Primary care doctors are the Swiss Army knives of medicine: part diagnostician, part counselor, part air-traffic controller,
anddepending on the daypart IT support (“Have you tried turning the patient portal off and on again?”).
They’re expected to deliver high-quality, relationship-based care in a system that often treats time like an optional upgrade.

This article breaks down four pitfalls that show up both in the mind (the constant internal calculus) and in the calendar
(the relentless, measurable workload). You’ll also get practical, real-world ways clinicians and clinics are trying to climb out of these holes
without pretending there’s a single magic hack. Because if there were, it would already be prior-authorized… and then denied.

Pitfall #1: The Time Crunch That Turns Every Visit into a Speedrun

A classic primary care paradox: the shorter the appointment, the longer the patient’s list becomes.
The mind pitfall is the running thought: “I’m behind, and I’m going to miss something important.”
The daily reality is a packed schedule where complex care is squeezed into small blocks of time.

What it looks like in real life

A patient comes in for “a quick refill.” In the first 90 seconds you discover:
their blood pressure is up, sleep is terrible, mood is spiraling, they stopped a medication due to side effects,
their knee pain is limiting activity, and they also want to discuss a concerning molebecause of course they do.

Now the physician’s brain becomes a triage engine:
What’s urgent? What’s dangerous? What can wait? What will the patient actually do if I recommend it?
What am I accountable for? What do I document?
This cognitive load is invisible, but it’s exhausting. When the clock is loud, the clinical judgment has to be louder.

Why it happens

• Patient complexity is up. More chronic disease, more mental health needs, more medications, more social barriers.
• Primary care is the default coordinator. Specialists handle a slice; primary care owns the whole pie.
• Demand outpaces supply. In many communities, fewer clinicians cover more patients, which inflates panel sizes and wait times.

The hidden cost: “care compression”

When visits are too short, care gets compressed into fragments: a rushed medication adjustment here,
a deferred conversation there, a “we’ll talk next time” that turns into next year.
Preventive care and behavior changetwo of primary care’s superpowersneed time and trust.
Without that, the visit becomes reactive medicine with a thin coat of checkboxes.

Specific example: the “two-visit plan” that saves everyone

Many experienced clinicians use a gentle script:
“We can do the most important two things today, and I want to give the rest the time it deserves.”
It sounds simple, but it’s a boundary that preserves safety and dignity.
Pair it with a scheduled follow-up (virtual or in-person) and patients often feel more cared fornot less.
The key is framing: it’s not “no,” it’s “not safely in 12 minutes.”

Pitfall #2: “If It’s Not Documented, It Didn’t Happen” (Hello, EHR)

The mental pitfall is the nagging fear: “Did I write enough to protect the patient… and myself?”
The daily reality is hours of documentation, inbox management, and quality reportingoften after clinic,
when a doctor’s couch becomes an unofficial extension of the exam room.

The two jobs primary care doctors didn’t apply for

1. Full-time data entry (with occasional patient care breaks)
2. Professional inbox triage (medical advice, refill requests, lab questions, messages that start with “Quick question…”)

Modern primary care happens in two places: the exam room and the electronic record.
The exam room gets the glory. The record gets the hours.
And unlike a TV doctor, you don’t get dramatic music while you click “reviewed” 47 times.

Why the EHR burden is uniquely brutal in primary care

• Volume + variety. Primary care touches everything, so the documentation surface area is huge.
• “Just in case” charting. Defensive documentation grows when expectations and liability fears grow.
• Metrics stack up. Quality measures, screening reminders, and coding requirements multiply faster than appointment slots.

Patient portal messages: helpful… and endless

Portals improved access, and that’s good. But they also turned medical advice into something patients can request
between grocery runs. Many messages are clinically legitimate; the problem is that the workflow and reimbursement
often lag behind the new reality. The result is a silent workload expansionmore care, more decisions, more documentation,
but not necessarily more protected time.

What helps (when implemented well)

• Team-based inbox workflows: protocols that route messages to the right person (not automatically to the physician).
• Pre-visit planning: staff gather agenda items, close care gaps, and prep orders before the doctor enters.
• Smarter documentation support: scribes, voice tools, and templates that reduce clicks without turning notes into copy-paste soup.
• Protected admin time: scheduled blocks for charts and messages that don’t steal evenings.

