Residents/Training

Lithium has been used in psychiatry for more than half a century and is considered the gold standard for treating acute mania and maintenance treatment of bipolar disorder.¹ Evidence supports its use to reduce suicidal behavior and as an adjunctive treatment for major depressive disorder.² However, lithium has fallen out of favor because of its narrow therapeutic index as well as the introduction of newer psychotropic medications that have a quicker onset of action and do not require strict blood monitoring. For residents early in their training, keeping track of the laboratory monitoring and medical screening can be confusing. Different institutions and countries have specific guidelines and recommendations for monitoring patients receiving lithium, which adds to the confusion.

We completed a literature review to develop clear and concise recommendations for lithium monitoring for residents in our psychiatry residency program. These recommendations outline screening at baseline and after patients treated with lithium achieve stability. Table 1^3-11 outlines medical screening parameters, including bloodwork, that should be completed before initiating treatment, and how often such screening should be repeated. Table 2 incorporates these parameters into progress notes in the electronic medical record to keep track of the laboratory values and when they were last drawn. Our aim is to help residents stay organized and prevent missed screenings.

How often should lithium levels be monitored?

After starting a patient on lithium, check the level within 5 to 7 days, and 5 to 7 days after each dose change. Draw the lithium level 10 to 14 hours after the patient’s last dose (12 hours is best).¹ Because of dosage changes, lithium levels usually are monitored more frequently during the first 3 months of treatment until therapeutic levels are reached or symptoms are controlled. It is recommended to monitor lithium levels every 3 months for the first year and every 6 months after the first year of treatment once the patient is stable and considering age, medical health, and how consistently a patient reports symptoms/adverse effects.^3,5 Continue monitoring levels every 3 months in older adults; in patients with renal dysfunction, thyroid dysfunction, hypercalcemia, or other significant medical comorbidities; and in those who are taking medications that affect lithium, such as pain medications (nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs can raise lithium levels), certain antihypertensives (angiotensin-converting-enzyme inhibitors can raise lithium levels), and diuretics (thiazide diuretics can raise lithium levels; osmotic diuretics and carbonic anhydrase inhibitors can reduce lithium levels).^1,3,5

Lithium levels could vary by up to 0.5 mEq/L during transition between manic, euthymic, and depressive states.¹² On a consistent dosage, lithium levels decrease during mania because of hemodilution, and increase during depression secondary to physiological effects specific to these episodes.^13,14

Recommendations for plasma lithium levels (trough levels)

Mania. Lithium levels of 0.8 to 1.2 mEq/L often are needed to achieve symptom control during manic episodes.¹⁵ As levels approach 1.5 mEq/L, patients are at increased risk for intolerable adverse effects (eg, nausea and vomiting) and toxicity.^16,17 Adverse effects at higher levels may result in patients abruptly discontinuing lithium. Patients who experience mania before a depressive episode at illness onsettend to have a better treatment response with lithium.¹⁸ Lithium monotherapy has been shown to be less effective for acute mania than antipsychotics or combination therapies.¹⁹ Consider combining lithium with valproate or antipsychotics for patients who have tolerated lithium in the past and plan to use lithium for maintenance treatment.²⁰

Maintenance. In adults, the lithium level should be 0.60 to 80mEq/L, but consider levels of 0.40 to 0.60 mEq/L in patients who have a good response to lithium but develop adverse effects at higher levels.²¹ For patients who do not respond to treatment, such as those with severe mania, maintenance levels can be increased to 0.76 to 0.90 mEq/L.²² These same recommendations for maintenance levels can be used for children and adolescents. In older adults, aim for maintenance levels of 0.4 to 0.6 mEq/L. For patients age 65 to 79, the maximum level is 0.7 to 0.8 mEq/L, and should not exceed 0.7 mEq/L in patients age >80. Lithium levels <0.4 mEq/L do not appear to be effective.²¹

Depression. Aim for a lithium level of 0.6 to 1.0 mEq/L for patients with depression.¹¹

Continue to: Renal function monitoring frequency

Obtain a basic metabolic panel or comprehensive metabolic panel to establish baseline levels of creatinine, blood urea nitrogen (BUN), and estimated glomerular filtration rate (eGFR). Repeat testing at Week 12 and at 6 months to detect any changes. Renal function can be monitored every 6 to 12 months in stable patients, but should be closely watched when a patient’s clinical status changes.³ A new lower eGFR value after starting lithium therapy should be investigated with a repeat test in 2 weeks.²³ Mild elevations in creatinine should be monitored, and further medical workup with a nephrologist is recommended for patients with a creatinine level ≥1.6 mg/dL.²⁴ It is important to note that creatinine might remain within normal limits if there is considerable reduction in glomerular function. Creatinine levels could vary because of body mass and diet. Creatinine levels can be low in nonmuscular patients and elevated in patients who consume large amounts of protein.^23,25

Ordering a basic metabolic panel also allows electrolyte monitoring. Hypo­natremia and dehydration can lead to elevated lithium levels and result in toxicity; hypokalemia might increase the risk of lithium-induced cardiac toxicity. Monitor calcium (corrected serum calcium) because hypercalcemia has been seen in patients treated with lithium.

Thyroid function monitoring frequency

Obtain levels of thyroid-stimulating hormone with reflex to free T4 at baseline, 12 weeks, and 6 months. Monitor thyroid function every 6 to 12 months in stable patients and when a patient’s clinical status changes, such as with new reports of medical or psychiatric symptoms and when there is concern for thyroid dysfunction.³

Lithium and neurotoxicity

Lithium is known to have neurotoxic effects, such as effects on fast-acting neurons leading to dyscoordination or tremor, even at therapeutic levels.²⁶ This is especially the case when lithium is combined with an antipsychotic,^26,27 a combination that is used to treat bipolar I disorder with psychotic features. Older adults are at greater risk for neurotoxicity because of physiological changes associated with increasing age.²⁸

Educate patients about adherence, diet, and exercise

Patients might stop taking their psychotropic medications when they start feeling better. Instruct patients to discuss discontinuation with the prescribing clinician before they stop any medication. Educate patients that rapidly discontinuing lithium therapy puts them at high risk of relapse²⁹ and increases the risk of developing treatment-refractory symptoms.^23,30 Emphasize the importance of staying hydrated and maintaining adequate sodium in their diet.^17,31 Consuming excessive sodium can reduce lithium levels.^17,32 Lithium levels could increase when patients experience excessive sweating, such as during exercise or being outside on warm days, because of sodium and volume loss.^17,33

Lithium has been used in psychiatry for more than half a century and is considered the gold standard for treating acute mania and maintenance treatment of bipolar disorder.¹ Evidence supports its use to reduce suicidal behavior and as an adjunctive treatment for major depressive disorder.² However, lithium has fallen out of favor because of its narrow therapeutic index as well as the introduction of newer psychotropic medications that have a quicker onset of action and do not require strict blood monitoring. For residents early in their training, keeping track of the laboratory monitoring and medical screening can be confusing. Different institutions and countries have specific guidelines and recommendations for monitoring patients receiving lithium, which adds to the confusion.

We completed a literature review to develop clear and concise recommendations for lithium monitoring for residents in our psychiatry residency program. These recommendations outline screening at baseline and after patients treated with lithium achieve stability. Table 1^3-11 outlines medical screening parameters, including bloodwork, that should be completed before initiating treatment, and how often such screening should be repeated. Table 2 incorporates these parameters into progress notes in the electronic medical record to keep track of the laboratory values and when they were last drawn. Our aim is to help residents stay organized and prevent missed screenings.

How often should lithium levels be monitored?

After starting a patient on lithium, check the level within 5 to 7 days, and 5 to 7 days after each dose change. Draw the lithium level 10 to 14 hours after the patient’s last dose (12 hours is best).¹ Because of dosage changes, lithium levels usually are monitored more frequently during the first 3 months of treatment until therapeutic levels are reached or symptoms are controlled. It is recommended to monitor lithium levels every 3 months for the first year and every 6 months after the first year of treatment once the patient is stable and considering age, medical health, and how consistently a patient reports symptoms/adverse effects.^3,5 Continue monitoring levels every 3 months in older adults; in patients with renal dysfunction, thyroid dysfunction, hypercalcemia, or other significant medical comorbidities; and in those who are taking medications that affect lithium, such as pain medications (nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs can raise lithium levels), certain antihypertensives (angiotensin-converting-enzyme inhibitors can raise lithium levels), and diuretics (thiazide diuretics can raise lithium levels; osmotic diuretics and carbonic anhydrase inhibitors can reduce lithium levels).^1,3,5

Lithium levels could vary by up to 0.5 mEq/L during transition between manic, euthymic, and depressive states.¹² On a consistent dosage, lithium levels decrease during mania because of hemodilution, and increase during depression secondary to physiological effects specific to these episodes.^13,14

Recommendations for plasma lithium levels (trough levels)

Mania. Lithium levels of 0.8 to 1.2 mEq/L often are needed to achieve symptom control during manic episodes.¹⁵ As levels approach 1.5 mEq/L, patients are at increased risk for intolerable adverse effects (eg, nausea and vomiting) and toxicity.^16,17 Adverse effects at higher levels may result in patients abruptly discontinuing lithium. Patients who experience mania before a depressive episode at illness onsettend to have a better treatment response with lithium.¹⁸ Lithium monotherapy has been shown to be less effective for acute mania than antipsychotics or combination therapies.¹⁹ Consider combining lithium with valproate or antipsychotics for patients who have tolerated lithium in the past and plan to use lithium for maintenance treatment.²⁰

