Physicians say mental health group for doctors harmed rather than helped

Dr. Dorender Gray loves her work so much that during medical school, her heart sank when each day came to an end.

"I would want to rewind the time so that I could just do it all over again," Gray said.

For years, Gray envisioned her future as a doctor in obstetrics and gynecology, aiming to provide not only reproductive healthcare to her patients, but also a sense of trust in the medical system. She sailed through medical school at the University of Washington and began her OB-GYN residency at UW Medicine.

Then during her second year of residency, everything halted.

She was asked to repeat one particularly busy rotation, news that caught Gray off guard. She asked for a couple of weeks off. She needed a break.

In response, her residency referred her to a nonprofit she thought was designed to support physicians' mental health. Instead, Gray said she found herself stuck in a system that misdiagnosed and humiliated her.

This year, Gray raised her concerns about the Washington Physicians Health Program in a lawsuit joined by another former UW Medicine resident with similar allegations. The complaint accuses the program, contracted with UW Medicine, of subjecting doctors to "unneeded and irrelevant" tests, and leaving them to pay high costs when insurers refuse to cover the scans and treatment.

"I stopped feeling like a doctor, and started feeling more like a problem," Gray said.

Dr. Temi Ogunleye, the other plaintiff, shared a similar story, one of a dedicated doctor-in-training whose professional goals were put on hold after what he says was a bewildering experience with WPHP.

The lawsuit, filed in King County Superior Court a few months ago, sheds light on a program that hundreds of health professionals in Washington are referred to every year. Created in 1986, the purpose of WPHP is to provide confidential support and treatment for health professionals when they might be unable to safely practice medicine, such as when facing a substance-use disorder.

Participating in the program, the lawsuit says, is supposed to help providers get back on the job as an alternative to disciplinary action from the state's medical licensing board.

"Once upon a time, WPHP might have lived up to its claims," the suit says. "Today, however, it has become a prison for doctors who get caught in its clutches."

The nonprofit has said the claims are "without merit but that it couldn't comment on specifics.

"Grounded in compassion, respect, and accountability, WPHP is recognized as a leader among physician health programs nationally, committed to advancing best practices that support both clinician recovery and patient safety," WPHP said in a statement.

To bolster its defense, the program has called in a 40-year-old state law that WPHP says shields it from civil action. Per the statute, a "voluntary substance abuse monitoring program" or "an impaired practitioner program approved by a disciplining authority" is immune from civil suits based on "official acts" in the scope of its duties.

Last week, King County Superior Court Judge Haydee Vargas granted WPHP's motion to dismiss the complaint.

The decision has raised questions about what accountability and oversight might look like for an organization like the Washington Physicians Health Program: While the state law intends to ensure these professional health programs and their members can go about their jobs without a fear of being sued, in this case, it also seems to leave referred doctors with little recourse if they feel their concerns are not heard.

Gray's and Ogunleye's allegations also highlight potential cracks in the state's system for assessing and treating the mental health of medical providers in Washington - and the possible consequences when that care falls apart.

Burnout amplified

Ogunleye comes from a family of healthcare providers, and pursuing medicine has been a lifelong aspiration.

His father, a trauma and family medicine physician, delivered him, and Ogunleye has early memories of wearing his dad's stethoscope around the house. He decided on orthopedics as a premed student in Texas, after watching his roommate's recovery from ACL surgery.

"I got to see the results that surgery had on his quality of life," said the 33-year-old from Nigeria. "I was hooked from that moment."

In 2021, he moved to Seattle to start his UW Medicine residency.

His first year went as he'd hoped, with glowing evaluations, he said. But he said he started to get burned out during year two, and got referred to the Washington Physicians Health Program after oversleeping and showing up late to work a few times.

He didn't balk. He thought the program, mandated by UW Medicine if he wanted to continue his residency, would help him navigate a challenging academic endeavor.

He was sent for a drug and alcohol test despite no previous concerns from his program about substance-use issues, and underwent a three-day neurological exam. He was startled to notice several errors in the results - wrong date of birth, age and hand dominance - along with a diagnosis he felt was incorrect.

Ogunleye mentioned the inaccuracies, but a program provider "doubled down" and ordered an MRI scan, which his insurer didn't cover, the lawsuit says.

The MRI results returned clean, but WPHP still wouldn't clear him. Rather, he was "held in a state of limbo," the lawsuit says. He didn't know why.

"It was gaslighting at its finest," Ogunleye said.

He eventually got a second opinion from another WPHP-affiliated provider, who found the previous results incorrect and determined he was fit to work.

After eight months on leave, he returned to his residency in February 2024. He felt things had changed, both in how people treated him and how he felt about UW.

"You could just tell everyone knew I'd gone through this process," he said. "And it's hard to trust a system that can put you through something like that. The burnout came back in full force."

