Category: Education

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Consult-Liaison Education Medicine Nonfiction Reflection Systems

Reflections While Writing About Psychiatry

I know I haven’t posted in a while. Someone presented me with the opportunity to write a section on psychiatry for medical students. This is wonderful (an opportunity to influence future physicians!!!) and terrible (GAAAAH there’s so much in psychiatry!!!). Between thinking about psychiatry at multiple levels at work and thinking about the foundations of psychiatry while writing the section, I’ve felt cognitively impaired when thinking about what I should write here.

But the thinking never stops… and here are some reflections I’ve had over the past two months while writing:

The differences between what physicians and patients want. Many medical students choose medicine because of the opportunity to help people in a very real way: In helping people improve their health, physicians help people experience a better quality of life. This is rewarding for both patient and physician. Right?

As physicians go through training, they learn the heartbreaking lesson, often repeatedly, that it’s not that simple.

Sometimes people want physicians to help them in ways that physicians can’t or won’t. Some people want medicine that will make the cancer go away and never come back. Other people want pain medicine or sedatives for short-term relief, though the long-term consequences are problematic and potentially devastating.

Other times, people reject the best help that physicians offer. Some people will not take insulin, even though it will prevent prevent worse outcomes from diabetes. Other people don’t want to see any physicians, even though medical interventions for their conditions are simple and effective.

Many medical students assume that patients will only be grateful for and accepting of the help physicians offer. That assumption is wrong.

But this is part of the “art” of medicine, right? How do physicians and other medical professionals help people when we don’t have an intervention that “works”? How do we help people who don’t want the help that we know “works”?[1. There are, of course, strategies we learn as psychiatrists to address how to help people who don’t want the help physicians offer. The problem is that the issue then gets cast as a “psychiatric problem”, when it, in fact, is a “human relations problem”. Psychiatrists often feel frustrated when some physicians either want us to have the doctor-patient relationship in their stead or, worse, when some physicians assume that a Disagreeing Patient is a Mentally Ill Patient.]

The psychiatric conditions that psychiatrists don’t encounter. I’ve worked in a variety of settings—in clinics, hospitals, a crisis center, a jail, homeless shelters, housing, and on the street—and, despite all that exposure, I have never met with someone with a diagnosis of somatic symptom disorder or factitious disorder. While both conditions are rare, my colleagues in primary care and emergency departments see people with these conditions more frequently. Those same people don’t want to see a psychiatrist.

When we think about systems that take care of patients, sometimes we need to remember that the patient isn’t always the actual patient. Sometimes the best way psychiatrists can help these patients is to help the physicians who actually see them. If we wipe our hands and say, “Well, they won’t see me, so that’s not my problem,” what are we doing? If there are barriers in the system that prevent us from helping our colleagues, how can we work together to remove them to increase the likelihood we can help them?[2. This is an argument for “integrated care”, which refers to the integration of physical and behavioral health services. Unfortunately, how these services are paid for often creates barriers… which is exactly why we need more physicians involved in advocacy and leadership.]

Conversations on what is “wrong” instead of the experience of being ill. While in training, physicians learn how to diagnose and treat conditions based on what is “wrong”. We learn the characteristics of the condition, its underlying causes, and the treatments that often correct it. However, we don’t spend a lot of time learning just how much the condition afflicts people.

To be fair, there is so much to learn in medical school and beyond. Furthermore, physicians, as a population, like to solve problems. This temperament was likely present in all of us even before we went to medical school. If talking and listening won’t actually fix the problem, but doing Something actually will, why don’t we just do the Something and get on with it?

Because of this focus on Fixing the Problem, some people assume we are uncaring. That assumption is often wrong, too.

There are also other forces at work: Physicians often don’t have as much time with patients as they would like to listen, provide education, and offer encouragement. Those are Receptive skills and, while complementary to, are often not as glamorous (or billable) as Problem-Solving skills. All of us—in health care or otherwise—often forget that healing occurs with both Receptive and Problem-Solving skills.