Maintenance. In adults, the lithium level should be 0.60 to 80mEq/L, but consider levels of 0.40 to 0.60 mEq/L in patients who have a good response to lithium but develop adverse effects at higher levels.²¹ For patients who do not respond to treatment, such as those with severe mania, maintenance levels can be increased to 0.76 to 0.90 mEq/L.²² These same recommendations for maintenance levels can be used for children and adolescents. In older adults, aim for maintenance levels of 0.4 to 0.6 mEq/L. For patients age 65 to 79, the maximum level is 0.7 to 0.8 mEq/L, and should not exceed 0.7 mEq/L in patients age >80. Lithium levels <0.4 mEq/L do not appear to be effective.²¹

Depression. Aim for a lithium level of 0.6 to 1.0 mEq/L for patients with depression.¹¹

Continue to: Renal function monitoring frequency

Obtain a basic metabolic panel or comprehensive metabolic panel to establish baseline levels of creatinine, blood urea nitrogen (BUN), and estimated glomerular filtration rate (eGFR). Repeat testing at Week 12 and at 6 months to detect any changes. Renal function can be monitored every 6 to 12 months in stable patients, but should be closely watched when a patient’s clinical status changes.³ A new lower eGFR value after starting lithium therapy should be investigated with a repeat test in 2 weeks.²³ Mild elevations in creatinine should be monitored, and further medical workup with a nephrologist is recommended for patients with a creatinine level ≥1.6 mg/dL.²⁴ It is important to note that creatinine might remain within normal limits if there is considerable reduction in glomerular function. Creatinine levels could vary because of body mass and diet. Creatinine levels can be low in nonmuscular patients and elevated in patients who consume large amounts of protein.^23,25

Ordering a basic metabolic panel also allows electrolyte monitoring. Hypo­natremia and dehydration can lead to elevated lithium levels and result in toxicity; hypokalemia might increase the risk of lithium-induced cardiac toxicity. Monitor calcium (corrected serum calcium) because hypercalcemia has been seen in patients treated with lithium.

Thyroid function monitoring frequency

Obtain levels of thyroid-stimulating hormone with reflex to free T4 at baseline, 12 weeks, and 6 months. Monitor thyroid function every 6 to 12 months in stable patients and when a patient’s clinical status changes, such as with new reports of medical or psychiatric symptoms and when there is concern for thyroid dysfunction.³

Lithium and neurotoxicity

Lithium is known to have neurotoxic effects, such as effects on fast-acting neurons leading to dyscoordination or tremor, even at therapeutic levels.²⁶ This is especially the case when lithium is combined with an antipsychotic,^26,27 a combination that is used to treat bipolar I disorder with psychotic features. Older adults are at greater risk for neurotoxicity because of physiological changes associated with increasing age.²⁸

Educate patients about adherence, diet, and exercise

Patients might stop taking their psychotropic medications when they start feeling better. Instruct patients to discuss discontinuation with the prescribing clinician before they stop any medication. Educate patients that rapidly discontinuing lithium therapy puts them at high risk of relapse²⁹ and increases the risk of developing treatment-refractory symptoms.^23,30 Emphasize the importance of staying hydrated and maintaining adequate sodium in their diet.^17,31 Consuming excessive sodium can reduce lithium levels.^17,32 Lithium levels could increase when patients experience excessive sweating, such as during exercise or being outside on warm days, because of sodium and volume loss.^17,33

Lithium has been used in psychiatry for more than half a century and is considered the gold standard for treating acute mania and maintenance treatment of bipolar disorder.¹ Evidence supports its use to reduce suicidal behavior and as an adjunctive treatment for major depressive disorder.² However, lithium has fallen out of favor because of its narrow therapeutic index as well as the introduction of newer psychotropic medications that have a quicker onset of action and do not require strict blood monitoring. For residents early in their training, keeping track of the laboratory monitoring and medical screening can be confusing. Different institutions and countries have specific guidelines and recommendations for monitoring patients receiving lithium, which adds to the confusion.

We completed a literature review to develop clear and concise recommendations for lithium monitoring for residents in our psychiatry residency program. These recommendations outline screening at baseline and after patients treated with lithium achieve stability. Table 1^3-11 outlines medical screening parameters, including bloodwork, that should be completed before initiating treatment, and how often such screening should be repeated. Table 2 incorporates these parameters into progress notes in the electronic medical record to keep track of the laboratory values and when they were last drawn. Our aim is to help residents stay organized and prevent missed screenings.

How often should lithium levels be monitored?

After starting a patient on lithium, check the level within 5 to 7 days, and 5 to 7 days after each dose change. Draw the lithium level 10 to 14 hours after the patient’s last dose (12 hours is best).¹ Because of dosage changes, lithium levels usually are monitored more frequently during the first 3 months of treatment until therapeutic levels are reached or symptoms are controlled. It is recommended to monitor lithium levels every 3 months for the first year and every 6 months after the first year of treatment once the patient is stable and considering age, medical health, and how consistently a patient reports symptoms/adverse effects.^3,5 Continue monitoring levels every 3 months in older adults; in patients with renal dysfunction, thyroid dysfunction, hypercalcemia, or other significant medical comorbidities; and in those who are taking medications that affect lithium, such as pain medications (nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs can raise lithium levels), certain antihypertensives (angiotensin-converting-enzyme inhibitors can raise lithium levels), and diuretics (thiazide diuretics can raise lithium levels; osmotic diuretics and carbonic anhydrase inhibitors can reduce lithium levels).^1,3,5

Lithium levels could vary by up to 0.5 mEq/L during transition between manic, euthymic, and depressive states.¹² On a consistent dosage, lithium levels decrease during mania because of hemodilution, and increase during depression secondary to physiological effects specific to these episodes.^13,14

Recommendations for plasma lithium levels (trough levels)

Mania. Lithium levels of 0.8 to 1.2 mEq/L often are needed to achieve symptom control during manic episodes.¹⁵ As levels approach 1.5 mEq/L, patients are at increased risk for intolerable adverse effects (eg, nausea and vomiting) and toxicity.^16,17 Adverse effects at higher levels may result in patients abruptly discontinuing lithium. Patients who experience mania before a depressive episode at illness onsettend to have a better treatment response with lithium.¹⁸ Lithium monotherapy has been shown to be less effective for acute mania than antipsychotics or combination therapies.¹⁹ Consider combining lithium with valproate or antipsychotics for patients who have tolerated lithium in the past and plan to use lithium for maintenance treatment.²⁰

Maintenance. In adults, the lithium level should be 0.60 to 80mEq/L, but consider levels of 0.40 to 0.60 mEq/L in patients who have a good response to lithium but develop adverse effects at higher levels.²¹ For patients who do not respond to treatment, such as those with severe mania, maintenance levels can be increased to 0.76 to 0.90 mEq/L.²² These same recommendations for maintenance levels can be used for children and adolescents. In older adults, aim for maintenance levels of 0.4 to 0.6 mEq/L. For patients age 65 to 79, the maximum level is 0.7 to 0.8 mEq/L, and should not exceed 0.7 mEq/L in patients age >80. Lithium levels <0.4 mEq/L do not appear to be effective.²¹

Depression. Aim for a lithium level of 0.6 to 1.0 mEq/L for patients with depression.¹¹

Continue to: Renal function monitoring frequency

Obtain a basic metabolic panel or comprehensive metabolic panel to establish baseline levels of creatinine, blood urea nitrogen (BUN), and estimated glomerular filtration rate (eGFR). Repeat testing at Week 12 and at 6 months to detect any changes. Renal function can be monitored every 6 to 12 months in stable patients, but should be closely watched when a patient’s clinical status changes.³ A new lower eGFR value after starting lithium therapy should be investigated with a repeat test in 2 weeks.²³ Mild elevations in creatinine should be monitored, and further medical workup with a nephrologist is recommended for patients with a creatinine level ≥1.6 mg/dL.²⁴ It is important to note that creatinine might remain within normal limits if there is considerable reduction in glomerular function. Creatinine levels could vary because of body mass and diet. Creatinine levels can be low in nonmuscular patients and elevated in patients who consume large amounts of protein.^23,25

Ordering a basic metabolic panel also allows electrolyte monitoring. Hypo­natremia and dehydration can lead to elevated lithium levels and result in toxicity; hypokalemia might increase the risk of lithium-induced cardiac toxicity. Monitor calcium (corrected serum calcium) because hypercalcemia has been seen in patients treated with lithium.

Thyroid function monitoring frequency

Obtain levels of thyroid-stimulating hormone with reflex to free T4 at baseline, 12 weeks, and 6 months. Monitor thyroid function every 6 to 12 months in stable patients and when a patient’s clinical status changes, such as with new reports of medical or psychiatric symptoms and when there is concern for thyroid dysfunction.³

Lithium and neurotoxicity

Lithium is known to have neurotoxic effects, such as effects on fast-acting neurons leading to dyscoordination or tremor, even at therapeutic levels.²⁶ This is especially the case when lithium is combined with an antipsychotic,^26,27 a combination that is used to treat bipolar I disorder with psychotic features. Older adults are at greater risk for neurotoxicity because of physiological changes associated with increasing age.²⁸

Educate patients about adherence, diet, and exercise

Patients might stop taking their psychotropic medications when they start feeling better. Instruct patients to discuss discontinuation with the prescribing clinician before they stop any medication. Educate patients that rapidly discontinuing lithium therapy puts them at high risk of relapse²⁹ and increases the risk of developing treatment-refractory symptoms.^23,30 Emphasize the importance of staying hydrated and maintaining adequate sodium in their diet.^17,31 Consuming excessive sodium can reduce lithium levels.^17,32 Lithium levels could increase when patients experience excessive sweating, such as during exercise or being outside on warm days, because of sodium and volume loss.^17,33

The ground trembled, trees shook, and voices echoed throughout the city. I looked around in awe as the dew from my breath settled on the tip of my nose, dampening my face mask. Thousands of people with varying backgrounds, together in recognition that while the arc of the moral universe is long, it cannot bend towards justice without our help. The pain, suffering, and anger of the protestors was palpable, their chants vibrating deep in my chest, all against the backdrop of the historic Los Angeles City Hall, with rows of police officers and National Guard troops on its lawn. The countless recent racially motivated attacks and murders had driven people from all walks of life to protest for an end to systemic racism. I listened to people tell stories and challenge each other to comprehend the depths of the trauma that led us to this moment, and I went home that day curious about the history of racism in medicine.

