The Waiting Room
In June 2021, a company that most Americans had never heard of — and that most doctors had been using for years — went public at $26 a share on the New York Stock Exchange, priced modestly by the standards of a tech market drunk on its own momentum. By market close, Doximity's stock had surged 104%, valuing the company at roughly $10 billion. The firm had 1.8 million verified physician members in the United States, which is to say: more than 80% of every doctor in the country. It employed fewer than 800 people. Its EBITDA margins exceeded 50%. The business had been profitable for years before the IPO, a detail so unusual among venture-backed health-tech companies that it bordered on the suspicious. Here was a social network for physicians — a LinkedIn for doctors, the shorthand went, though the comparison obscured more than it revealed — that had quietly become the dominant professional platform in one of the most difficult verticals in technology, built with a capital efficiency that would have embarrassed most SaaS companies a fraction of its size. The question the market was really asking, behind the frothy first-day pop, was simpler and stranger: How had something this profitable stayed this invisible for this long?
The answer begins with the man who built it and the peculiar insight that animated the company from its earliest days — that physicians, despite being among the most economically powerful professionals in America, were also among the most technologically underserved.
By the Numbers
Doximity at a Glance
80%+U.S. physicians on the platform
~2MVerified medical professional members
$529MRevenue (FY2025 ending March 2025)
~53%Adjusted EBITDA margin
$186M+Net income (FY2024)
~800Employees
$8B+Market capitalization (mid-2025)
The Doctor's Rolodex
Jeff Tangney grew up in a military family, moving every few years, the kind of childhood that teaches you to read new rooms quickly. He studied electrical engineering at Stanford, then earned an MBA there too — the classic Silicon Valley double-helix credential — but his career took an unusual detour through healthcare. Before Doximity, Tangney co-founded Epocrates, one of the first successful mobile apps for physicians, a drug-reference tool that at its peak was installed on the phones of more than half of all U.S. doctors. Epocrates proved something important: doctors would adopt technology, enthusiastically even, if it respected the texture of their actual workflow rather than imposing the logic of consumer tech. It also proved something Tangney found even more interesting — pharmaceutical companies would pay handsomely to reach doctors through digital channels, if the audience was verified and the context was professional.
But Epocrates was a point solution. A drug-reference app. Tangney's bigger observation, which would become the founding thesis of Doximity in 2010, was that the connective tissue of American medicine — how doctors found each other, referred patients, communicated about cases, stayed current with research, navigated their own careers — was astonishingly primitive. The average physician in 2010 was still faxing referral letters. Credentialing for hospital privileges involved mailing notarized documents. If a cardiologist in Houston wanted to consult with a neurologist at Mass General about a shared patient, the most common pathway was a phone call through an operator, a pager, or nothing at all. The informal professional network that doctors relied on — who's good, who's available, who's taking new patients — lived almost entirely inside individual heads and Rolodexes.
Tangney saw this gap not as a consumer social problem but as an infrastructure problem. The social layer was a means, not the end. If you could build a verified, comprehensive directory of every physician in America — their specialties, affiliations, training, publications, even their referral patterns — and then layer communication tools, news, and career services on top, you would create something closer to a professional operating system than a social network. And crucially, you would control the most valuable audience in healthcare marketing: the physicians who write prescriptions, order procedures, and direct the flow of trillions of dollars in healthcare spending.
We're not trying to be Facebook for doctors. We're trying to be the professional platform where medicine gets done.
The Verification Moat
The decision that made everything else possible was also the decision that made Doximity excruciatingly slow to build in its early years: physician verification.
From day one, Tangney insisted that every member on the platform be a verified medical professional. Not a patient, not a curious consumer, not a medical student (though they were later added), but a licensed physician or advanced practice provider whose credentials had been independently confirmed. This was not a checkbox. Doximity built an identity-verification engine that cross-referenced DEA numbers, state medical licenses, NPI numbers, medical school records, and residency affiliations. The process was rigorous enough that the platform would later be accepted by the federal government for EPCS — Electronic Prescribing of Controlled Substances — a regulatory designation that requires a level of identity assurance well beyond what any social network had ever attempted.