Ogunleye ultimately decided to leave his residency a few months later.

"I feel like UW gave up on me," he said.

Feeling trapped

Gray entered the Washington Physicians Health Program in spring 2024. She was initially confused about the referral, but "the message sounded reassuring, like doctors can get help without being judged or punished," said Gray, who's in her 30s.

She was ordered to take a drug test, though she didn't have a history of substance abuse. Gray had been previously diagnosed with ADHD. But when the drug test flagged her ADHD medicine, WPHP questioned her diagnosis, she said.

The program then instructed her to sit through days of virtual cognitive evaluations, led by providers in Colorado.

"They didn't find anything concerning," said Gray, who moved to Washington state from Ghana when she was 7. "The only thing they wanted to follow up on was to see if I truly had ADHD. I didn't understand what that had to do with patient safety."

That led to an additional lengthy neuropsychological test, after which she was able to return to work.

Then weeks later, she was called into a Zoom meeting with WPHP and told she had been diagnosed with an "unspecified neurocognitive disorder," she said. The WPHP provider recommended she stop seeing patients immediately and undergo brain imaging and trauma therapy.

"I felt blindsided," Gray said.

When she finally received a copy of her test results, she found they were riddled with errors, including a reference to past trauma from her brother's suicide attempt - an incident that did not happen, she said.

She was almost relieved, thinking her results had gotten mixed up with someone else's. But when she brought the inaccuracies to WPHP, providers called it a "copy/paste error" and stood by their treatment recommendation, she said.

Stunned, Gray also sought a second opinion. That neuropsychologist concluded the WPHP provider had made several mistakes that led to a misdiagnosis, the lawsuit says.

After a meeting with the second provider and WPHP, where they agreed Gray could return to work, UW Medicine put her back on the clinic schedule, she said.

Still, WPHP told Gray she needed to pay a $350 fee before they'd send a "clearance letter." The letter hadn't been mentioned the first time she went back to work, she said, so she figured she'd pay it later, hoping to focus on clinic and studying for an upcoming training exam.

The following week, she was told, despite being put on the clinic schedule, that UW Medicine had not received the clearance letter from WPHP - and therefore she was not allowed to practice, she said.

Her program director suspended her. Within the week, in February 2025, she was terminated from her residency, she said. Gray was devastated.

She appealed that decision, and was supported by an internal UW review committee that unanimously ruled her dismissal "arbitrary and capricious," she said. But the dean of the UW School of Medicine upheld the termination.

Reeling

With support from his family, trust in his faith and more hard work, Ogunleye has found his "best case scenario" since he left UW Medicine.

Last year, he was accepted into a new orthopedic surgery residency program in California.

"That's been the biggest blessing, to be able to still live my dream of doing orthopedics," Ogunleye said.

He knows not everyone who might have had similar experiences with WPHP has the ability to start fresh, bringing him to join the lawsuit.

"I have to say something, even if I don't want to, even if it's uncomfortable, because there's good people in this world that need help, and there's something in the state of Washington that is causing a lot more harm," he said.

The program has drawn intense scrutiny from residents and others in the last several months not only because of the lawsuit, but also after the suicide of another UW Medicine resident whose family confirmed was enrolled in WPHP.

"If you need help as a physician, there should be a way forward to get help," Ogunleye said. "You should not have to leave your residency program. You should not get fired from a residency program. You should not die under this watch."

In a statement, WPHP said "suicide is always a tragic and heartbreaking event," and out of a respect for privacy, the organization does not comment on whether specific people have participated in its program.

"We know many healthcare professionals seek support during periods of significant personal and professional stress," WPHP said. "Nearly half of WPHP graduates describe the program as ‘lifesaving,' reinforcing the importance of confidential resources dedicated to physician well-being, mental health, and suicide prevention."

Gray said she has spent the last year reeling from the experience.

"It's not a health program; it's a monitoring program," she said of WPHP. "And being referred can have detrimental consequences on a physician's career and livelihood."

Her passion for women's healthcare has not faded. She thinks back to meaningful appointments with patients who told her she was the first Black physician they'd had and that her presence made them feel safe.

"Those are some of the experiences that just kept me going," Gray said.

Gray and Ogunleye are working with their lawyers to decide how to proceed and whether to appeal their case.

"We are disappointed and disagree with the trial court's decision," Dan Mensher, one of the attorneys representing the plaintiffs, said in a statement Monday. "This is not the end of our efforts to hold WPHP accountable."

In the meantime, Gray is working on getting admitted into another residency, as well as looking into becoming a full-spectrum doula.

"I want to get back to patient care," she said. "Even in the midst of everything that was happening, I just knew I could do this every day.

Correction: Due to a production error, a previous headline referred to the Washington Physicians Health Program as part of UW. It is an independent group contracted by UW Medicine.

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This story was originally published June 4, 2026 at 6:41 AM.