Medicine’s roots in slavery

The uncomfortable truth is that medicine in America has some of its earliest roots in slavery. In an editorial in the New England Journal of Medicine, Evans et al¹ wrote “Slaves provided economic security for physicians and clinical material that permitted the expansion of medical research, improvement of medical care, and enhancement of medical training.”¹

In the 1830s, medical schools would publicize abundant access to “black clinical subjects” as a recruitment method. The Savannah Medical Journal, for example, proudly stated that Savannah Medical College had a Black patient census that “provided abundant clinical opportunities for studying disease.”² The dehumanization of Black people was pervasive, and while racism in medical education today may be less overt because the Black community is no longer sought after as “clinical material,” discrimination continues. Ebede and Papier³ found that patients of color are extremely underrepresented in images used in medical education.

How were trainees learning to recognize clinical findings in dark-skinned patients? Was this ultimately slowing the identification and treatment of diseases in such populations?

Racism in psychiatry

In a 2020 article in Psychiatric News, American Psychiatric Association (APA) president Jeffrey Geller, MD, MPH, provided shocking insight into the history of racism in American psychiatry.⁴ In 1773, the Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds in Williamsburg, Virginia, became the first public freestanding psychiatric hospital in British North America.⁴ The hospital would only accept Black patients if their admission did not interfere with the admission of White patients. Some clinicians also believed that insanity could not occur in Black people due to their “primitive nature.”⁴ John Galt, physician head of the hospital from 1841 to 1862 and one of the APA’s founding fathers, believed that Black people were “immune” to insanity because they did not experience the “mental excitement” that the free population experienced daily. Further, Benjamin Rush, considered the father of American psychiatry, was adamant that black skin itself was actually a disease, called negritude, and the only treatment involved turning a Black person white.⁴

The blasphemy is endless. John Calhoun, former vice president of the APA in the 1840s, stated “The African is incapable of self care and sinks into lunacy under the burden of freedom. It is mercy to him to give this guardianship and protection from mental health.”⁴

How could a population that was owned, sold, beaten, chained, raped, and ultimately dehumanized not develop mental illness? Race was weaponized by the powerful in order to deny the inalienable rights of Black people. Dr. Geller summarized these atrocities perfectly: “…during [the APA’s first 40 years] … Association members did not debate segregation by race. A few members said it shall be so, and the rest were silent—silent for a very long time.”⁴

While I train as a resident psychiatrist, I am learning the value of cultural sensitivity and the importance of truly understanding the background of all my patients in order to effectively treat mental illness. George Floyd’s murder is the most recent death that has shed light on systemic racism and the challenges that are largely unique to the Black community and their mental health. I recognize that combating disparities in mental health requires an honest and often uncomfortable reckoning with the role that systemic racism has played in creating these health disparities. While the trauma inflicted by centuries of injustice cannot be corrected overnight, it is our responsibility to confront these biases and barriers in medicine on a daily basis as we strive to create a more equitable society.

The ground trembled, trees shook, and voices echoed throughout the city. I looked around in awe as the dew from my breath settled on the tip of my nose, dampening my face mask. Thousands of people with varying backgrounds, together in recognition that while the arc of the moral universe is long, it cannot bend towards justice without our help. The pain, suffering, and anger of the protestors was palpable, their chants vibrating deep in my chest, all against the backdrop of the historic Los Angeles City Hall, with rows of police officers and National Guard troops on its lawn. The countless recent racially motivated attacks and murders had driven people from all walks of life to protest for an end to systemic racism. I listened to people tell stories and challenge each other to comprehend the depths of the trauma that led us to this moment, and I went home that day curious about the history of racism in medicine.

Medicine’s roots in slavery

The uncomfortable truth is that medicine in America has some of its earliest roots in slavery. In an editorial in the New England Journal of Medicine, Evans et al¹ wrote “Slaves provided economic security for physicians and clinical material that permitted the expansion of medical research, improvement of medical care, and enhancement of medical training.”¹

In the 1830s, medical schools would publicize abundant access to “black clinical subjects” as a recruitment method. The Savannah Medical Journal, for example, proudly stated that Savannah Medical College had a Black patient census that “provided abundant clinical opportunities for studying disease.”² The dehumanization of Black people was pervasive, and while racism in medical education today may be less overt because the Black community is no longer sought after as “clinical material,” discrimination continues. Ebede and Papier³ found that patients of color are extremely underrepresented in images used in medical education.

How were trainees learning to recognize clinical findings in dark-skinned patients? Was this ultimately slowing the identification and treatment of diseases in such populations?

Racism in psychiatry

In a 2020 article in Psychiatric News, American Psychiatric Association (APA) president Jeffrey Geller, MD, MPH, provided shocking insight into the history of racism in American psychiatry.⁴ In 1773, the Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds in Williamsburg, Virginia, became the first public freestanding psychiatric hospital in British North America.⁴ The hospital would only accept Black patients if their admission did not interfere with the admission of White patients. Some clinicians also believed that insanity could not occur in Black people due to their “primitive nature.”⁴ John Galt, physician head of the hospital from 1841 to 1862 and one of the APA’s founding fathers, believed that Black people were “immune” to insanity because they did not experience the “mental excitement” that the free population experienced daily. Further, Benjamin Rush, considered the father of American psychiatry, was adamant that black skin itself was actually a disease, called negritude, and the only treatment involved turning a Black person white.⁴

The blasphemy is endless. John Calhoun, former vice president of the APA in the 1840s, stated “The African is incapable of self care and sinks into lunacy under the burden of freedom. It is mercy to him to give this guardianship and protection from mental health.”⁴

How could a population that was owned, sold, beaten, chained, raped, and ultimately dehumanized not develop mental illness? Race was weaponized by the powerful in order to deny the inalienable rights of Black people. Dr. Geller summarized these atrocities perfectly: “…during [the APA’s first 40 years] … Association members did not debate segregation by race. A few members said it shall be so, and the rest were silent—silent for a very long time.”⁴

While I train as a resident psychiatrist, I am learning the value of cultural sensitivity and the importance of truly understanding the background of all my patients in order to effectively treat mental illness. George Floyd’s murder is the most recent death that has shed light on systemic racism and the challenges that are largely unique to the Black community and their mental health. I recognize that combating disparities in mental health requires an honest and often uncomfortable reckoning with the role that systemic racism has played in creating these health disparities. While the trauma inflicted by centuries of injustice cannot be corrected overnight, it is our responsibility to confront these biases and barriers in medicine on a daily basis as we strive to create a more equitable society.

The ground trembled, trees shook, and voices echoed throughout the city. I looked around in awe as the dew from my breath settled on the tip of my nose, dampening my face mask. Thousands of people with varying backgrounds, together in recognition that while the arc of the moral universe is long, it cannot bend towards justice without our help. The pain, suffering, and anger of the protestors was palpable, their chants vibrating deep in my chest, all against the backdrop of the historic Los Angeles City Hall, with rows of police officers and National Guard troops on its lawn. The countless recent racially motivated attacks and murders had driven people from all walks of life to protest for an end to systemic racism. I listened to people tell stories and challenge each other to comprehend the depths of the trauma that led us to this moment, and I went home that day curious about the history of racism in medicine.

Medicine’s roots in slavery

The uncomfortable truth is that medicine in America has some of its earliest roots in slavery. In an editorial in the New England Journal of Medicine, Evans et al¹ wrote “Slaves provided economic security for physicians and clinical material that permitted the expansion of medical research, improvement of medical care, and enhancement of medical training.”¹

In the 1830s, medical schools would publicize abundant access to “black clinical subjects” as a recruitment method. The Savannah Medical Journal, for example, proudly stated that Savannah Medical College had a Black patient census that “provided abundant clinical opportunities for studying disease.”² The dehumanization of Black people was pervasive, and while racism in medical education today may be less overt because the Black community is no longer sought after as “clinical material,” discrimination continues. Ebede and Papier³ found that patients of color are extremely underrepresented in images used in medical education.

How were trainees learning to recognize clinical findings in dark-skinned patients? Was this ultimately slowing the identification and treatment of diseases in such populations?