The implications of this decision cascaded through the entire business model. A verified physician network meant that every interaction on the platform — every message, every referral, every article read, every job listing viewed — carried implicit professional credentialing. It meant pharmaceutical companies could target their marketing with a precision impossible through any other digital channel, because the audience wasn't probabilistic; it was deterministic. When Pfizer bought an ad campaign on Doximity, it wasn't hoping the ad reached cardiologists. It knew. And it meant that physicians themselves trusted the platform in a way they never trusted LinkedIn or Facebook, because the verification wall kept out the noise — the recruiters, the patients, the wellness influencers, the supplement hucksters.
This trust became the company's central asset. In an industry defined by information asymmetry, regulatory complexity, and professional gatekeeping, trust is not a feature. It's the architecture.
But the cost was real. Verification at this scale required a sustained investment in data infrastructure that generated no immediate revenue. Doximity spent its early years building the most comprehensive physician database in the country — a proprietary asset that now covers essentially every practicing physician in America, including many who aren't active members of the platform. The company compiled data from public sources, licensing boards, hospital systems, and medical associations, then layered its own behavioral data on top: which physicians read which articles, which ones are actively seeking new positions, which referral networks are densest in which metropolitan areas.
By the time competitors recognized what Doximity was building, the verification moat was essentially unassailable. You cannot build a verified network of 80% of American physicians from scratch. The network already exists. It is called Doximity.
The Attention Bottleneck
The pharmaceutical industry in the United States spends approximately $30 billion per year marketing to physicians — a figure that has remained remarkably stable even as the channels have shifted. For decades, this spending was dominated by the pharmaceutical sales representative, the detail rep, the person in the well-cut suit carrying a briefcase of samples into a doctor's office. At the peak, the industry employed more than 100,000 reps in the U.S. alone.
That model has been dying for twenty years. Physicians increasingly refuse to see reps. Hospital systems restrict access. The COVID-19 pandemic accelerated the decline by making in-person visits impossible for months. By 2023, the number of pharma reps in the U.S. had fallen below 50,000 and continued to shrink. But the marketing budgets didn't shrink with them. They went looking for new channels.
Doximity was waiting.
The company's commercial model is deceptively simple. Pharmaceutical companies and health systems pay Doximity to reach physicians through the platform — via targeted content, sponsored articles, interactive modules, and increasingly sophisticated digital engagement tools. The product isn't a banner ad. It's a native content experience that resembles an article in a medical journal more than it resembles a display campaign. Physicians engage because the content is professionally relevant. Pharma companies pay because the targeting is precise and the engagement is measurable. Doximity takes a cut of a $30 billion annual budget that has been shifting from feet-on-the-street to digital for two decades and is still only about 15–20% digitized.
This is the bull case in a sentence: Doximity owns the dominant platform for the largest underdigitized professional marketing budget in the American economy.
In pharma marketing, the shift to digital has been talked about for fifteen years. It's actually happening now, and there aren't that many places for the money to go.
The revenue model concentrates around what Doximity calls its "marketing solutions" offering — essentially a media business where the inventory is physician attention and the buyers are pharmaceutical companies, biotech firms, medical device manufacturers, and health systems. This segment generates the vast majority of revenue and operates at software-like margins because the marginal cost of serving an additional ad impression to a physician who's already on the platform is effectively zero.
The company supplements this with a hiring solutions business — a job board and recruitment platform for physicians — and a growing telehealth offering. But these are secondary. The engine is pharma marketing, and the fuel is physician engagement.
COVID's Amplifier
If Doximity's pre-pandemic trajectory was a steady upward line, COVID-19 bent it into an exponential curve. The pandemic transformed the company's fortunes in three distinct ways, each compounding the others.
First, physician engagement on the platform surged. Doctors were isolated, anxious, and desperate for real-time clinical information. Doximity became one of the primary channels through which physicians shared early treatment protocols, case reports, and evolving guidance on a novel virus. The platform's news feed, which aggregates medical literature and peer commentary, saw usage spikes that would have taken years to achieve organically.
Second, telehealth went from a regulatory curiosity to an overnight necessity. Doximity had launched a video-calling tool called Dialer in 2019 — a telehealth feature designed specifically for physicians, with the critical advantage that it used the doctor's office phone number as the caller ID, preserving patient trust and professional boundaries. When the pandemic hit, Dialer usage exploded. By 2021, Doximity claimed that its telehealth tools facilitated more patient visits than any other platform, including dedicated telehealth companies like Teladoc and Amwell. The tool was free for physicians — a deliberate strategic choice — which meant it was adopted friction-free by tens of thousands of doctors who had never used telehealth before.