The goal isn’t “do more faster.” It’s “do the right work at the right level with the right tools.”
Primary care thrives when clinicians practice at the top of their licenseand aren’t forced to moonlight as
a human interface for a billing system.

Pitfall #3: The Insurance Obstacle Course (a.k.a. Prior Auth Olympics)

The mind pitfall is a mix of dread and resignation: “This is clinically obvious… but will I have to beg for it?”
The daily reality is phone calls, forms, peer-to-peer reviews, and delays that turn straightforward care into a paperwork saga.

Prior authorization: permission slips for medicine

Prior authorization isn’t just annoying; it can reshape clinical decisions.
When clinicians anticipate denials or delays, they may choose less optimal options just to keep care moving.
That’s not “gaming the system.” That’s trying to protect a patient from weeks of limbo.

Where it hits primary care hardest

• Time drain: staff and clinicians spend significant weekly hours on authorizations instead of care delivery.
• Care delays: imaging, medications, and procedures can get stuck behind administrative gates.
• Trust damage: patients blame the clinic for delays that originate elsewhere.

A specific (very common) scenario

A patient with chronic migraine finally finds a medication that works.
Then the insurance plan changes and the new plan wants a prior authorization.
The doctor knows the history; the patient knows the relief; the system knows… none of that.
So everyone repeats the same story, now in the form of a fax.

What helps (even a little)

• Centralized authorization teams so clinicians aren’t personally running the relay race.
• Clear “step therapy” pathways documented upfront to reduce back-and-forth.
• Standardized evidence packets for common conditions (asthma, diabetes tech, migraine meds) that speed approvals.
• Transparent patient scripts that explain where the delay actually lives, preserving trust.

System-level reform matters here, because no amount of “being efficient” can out-click a broken process.
But clinics can still build guardrails so prior authorization doesn’t become a daily morale hit.

Pitfall #4: The Emotional Ledger and the Slow Creep of Moral Injury

The mind pitfall is the feeling that you’re failing people you genuinely want to help:
“I know what this patient needs… and I can’t reliably get it for them.”
The daily reality is absorbing distressmedical, social, financialand then trying to keep moving to the next room.

Burnout isn’t always “too much work.” Sometimes it’s “too little control.”

Primary care doctors don’t just treat hypertension and sinus infections.
They translate the system. They patch gaps. They coordinate care in a fragmented landscape.
They see the patient who can’t afford the medication, can’t get the appointment, can’t take time off work,
and is still expected to “be compliant.”

Over time, repeated exposure to situations where clinicians can’t deliver the care they believe is right
can morph into something deeper than fatigue. This is where the concept of moral injury shows up:
the psychological strain of being pushed to act against one’s professional values.

The emotional math primary care doctors do every day

• Empathy vs. throughput: “I want to listen, but I’m already behind.”
• Safety vs. practicality: “The ideal plan isn’t possible for this patient’s life.”
• Hope vs. realism: “Will this referral happen before things get worse?”
• Connection vs. depletion: “I caream I allowed to keep caring like this?”

A small example with a big emotional footprint

A physician screens for depression, identifies risk, and tries to connect the patient to therapy.
The earliest appointment is months away, out-of-network, or both.
The doctor offers interim support, maybe adjusts medication, maybe calls in a favor
but also knows the system’s response to suffering is often “take a number.”
It’s hard to carry that and then pivot to an annual physical with a smile.

What helps (and why it’s not just “self-care”)

• True team support: integrated behavioral health, social work, care management, and warm handoffs.
• Continuity of care: stable doctor-patient relationships reduce repeat storytelling and improve decision-making.
• Peer connection: case huddles and clinician communities that normalize talking about hard cases.
• Real operational respect: leadership choices that reduce pointless tasks and protect clinical judgment.

A bubble bath is fine. But it won’t fix a work design problem.
Primary care doctors don’t need to become more “resilient” to a harmful workflow.
The workflow needs to become less harmful.

What Actually Helps (Without the Fluff)

The four pitfalls above aren’t personality flaws. They’re predictable outcomes of how primary care is organized,
measured, and reimbursed. Still, there are practical moves that reduce harm and improve patient experience.