Racism in psychiatry

In a 2020 article in Psychiatric News, American Psychiatric Association (APA) president Jeffrey Geller, MD, MPH, provided shocking insight into the history of racism in American psychiatry.⁴ In 1773, the Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds in Williamsburg, Virginia, became the first public freestanding psychiatric hospital in British North America.⁴ The hospital would only accept Black patients if their admission did not interfere with the admission of White patients. Some clinicians also believed that insanity could not occur in Black people due to their “primitive nature.”⁴ John Galt, physician head of the hospital from 1841 to 1862 and one of the APA’s founding fathers, believed that Black people were “immune” to insanity because they did not experience the “mental excitement” that the free population experienced daily. Further, Benjamin Rush, considered the father of American psychiatry, was adamant that black skin itself was actually a disease, called negritude, and the only treatment involved turning a Black person white.⁴

The blasphemy is endless. John Calhoun, former vice president of the APA in the 1840s, stated “The African is incapable of self care and sinks into lunacy under the burden of freedom. It is mercy to him to give this guardianship and protection from mental health.”⁴

How could a population that was owned, sold, beaten, chained, raped, and ultimately dehumanized not develop mental illness? Race was weaponized by the powerful in order to deny the inalienable rights of Black people. Dr. Geller summarized these atrocities perfectly: “…during [the APA’s first 40 years] … Association members did not debate segregation by race. A few members said it shall be so, and the rest were silent—silent for a very long time.”⁴

While I train as a resident psychiatrist, I am learning the value of cultural sensitivity and the importance of truly understanding the background of all my patients in order to effectively treat mental illness. George Floyd’s murder is the most recent death that has shed light on systemic racism and the challenges that are largely unique to the Black community and their mental health. I recognize that combating disparities in mental health requires an honest and often uncomfortable reckoning with the role that systemic racism has played in creating these health disparities. While the trauma inflicted by centuries of injustice cannot be corrected overnight, it is our responsibility to confront these biases and barriers in medicine on a daily basis as we strive to create a more equitable society.

The coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic has fundamentally changed our way of life. It has affected everything from how we go to the grocery store, attend school, worship, and spend time with our loved ones. As vaccinations are becoming available, there’s hope for a time when we can all enjoy a mask-free life again. Despite this, many of us are beginning to sense that the precautions and technology employed in response to COVID-19, and some of the lessons learned as a result, are likely to stay in place long after the virus has been controlled.

Victor Rendon, DO, MPA

Working remotely through audio and visual synchronous communication is now becoming the norm throughout the American workplace and educational system. Hospitals and graduate medical education programs are not exempt from this trend. For at least the foreseeable future, gone are the days of “unsocially distanced” bedside rounds in which 5 to 10 residents and medical students gather around with their attending as a case is presented in front of an agreeable patient.

My experience with ‘virtual’ supervision

Telemedicine has played a key role in the practice of health care during this pandemic, but little has been written about “telesupervision” of residents in the hospital setting. An unprecedented virtual approach to supervising emergency medicine residents was trialed at the University of Alabama a few months prior to my experience with it. This was found to be quite effective and well-received by all involved parties.¹

I am a PGY-2 psychiatry resident at ChristianaCare, a large multisite hospital system with more than 1,200 beds that serves the health care needs of Delaware and the surrounding areas. I recently had a novel educational experience working on a busy addiction medicine consult service. On the first day of this rotation, I met with my attending, Dr. Terry Horton, to discuss how the month would proceed. Together we developed a strategy for him to supervise me virtually.

Our arrangement was efficient and simple: I began each day by donning my surgical mask and protective eyewear and reviewing patients that had been placed on the consult list. Dr. Horton and I would have a conversation via telephone early in the morning to discuss the tasks that needed to be completed for the day. I would see and evaluate patients in the standard face-to-face way. After developing a treatment strategy, I contacted Dr. Horton on the phone, presented the patient, shared my plan, and gained information from his experienced perspective.

Then we saw the patient “together.” We used an iPad and Microsoft Teams video conferencing software. The information shared was protected using Microsoft Teams accounts, which were secured with profiles created by our institutional accounts. The iPad was placed on a rolling tripod, and the patient was able to converse with Dr. Horton as though he was physically in the room. I was there to facilitate the call, address any technical issues, and conduct any aspects of a physical exam that could only be done in person. After discussing any other changes to the treatment plan, I placed all medication orders, shared relevant details with nursing staff and other clinicians, wrote my progress note, and rolled my “attending on a stick” over to the next patient. Meanwhile, Dr. Horton was free to respond to pages or any other issues while I worked.

This description of my workflow is not very different from life before the virus. Based on informal feedback gathered from patients, the experience was overall positive. A physician is present; patients feel well cared for, and they look forward to visits and a virtual presence. This virtual approach not only spared unnecessary physical contact, reducing the risk of COVID-19 exposure, it also promoted efficiency.

Continue to: Fortunately, our hospital...

Certain psychosocial implications of the pandemic, including (but not limited to)social isolation and financial hardship, are often associated with increased substance use, and early data support the hypothesis that substance use has increased during this period.² Delaware seems to be included in the national trend. As such, our already-busy service is being stretched even further. Dr. Horton receives calls and is providing critical recommendations continuously throughout the day for multiple hospitals as well as for his outpatient practice. He used to spend a great deal of time traveling between different sites. With increasing need for his expertise, this model became increasingly difficult to practice. Our new model of attending supervision is welcomed in some settings because the attending can virtually be in multiple places at the same time.

For me, this experience has been positive. For a physician in training, virtual rounding can provide a critical balance of autonomy and support. I felt free on the rotation to make my own decisions, but I also did not feel like I was left to care for complicated cases on my own. Furthermore, my education did not suffer. In actuality, the experience enabled me to excel in my training. An attending physician was there for the important steps of plan formulation, but solo problem-solving opportunities were more readily available without his physical presence.

Aside from the medical lessons learned, I believe the participation has given me a glimpse of the future of medical training, health care delivery, and life in the increasingly digital post−COVID-19 world.

Hopefully, my experience will be helpful for other hospital systems as they continue to provide high-quality care to patients and education/training to their resident physicians in the face of the pandemic and the changing landscape of health care.

Acknowledgment

The author thanks Mustafa Mufti, MD, ChristianaCare Psychiatry Residency Program Director; Rachel Bronsther, MD, ChristianaCare Psychiatry Residency Associate Program Director; and Terry Horton, MD, ChristianaCare Addiction Medicine, for their assistance with this article.

The coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic has fundamentally changed our way of life. It has affected everything from how we go to the grocery store, attend school, worship, and spend time with our loved ones. As vaccinations are becoming available, there’s hope for a time when we can all enjoy a mask-free life again. Despite this, many of us are beginning to sense that the precautions and technology employed in response to COVID-19, and some of the lessons learned as a result, are likely to stay in place long after the virus has been controlled.

Victor Rendon, DO, MPA

Working remotely through audio and visual synchronous communication is now becoming the norm throughout the American workplace and educational system. Hospitals and graduate medical education programs are not exempt from this trend. For at least the foreseeable future, gone are the days of “unsocially distanced” bedside rounds in which 5 to 10 residents and medical students gather around with their attending as a case is presented in front of an agreeable patient.

My experience with ‘virtual’ supervision

Telemedicine has played a key role in the practice of health care during this pandemic, but little has been written about “telesupervision” of residents in the hospital setting. An unprecedented virtual approach to supervising emergency medicine residents was trialed at the University of Alabama a few months prior to my experience with it. This was found to be quite effective and well-received by all involved parties.¹

I am a PGY-2 psychiatry resident at ChristianaCare, a large multisite hospital system with more than 1,200 beds that serves the health care needs of Delaware and the surrounding areas. I recently had a novel educational experience working on a busy addiction medicine consult service. On the first day of this rotation, I met with my attending, Dr. Terry Horton, to discuss how the month would proceed. Together we developed a strategy for him to supervise me virtually.

Our arrangement was efficient and simple: I began each day by donning my surgical mask and protective eyewear and reviewing patients that had been placed on the consult list. Dr. Horton and I would have a conversation via telephone early in the morning to discuss the tasks that needed to be completed for the day. I would see and evaluate patients in the standard face-to-face way. After developing a treatment strategy, I contacted Dr. Horton on the phone, presented the patient, shared my plan, and gained information from his experienced perspective.

Then we saw the patient “together.” We used an iPad and Microsoft Teams video conferencing software. The information shared was protected using Microsoft Teams accounts, which were secured with profiles created by our institutional accounts. The iPad was placed on a rolling tripod, and the patient was able to converse with Dr. Horton as though he was physically in the room. I was there to facilitate the call, address any technical issues, and conduct any aspects of a physical exam that could only be done in person. After discussing any other changes to the treatment plan, I placed all medication orders, shared relevant details with nursing staff and other clinicians, wrote my progress note, and rolled my “attending on a stick” over to the next patient. Meanwhile, Dr. Horton was free to respond to pages or any other issues while I worked.

This description of my workflow is not very different from life before the virus. Based on informal feedback gathered from patients, the experience was overall positive. A physician is present; patients feel well cared for, and they look forward to visits and a virtual presence. This virtual approach not only spared unnecessary physical contact, reducing the risk of COVID-19 exposure, it also promoted efficiency.

Continue to: Fortunately, our hospital...

Certain psychosocial implications of the pandemic, including (but not limited to)social isolation and financial hardship, are often associated with increased substance use, and early data support the hypothesis that substance use has increased during this period.² Delaware seems to be included in the national trend. As such, our already-busy service is being stretched even further. Dr. Horton receives calls and is providing critical recommendations continuously throughout the day for multiple hospitals as well as for his outpatient practice. He used to spend a great deal of time traveling between different sites. With increasing need for his expertise, this model became increasingly difficult to practice. Our new model of attending supervision is welcomed in some settings because the attending can virtually be in multiple places at the same time.

For me, this experience has been positive. For a physician in training, virtual rounding can provide a critical balance of autonomy and support. I felt free on the rotation to make my own decisions, but I also did not feel like I was left to care for complicated cases on my own. Furthermore, my education did not suffer. In actuality, the experience enabled me to excel in my training. An attending physician was there for the important steps of plan formulation, but solo problem-solving opportunities were more readily available without his physical presence.

Aside from the medical lessons learned, I believe the participation has given me a glimpse of the future of medical training, health care delivery, and life in the increasingly digital post−COVID-19 world.

Hopefully, my experience will be helpful for other hospital systems as they continue to provide high-quality care to patients and education/training to their resident physicians in the face of the pandemic and the changing landscape of health care.

