“I love being a doctor but I hate practicing medicine,” a friend, Saeed Siddiqui, told me recently. We were sitting in his office amid his many framed medical certificates and a poster of an illuminated lighthouse that read: “Success doesn’t come to you. You go to it.”

A doctor in his late 30s, he has been in practice for six years, mostly as a solo practitioner. But he told me he recently had decided to go into partnership with another cardiologist; his days, he said, will be “totally busy.”

“Your days aren’t busy enough already?” I asked.

The waiting room was packed. He had a full schedule of appointments, and after he was done with his office patients, he was going to round at two hospitals.

He smiled wanly. “Just look at my eyes.”

They were bloodshot.

“This whole week I haven’t slept more than about six hours a night.”