Did you know? If you play ping-pong in a club not affiliated with the French federation, you must obtain a medical certificate. But it will be useless if you join a tennis club. Why such a difference? Mystery. In the field of health, France does not escape its administrative fad and its love of small papers with signature (let’s not forget the self-certificates of exit during confinements).
Whether you’re a feverish person who needs to get a medical certificate to satisfy your boss’s paranoia, a parent with a sick child or a Sunday athlete who needs a certificate to run 10 kilometers, you’re not the only one who’s exasperated by this situation: many doctors also regret it.
“About 20% of my business is dedicated to this”
“We can say that it’s easy money, but it’s a waste of meaning and time for our profession,” explains Paul Frappé, president of the Collège de la Médecine Générale. The latter launched an awareness campaign on Tuesday around “unjustified”, “illegal” or simply “absurd” medical certificates, which “waste” medical time. Their goal? To see them disappear, to save precious medical time. “There is at least one ‘absurd’ or ‘useless’ certificate per day, or even several. Which takes up a significant amount of time in a profession that is already under strain,” laments the doctor.
The vice-president, Cyril Bègue, made the same observation: “It can easily amount to three useless certificates per day… Between 15 minutes and an hour for a consultation, that’s starting to be a lot”, especially if we calculate it per week, or especially if we multiply it by the number of general practitioners in France: 55,000. “In the back-to-school rush, when we need certificates of aptitude, sports certificates for new graduates, for school entrances… That can represent up to 20% of my activity!”, reckons Raphaël Dachicourt, a doctor on the outskirts of Lille. Same story in winter: “With certificates for minor flus, sick children and winter viruses, we’re back to a ratio of 15% to 20%.”
“Distinguishing between absurd and useless certificates”
While France is changing on certain points – since April, a medical certificate is no longer mandatory to register for races, for example – each step forward seems to follow three steps backwards. Since 2021, it has been mandatory to obtain a medical certificate of fitness for life in society – a somewhat vague concept, isn’t it? – to send your child to daycare. This certificate is not necessary if you squeeze the daycare and your child starts directly in kindergarten. “Imagine the real services we could provide,” continues Raphaël Dachicourt.
“We need to distinguish between absurd certificates and useless certificates,” emphasizes Michaël Rochoy, a doctor in the North. “The latter are more numerous, and therefore more time-consuming.” Typical example: the parent who comes because their child has gastroenteritis and needs a medical certificate to justify the fact that they have to take care of a young, painful stomach rather than going to the office. In the same vein, the flu/covid patient who only needs to be absent for one day.
Anthology of absurdity
“These are the most difficult certificates because we are not needed: the patient knows that he is sick and what he has to do. Most often, paracetamol and rest,” agrees Cyril Bègue. “For the patient, it is paternalistic to need an outside opinion for such obvious illnesses. And our job then comes down to being a scribe: identifying something that the patient already knows,” believes Michael Rochoy.
This case offends him all the more when it comes to companies that do not reimburse the first three days of waiting: “That those who compensate financially want a medical certificate is understandable, and even then… But if the patient is not even reimbursed, our role can be compared to an excuse note from parents to justify their child’s absence from high school. It is frankly not useful.”
Come on, we couldn’t help but ask them what the most absurd certificate ever was, and here are our two winners. “A certificate to prove that the person had the right to drink water. His employer, in a large restaurant chain, forbade him from taking a water break,” for Raphaël Dachicourt. And for Paul Frappé: “A certificate of aptitude for a child to sing in a choir at his school. The establishment was organizing an opera, and I had to read the entire play to certify that the child was not in danger in any of the productions.”