Third, and most consequentially for the business model, pharmaceutical marketing budgets that had been allocated to in-person rep visits had nowhere to go. Reps couldn't visit offices. Conferences were cancelled. Medical education events went virtual. The marketing dollars flooded into digital channels, and Doximity — with its verified audience, its engagement data, and its native content formats — captured a disproportionate share.
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COVID-Era Revenue Acceleration
Doximity's fiscal year ends March 31
FY2020Revenue: $116.4M. Pre-pandemic baseline.
FY2021Revenue: $206.9M. 78% YoY growth. Pandemic engagement surge.
FY2022Revenue: $343.5M. 66% YoY growth. Pharma digital budgets accelerate.
FY2023Revenue: $419.2M. 22% YoY growth. Normalization begins.
FY2024Revenue: $470.5M. 12% YoY growth. Post-COVID deceleration.
FY2025Revenue: $529.0M (est). ~12% YoY growth. Stabilization at scale.
The COVID windfall was real — but so was the hangover. As the pandemic receded, some of the engagement spike normalized. Pharma companies recalibrated their digital-versus-physical spending mix. Growth decelerated from the dizzying 60–80% range into the low teens, and the stock, which had peaked above $100 in late 2021, gave back most of its gains through 2022 and 2023. The question the market has been debating ever since is whether the pre-pandemic trajectory or the pandemic peak better represents the company's true growth rate — and whether the secular shift to digital pharma marketing is large enough and fast enough to reignite revenue acceleration.
The Unusual Economics of a Shadow Monopoly
Doximity's financial profile is among the most unusual in enterprise software, healthcare technology, or media — the three categories it loosely straddles. Consider the numbers: roughly $500 million in revenue, adjusted EBITDA margins consistently above 50%, net income margins above 35%, and free cash flow generation so strong that the company has been buying back stock aggressively since going public. The employee base has stayed remarkably lean — roughly 800 people generating revenue per employee north of $600,000, a figure that approaches the efficiency of Veeva Systems, the other healthcare software company that has built a category-defining franchise with unusual discipline.
The margin structure reflects something fundamental about the business model. Doximity's costs are overwhelmingly fixed. The platform's engineering, data science, content curation, and verification infrastructure cost roughly the same whether 100 pharmaceutical companies or 200 are buying campaigns. Every incremental dollar of revenue drops to the bottom line with minimal marginal cost. This is the operating leverage profile of a platform business with a captive audience, not a services business that scales linearly with headcount.
But the margins also reflect a choice. Tangney has been conspicuously disciplined about not chasing revenue lines that would dilute profitability. The company has not built a large sales force — its go-to-market is concentrated on a relatively small number of enterprise pharmaceutical accounts, each of which represents a large contract. It has not expanded aggressively into adjacent verticals. It has not acquired companies at inflated multiples to buy growth. The entire culture of the company — remote-first since before it was fashionable, headquartered in San Francisco but operationally distributed, with a management team that talks more about free cash flow per share than top-line growth — reflects a founder who is optimizing for something closer to compounding value per share than for hitting an arbitrary revenue target.
We're a team of under 800 people, and we intend to stay lean. We've seen too many companies get bloated during the good times and then have to restructure during the bad times. We'd rather just stay lean all the time.
The comparison to Veeva is instructive and possibly flattering. Both companies identified a specific, underserved vertical within healthcare (Veeva: life sciences
CRM and regulatory; Doximity: physician professional networking and pharma marketing). Both built dominant market positions with remarkable capital efficiency. Both enjoy revenue concentration risk that doubles as a moat — their customers are pharmaceutical companies with enormous budgets and slow procurement cycles, making the revenue base sticky but concentrated. And both have founders who remained CEO for extended periods, maintaining strategic coherence over growth-at-all-costs pressure.
The difference is that Veeva's products are deeply embedded in its customers' operational workflows — clinical trials, regulatory submissions, commercial operations — while Doximity's value proposition is more akin to a media company selling access to an audience. This distinction matters enormously when you think about durability. Veeva's switching costs are operational. Doximity's switching costs are attention-based. One is anchored in enterprise IT budgets. The other is anchored in marketing budgets. And marketing budgets, for all their stickiness in aggregate, are far more discretionary at the firm level.