I’m grateful for many reasons to have this opportunity to write for medical students. A major reason is the chance to explicitly go back to the basics. Examining the foundation reminds me why I chose to go into psychiatry in the first place, highlights (again) just how much I don’t know, and challenges me to consider what is actually important in my clinical work. And let me tell you, knowing the doses of various medications is not actually important. That’s stuff you can look up. As Dr. Edward Trudeau said, what is actually important is “to comfort always”.[3. The full aphorism attributed to Dr. Trudeau is “To cure sometimes, to relieve often, to comfort always.”]

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Education Medicine Nonfiction Observations Systems

A Day in Jail.

Three of us are waiting for the elevator. A few moments earlier I had walked into the jail for the day, so I have not yet donned a white coat. The other two are wearing their standard uniforms: The inmate is in red and the officer is in black.

“I have to take my seizure medicine while I’m here, you remember, right?” the inmate says, clutching a clear bag holding several pill bottles, a pair of jeans, and a dark jacket.

“Yes,” the officer says, her voice warm and firm at the same time. “You told the nurse, right?”

“I always do, ma’am.” A shy smile crosses his face. She smiles back at him as the elevator doors open. She motions for him to enter first.

The hem of the white coat hits the back of my calves as I climb the stairs. My habits from my intern year remain: I still fold papers in half lengthwise and the first stack will go into the left pocket. I never button my coat.

When I reach the top of the staircase, one of the standing inmates glances at me, then returns his gaze to the inmate seated in front of him. The standing inmate looks like he’s in his 20s. The seated inmate might be in his late 30s. Twenty-something guides the electric razor along the contour of Thirty-something’s head; clumps of light brown hair tumble onto the black cape and the concrete floor.

There are two barbers on duty. They volunteered their services; they will probably get extra food as compensation. The men in the chairs bow their heads, their eyes open, their bodies still. No one says anything.

Everyone gets the same haircut.

The floor officer is worried about an inmate: “He didn’t eat breakfast this morning and wouldn’t come out to take a shower.” While I scribble this information down on my paper folded lengthwise, I hear the deck officer raise his voice.

“What are you looking at?” the deck officer barks at two inmates. They are trustees, which means that they have demonstrated good behavior while in jail and are allowed to participate in chores. In exchange for doing tasks such as preparing meals and cleaning floors (which also gets them out of their units), they can receive more food .

A trustee mumbles something in response.

“I asked you, what are you looking at?” the deck officer barks again.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Okay. If I see you looking at ‘nothing’ again, I’m sending you back. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get back to work.”

The floor officer and I ask the deck officer what happened.

“They saw you,” he says, pointing at me, “and started grinning, elbowing each other, all that stuff.”

While wrapping my coat tighter around me, I glance at the two trustees. One of them happens to look at me at the same time; he turns away and takes a sudden interest in the mop in his hands.

“Thank you, Officer.”

“Just looking out for the doctor.”

It’s been a few years since I’ve talked to God.

Perhaps I meet God more frequently, but s/he chooses not to reveal that to me. More often I talk to angels or the Anti-Christ.

“Psychiatry is sorcery,” God tells me. “If you only had more faith, you would see the error in your ways. Turn towards faith and away from your analytical ways of thinking.”

God is charged with criminal trespass. God is a young man. His bail amount isn’t that high. Is there no one in God’s life who could post his bail so he could get out?

“One of the best things about being God,” he tells me, “is that I can see the true intentions of people. I know their thoughts.”

He pauses and looks at me.

“Although you practice witchcraft, I can tell that you’ve got a good heart. I will pray for you that you will have more faith, that you will believe in me.”

I will pray for you, too.

When I’m finished talking with God, the floor officer comes by and gives God a second lunch.

“Thank you! I bless you!” he calls out.

The brown paper sack contains one sandwich (two slices of wheat bread, one slice of bologna), one mayonnaise packet, one slice of American cheese wrapped in plastic, a small baggie of baby carrot sticks, and one apple the size of a tennis ball.

“He’s still growing,” the floor officer murmurs.

The day has ended. I’ve already stuffed my white coat into a laundry bag, but I’m still making my way through all the doors to physically get out of jail. When I exit the elevators near where inmates are booked into jail, I see an officer wincing and grasping his leg. One medic is kneeling by him; the other is on the phone.