Clinic-level changes that move the needle

• Team-based care with clear roles: nurses and medical assistants empowered with standing orders for vaccines,
  screenings, and chronic disease protocols.
• Agenda setting at the start of every visit: “What are your top two priorities today?” plus
  physician transparency about time and safety.
• Inbox and portal governance: message categories, response-time standards, escalation rules,
  and coverage plans so “urgent” doesn’t mean “whoever checks last.”
• Documentation support: scribes, dictation tools, and streamlined note expectations
  (the goal is clarity, not a novel).
• Referral partnerships: direct lines to specialists, shared care plans, and rapid consult options
  reduce primary care’s coordination burden.

System-level changes that matter long-term

• Administrative simplification: fewer forms, standardized rules, and smarter interoperability.
• Payment reform that rewards cognitive work: chronic care, care coordination, and complex decision-making must be valued.
• Workforce investment: training, recruitment, and retention strategies to stabilize access and continuity.

When primary care is well-supported, patients experience fewer ER visits, better chronic disease management,
and more preventive care. When it’s overloaded, everyone feels itespecially the person in Room 4 waiting
to talk about chest pain “but it’s probably nothing.”

FAQ

Why are primary care doctors so burned out?

Primary care physician burnout is fueled by a mix of time pressure, heavy documentation, rising inbox volume,
insurance-related administrative burden, and emotional strain from caring for patients in a fragmented system.
It’s often less about “not coping” and more about unsustainable work design.

Is the EHR the main reason primary care feels overwhelming?

The EHR is a major contributor, but it’s not the only one. The record often acts as the collection point for
quality measures, billing rules, patient messages, test results, and coordination tasks. It’s where clinical work
gets converted into proof that clinical work happened.

What’s the difference between burnout and moral injury?

Burnout typically refers to emotional exhaustion, depersonalization, and reduced sense of accomplishment.
Moral injury focuses on the distress clinicians feel when they’re forced to practice in ways that conflict with
their valueslike delaying necessary care because of administrative barriers.

Do patient portal messages really increase workload?

Yes. Portals improve access, but they also generate a steady stream of clinical questions and requests that
require medical judgment, documentation, and follow-up. Without strong workflows and protected time, this work
spills into evenings and weekends.

What can patients do to help their primary care doctor during visits?

Bring a prioritized list (top two concerns), bring your medication list, be honest about what’s realistic for you,
and schedule follow-ups for additional issues. It’s not about “being easy”it’s about making sure the most important
problems get the attention they deserve.

Real-World Experience: What These Pitfalls Feel Like Up Close

To make these pitfalls feel less abstract, here’s a composite “day in the life” drawn from common patterns in primary care.
Not a single dramatic momentjust the steady drip that fills the bucket.

8:03 a.m. The first patient is already late, which means the schedule is late, which means the doctor’s brain
is doing that fun thing where it runs two tracks at once: listening deeply while also calculating the domino effect of every minute.
The patient says, “I don’t want to be a bother,” and the doctor thinks, You are not a bother. The calendar is the bother.
By the time the blood pressure is rechecked, there’s a refill request in the inbox, two lab results, and an alert about a quality measure
that is somehow both “urgent” and “from last year.”

10:47 a.m. A patient comes in for heartburn. It turns out they’re also short of breath, sleeping four hours a night,
stressed about eviction, and quietly terrified because their parent died young. The doctor wants to do the right thing: evaluate symptoms,
screen for depression, talk about diet, discuss warning signs, and make a plan that fits the patient’s life. But there are nine minutes left,
and the nurse is hovering because the next patient has been waiting. The doctor tries to compress compassion into a tight format:
a quick assessment, a safe next step, a follow-up appointment, a referral, and the kind of reassurance that doesn’t sound like a brush-off.
It’s not that the doctor doesn’t care. It’s that caring takes timeand time is rationed.

12:18 p.m. Lunch exists in theory. In reality, lunch is where the inbox lives.
“Quick question” messages arrive like popcorn: one or two are small, then suddenly the whole bowl is overflowing.
There’s a message about a rash with a blurry photo, a request for antibiotics “because it worked last time,” and a note that a medication
needs prior authorization “or the patient will pay $900.” The physician’s brain doesn’t switch off; it switches modes:
from face-to-face medicine to invisible medicine. The kind no one sees, but everyone depends on.