The Twenty Largest Pharma Companies in the World
Doximity discloses a metric it calls "net revenue retention rate" — the percentage of revenue from existing customers that it retains and grows year-over-year. This number has consistently been above 110%, meaning existing customers spend more each year. But the figure obscures a concentration dynamic that is both the company's greatest strength and its most vulnerable flank.
The top twenty pharmaceutical companies in the world account for a disproportionate share of Doximity's revenue. The company has disclosed that its top twenty customers typically represent 50–60% of total revenue. This is not unusual for an enterprise-focused business, but it creates a specific kind of risk: a single large customer pulling back — because of a patent cliff, a product launch delay, a regulatory setback, or simply a change in marketing philosophy — can move the needle on quarterly results.
The pharma industry is structurally cyclical in a way that tech investors sometimes underappreciate. A pharmaceutical company's marketing spending is tightly correlated with its drug launch calendar. When a blockbuster drug is approaching launch, the company spends aggressively on physician awareness campaigns — and Doximity benefits. When the drug goes generic, or when a clinical trial fails and the pipeline thins, spending contracts. This creates a lumpy, somewhat unpredictable revenue cadence that is fundamentally different from the predictable seat-based expansion of classic SaaS.
Doximity has tried to smooth this cyclicality by expanding the number of pharmaceutical modules it offers — interactive content formats, medical education programs, speaking engagement tools — and by growing its base of smaller biotech and medical device customers. But the gravitational pull of Big Pharma budgets is inescapable. The company's growth is downstream of pharmaceutical R&D productivity, which is downstream of FDA approval cadences, which are downstream of the stochastic process of drug discovery. This is not a criticism. It is a structural fact about the market Doximity has chosen to dominate.
The Telehealth Gambit
Doximity's telehealth tools are free for physicians. This fact is repeated so often in company presentations that it begins to sound like a marketing slogan, but it is actually one of the most strategically consequential decisions the company has made — and one of the least understood.
The telehealth market post-COVID has been brutal for pure-play companies. Teladoc, which paid $18.5 billion for Livongo at the peak of pandemic enthusiasm, wrote down $13.4 billion of that investment in 2022. Amwell's stock has fallen more than 90% from its highs. The promise of telehealth as a standalone business — replacing physical visits with virtual ones at scale — has collided with the reality that most healthcare is stubbornly physical, that reimbursement rates for virtual visits remain lower than in-person, and that patient and physician behavior has partially reverted to pre-pandemic norms.
Doximity sidestepped this entire mess by never trying to monetize telehealth directly. Its Dialer tool is free because it serves a different purpose: engagement. Every time a physician uses Doximity's telehealth tools to call a patient, that physician is on the platform. That session generates behavioral data. That data makes the physician's profile richer, which makes the platform more valuable to pharmaceutical marketers, which is where the money actually is.
This is the complement-pricing strategy in its purest form. Give away the complement (telehealth) to strengthen the core product (the physician engagement platform that pharma pays to access). The telehealth tools are not a business. They are a feature designed to increase the time physicians spend inside Doximity's ecosystem, which directly improves the metrics — engagement, session frequency, data richness — that pharmaceutical companies use to evaluate their marketing spend.
It is a brilliant maneuver, but it carries a risk: the company is structurally undermonetizing an asset. If a competitor built a better physician telehealth tool and bundled it with a meaningful physician network, the engagement moat that Doximity's free telehealth creates could be replicated. So far, no one has done this. The barriers are significant — you'd need the verified physician directory, the messaging infrastructure, and the telehealth tool, all wrapped in a platform physicians actually trust. But the risk is worth naming because it is the kind of risk that is invisible right up until the moment it materializes.
The AI Bet
In 2023, as the rest of the technology industry was scrambling to append "AI" to every product description, Doximity quietly launched a set of features that were both less flashy and more immediately practical than most AI announcements in healthcare.
The company introduced AI-powered tools for clinical documentation — assisting physicians in generating after-visit summaries, patient communications, and prior authorization letters. The positioning was deliberate: these were not diagnostic tools, not clinical decision support, not anything that touched the practice of medicine itself. They were administrative tools designed to reduce the paperwork burden that surveys consistently identify as the primary driver of physician burnout.