Acknowledgment

The author thanks Mustafa Mufti, MD, ChristianaCare Psychiatry Residency Program Director; Rachel Bronsther, MD, ChristianaCare Psychiatry Residency Associate Program Director; and Terry Horton, MD, ChristianaCare Addiction Medicine, for their assistance with this article.

The coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic has fundamentally changed our way of life. It has affected everything from how we go to the grocery store, attend school, worship, and spend time with our loved ones. As vaccinations are becoming available, there’s hope for a time when we can all enjoy a mask-free life again. Despite this, many of us are beginning to sense that the precautions and technology employed in response to COVID-19, and some of the lessons learned as a result, are likely to stay in place long after the virus has been controlled.

Victor Rendon, DO, MPA

Working remotely through audio and visual synchronous communication is now becoming the norm throughout the American workplace and educational system. Hospitals and graduate medical education programs are not exempt from this trend. For at least the foreseeable future, gone are the days of “unsocially distanced” bedside rounds in which 5 to 10 residents and medical students gather around with their attending as a case is presented in front of an agreeable patient.

My experience with ‘virtual’ supervision

Telemedicine has played a key role in the practice of health care during this pandemic, but little has been written about “telesupervision” of residents in the hospital setting. An unprecedented virtual approach to supervising emergency medicine residents was trialed at the University of Alabama a few months prior to my experience with it. This was found to be quite effective and well-received by all involved parties.¹

I am a PGY-2 psychiatry resident at ChristianaCare, a large multisite hospital system with more than 1,200 beds that serves the health care needs of Delaware and the surrounding areas. I recently had a novel educational experience working on a busy addiction medicine consult service. On the first day of this rotation, I met with my attending, Dr. Terry Horton, to discuss how the month would proceed. Together we developed a strategy for him to supervise me virtually.

Our arrangement was efficient and simple: I began each day by donning my surgical mask and protective eyewear and reviewing patients that had been placed on the consult list. Dr. Horton and I would have a conversation via telephone early in the morning to discuss the tasks that needed to be completed for the day. I would see and evaluate patients in the standard face-to-face way. After developing a treatment strategy, I contacted Dr. Horton on the phone, presented the patient, shared my plan, and gained information from his experienced perspective.

Then we saw the patient “together.” We used an iPad and Microsoft Teams video conferencing software. The information shared was protected using Microsoft Teams accounts, which were secured with profiles created by our institutional accounts. The iPad was placed on a rolling tripod, and the patient was able to converse with Dr. Horton as though he was physically in the room. I was there to facilitate the call, address any technical issues, and conduct any aspects of a physical exam that could only be done in person. After discussing any other changes to the treatment plan, I placed all medication orders, shared relevant details with nursing staff and other clinicians, wrote my progress note, and rolled my “attending on a stick” over to the next patient. Meanwhile, Dr. Horton was free to respond to pages or any other issues while I worked.

This description of my workflow is not very different from life before the virus. Based on informal feedback gathered from patients, the experience was overall positive. A physician is present; patients feel well cared for, and they look forward to visits and a virtual presence. This virtual approach not only spared unnecessary physical contact, reducing the risk of COVID-19 exposure, it also promoted efficiency.

Continue to: Fortunately, our hospital...

Certain psychosocial implications of the pandemic, including (but not limited to)social isolation and financial hardship, are often associated with increased substance use, and early data support the hypothesis that substance use has increased during this period.² Delaware seems to be included in the national trend. As such, our already-busy service is being stretched even further. Dr. Horton receives calls and is providing critical recommendations continuously throughout the day for multiple hospitals as well as for his outpatient practice. He used to spend a great deal of time traveling between different sites. With increasing need for his expertise, this model became increasingly difficult to practice. Our new model of attending supervision is welcomed in some settings because the attending can virtually be in multiple places at the same time.

For me, this experience has been positive. For a physician in training, virtual rounding can provide a critical balance of autonomy and support. I felt free on the rotation to make my own decisions, but I also did not feel like I was left to care for complicated cases on my own. Furthermore, my education did not suffer. In actuality, the experience enabled me to excel in my training. An attending physician was there for the important steps of plan formulation, but solo problem-solving opportunities were more readily available without his physical presence.

Aside from the medical lessons learned, I believe the participation has given me a glimpse of the future of medical training, health care delivery, and life in the increasingly digital post−COVID-19 world.

Hopefully, my experience will be helpful for other hospital systems as they continue to provide high-quality care to patients and education/training to their resident physicians in the face of the pandemic and the changing landscape of health care.

Acknowledgment

The author thanks Mustafa Mufti, MD, ChristianaCare Psychiatry Residency Program Director; Rachel Bronsther, MD, ChristianaCare Psychiatry Residency Associate Program Director; and Terry Horton, MD, ChristianaCare Addiction Medicine, for their assistance with this article.

On my third day as a PGY-4 junior attending on the inpatient psychiatric ward, 2 new PGY-1 residents, 2 medical students, and I stood in the wee hours of the morning, preparing to meet with our attending to begin rounds. I took the opportunity to discuss potential antipsychotic selection for one of our patients. I questioned the students to gauge their level of knowledge on antipsychotics in general, and did some “thinking out loud” about what our possible options could be. We discussed which antipsychotics are considered “weight-neutral” and which ones require caloric intake for adequate absorption. We discussed what other laboratory tests we should consider upon initiating the hypothetical medication. While discussing these things, I was suddenly taken aback to see that every member of my team was diligently taking notes and hanging on my every word!

Lessons from my teaching experiences

Taking on the role of junior attending has made me reflect on a few things about the transition that I will undergo at the end of this year, from resident to attending. First, teaching makes me keen to really sharpen my own knowledge, so that I can provide accurate information with confidence and ease. Making valid clinical decisions is a basic attending skill, but eloquently explaining clinical decisions to trainees with varying levels of background knowledge is a unique teaching attending necessity.

Second, I had this amazing feeling of helping patients beyond those currently in my care, since disseminating useful clinical information will allow trainees to better prepare to treat their own patients later. Random hypothetical situations presented by my attendings through the years may have seemed tangentially related to rounds at the time, but were meant to prepare me for actual future decisions (for example, “What would you change if this patient’s renal impairment were more severe?”). These teaching moments strengthen problem-solving skills and help us get as much benefit as possible from each case. The service to future patients extends to students who aren’t pursuing careers in psychiatry, because the skills they learn during a psychiatry rotation will help them connect with patients in any setting.

Third, I realized that teaching has the power to actively shape the future of medicine. What my attendings have taught me through the years is echoed and amplified in my teaching, and supplemented with my own readings and practice patterns.

Fourth, I noted what a privilege it is to be in a field with such attentive and eager trainees; as teachers in medicine, we truly get to work with the cream of the crop, which is a joy and a great responsibility. Working with such highly motivated and attentive students can be intimidating, but as I realized later in the morning, when asked about the complete indications for gabapentin, I realized I’m comfortable saying, “I don’t know, let’s look it up together!”

My fifth and final realization from this exciting teaching experience was that as an attending, I will need to help manage the wellness and growth of my trainees. Attendings must strike a balance between pushing learners to gain mastery while protecting them from excessive stress. I am so grateful for the perceptiveness of my attendings and their ability to adapt to the demands of a clinical environment while maintaining a strong focus on teaching. I have often told PGY-1 residents, when they face feelings of inadequacy for early mistakes, “You have 4 whole years to learn how to do this job!”

These are the moments that make me appreciate the fulfillment that can come from teaching residents and medical students, and really put into perspective how far I’ve come as a trainee. Not long ago, I was one of those medical students scribbling notes while my attending effortlessly spouted medical knowledge, and I was worried I’d never learn the difference between clonidine and clozapine.

On my third day as a PGY-4 junior attending on the inpatient psychiatric ward, 2 new PGY-1 residents, 2 medical students, and I stood in the wee hours of the morning, preparing to meet with our attending to begin rounds. I took the opportunity to discuss potential antipsychotic selection for one of our patients. I questioned the students to gauge their level of knowledge on antipsychotics in general, and did some “thinking out loud” about what our possible options could be. We discussed which antipsychotics are considered “weight-neutral” and which ones require caloric intake for adequate absorption. We discussed what other laboratory tests we should consider upon initiating the hypothetical medication. While discussing these things, I was suddenly taken aback to see that every member of my team was diligently taking notes and hanging on my every word!

Lessons from my teaching experiences

Taking on the role of junior attending has made me reflect on a few things about the transition that I will undergo at the end of this year, from resident to attending. First, teaching makes me keen to really sharpen my own knowledge, so that I can provide accurate information with confidence and ease. Making valid clinical decisions is a basic attending skill, but eloquently explaining clinical decisions to trainees with varying levels of background knowledge is a unique teaching attending necessity.

Second, I had this amazing feeling of helping patients beyond those currently in my care, since disseminating useful clinical information will allow trainees to better prepare to treat their own patients later. Random hypothetical situations presented by my attendings through the years may have seemed tangentially related to rounds at the time, but were meant to prepare me for actual future decisions (for example, “What would you change if this patient’s renal impairment were more severe?”). These teaching moments strengthen problem-solving skills and help us get as much benefit as possible from each case. The service to future patients extends to students who aren’t pursuing careers in psychiatry, because the skills they learn during a psychiatry rotation will help them connect with patients in any setting.

Third, I realized that teaching has the power to actively shape the future of medicine. What my attendings have taught me through the years is echoed and amplified in my teaching, and supplemented with my own readings and practice patterns.

Fourth, I noted what a privilege it is to be in a field with such attentive and eager trainees; as teachers in medicine, we truly get to work with the cream of the crop, which is a joy and a great responsibility. Working with such highly motivated and attentive students can be intimidating, but as I realized later in the morning, when asked about the complete indications for gabapentin, I realized I’m comfortable saying, “I don’t know, let’s look it up together!”