2:36 p.m. A patient needs an MRI. Clinically, it’s reasonable. Logistically, it’s a scavenger hunt.
The doctor documents symptoms in the exact language that has historically pleased the insurer, not because they enjoy bureaucracy,
but because they don’t want the patient to wait three extra weeks. The staff are helpful, but stretched thin; they’re managing authorizations
while rooming patients and answering calls. The doctor feels a flicker of irritation, then guilt for feeling irritated, then exhaustion from
having feelings in the first place.

4:55 p.m. The last patient is emotional. The doctor does what primary care does best: listens, reflects, stabilizes, coordinates.
The patient leaves a little lighter. The doctor feels gladuntil the realization hits that the chart still isn’t done.
There are still messages. There is still documentation. There is still tomorrow.

9:42 p.m. “Pajama time” begins. The house is quiet. The laptop is not.
The physician finishes notes and sends a couple of portal responses.
One message is heartbreaking: a patient can’t afford therapy; another can’t get a specialist appointment until summer.
This is where moral injury whispers: We’re doing our best, but the system keeps grading us on things we can’t fully control.
The doctor closes the computer, already thinking about how to protect tomorrow’s schedule from becoming today again.

And yetthis is the part outsiders missprimary care doctors also collect wins that aren’t flashy:
a blood pressure that finally improves, a patient who quits smoking, a teen who admits they’re struggling,
a cancer caught early because someone took a vague symptom seriously. These moments are why primary care exists.
The tragedy is not that the work is hard; it’s that so much of the hard part is preventable.

Conclusion

The daily realities of primary care physicians aren’t just “busy.” They’re a specific mix of time pressure, documentation overload,
insurance friction, and emotional strainfour pitfalls that shape decisions, mood, and ultimately patient care.
When clinics invest in team-based workflows, sane inbox systems, documentation support, and realistic scheduling,
primary care becomes what it’s meant to be: relationship-based medicine that keeps people healthier over time.

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Picture a doctor doing what you think doctors do: listening, examining, explaining, reassuring. Now picture the same doctor doing what modern
medicine also demands: clicking boxes, chasing prior authorizations, replying to a portal message that starts with “Quick question!” and ends with a
full-blown novella, then documenting the whole thing in a note that reads like it was written for a courtroom, not a human being.

That doctor might still love medicine. They might even love their patients. They might be burned out anywayjust not because they “can’t handle the hours.”
The surprise culprit is often the work around medicine: bureaucracy, misaligned incentives, and a system that treats clinicians like
highly trained data-entry specialists with a stethoscope on the side.

The burnout everyone assumes (and why it’s only part of the story)

When people hear “physician burnout,” they usually picture grueling shifts, too many patients, and emotional exhaustion. Those are real. Health care can be
physically demanding, emotionally heavy, and relentlessly fast. But if we stop there, we miss the plot twist.

Many physicians aren’t just tired from taking care of sick people. They’re drained by a daily tug-of-war between what patients need and what the system
demands: metrics, documentation requirements, insurance rules, staffing shortages, and technology that can feel like it was designed by someone who has
never met a clinic scheduleor a human wrist.

Burnout isn’t simply “stress”

Clinician burnout is commonly described as a workplace syndrome that can include emotional exhaustion, cynicism, and a reduced sense of effectiveness.
That framing matters because it points away from “this person is weak” and toward “this environment is unsustainable.” When the job is designed like a
treadmill that keeps speeding up, even the best runner eventually stumbles.

The reason you might not expect: the system keeps pulling them away from patients

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: plenty of physicians can tolerate hard work. What’s harder to tolerate is work that feels pointless, obstructive, or
ethically upside-downespecially when it steals time from patient care.

The National Academies and the National Academy of Medicine have emphasized a systems approach to clinician burnout: job demands have
ballooned while resources and supports often lag behind. Translation: if we want healthier clinicians and safer care, we can’t “self-care” our way out of
broken workflows.

Administrative burden: “Patients before paperwork” isn’t just a slogan

Ask a physician what’s driving their day-to-day frustration and you’ll often hear the same villains in different costumes: prior authorization, quality
reporting, documentation rules, and inbox overload. Professional organizations have been blunt about it: administrative tasks can crowd out the parts of
medicine that actually feel like medicine.

• Prior authorization: When treatment requires permission slips, clinicians spend time justifying care instead of delivering it.
• Documentation burden: Notes become longer and more complex, often to satisfy billing, compliance, or defensive requirements.
• Quality measurement: What gets measured gets managedsometimes at the expense of what matters most to the patient in the room.

