Categories
Nonfiction Observations

Expectation.

He was scowling all morning, so I decided it was worth a try.

“Hi.” I leaned in. “What is orange and sounds like a parrot?”

Still scowling, the jail officer working in the psychiatric unit glanced at me, then tapped his thumb a few times on the desk.

“I dunno. What?” he mumbled. At least he was willing to play.

“A carrot.”

It happened in less than a second: His face softened, he rolled his eyes, and then the groan became a chuckle.

“A carrot! That’s so stupid!” The wrinkles around his eyes danced as he smiled.

Success!


The inmate was pacing the length of the block. The uniform was too large for his slender frame. Though the cut was uneven, his hair was shiny and thick. Further evidence of his youth included his smooth and unmarked skin.

The jail officer, grinning, walked towards the inmate.

“Hey, Doe,” he started, his voice smug, “what is orange and sounds like a parrot?”

The inmate stopped walking, but made no eye contact with the officer. The officer looked at him with expectation and condescension.

“A carrot,” the inmate replied, as if the officer had asked him the time. He immediately resumed walking.

Crestfallen, the officer frowned. “Even he knew that one?”

I turned around so the officer couldn’t see me smile.

Categories
Medicine Nonfiction Reflection

On Trusting Doctors.

There exists a particular physician who many in medicine regard as a quack: She has argued that HIV does not cause AIDS. She has written many pieces stating that vaccines are toxic and cause diseases such as autism, depression, and SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome). Within certain circles she enjoys great popularity. Her medical doctor credential lends her an authority that these circles highlight in their efforts to denigrate medicine.

I know her. Our paths crossed at one point during our medical educations. At that time, she and I worked in the same hospitals and saw people who experienced not only profound illness, but also suffering related to poverty, violence, racism, and other factors that impact health.

At that time, she believed the science that HIV causes AIDS. We never talked about vaccines, but I know that she believed the science of immunology and molecular biology. She and I, along with others in our cohort, exercised critical thinking when reading and discussing journal articles.

She and I were never close, but we were friendly. She was the first person to acknowledge my engagement. We were sitting across a table while someone gave a lecture. She pointed at her fourth finger, then pointed at mine, now adorned with a ring, and gave me a bright smile.

Many years have passed since we last saw each other. I wonder what happened to her.

To be fair, our beliefs and practices share some overlap: She apparently doesn’t prescribe medications at all. I try to avoid prescribing medications when possible. She has reportedly helped people come off of medications. I have, too. She encourages the application of exercise and other nonpharmacological interventions. I do, too.

From what I can tell, those are the few characteristics we now share.

If I am honest, I feel more anger than disappointment about her practice. As I understand it, she apparently charges over $4,000 (yes, over four thousand dollars) for an initial evaluation (that lasts for two hours) and one follow-up appointment. Every 45-minute follow-up thereafter costs almost $600. It also sounds like that people who wish to see her must fill out a questionnaire, which she uses to screen people into or out of her practice.

How many people can afford to pay $4,000 for an initial evaluation? Yes, I understand how scarcity makes something or someone seem more valuable, but $4,000? People who can pay that amount—plus the $500+ for each follow-up appointment—have access to other resources that make options other than medication possible. Furthermore, if her screening questionnaire weeds out people who want (or need) to take medication, that means she is unlikely to see people with moderate to severe symptoms.

Most people don’t want to take medications. Most people try everything they can with the resources they have before seeing a doctor. Unfortunately, the current healthcare system drives and rewards physicians for prescribing medications, even when that isn’t the optimal intervention.

Furthermore, this $4,000+ results in the potential spread of false information. I don’t know what she’s doing during that initial assessment—my guess is that it involves a lot of listening—though I doubt she’s persuading everyone to avoid vaccines or that HIV doesn’t cause AIDS. I don’t know; maybe she is. Though, given her popularity in certain circles, selection and confirmation biases are already active: Only those individuals who already share these beliefs would seek care with her.

As much as the above bothers me, what irks me the most is the seeming waste of her training and talent. Our training paths crossed, yes, but look how they have diverged! She charges literally thousands of dollars to provide care for people who are unlikely to experience significant symptoms. Given the economics of her model, most of the people she sees are likely upper middle class to upper class white people.

The individuals under my care, both past and present, are often people of color with significant symptoms who have few resources, often through no fault of their own. For those who don’t wish to take medicine, we work together to help them obtain a job, secure housing, or avoid the attention of the police. Those individuals who take medicine often find that their quality of life improves by leaps and bounds: They are able to stay out of the hospital. They remain employed. They spend time doing the things that matter to them.

To be clear, upper middle class and upper class white people also experience severe psychiatric conditions. Major psychotic, mood, and substance use disorders don’t discriminate. People without money and access to resources, though, are likely to fall farther and have a harder time catching up once symptoms appear.

Let’s assume for the moment that this particular physician who charges $4,000+ for an evaluation has developed a treatment model that really helps people without the use of pharmacology. Why not share that model? Why not work with researchers and other physicians who can adapt this model to people who can “only” afford $500 for an initial consultation? Or $100? Or $5?