My fifth and final realization from this exciting teaching experience was that as an attending, I will need to help manage the wellness and growth of my trainees. Attendings must strike a balance between pushing learners to gain mastery while protecting them from excessive stress. I am so grateful for the perceptiveness of my attendings and their ability to adapt to the demands of a clinical environment while maintaining a strong focus on teaching. I have often told PGY-1 residents, when they face feelings of inadequacy for early mistakes, “You have 4 whole years to learn how to do this job!”

These are the moments that make me appreciate the fulfillment that can come from teaching residents and medical students, and really put into perspective how far I’ve come as a trainee. Not long ago, I was one of those medical students scribbling notes while my attending effortlessly spouted medical knowledge, and I was worried I’d never learn the difference between clonidine and clozapine.

On my third day as a PGY-4 junior attending on the inpatient psychiatric ward, 2 new PGY-1 residents, 2 medical students, and I stood in the wee hours of the morning, preparing to meet with our attending to begin rounds. I took the opportunity to discuss potential antipsychotic selection for one of our patients. I questioned the students to gauge their level of knowledge on antipsychotics in general, and did some “thinking out loud” about what our possible options could be. We discussed which antipsychotics are considered “weight-neutral” and which ones require caloric intake for adequate absorption. We discussed what other laboratory tests we should consider upon initiating the hypothetical medication. While discussing these things, I was suddenly taken aback to see that every member of my team was diligently taking notes and hanging on my every word!

Lessons from my teaching experiences

Taking on the role of junior attending has made me reflect on a few things about the transition that I will undergo at the end of this year, from resident to attending. First, teaching makes me keen to really sharpen my own knowledge, so that I can provide accurate information with confidence and ease. Making valid clinical decisions is a basic attending skill, but eloquently explaining clinical decisions to trainees with varying levels of background knowledge is a unique teaching attending necessity.

Second, I had this amazing feeling of helping patients beyond those currently in my care, since disseminating useful clinical information will allow trainees to better prepare to treat their own patients later. Random hypothetical situations presented by my attendings through the years may have seemed tangentially related to rounds at the time, but were meant to prepare me for actual future decisions (for example, “What would you change if this patient’s renal impairment were more severe?”). These teaching moments strengthen problem-solving skills and help us get as much benefit as possible from each case. The service to future patients extends to students who aren’t pursuing careers in psychiatry, because the skills they learn during a psychiatry rotation will help them connect with patients in any setting.

Third, I realized that teaching has the power to actively shape the future of medicine. What my attendings have taught me through the years is echoed and amplified in my teaching, and supplemented with my own readings and practice patterns.

Fourth, I noted what a privilege it is to be in a field with such attentive and eager trainees; as teachers in medicine, we truly get to work with the cream of the crop, which is a joy and a great responsibility. Working with such highly motivated and attentive students can be intimidating, but as I realized later in the morning, when asked about the complete indications for gabapentin, I realized I’m comfortable saying, “I don’t know, let’s look it up together!”

My fifth and final realization from this exciting teaching experience was that as an attending, I will need to help manage the wellness and growth of my trainees. Attendings must strike a balance between pushing learners to gain mastery while protecting them from excessive stress. I am so grateful for the perceptiveness of my attendings and their ability to adapt to the demands of a clinical environment while maintaining a strong focus on teaching. I have often told PGY-1 residents, when they face feelings of inadequacy for early mistakes, “You have 4 whole years to learn how to do this job!”

These are the moments that make me appreciate the fulfillment that can come from teaching residents and medical students, and really put into perspective how far I’ve come as a trainee. Not long ago, I was one of those medical students scribbling notes while my attending effortlessly spouted medical knowledge, and I was worried I’d never learn the difference between clonidine and clozapine.

The coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic has evoked extreme fear at a collective level. In the current health care climate of quick fixes and high-acuity workloads, there is a potential to value efficiency over the process. Such demands can endanger clinicians’ internal emotional needs, create conflicts, and potentially impact their relationships with patients and families. What does this mean for a psychiatry trainee? Here I share some insights about death anxiety, and how psychiatry training promotes self-reflection, which shapes our relationship with death.

The far-reaching effects of death anxiety

Postgraduate psychiatry training may expose one to stressful situations with adverse psychologic consequences.¹ Further­more, when caring for patients, psychiatry trainees frequently need to face issues of death and dying in the form of suicide risk assessments, grief and bereavement processes, near-death experiences, posttraumatic stress disorder, and psycho-oncology rotations. Because these interactions are incredibly personal, the emotions they provoke inevitably affect every interaction, theoretical discussion, diagnostic work-up, and treatment plan.

How each of us experiences death anxiety is unique. For some, it could be a fear of nonexistence, ultimate loss, disruption of the flow of life, worry about leaving loved ones behind, or fear of pain or loneliness in dying. Some might fear an untimely or violent death and subsequent judgment and retributions. The literature suggests that fear of death may be at the root of various mental health problems and, if left unaddressed, may adversely impact long-term treatment outcomes.² Despite this, many standard treatment approaches typically do not target death anxiety, which potentially contributes to a “revolving door” of mental health problems.³

American existential psychiatrist Irvin Yalom, MD, cautioned psychiatrists not to “scratch where it does not itch.”⁴ Yet death, according to Dr. Yalom, does itch. Violent death is that caused by human intent or negligence, and is characterized by feeling helpless and terrorized at the time of dying. It may occur as an acute incident that denies the dying individual and his/her family members the time and space to prepare for the death.⁵ For survivors, accommodating the mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual effects of violent death is a complex process that rarely has a conclusion. It often is accompanied by survivors’ guilt, which is replayed in the form of flashbacks and nightmares.⁶ With this understanding, I view COVID-19 deaths as violent deaths.

Pay close attention to countertransference

As much as we influence our patients and their families, we also are profoundly influenced by them. We need to pay attention to any feelings our clinical encounters generate within us, and to carefully use these feelings in our clinical judgment, and not just make causal inferences. For instance, if a clinician thinks that a patient with suicidal ideation would be better off dead, these feelings are a reliable indicator that the patient is, indeed, at a high risk of completing suicide.⁷ It is our ethical and moral responsibility towards our patients to listen to our countertransference responses. The aim is to identify countertransference and use it to inform us, not to rule us. By taking an active role in managing our emotional responses in the face of loss, we can harness the spirit of resilience. This is not always as easy as it seems. We need our peers, experienced clinicians, and supervisors to help us explore our feelings, resistances, and counter­transference reactions.

Strategies to combat burnout

Psychiatric trainees must be encouraged to establish and maintain rigorous plans of self-care to prevent compassion fatigue and burnout. Most importantly, training programs must diversify residents’ clinical exposure by providing activities that promote mental health promotion activities, scholarly endeavors, and peer support groups. This will help trainees to restore meaning and purpose in life beyond.

The coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic has evoked extreme fear at a collective level. In the current health care climate of quick fixes and high-acuity workloads, there is a potential to value efficiency over the process. Such demands can endanger clinicians’ internal emotional needs, create conflicts, and potentially impact their relationships with patients and families. What does this mean for a psychiatry trainee? Here I share some insights about death anxiety, and how psychiatry training promotes self-reflection, which shapes our relationship with death.

The far-reaching effects of death anxiety

Postgraduate psychiatry training may expose one to stressful situations with adverse psychologic consequences.¹ Further­more, when caring for patients, psychiatry trainees frequently need to face issues of death and dying in the form of suicide risk assessments, grief and bereavement processes, near-death experiences, posttraumatic stress disorder, and psycho-oncology rotations. Because these interactions are incredibly personal, the emotions they provoke inevitably affect every interaction, theoretical discussion, diagnostic work-up, and treatment plan.

How each of us experiences death anxiety is unique. For some, it could be a fear of nonexistence, ultimate loss, disruption of the flow of life, worry about leaving loved ones behind, or fear of pain or loneliness in dying. Some might fear an untimely or violent death and subsequent judgment and retributions. The literature suggests that fear of death may be at the root of various mental health problems and, if left unaddressed, may adversely impact long-term treatment outcomes.² Despite this, many standard treatment approaches typically do not target death anxiety, which potentially contributes to a “revolving door” of mental health problems.³

American existential psychiatrist Irvin Yalom, MD, cautioned psychiatrists not to “scratch where it does not itch.”⁴ Yet death, according to Dr. Yalom, does itch. Violent death is that caused by human intent or negligence, and is characterized by feeling helpless and terrorized at the time of dying. It may occur as an acute incident that denies the dying individual and his/her family members the time and space to prepare for the death.⁵ For survivors, accommodating the mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual effects of violent death is a complex process that rarely has a conclusion. It often is accompanied by survivors’ guilt, which is replayed in the form of flashbacks and nightmares.⁶ With this understanding, I view COVID-19 deaths as violent deaths.

Pay close attention to countertransference

As much as we influence our patients and their families, we also are profoundly influenced by them. We need to pay attention to any feelings our clinical encounters generate within us, and to carefully use these feelings in our clinical judgment, and not just make causal inferences. For instance, if a clinician thinks that a patient with suicidal ideation would be better off dead, these feelings are a reliable indicator that the patient is, indeed, at a high risk of completing suicide.⁷ It is our ethical and moral responsibility towards our patients to listen to our countertransference responses. The aim is to identify countertransference and use it to inform us, not to rule us. By taking an active role in managing our emotional responses in the face of loss, we can harness the spirit of resilience. This is not always as easy as it seems. We need our peers, experienced clinicians, and supervisors to help us explore our feelings, resistances, and counter­transference reactions.