This is a subtle but important distinction. The regulatory and liability landscape for AI in clinical decision-making is a minefield — the FDA is still working out frameworks, malpractice implications are uncharted, and physician adoption of AI-generated diagnoses is, understandably, cautious. But administrative AI? The physician who spends two hours every evening writing chart notes doesn't need FDA clearance to use a tool that drafts a letter to an insurance company. The risk profile is fundamentally different, and the user demand is immediate.
Doximity's advantage here is its dataset. With more than a decade of physician communication patterns, millions of faxed referral letters digitized, and the behavioral data generated by 2 million medical professionals using the platform, the company has a training corpus for healthcare-specific language models that would be extraordinarily difficult to replicate. Whether this becomes a meaningful revenue driver — through premium subscriptions, enterprise licensing to health systems, or enhanced marketing analytics — remains to be seen. But the strategic logic is sound: use AI to deepen engagement (more time on platform, more problems solved, more data generated) which in turn strengthens the core advertising business.
Doctors don't need another AI tool making clinical decisions. They need an AI tool that handles the three hours of paperwork they do after the clinic closes.
The Culture of the Small Team
Doximity has resisted the growth-era imperative to scale headcount as aggressively as revenue. This is not accidental, and it is not simply about protecting margins — though it does that. It reflects a philosophical commitment from Tangney that the best technology companies maintain a ratio of builders to operators that skews heavily toward builders.
The company was remote-first before the pandemic made it fashionable, with employees distributed across the country. There is no sprawling campus, no in-house chef program, no corporate shuttle. The culture reads more like a bootstrapped startup that happened to go public than a venture-backed platform that IPO'd at $10 billion. Equity ownership is concentrated among long-tenured employees, with Tangney himself maintaining a significant stake that aligns his incentives with long-term shareholders.
This leanness creates organizational speed. The company ships product updates, runs marketing experiments, and responds to physician feedback with a velocity that belies its public-company status. But it also creates brittleness. With fewer than 800 employees supporting a platform used by 2 million physicians, the margin for error in hiring is razor-thin. Losing a handful of key engineers or data scientists would be felt across the entire organization.
The capital allocation philosophy is equally disciplined. Doximity has not made a single major acquisition since its founding — a remarkable fact for a company that has been sitting on hundreds of millions in cash. Instead, it has directed excess cash flow almost entirely toward share repurchases. Since the IPO, the company has bought back well over $1 billion of its own stock, reducing its share count meaningfully. This is Tangney's explicit bet: the best use of Doximity's cash is Doximity's shares, because the business is compounding at rates that are difficult to replicate through M&A.
Whether this is brilliant capital allocation or missed opportunity depends entirely on what you think the company's reinvestment runway looks like. If Doximity can sustain low-teens revenue growth with 50%+ margins indefinitely, the buyback strategy is almost certainly the right call — it compounds per-share value in a way that avoids the integration risk of acquisitions. If the market eventually demands faster growth, the absence of adjacent businesses built through M&A will look like a strategic gap.
What LinkedIn Isn't
The "LinkedIn for doctors" comparison is irresistible and mostly wrong. It captures the surface-level similarity — both are professional networks organized around verified career identities — but misses the structural differences that explain why Doximity has succeeded where LinkedIn has failed to penetrate healthcare meaningfully.
LinkedIn is a horizontal platform. It serves every profession, which means it serves no profession deeply. A physician's LinkedIn profile looks identical in structure to a marketing manager's. The content feed is generic. The messaging system is clogged with recruiter spam. There is no mechanism for HIPAA-compliant communication, no verified credential layer, no integration with the regulatory infrastructure of medical practice.
Doximity is a vertical platform. Everything about it is designed for the specific workflows, regulatory constraints, and professional norms of medicine. The verification layer ensures that when a surgeon sends a message about a patient case, the recipient is a verified physician — not a random connection. The news feed surfaces peer-reviewed medical literature, not thought leadership posts. The career tools reflect the specific credentialing requirements of medical hiring — privileges, board certifications, malpractice history — that general-purpose job boards cannot accommodate.
This vertical depth is what creates the engagement that pharma companies are willing to pay for. A physician who spends time on Doximity is in a professional context. Their attention is focused, their identity is verified, and their engagement signals are meaningful. This is qualitatively different from the same physician scrolling LinkedIn between patients, and it commands a qualitatively different CPM.