This burden isn’t abstract. Surveys routinely find that physicians report delays in patient care tied to prior authorization and describe the process as a
major contributor to burnout. It’s hard to feel like a healer when your day includes a side quest called “Fax Something to a Place That Still Uses Fax.”

The EHR: a powerful tool that can still feel like a full-time job

Electronic health records brought real benefitslegibility, access, coordination. But in many settings, the EHR also became the command center for
everything: notes, orders, messaging, billing prompts, quality checklists, best-practice advisories, and pop-ups that appear at the exact moment your brain
is trying to remember whether the patient said “dizzy” or “lightheaded,” which are clinically different and emotionally identical at 4:55 p.m.

Research has shown wide variation in how much time primary care physicians spend in the EHR, and studies of EHR workload trends suggest that total EHR time
can rise even when clinics try to optimize. Meanwhile, patient portal messaging has turned many physicians into part-time customer supportexcept the
“customers” are humans you genuinely care about, and the “support tickets” can be medically urgent.

One of the most demoralizing patterns is “work after work”: finishing notes, inbox, refills, and lab reviews after clinic hours. The day ends, the computer
opens, and the physician’s living room quietly becomes an extension of the exam roomminus the support staff.

It’s not just burnout. Sometimes it’s moral injury.

Here’s the phrase that reframed the conversation for many clinicians: moral injury. In health care, it’s used to describe the distress
that arises when clinicians feel forced to act against their professional valueslike when business or system constraints make it harder to put patients
first.

The idea isn’t that physicians are fragile. It’s that they’re trapped in situations where the “right” thing is obvious, but the path is blocked by rules,
time, and incentives. When a clinician can’t get a medication approved, can’t schedule timely follow-up, or can’t give a patient the time they deserve
because the schedule is double-booked for “productivity,” that conflict can corrode meaning.

Moral injury language resonates because it removes the subtle blame embedded in “burnout.” Burnout can sound like a personal shortcoming (“Try yoga!”).
Moral injury sounds like what many physicians report: “I’m still capable. I’m just tired of being asked to do work that undermines care.”

The hidden accelerants: what makes modern clinical work extra draining

1) Staffing gaps and “do more with less” math

Even a well-designed workflow collapses when there aren’t enough hands. When teams are short-staffed, physicians absorb tasks that would normally be shared:
phone calls, forms, refills, scheduling puzzles, and patient education that used to be supported by nurses, MAs, pharmacists, and care coordinators.

2) The inbox never sleeps

Portal messages can improve access and continuity. They can also multiply rapidly. Many messages are appropriate and clinically useful; others are
administrative, duplicative, or better suited to a visit. Without team triage and clear expectations, the physician becomes the default endpoint for every
loose thread.

3) Measurement overload

Quality improvement matters. But when clinicians juggle a growing list of checkboxes that don’t map cleanly onto individual patient needs, the work can
feel like practicing medicine inside a spreadsheet. Patients are not dashboards. They are, inconveniently, people.

4) Rising tension in care settings

Health care workers also face increased stress from conflicts, harassment, and sometimes violence in clinical environments. Even when incidents are rare,
the anticipation of escalation changes how it feels to walk into work. Safety planning and institutional support are essentialbecause “just be
resilient” is not an emergency response plan.

So what actually helps? (Hint: it’s not another “wellness webinar”)

Individual coping toolssleep, exercise, therapy, peer supportcan be valuable. But if the job remains unfixable, coping becomes a bandage on a broken
system. The strongest recommendations from major clinician well-being efforts focus on redesigning work.

Fix the workflow, not the physician

• Team-based care: Use the full care team for triage, education, refills, and chronic care supportso the physician isn’t the bottleneck.
• Inbox protocols: Standardize what requires a physician, what can be handled by nursing/pharmacy, and what needs a scheduled visit.
• Protected time: Build documentation and care coordination time into schedules instead of pretending it happens by magic.
• Smarter documentation rules: Reduce “note bloat” and focus documentation on clinical value, not maximum billability.

Reduce prior authorization friction

Prior authorization reform isn’t a niche policy issueit’s a daily operational problem. When physicians report that prior authorization delays care and
contributes to burnout, that’s both a workforce issue and a patient care issue. Streamlining approvals, increasing transparency, and curbing unnecessary
requirements can return time to care.