Strategies to combat burnout

Psychiatric trainees must be encouraged to establish and maintain rigorous plans of self-care to prevent compassion fatigue and burnout. Most importantly, training programs must diversify residents’ clinical exposure by providing activities that promote mental health promotion activities, scholarly endeavors, and peer support groups. This will help trainees to restore meaning and purpose in life beyond.

The coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic has evoked extreme fear at a collective level. In the current health care climate of quick fixes and high-acuity workloads, there is a potential to value efficiency over the process. Such demands can endanger clinicians’ internal emotional needs, create conflicts, and potentially impact their relationships with patients and families. What does this mean for a psychiatry trainee? Here I share some insights about death anxiety, and how psychiatry training promotes self-reflection, which shapes our relationship with death.

The far-reaching effects of death anxiety

Postgraduate psychiatry training may expose one to stressful situations with adverse psychologic consequences.¹ Further­more, when caring for patients, psychiatry trainees frequently need to face issues of death and dying in the form of suicide risk assessments, grief and bereavement processes, near-death experiences, posttraumatic stress disorder, and psycho-oncology rotations. Because these interactions are incredibly personal, the emotions they provoke inevitably affect every interaction, theoretical discussion, diagnostic work-up, and treatment plan.

How each of us experiences death anxiety is unique. For some, it could be a fear of nonexistence, ultimate loss, disruption of the flow of life, worry about leaving loved ones behind, or fear of pain or loneliness in dying. Some might fear an untimely or violent death and subsequent judgment and retributions. The literature suggests that fear of death may be at the root of various mental health problems and, if left unaddressed, may adversely impact long-term treatment outcomes.² Despite this, many standard treatment approaches typically do not target death anxiety, which potentially contributes to a “revolving door” of mental health problems.³

American existential psychiatrist Irvin Yalom, MD, cautioned psychiatrists not to “scratch where it does not itch.”⁴ Yet death, according to Dr. Yalom, does itch. Violent death is that caused by human intent or negligence, and is characterized by feeling helpless and terrorized at the time of dying. It may occur as an acute incident that denies the dying individual and his/her family members the time and space to prepare for the death.⁵ For survivors, accommodating the mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual effects of violent death is a complex process that rarely has a conclusion. It often is accompanied by survivors’ guilt, which is replayed in the form of flashbacks and nightmares.⁶ With this understanding, I view COVID-19 deaths as violent deaths.

Pay close attention to countertransference

As much as we influence our patients and their families, we also are profoundly influenced by them. We need to pay attention to any feelings our clinical encounters generate within us, and to carefully use these feelings in our clinical judgment, and not just make causal inferences. For instance, if a clinician thinks that a patient with suicidal ideation would be better off dead, these feelings are a reliable indicator that the patient is, indeed, at a high risk of completing suicide.⁷ It is our ethical and moral responsibility towards our patients to listen to our countertransference responses. The aim is to identify countertransference and use it to inform us, not to rule us. By taking an active role in managing our emotional responses in the face of loss, we can harness the spirit of resilience. This is not always as easy as it seems. We need our peers, experienced clinicians, and supervisors to help us explore our feelings, resistances, and counter­transference reactions.

Strategies to combat burnout

Psychiatric trainees must be encouraged to establish and maintain rigorous plans of self-care to prevent compassion fatigue and burnout. Most importantly, training programs must diversify residents’ clinical exposure by providing activities that promote mental health promotion activities, scholarly endeavors, and peer support groups. This will help trainees to restore meaning and purpose in life beyond.

As a psychiatry resident in the age of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19), many of my educational experiences have undergone adjustments. Now, as I interview for a fellowship, I see firsthand that recruitment activities have not been spared from shifting paradigms levied by the pandemic. To adhere to social distancing guidelines and limit trainee interpersonal exposure, the American Association of Directors of Psychiatric Residency Training recommended that all psychiatry residency interviews be conducted virtually for 2020/2021.¹ Trainees and programs alike are embarking on a new frontier of virtual interviews, and it is important that we evaluate the advantages and disadvantages of this approach. Because uncertainty abounds regarding when a sense of normalcy might eventually return to psychiatry residency and fellowship recruitment activities, I also provide recommendations to interviewers and interviewees who may navigate virtual recruitment in the future.

Advantages of virtual interviews

An immediately significant advantage of virtual interviews is the lack of travel, which for some applicants can be cost-prohibitive. The costs of airfare, rental vehicles, and lodging in multiple cities can add up, sometimes requiring students to budget interview travel into already-high student loans. In some cases, applicants may have limited days to interview, which makes the flexibility afforded by the lack of travel advantageous. Furthermore, navigating new locations can add to preexisting interview stress. Without travel, applicants can consider a broader set of programs and accept more interviews.

Another advantage is that virtual interviews allow interviewees latitude to shift the interview’s “frame.” Rather than sitting in an interviewer’s office, interviewees can choose a more comfortable environment for themselves, imparting a “home-field advantage” that may put them at ease. During my fellowship interviews, controlling the room temperature, using a familiar chair, and wearing comfortable shoes helped to reduce the anxiety inherent to interviewing.

Disadvantages of virtual interviews

Any new or unfamiliar experience can impart challenges. For example, applicants and interviewers must adjust to and observe different sets of etiquette during virtual interviews. These include muting microphones to avoid talking over each other, maintaining consistent eye contact, avoiding multitasking, and following up to avoid miscommunication.

Another potential problem is that virtual interviews can dampen an applicant’s ability to appreciate a program’s culture. Observing informal interactions between trainees and faculty is often as important as the formal interviews in ascertaining which programs have a supportive culture. Because my virtual fellowship interviews have generally been limited to formal one-on-one interviews, assessing program culture has become more challenging. Conversely, programs may find it difficult to grasp an applicant’s temperament and interaction style.

Virtual interviewing, while undeniably convenient in many regards, may fall prey to its own convenience. There can be disparities in the quantity, duration, and frequency of interviews. For me, the number of and time allotted for interviews has varied widely, ranging from 2.5 to 8 hours. The amount of allotted break time has also differed, with some programs providing longer breaks between interviews (30 to 60 minutes) and others offering shorter (5 to 10 minutes) or no breaks. Minimal breaks may fatigue applicants, while longer breaks may seem like wasted time. While virtual interviews may require no physical travel between offices, breaks are a necessity that should be implemented thoughtfully.

Finally, a troublesome challenge I encountered surprisingly often was unreliable internet service and other technical difficulties. Several times, my interviewers’ (or my) screen froze or shut off due to connectivity issues. This is an obstacle unique to virtual interviews that requires both a backup plan as well as patience and calm to navigate during an already taxing situation.

Continue to: What's next?

What’s next?

As applicants and programs adjust to the realities of virtual interviewing, this is likely an unfamiliar experience for all. While the benefits and shortcomings must be considered together, I, along with many of my peers,² continue to prefer traditional in-person interviews. As the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic makes in-person interviews difficult, applicants and programs must embrace the experience of virtual interviews. However, a good understanding of the advantages and disadvantages are instrumental in preempting prospective challenges. Based on my recent experiences with virtual fellowship interviews, I have created some recommendations for applicants and psychiatry programs participating in virtual recruitment (Table).

After the COVID-19 pandemic subsides, it is conceivable that the advantages of virtual interviewing may justify its continued use. For example, applicants may be able to apply to geographically diverse programs without travel expenses. Currently, there is a paucity of evidence regarding virtual interviews specifically in psychiatry training programs, but the experiences of both applicants and psychiatry programs during this atypical time will allow us to improve the process going forward, and evaluate its utility well after COVID-19 recedes.

As a psychiatry resident in the age of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19), many of my educational experiences have undergone adjustments. Now, as I interview for a fellowship, I see firsthand that recruitment activities have not been spared from shifting paradigms levied by the pandemic. To adhere to social distancing guidelines and limit trainee interpersonal exposure, the American Association of Directors of Psychiatric Residency Training recommended that all psychiatry residency interviews be conducted virtually for 2020/2021.¹ Trainees and programs alike are embarking on a new frontier of virtual interviews, and it is important that we evaluate the advantages and disadvantages of this approach. Because uncertainty abounds regarding when a sense of normalcy might eventually return to psychiatry residency and fellowship recruitment activities, I also provide recommendations to interviewers and interviewees who may navigate virtual recruitment in the future.

Advantages of virtual interviews

An immediately significant advantage of virtual interviews is the lack of travel, which for some applicants can be cost-prohibitive. The costs of airfare, rental vehicles, and lodging in multiple cities can add up, sometimes requiring students to budget interview travel into already-high student loans. In some cases, applicants may have limited days to interview, which makes the flexibility afforded by the lack of travel advantageous. Furthermore, navigating new locations can add to preexisting interview stress. Without travel, applicants can consider a broader set of programs and accept more interviews.

Another advantage is that virtual interviews allow interviewees latitude to shift the interview’s “frame.” Rather than sitting in an interviewer’s office, interviewees can choose a more comfortable environment for themselves, imparting a “home-field advantage” that may put them at ease. During my fellowship interviews, controlling the room temperature, using a familiar chair, and wearing comfortable shoes helped to reduce the anxiety inherent to interviewing.

Disadvantages of virtual interviews

Any new or unfamiliar experience can impart challenges. For example, applicants and interviewers must adjust to and observe different sets of etiquette during virtual interviews. These include muting microphones to avoid talking over each other, maintaining consistent eye contact, avoiding multitasking, and following up to avoid miscommunication.