I pass by a bank of holding cells. Two women knock on the wall and beckon me towards them. The one with tattoos all over her young face and anxiety in her eyes asks, “Can you tell them to let us out? We’ve been waiting a long time.”

“An officer looks hurt,” I say, raising my voice. We’re talking through a thick pane of plexiglass. “The medics are here. It might be a while before they will get to you.”

“Oh,” she says. They take a step back and their shoulders slump. “I hope they’re okay. Thanks.”

Most people look either relieved or thrilled when they leave jail. They throw their shoulders back as they cross the threshold from the jail lobby into the fresh air. How much more comfortable they appear in their own clothes! The red uniforms incarcerated them just as much as the concrete block. Sometimes they give each other high fives; their voices are light and bright as they tell each other to take it easy.

A few will look up and around, confused and forlorn. They squint at the numbers at the bus stop. After taking a few steps heading south, they pause, turn around, and head north. They finally decide to cross the street to get away from the jail. It seems like the best idea.

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Consult-Liaison Education Medicine Observations Policy Reflection

Why I Agree with the Goldwater Rule.

The New York Times and NPR recently published articles related to the Goldwater Rule. In short, a magazine sent a survey to over 12,000 psychiatrists in the US with the single question of whether they thought Presidential nominee Mr. Barry Goldwater was fit to serve as President. Few psychiatrists responded. Of those that did, more than half—still over 1,000—said that he was not. Mr. Goldwater ended up losing the Presidential race, but he sued the magazine over this… and he won. Thus, the American Psychiatric Association has advised that psychiatrists should not diagnose public figures with psychiatric conditions. Some psychiatrists have felt otherwise for the current Presidential election.

There is a hypothetical concept in psychiatry called the “identified patient“. It is most often applied in family systems. For example, consider a family that consists of a mother, a father, a son, and a daughter. The parents bring the daughter to a psychiatrist and say that she has worrisome symptoms. Maybe they say that she is always angry, doesn’t get along with anyone in the family, and does everything to stay out of the house. The parents and the son argue that there must be something wrong with her.

As the psychiatrist works with the family, the psychiatrist learns that the parents have the most conflict. The daughter may have developed ways to cope with this stress in ways that the parents don’t like. Because the parents have the most authority in this system and do not recognize how their conflicts are affecting everyone else, they assume that the daughter is the problem. To oversimplify it, the daughter becomes the scapegoat. The daughter is the identified patient.

Presidential nominees don’t become nominees through sheer will. There is a system in place—putting aside for now whether we think the system is effective or useful—where the American public has some influence in who becomes the ultimate nominee. Candidates are eliminated through this process.

Does the Presidential nominee actually have psychopathology? Could a nominee rather reflect the public that supports him or her? Could it be more accurate to describe the nominee for a specific party as the “identified patient”?

Erving Goffman presents an argument in his book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life that has similarities with the monologue in Shakespeare’s As You Like It:

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts

Goffman and Shakespeare are both commenting on the presence and importance of performance in our daily lives. Goffman argues in his text that context matters[1. I agree that context matters. See here, here, and here.]. We all do things within our power to alter ourselves and the contexts to present ourselves in certain ways.

Some mental health professionals have argued that we can diagnose public figures with psychiatric conditions because of “unfiltered” sources like social media. While it may be true that some people are more “real” (or perhaps just more “disinhibited”) on social media than others, that does not mean that people are revealing their “true selves”. Do you think that people are always eating colorful vegetables in pleasing arrangements? or that people are always saying hateful things, even while waiting to buy groceries, attending a church service, or folding laundry? or that their cats are always cute and adorable, that hairballs and rank breath have never exited their mouths?

Lastly, the primary purpose of diagnosis is to guide treatment. There is no point in considering diagnoses for someone if you’re not going to do anything to help that person.

