly

Have you had any great experiences with teachers or learners recently? Or stand out ones from the past? If so, would love to hear about it in the comments section or by email!