“More, More, More!”
Everyone in the world deserves to have their boundaries respected...well, besides healthcare providers.
By someone with a pulse, a stethoscope, and exactly zero energy left for your last-minute request.
Can I just squeeze in one more thing?
Five of the most dangerous words in healthcare. Right up there with, “It’ll only take a second.” Guess what? It never takes just a second. It takes your lunch break…followed by your sanity…followed by the last shreds of compassion you had stored for the day.
In healthcare, boundaries are a mere myth, whispered by burned-out providers in therapy.
We’re not vending machines.
You can’t just punch in a code and get a refill, a work note, a stat referral, or emotional support on demand — not without consequences. I mean, try shaking us hard enough, and yeah, something might fall out… like a tear. Or a resignation letter.
Let’s talk about it.
“Do You Have a Second?” Actually, No.
I can’t count the number of times a receptionist has peeked in as I’m literally charting mid-emergency and whispered, “Quick question.”
Quick for who, Karen?
It’s always:
— “The patient wants to talk to you again.”
— “Can you just sign this thing real quick?”
— “The lab called. Something something critical value?”
— “Do you think you could just…”
Just…just…just. The most deceptively destructive word in the healthcare lexicon.
The Infinite Ask
Receptionists. Supervisors. Patients. Managers. Nurses. Admins. All lovely. All essential. But my goodness, the never-ending parade of more, more, more is real.
More coverage.
More follow-ups.
More open access hours.
More calls.
More empathy.
More availability.
More documentation.
Let me say this slowly: More doesn’t mean better. Especially when we’re asking it from skeleton crews with adrenal glands already fried like a county fair funnel cake.
A quick story...
I once tried to take a real lunch. You know, with chewing and digesting involved. I walked out the back door and slid into my car to hide—headphones in, playing a “try not to losing your f**king mind”-themed motivational podcast. As I bit into a sandwich…BANG BANG BANG on the window.
A supervisor. Red-faced. Breathless. “We didn’t know where you were! A patient was waiting!”
…For their routine med refill.
Which they’d already been prescribed.
Last week.
I sat there, lettuce in lap, wondering how it had come to this. How we’d all normalized panic over pause. The collective gaslight of "You’re a healer, just do it!" without recognizing that healers need healing too.
Caregiver Capitalism
In healthcare, being tired isn’t just commonplace — it’s expected. Like a badge of honor. If you’re not on the brink of mental and physical collapse, are you even doing it right?
But no one ever seems to care about the caregivers.
Sure, we get those wellness posters in the break room (brought to you by the same system demanding double-booked visits and unpaid overtime). Or the corporate-wide email that says, “We value work-life balance!” (Sent at 11:47 PM.)
And yet…
— Saying no is made to feel like betrayal.
— Setting boundaries is made to feel like selfishness.
— Burning out is made to feel like a personal failure.
The truth? Burnout isn’t failure. It’s physiological data. It’s a signal that something is seriously wrong with how we’re doing this whole healthcare thing.
Boundaries Aren’t Rude.
A boundary is not an attitude problem. It’s a survival skill.
When I tell a patient I can’t discuss their uncle’s bowel habits during my lunch, that’s not me being mean. That’s me trying to retain the basic ability to function.
When I tell the receptionist I can’t take one more “quick” phone call after eight hours without a break, that’s not me being unhelpful. That’s me choosing not to fall apart in the supply closet again this week.
When I tell my supervisor that I’m not staying two extra hours to finish someone else’s notes, that’s not me being difficult. That’s me keeping a shred of my soul intact.
We need to normalize this stuff. Like, yesterday.
Wanna know what it’s actually like inside?
It’s 47 open charts.
It’s 23 voicemails.
It’s 6 angry messages from someone whose prescription wasn’t ready (because they never requested it).
It’s an email from admin saying your productivity is down…probably because you dared to pee more than once this shift.
Oh, and did I mention your kid’s school just called because they’re sick and you’re now debating whether to be a good parent or a “team player”?
This is not a sustainable way to live, let alone care for anyone.
A Little Empathy, Please?
To the patients:
We love helping you. But screaming at the front desk because you didn’t get a same-day refill doesn’t help anyone—-especially the provider you need to be healthy enough to keep helping you.
To the staff and supervisors:
We know your job is hard too. Really. But if your instinct is to dump another task on the nearest provider because they “look like they’re done,” please consider asking instead.
To everyone in the system:
Ask how your providers are doing. Not in the awkward, corporate therapy way. Like actually sit down, look them in the eye, and listen without expecting a productivity boost in return.
So What Do We Do About It?
1. Create Space for Breaks
Lunch is not a luxury. It’s basic physiology. Stop booking over provider breaks “just this once.” Once becomes always.
2. Build the No Muscle
Providers: Practice saying “No, I don’t have capacity for that right now.” Start small. Work up to “No, that’s outside my scope” and “No, that’s not appropriate to discuss during a rectal exam.”
3. Educate with Kindness
Sometimes people really don’t understand how much is on our plates. Explain it. Kindly. Firmly. Repeatedly if needed. You’re not rude; you’re informative.
4. Demand Structural Change
All the boundaries in the world won’t save us if the system doesn’t change. Push for safer ratios. Protected admin time. Actual mental health resources that aren’t just some app that tracks your stress levels without doing any of the work.
5. Be Loud. Be Honest. Be Human.
We don’t need martyrs. We need real people with real limits who model what sustainable caregiving looks like.
Care for the Caregivers
We entered this field to help people. But the system seems to forget we are people too.
With bladders. And headaches. And families. And limits.
Not just lab coats with infinite emotional bandwidth and a prescription pad.
So the next time someone says, “Can you just squeeze in one more thing?”
Take a breath. Channel your inner boundary ninja. And try saying:
“Not right now.”
“I’ve hit my capacity.”
“I need a break.”
Say it often. Say it without guilt. Say it until it doesn’t feel radical anymore.
Because caring for others should never come at the cost of obliterating ourselves.