People have commented that psychiatric diagnoses often become perjorative labels. Unfortunately, there are those who work in psychiatry who will use psychiatric diagnoses as shorthand to describe behavior they don’t like. Instead of saying, “I feel angry when I see her; I don’t like her,” they will instead say, “She’s such a borderline.” That’s unfair and often cruel. If you’re not going to do anything to help improve her symptoms of borderline personality disorder, then why describe her that way? (We’ll also put aside that such a sentence construction reduces her to a diagnosis, rather than giving her the dignity of being a person.) If we are serious about addressing stigma or sanism, then we should only use diagnosis when we intend to help someone with that diagnosis.

I agree with the Goldwater Rule, though not because of the exhortations of the American Psychiatric Association.[2. I’m not a member of the APA. The reasons why I am not a member are beyond the scope of this post.] Diagnosis should have a specific purpose. We often do not have enough information about public figures across different contexts to give confident diagnoses. Presidential nominees are often appealing to various audiences, which can both affect and shape their behaviors. Most importantly, giving a diagnosis to a public figure without any intention of helping that person doesn’t help anyone, especially those who would ultimately benefit from psychiatric services.

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Education Medicine Policy Systems

Inspiration from the Surgeon General.

Somehow people knew he was about to enter the room. The thirty or so people in the room were seated, though people began to stand up.

“Are we supposed to stand up for the Surgeon General?” I asked the person sitting next to me.

She shrugged. If we remained seated, everyone would have noticed. So we stood up.

“I’ve been in this position for a year and a half,” Dr. Murthy said, “and I’m still not used to people standing up for me. Please sit down.”[1. I learned later that the Surgeon General has the rank of a Vice Admiral, as the role oversees uniformed health officers. That’s why people stand up for the Surgeon General.]

We were all in that room for about an hour, but Dr. Murthy said little. After some opening remarks about the Turn the Tide initiative related to the opioid epidemic, he asked the audience to tell him what was going well and what could use improvement.

I had never met him before, but I was immediately struck with his listening skills. It was as if he was taking a history from a multi-person patient. He made and held eye contact. He didn’t fidget. He spoke in a quiet yet firm voice. Though he didn’t come across as warm, it was clear that he was interested in and paying attention to whoever was talking to him. His thoughtful follow-up questions indicated that he was listening to what people were saying to him.

He seemed like a good doctor.

As I had never met a federal official before, I later learned that Dr. Murthy was also unusual in that he took notes. (Fun fact: He’s left handed.)

“These are usually publicity events without a lot of substance,” a more seasoned co-worker commented.

By the time the meeting was over, he had covered a sheet from a yellow notepad with copious notes. He expressed what seemed like genuine thanks to us for our time and perspectives.

It was through luck only that I was there. A colleague told me a few days prior that the Surgeon General was scheduled to speak to a local task force related to the opioid epidemic.

“The Surgeon General?” I blurted. “I’d love to hear what he has to say.”

“Then you should come.”

“What?”

Afterwards, as the Surgeon General’s staff were trying to hustle him out the door, the same colleague who invited me to this event gave me A Look. Only I could see the thought bubble above his head: “Go ask him for a photo!”

Though I appreciated Dr. Murthy’s humility, thoughtfulness, and professionalism, I was also grateful and amused with his willingness to stop for a photo.

Earlier that day I was seeing patients.

“Do you know how much longer you’re going to be jail?” I asked.

“Ten or eleven days.” He looked at my left hand. “You’re married?”

“Yes.”

“I should start going to NA meetings again. I’m never gonna meet a woman in here and I get so depressed about not having a family. I want a wife and kids, like my brother. I don’t know why he got so lucky and I got screwed. The TV doesn’t talk to him, he’s got a wife and three kids, God blesses him, but I will wait because the meek shall inherit the earth—”

“What do you think will help you not pick up when you get out?”

He shrugged. “I still don’t have a place to live. Dope helps me feel better.”

We looked at each other and said nothing.

The reality is that the Surgeon General (or any other public official) is just one person. Though he has a grand title, he alone cannot make improve health care. He is part of a system. We can only hope that he and his office will be able to shift the system—even if only just a bit—so that it works better to serve the US population.