This physician knows how to work with and provide successful treatment to individuals with major mood and psychotic disorders. I’ve seen her work. While I have no doubt that the individuals who are able to spend $4,000 on an initial evaluation are suffering, what about all the other people who suffer who will never be able to afford that consultation? If the treatment model really works, why limit it only to the people who have that kind of money?

Why not ease the suffering of as many people as possible?

Could it be that the powers of confirmation bias, scarcity, and placebo are the keys behind her treatment model? That $4,000+ buys chiefly status and expectation? Does it matter that unfounded, dangerous claims are part of the deal?

Should you always trust a doctor?

Categories
Homelessness Nonfiction Policy Systems

How to Prevent All of This?

Some of the people under my care in the jail right now are quite ill. (This statement is always true, but it seems that the intensity of illness is greater now than usual.) As a result, the perennial question seems more urgent now: Is there any way to prevent All of This?

For some of them, it seems that the answer is No. Some of them sought out psychiatric services, attended appointments regularly, and had good working relationships with their physicians and therapists. They shared their concerns with friends and family members; they sought out help when they started feeling overwhelmed. Despite these relationships and support, they allegedly did things that resulted in significant criminal charges. And now they’re in jail.

For some of them, the answer might be Yes. Maybe if they had more people they trusted in their lives; maybe if they had a better connection with the counselor or doctor they saw that one time; maybe if their friends and family had more time and resources to seek help with and for them.

Then again, for some of them, the answer might be No, but for frustrating and sad reasons. Maybe their friends and family did everything they could to help them, but they didn’t want their aid. Maybe they became so fearful for their safety that they withdrew from everyone and, in isolation, their symptoms became worse. Maybe they believe that they are fine; it is the rest of the world that is confused and ill. Maybe their only experience with psychiatrists was involuntary hospitalization: Who wants anything to do with a system that takes away your rights and forces you to accept medication?

Some of these people are so young. To be clear, it’s troubling whenever someone of any age ends up in jail solely because of psychiatric symptoms. But can you imagine being 18, 19, or 20 years of age and landing in jail in the midst of hearing incessant, taunting voices, believing disturbing things that simply aren’t real, and having no visitors because the few people who are in your life are scared of you?

It’s heartbreaking.

At least these individuals come to clinical attention. And many get better: They form relationships; they talk with my colleagues and me; they learn how to get along with others; they reflect on what has happened and how to avoid similar consequences in the future; some take medication to help reduce their symptoms.

But then I think about all the people who never encounter law enforcement and never enter the criminal justice system, but they also experience significant symptoms. How do we prevent All of This for:

  • the man who doesn’t tell anyone any personal information and stuffs his tattered clothes with plastic bags to stay warm
  • the woman who won’t move indoors because she believes that the aliens will execute her if she does so
  • the woman who won’t leave her house because she believes her neighbors are cannibals
  • the man who sits all day on the sidewalk across the street from his old employer because he believes that he will get his job back

What about them? How do we help those individuals when the system ignores those who cannot or will not play by the rules?


Many mornings I see the same woman standing near a bus stop. The bus stop is covered, but she never stands underneath the awning. She stands behind the bus stop, even when it’s raining.

You can smell her—a mixture of sweat, dirty socks, and yeast—from several feet away. Pedestrians move around her the way water swirls away from large rocks on the riverbed.

Two black garbage bags sit at her feet. They are full. Plastic zip-lock bags poke out of one of them.

She is a young woman of color. She wears a dark hoodie that is too large for her slender frame, but it’s not zipped up all the way. She’s not wearing anything underneath the hoodie, not even a bra. An unwashed skirt smeared with dirt covers her legs. Her mangled sandals reveal that she has not clipped her toenails in many months.

She talks to an unseen audience and everyone can hear what she says. Her voice is rich and though her sentences do not make sense, she speaks with dignity.

The other morning the rain wasn’t the usual mist that falls from Seattle skies. The droplets were full and heavy, a shower of dark water as the sky was filling with grey light.

No one was standing in the bus shelter. Her clothes were already damp.

“Excuse me?” I asked. She had raised an arm to make a point in her discussion.

She fell silent and blinked a few times.

“Do you want to move so you’re under the bus shelter? So you won’t get wet?”

She turned her head and looked away.

“I can help you move your stuff. It’s raining pretty hard right now.”

She dropped her arm and turned her head further.

“What’s your name? My name is Maria.”

She glanced at me, raised her arm back up, and resumed speaking: “All in all, we must to the left….”

I stood there for a moment, waiting for a sign. None came. I walked away.

Categories
Blogosphere Nonfiction

The “Best Of” 2017.

There are ten days left in 2017.

This is the third iteration of my blog. I started this one in November 2010. The first iteration of my blog started in November 2000. That means I’ve been writing online for 17 years (???), though I fled the internet for about two years.

In looking back over what I wrote in 2017, these are the posts from this past year that had the most visits:

Disappointment. “My cohort graduated from our psychiatry residency almost ten years ago. The level of frustration and disappointment we’ve all experienced within the past two years is striking.”

