My good friend and his daughter, accomplished authors and scientists in their own right, established an organization which they named Critica to intercept some of the scientific drek, whether well intentioned or malignant, that finds its way to people's minds via the screens that we now all have. As he seeks associates, he connected with the operator of a kindred mind and soul who created Retraction Watch to organize science reports that are mostly intentionally flawed, or at least fall far enough below honest errors to arrive at public journals prematurely. Since this might be a good shidduch for his project, he set up a meeting and invited me along.
Retraction Watch might be the baby of this rising star of medical journalism, but his day job is VP of Medscape. We met at his headquarters. While I have been submitting monthly essays to Medscape for my Hormone Happenings series, I had never been to headquarters. Impressive place and impressive person. Being a subsidiary of WebMD, the business occupies two floors of a Lower West Side building in Manhattan in a neighborhood that has a gentrified look. Major security at the front door where they took our pictures and gave us badges. On to the 3rd floor. Figuring this was a NYC business, I carried a tie in my jacket pocket but my friend advised me no ties. It really was no ties. The reception area appeared plush. They had a snack bar right out front where employees would saunter by and take what they want. Nobody wore a tie. Some did not even have a collar to be kept open. No shorts, though. And everyone looked young, most in a hurry to get their soda from the fountain and move to their next place. An escort took us to our meeting place, the office of the VP. Ultra sleek, along a side wall of a big space with computer flat screens lined up cheek to jowl. Surprisingly few people sitting at the screens. Walls were white, art sparse but colorful. Our host did not wear a tie either but he had a dress shirt with buttons.
Our meeting proceeded for its allotted time, then we were given a shortcut back to the lobby. En route, we stopped at one of the many white circular tables to plan our next step, again a modern, tasteful space undoubtedly created to float important ideas.
I've always like the places I worked as a physician. They have a certain formality, whether office, exam room, conference room, or hospital. But even at a university, I've not worked at a place designed for collaboration. Increasingly medical work, or the patient care element, is formally defined by appointments per hour, a fixed conference schedule, an administrative half-day. The more free-wheeling environment of Medscape, and I understand other creative enterprises that depend on savvy young people hired to generate and implement ideas, is something I might have found very alluring in my younger years, maybe now. As physicians burn out more largely by the restricted working conditions with their unwelcome impositions, perhaps some of the senior policy makers of the medical world should schedule their own meetings with places like Medscape for better options to keep a young work force more enthused about what they do.
Retraction Watch might be the baby of this rising star of medical journalism, but his day job is VP of Medscape. We met at his headquarters. While I have been submitting monthly essays to Medscape for my Hormone Happenings series, I had never been to headquarters. Impressive place and impressive person. Being a subsidiary of WebMD, the business occupies two floors of a Lower West Side building in Manhattan in a neighborhood that has a gentrified look. Major security at the front door where they took our pictures and gave us badges. On to the 3rd floor. Figuring this was a NYC business, I carried a tie in my jacket pocket but my friend advised me no ties. It really was no ties. The reception area appeared plush. They had a snack bar right out front where employees would saunter by and take what they want. Nobody wore a tie. Some did not even have a collar to be kept open. No shorts, though. And everyone looked young, most in a hurry to get their soda from the fountain and move to their next place. An escort took us to our meeting place, the office of the VP. Ultra sleek, along a side wall of a big space with computer flat screens lined up cheek to jowl. Surprisingly few people sitting at the screens. Walls were white, art sparse but colorful. Our host did not wear a tie either but he had a dress shirt with buttons.
Our meeting proceeded for its allotted time, then we were given a shortcut back to the lobby. En route, we stopped at one of the many white circular tables to plan our next step, again a modern, tasteful space undoubtedly created to float important ideas.
I've always like the places I worked as a physician. They have a certain formality, whether office, exam room, conference room, or hospital. But even at a university, I've not worked at a place designed for collaboration. Increasingly medical work, or the patient care element, is formally defined by appointments per hour, a fixed conference schedule, an administrative half-day. The more free-wheeling environment of Medscape, and I understand other creative enterprises that depend on savvy young people hired to generate and implement ideas, is something I might have found very alluring in my younger years, maybe now. As physicians burn out more largely by the restricted working conditions with their unwelcome impositions, perhaps some of the senior policy makers of the medical world should schedule their own meetings with places like Medscape for better options to keep a young work force more enthused about what they do.