What the Surgeon General can do and, at least for me, has done, is inspire physicians to get involved and do better. He could have swept into the meeting and spoke at length about his accomplishments and his status within the federal government. He instead presented himself as a humble ambassador and servant. He demonstrated interest in what our locality has witnessed and experienced. He recognized that, even though he was an academic physician, he is now too far removed from clinical care to speak first as an expert. He solicited and accepted feedback, some of which was discouraging. He was professional. He wasn’t defensive. He acknowledged that it may seem like our feedback would disappear into a void in Washington, DC, though everything else he was actually doing during the meeting gave us hope otherwise. It’s quiet leadership.

There are a lot of problems with health care. Physicians and patients both know this. Physicians are trained to take care of people, not to create and manage financial systems that should only support the relationships between physicians and people. However, if physicians are not involved in the conversations about these systems, then we are not advocating for the patients we serve and the profession that gives us the privilege of doing so. Yes, I know we’re too busy taking care of patients to participate in these conversations that can seem bloated and irrelevant. However, if we don’t get involved to define the problems and solutions, how could we ever expect these systems to improve?

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Consult-Liaison Education Lessons Nonfiction Reflection

Five Things You Can Do When You Have to Talk to Someone You Don’t Like.

We all have to talk to people we don’t like, whether in our professional or personal lives. We try to avoid these people. We try to work around them. Sometimes we spend a lot of energy trying to get away from them. And, despite our efforts, we often still have to spend time with them.

Most people don’t like the experience of disliking people. Some blame it all on the disliked person. Some people assume all the blame themselves (“why don’t I like that person? what is wrong with me?”). And, despite self-reflection (or lack thereof), the uncomfortable sensations remain.

It’s okay to dislike people. It happens. Sometimes we don’t have rational reasons for disliking people. Even if the reasons elude us, one of the most useful things we can do for ourselves (and for everyone else) is to acknowledge our dislike. Once we recognize our internal reality, we can then take useful steps in our external reality when we have to spend time with these people.

Here are five things you can do to make the best of the time you have to spend with someone you don’t like:

1. If they are much older than you, really look at them and picture them as kids. Kids are cute. All of us were kids at one point. Sometimes things happen to kids that lead them to act in certain ways as adults. These certain ways helped them cope with and survive in the world. Maybe these strategies don’t actually work well now, but they may have been lifesaving when they were kids.

Have compassion on the kid.

2. If they are much younger than you, really look at them and picture them as elderly people. You might recognize that, if they keep doing whatever it is that they are doing, they will have difficult lives as older adults. Maybe they haven’t learned what they need to learn yet. Maybe the time you spend with them can help them learn something different so they aren’t destined for decades of misery.

Have compassion on the elder.

3. Try to get to know them better. Abraham Lincoln remarked, “I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better.”

Yes, this means that you might have to spend even more time with someone you don’t like. When you start exercising curiosity about people you don’t like, though, you often learn that you both have something in common. Sometimes you learn things about the person’s past that might explain why they he does the things he does. Instead of thinking of him as an “annoying dickwad”, you may notice that you now think of him as “that poor guy who no one cared for as a kid”.

4. Assume that the person is having a rough time in his life. None of us shine when we’re dealing with the problems and failures that inevitably occur. We often have no idea what challenges people have in their lives. Even though their challenges may occur in contexts that have nothing to do with you, the ways they deal with those challenges may affect how they interact with you. What they do that vexes you may be the best way they know how to cope.

5. Approach them with the assumption that these people are your teachers. Everyone you meet can teach you something. Because we often have no idea what has happened or is happening to people, it is foolish to believe that we know more about life than those around us. This person might teach you how to show more compassion or exercise more patience. This person might be an accurate reflection of those aspects of you everyone else finds annoying. Your reaction to this person could help show you how you can make your other relationships better.

You may protest that these suggestions may not reflect actual reality: “These are just mind tricks you play on yourself!” However, you cannot control the behavior of other people. You are limited to choosing how you can react to and interact with the people you dislike.

Thus, if the goal is to make the best of your time with people you don’t like, would you rather be “right”? or would you rather be “effective”? These five suggestions may not be “right”, but they are more likely to make you effective.