My Seattle Times Op-Ed about #MeToo in Medicine. “The senior psychiatry resident at the University of Washington School of Medicine warned me ahead of time. She laughed as she said, ‘He’s weird. You’ll get used to him.'”

Thoughts on the Movie “Get Out”. “If you have seen Get Out, this post ponders the role of psychiatry in the movie. (Full disclosure: I enjoyed and recommend the movie.)”

The most popular posts on my blog, though, aren’t from 2017! These are the posts that received the most visits overall:

DSM-5: Schizophrenia. This post is a brief discussion about how DSM 5 defines schizophrenia. (I wrote about other diagnoses, too, but don’t know why this diagnosis got the most attention. I have a particular interest in people experiencing psychotic disorders; perhaps that shows?)

Personality Disorders to Difficult Interactions (I). “To be clear, though, just because you have a difficult interaction with someone doesn’t mean that that person has a personality disorder. There are plenty of people without personality disorders who behave in unbecoming ways.”

Do People Choose to be Homeless? “I cannot speak for all people who have ever been homeless. However, I have several years of experience working with people who were homeless and refused housing again and again, as well as people who left their housing and returned to the streets.”

I remain grateful to people who choose to take the time to read my writing. Some of you have been reading since the early days of my first blog; for that, I feel humbled. Thank you.

May 2018 bring you all good health, many blessings, and contentment. See you in the new year.

Categories
Informal-curriculum Medicine Nonfiction Seattle

My Seattle Times Op-Ed about #MeToo in Medicine.

The Seattle Times published an op-ed I wrote! Their editorial staff provided the title, #MeToo in medicine: ‘Who would believe a trainee?’

I wonder: What if I had a different byline? Would the Seattle Times have published it if I worked as a nurse? medical student? medical assistant?

What if I worked as a janitor in a hospital? Or in housekeeping?

What if I waited tables? worked in retail? had a job that is “off the books”?

The last sentence in my op-ed is “I was fortunate, but not all women are.” I was fortunate in that I had support from supervisors and colleagues, and that the psychiatrist in question didn’t do anything worse.

I remain fortunate, though, in that I have the privilege to be able to share this story to a wider audience. I have access that other people lack. And those are the people we should consider about when we talk about “#MeToo”.


The senior psychiatry resident at the University of Washington School of Medicine warned me ahead of time. She laughed as she said, “He’s weird. You’ll get used to him.”

When I first met with him, the psychiatrist lazily spun in his chair, his left hand tucked into his pants, his thumb hanging out. After he told me his expectations as my supervisor, he patted my right thigh as he ended the meeting.

I spent one day a week training in his clinic. He often put his hand on my shoulder. If he sat near me, he extended his arm to pat my leg. When I sat far from him, he crowed compliments in front of patients and other staff: “Dr. Yang is one of the best residents who has ever worked with me!”

He began to send emails to me at all hours of the day and night. They stopped referring to clinical research and developments; now he wrote of art, history and music that he thought I would enjoy. Some of the timestamps on his emails were near 2 a.m.

“Do as I say, don’t do as I do,” he chided in his emails. “Good night.”

My discomfort increased over time, though I wondered if I was overreacting. After all, didn’t another resident tell me that he was weird? She didn’t seem distressed with his behavior. Maybe I was too sensitive.

I asked two other supervisors, both psychiatrists, for advice. The male psychiatrist was angry and swift in his response: “You have to tell your residency director. This isn’t right.”

The female psychiatrist wavered. “I don’t know,” she said after a long pause. “It’s up to you if you want to say something. It could turn into a ‘he said, she said’ issue.”

She had a point: Who would believe a trainee over a tenured professor? Would he retaliate? How would this affect the rest of my training?

I decided to talk with him first. My request seemed reasonable: “Could you please stop touching me and stop sending emails to me that are unrelated to clinical work? I feel uncomfortable when those things happen.” I rehearsed.

The next time I saw him, he greeted me with a pat on the shoulder. I felt my face flush as I stammered, “Could you please stop touching me? It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

He paused, then smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? It’s not that big of a deal. I’m just being friendly.”

It was a big deal: He stopped talking to me entirely when we were in front of patients. He stopped teaching me. At what would become our last meeting together, he refused to acknowledge my concerns about a clinical issue. It seemed like he was trying to pick a fight with me. We fell silent. He looked at me with amusement. I glared at him.

“Are we done?” I still felt like I needed his permission to leave.

“Yup!” He grinned. It was clear I had to talk with my residency director.

She believed me. She was swift and immediately pulled me from the rotation.

One of my fellow trainees, a robust man who played football in college, was assigned to work with him for the following six months.

My fellow colleague believed me. He was swift. He objected and asked for another rotation, stating that he didn’t feel comfortable working with a physician who had mistreated another trainee.

The psychiatrist ultimately left the institution, following an administrative leave.

Sexual harassment occurs in every profession, even medicine. To stop this, we need as many people as possible — men, women, colleagues, advisers and leaders — to support women and act swiftly when these events occur. I was fortunate, but not all women are.