The deeper distinction is about the business model. LinkedIn monetizes through three channels: hiring solutions, advertising, and premium subscriptions. Doximity monetizes primarily through pharmaceutical marketing — a channel that doesn't exist on LinkedIn because LinkedIn lacks the verified physician audience that makes pharmaceutical targeting valuable. The two platforms are not really competing. They serve different layers of a physician's professional life.
Microsoft, which owns LinkedIn, has periodically been discussed as a potential acquirer of Doximity. The logic would be straightforward: bolt Doximity's vertical physician network onto LinkedIn's horizontal platform and Microsoft's healthcare cloud ambitions. So far, this has remained speculation, and Doximity's market cap — fluctuating between $6 billion and $12 billion depending on the quarter — would make it a large but not impossible acquisition. Tangney's significant ownership stake and the company's strong independent financial performance suggest he is not eager to sell.
The Revenue per Physician
There is a simple way to think about Doximity's growth potential that cuts through the noise of quarterly guidance and pharma budget cycles. The company has roughly 2 million medical professional members. It generates roughly $500 million in revenue. That implies roughly $250 in annual revenue per member — a number that, when compared to the value a single physician represents to the healthcare economy, looks almost absurdly low.
The average U.S. physician generates between $2 million and $3 million in annual healthcare revenue through their prescribing decisions, procedure orders, and referral patterns. Pharmaceutical companies, in aggregate, spend approximately $15,000 per physician per year on marketing. Doximity captures roughly $250 per physician per year. Even if you argue that not all physicians on the platform are actively engaged (Doximity discloses that roughly 500,000 are "unique active users" in a given quarter), the revenue per active physician is still roughly $1,000 — a fraction of the per-physician marketing spend.
The bull case is that Doximity has enormous room to grow revenue per physician without adding a single new member. By expanding the types of marketing modules it offers, increasing the number of pharma customers, layering on AI-driven analytics products, and monetizing its hiring and telehealth features, the company could double or triple its revenue per physician over the next decade without exhausting the addressable budget.
The bear case is that pharma marketing budgets are not infinitely elastic, that the shift from in-person to digital is not linear, and that at some point, Doximity's pricing power will be constrained by the willingness of pharma companies to keep increasing their digital marketing spend — a spend that, unlike enterprise software licenses, does not produce easily quantifiable ROI metrics.
Both cases are probably partially right. The truth, as usual, lives in the gradient.
A Fax Machine in a Data Center
There is an image that captures the paradox of Doximity better than any financial metric. Somewhere in the company's infrastructure — literal or virtual — there is a system that processes faxes. Millions of them. In 2024. Because American healthcare still runs on fax machines, and Doximity, in building the connective tissue of physician communication, had to meet the system where it was.
The company's e-fax service is one of its most-used features and one of its least-discussed. Physicians use it to send referral letters, receive prior authorization documents, and communicate with other providers who haven't yet migrated to electronic systems. It is unglamorous. It is essential. And it is a perfect metaphor for the company's broader strategy: don't try to revolutionize healthcare workflows from the top down. Digitize them, gradually, from the inside. Earn trust by solving the most mundane problems first — the fax that needs sending, the credential that needs verifying, the article that needs reading at 11 p.m. after the kids are asleep — and then, once you are embedded in the daily rhythm of a physician's professional life, use that position to introduce more sophisticated tools.
The fax machine is also a moat. Every fax sent through Doximity is a data point. Every referral letter digitized is a node in a network graph of physician relationships. Every prior authorization processed is a signal about drug usage patterns, insurer behavior, and patient flow. This mundane, operational data — the exhaust of daily medical practice — is the raw material for the AI models, the marketing analytics, and the engagement algorithms that make the platform valuable to its paying customers.
Doximity, in the end, is a company that built a $500 million revenue business on the insight that the most powerful professionals in America were still using a 1960s communication device — and that whoever replaced that device, gently and without disruption, would earn the right to build the platform that sits between pharmaceutical companies and the physicians who prescribe their drugs. Jeff Tangney bet, in 2010, that the fax machine was the door. Fifteen years later, with 80% of American doctors on his platform and margins that would make a SaaS founder weep, the bet has paid. But the building is not finished. The physician's entire professional operating system — communication, credentialing, education, career management, clinical workflow — remains partially digitized, partially analog, partially fax. And Doximity, lean, profitable, and patient, is still processing the faxes.