EHR optimization and scribes (human or virtual)

Some health systems have seen improvements by investing in EHR training, personalization, and support. Others use scribes or team documentation to reduce
after-hours work. Emerging toolslike virtual scribes or ambient documentationare being studied as ways to cut clerical load, though implementation needs
careful attention to accuracy, privacy, consent, and workflow fit.

The goal isn’t shiny tech for its own sake. The goal is to put the clinician’s attention back where it belongs: on the person in front of them.

What patients (and the public) can do to help

Physicians shouldn’t need patients to solve systemic problemsbut small changes can reduce friction and improve visits. If you want a practical way to be a
“low-drama superhero” at your next appointment, try this:

• Bring an updated medication list (including doses) and your main questions written down.
• Use portal messages for concise, appropriate issuesand request a visit for complex concerns.
• Be patient with response times, especially for non-urgent messages.
• Remember: the clinician didn’t invent your insurance rules. They’re also stuck in the escape room.

A better frame: burned out doesn’t mean broken

When a physician says they’re burned out, it doesn’t always mean they’ve stopped caring. Often it means they care so much that the system’s obstacles feel
like sandpaper on their valuesday after day, click after click.

If we treat burnout like an individual failure, we’ll keep prescribing bubble baths for structural problems. But if we recognize what clinicians and major
medical organizations have been saying for yearsadministrative burden, EHR overload, misaligned incentives, and moral injurywe can design care systems
that protect both patients and the people trying to care for them.

The most hopeful takeaway is also the most practical: burnout is not inevitable. It’s often an engineering problem wearing a lab coat. And engineering
problems can be fixedespecially when we stop blaming the humans and start repairing the system.

of “This Is What It Feels Like” (Composite Experiences)

What follows is a composite of experiences many physicians describe across specialtiesrealistic moments stitched together into one story, because the
details vary but the rhythm is familiar.

The day starts with optimism and coffee. The schedule starts with irony and double-booking. The first patient is late because parking is a competitive
sport, but the physician is already behind because the EHR demanded a password reset that required a security question from 2009. (“What was your favorite
teacher’s name?” Honestly, at this point, the physician’s favorite teacher is whoever invented the mute button.)

In the room, medicine still feels like medicine: a careful history, a physical exam, a real conversation. Then the invisible second job begins. A pop-up
insists the physician must document smoking status, depression screening, vaccine counseling, fall risk, and five other items that may be appropriatebut
not necessarily urgent for today’s chief complaint. The patient asks a thoughtful question. The physician wants to answer slowly and clearly. The computer
wants a checkbox. The clock wants blood.

After the visit, there’s a refill request, a lab result, and a “quick portal message” that contains three symptoms, two medication questions, and a request
for a school form that needs to be faxed to an office that only accepts fax between 11:00 a.m. and 11:07 a.m. on alternating Tuesdays. Somewhere in the
middle, there’s a prior authorization denial that arrives with the cheerful energy of a parking ticket. The medication is clinically appropriate. The
patient needs it. The form demands a mini-essay plus a phone call plus a peer-to-peer review with someone who has never met the patient and might be
calling from a location that sounds suspiciously like an airport food court.

By afternoon, the physician’s brain is doing triage not just for patients but for tasks: What’s urgent? What can wait? What will explode if ignored? A
nurse asks for guidance. A pharmacist needs clarification. A staff member is out sick, so the physician helps with a task that isn’t “doctor work” but is
now “today work.” None of it is beneath them. It’s just not what they trained forand it’s not why they went into medicine.

The hardest moment isn’t the long hour. It’s the moral friction: the patient who can’t afford a medication, the therapy appointment scheduled months away,
the specialist referral delayed, the insurance rule that overrides clinical judgment. The physician feels responsible, even when they don’t have control.
That’s the quiet core of the burnout you don’t expect: not exhaustion from caring, but exhaustion from caring inside constraints that keep getting tighter.

At night, the house is quiet. The laptop opens. The notes are finished, the inbox trimmed, the last message answered with care. The physician still likes
their patients. The physician still believes in medicine. But they also feel, unmistakably, that the system is asking for more than any person can give
indefinitely. And that’s why the solution can’t be “try harder.” It has to be “build better.”

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