Another potential problem is that virtual interviews can dampen an applicant’s ability to appreciate a program’s culture. Observing informal interactions between trainees and faculty is often as important as the formal interviews in ascertaining which programs have a supportive culture. Because my virtual fellowship interviews have generally been limited to formal one-on-one interviews, assessing program culture has become more challenging. Conversely, programs may find it difficult to grasp an applicant’s temperament and interaction style.

Virtual interviewing, while undeniably convenient in many regards, may fall prey to its own convenience. There can be disparities in the quantity, duration, and frequency of interviews. For me, the number of and time allotted for interviews has varied widely, ranging from 2.5 to 8 hours. The amount of allotted break time has also differed, with some programs providing longer breaks between interviews (30 to 60 minutes) and others offering shorter (5 to 10 minutes) or no breaks. Minimal breaks may fatigue applicants, while longer breaks may seem like wasted time. While virtual interviews may require no physical travel between offices, breaks are a necessity that should be implemented thoughtfully.

Finally, a troublesome challenge I encountered surprisingly often was unreliable internet service and other technical difficulties. Several times, my interviewers’ (or my) screen froze or shut off due to connectivity issues. This is an obstacle unique to virtual interviews that requires both a backup plan as well as patience and calm to navigate during an already taxing situation.

Continue to: What's next?

What’s next?

As applicants and programs adjust to the realities of virtual interviewing, this is likely an unfamiliar experience for all. While the benefits and shortcomings must be considered together, I, along with many of my peers,² continue to prefer traditional in-person interviews. As the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic makes in-person interviews difficult, applicants and programs must embrace the experience of virtual interviews. However, a good understanding of the advantages and disadvantages are instrumental in preempting prospective challenges. Based on my recent experiences with virtual fellowship interviews, I have created some recommendations for applicants and psychiatry programs participating in virtual recruitment (Table).

After the COVID-19 pandemic subsides, it is conceivable that the advantages of virtual interviewing may justify its continued use. For example, applicants may be able to apply to geographically diverse programs without travel expenses. Currently, there is a paucity of evidence regarding virtual interviews specifically in psychiatry training programs, but the experiences of both applicants and psychiatry programs during this atypical time will allow us to improve the process going forward, and evaluate its utility well after COVID-19 recedes.

As a psychiatry resident in the age of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19), many of my educational experiences have undergone adjustments. Now, as I interview for a fellowship, I see firsthand that recruitment activities have not been spared from shifting paradigms levied by the pandemic. To adhere to social distancing guidelines and limit trainee interpersonal exposure, the American Association of Directors of Psychiatric Residency Training recommended that all psychiatry residency interviews be conducted virtually for 2020/2021.¹ Trainees and programs alike are embarking on a new frontier of virtual interviews, and it is important that we evaluate the advantages and disadvantages of this approach. Because uncertainty abounds regarding when a sense of normalcy might eventually return to psychiatry residency and fellowship recruitment activities, I also provide recommendations to interviewers and interviewees who may navigate virtual recruitment in the future.

Advantages of virtual interviews

An immediately significant advantage of virtual interviews is the lack of travel, which for some applicants can be cost-prohibitive. The costs of airfare, rental vehicles, and lodging in multiple cities can add up, sometimes requiring students to budget interview travel into already-high student loans. In some cases, applicants may have limited days to interview, which makes the flexibility afforded by the lack of travel advantageous. Furthermore, navigating new locations can add to preexisting interview stress. Without travel, applicants can consider a broader set of programs and accept more interviews.

Another advantage is that virtual interviews allow interviewees latitude to shift the interview’s “frame.” Rather than sitting in an interviewer’s office, interviewees can choose a more comfortable environment for themselves, imparting a “home-field advantage” that may put them at ease. During my fellowship interviews, controlling the room temperature, using a familiar chair, and wearing comfortable shoes helped to reduce the anxiety inherent to interviewing.

Disadvantages of virtual interviews

Any new or unfamiliar experience can impart challenges. For example, applicants and interviewers must adjust to and observe different sets of etiquette during virtual interviews. These include muting microphones to avoid talking over each other, maintaining consistent eye contact, avoiding multitasking, and following up to avoid miscommunication.

Another potential problem is that virtual interviews can dampen an applicant’s ability to appreciate a program’s culture. Observing informal interactions between trainees and faculty is often as important as the formal interviews in ascertaining which programs have a supportive culture. Because my virtual fellowship interviews have generally been limited to formal one-on-one interviews, assessing program culture has become more challenging. Conversely, programs may find it difficult to grasp an applicant’s temperament and interaction style.

Virtual interviewing, while undeniably convenient in many regards, may fall prey to its own convenience. There can be disparities in the quantity, duration, and frequency of interviews. For me, the number of and time allotted for interviews has varied widely, ranging from 2.5 to 8 hours. The amount of allotted break time has also differed, with some programs providing longer breaks between interviews (30 to 60 minutes) and others offering shorter (5 to 10 minutes) or no breaks. Minimal breaks may fatigue applicants, while longer breaks may seem like wasted time. While virtual interviews may require no physical travel between offices, breaks are a necessity that should be implemented thoughtfully.

Finally, a troublesome challenge I encountered surprisingly often was unreliable internet service and other technical difficulties. Several times, my interviewers’ (or my) screen froze or shut off due to connectivity issues. This is an obstacle unique to virtual interviews that requires both a backup plan as well as patience and calm to navigate during an already taxing situation.

Continue to: What's next?

What’s next?

As applicants and programs adjust to the realities of virtual interviewing, this is likely an unfamiliar experience for all. While the benefits and shortcomings must be considered together, I, along with many of my peers,² continue to prefer traditional in-person interviews. As the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic makes in-person interviews difficult, applicants and programs must embrace the experience of virtual interviews. However, a good understanding of the advantages and disadvantages are instrumental in preempting prospective challenges. Based on my recent experiences with virtual fellowship interviews, I have created some recommendations for applicants and psychiatry programs participating in virtual recruitment (Table).

After the COVID-19 pandemic subsides, it is conceivable that the advantages of virtual interviewing may justify its continued use. For example, applicants may be able to apply to geographically diverse programs without travel expenses. Currently, there is a paucity of evidence regarding virtual interviews specifically in psychiatry training programs, but the experiences of both applicants and psychiatry programs during this atypical time will allow us to improve the process going forward, and evaluate its utility well after COVID-19 recedes.

As the world grapples with the coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic, the search for answers, comfort, how to cope, and how to make sense of it all has become paramount. People commonly turn to their faith in times of crisis, but this recent global public health emergency is unlike many have ever seen or could have imagined.¹ What happens when the well-intentioned journey for spiritual insight intersects with psychiatric symptomatology? Where does the line between these phenomena get crossed? As a psychiatric resident and person who was raised in the Pentecostal faith, I have observed faith and psychopathology come to a head in the last 6 months. COVID-19 has dealt a religious strain of undocumented cases; I hope to shed light on the topic by sharing my experience of navigating the assessment and treatment plan of patients with psychiatric symptoms whose spiritual beliefs are a cornerstone of life.

Piety, or pathology?

The following approaches have helped me to identify what is driven by faith vs what is psychopathology:

While taking the patient history. Obtaining a history from a patient who professes to have strong spiritual beliefs and presents with psychiatric symptoms is similar to a standard patient interview, but pay special attention to how the patient came to the emergency department. Was there a family member, friend, or emergency medical services present at that time? During the interview, patients often appear “normal,” which may lead a clinician to question the reason for the consult, yet considering the recent events preceding the presentation will be a good place to start gathering the appropriate information for investigation.

Next, compare the patient’s recent daily functioning with his/her baseline. If this information comes solely from the patient, it may be skewed, so try to retrieve information from a collateral source. If the patient was accompanied by someone, request permission from the patient to speak with him/her. It may also be best in some instances to speak with the collateral source out of earshot of the patient. Be aware that collateral information that comes from just one source also could be biased, so search for additional contacts to help acquire a comprehensive representation of the circumstances.

Information about a patient could come from a faith leader because people often rely on their faith leaders when they are ill, in need of support, or in crisis.² Faith leaders may have valuable information and insight into the patient and the history of the patient’s illness. In addition, diverse sources of collateral reports may be helpful because specific spiritual views and practices can vary even within one family or congregation. What may be an abnormal practice to some followers may be normal for others.³ When approaching these situations with parishioners, it is essential to maintain confidentiality.

While performing the clinical examination. As with any psychiatric diagnosis, other causative factors (metabolic and organic) need to be ruled out. Also, assess for the use of mood-altering substances. The patient may express offense or resistance to such questions, but maintain a matter-of-fact approach and explain that assessment for substance use is a routine part of the clinical examination. Approximately 18% of people in the United States with psychiatric disorders have a comorbid substance use disorder.⁴ However, keep in mind that a patient who refuses substance use screening is not necessarily hiding something. The road to being thorough may lead to strained rapport with the patient, and this risk must be balanced with providing the best care. As in any other clinical situation, seek evidence to both verify and clarify information without being deterred by a patient’s vocalization of spiritual tenants.

Learn about your patients’ beliefs

Do not feel defeated if you find these interviews difficult. Religion and symptomatology can overlap and fluctuate within the same faith group, which can make these types of assessments complex.⁵ In an effort to understand the patient more clearly, be sensitive to their spiritual practices and receptive to learning about unfamiliar spiritual beliefs. Be transparent about not knowing a specific belief or practice, and exhibit humility. Most patients are open to sharing their religious/spiritual views with a clinician who is sincere about wanting insight. Understanding the value of spiritual care is an important skill that many medical practitioners often lack.⁶ This understanding is especially critical when patients express worries related to the COVID-19 pandemic and how they are coping.

Continue to: Integrate your patient's spiritual requests

If you are comfortable with certain practices that do not compromise your values or beliefs or put a patient at risk, try to integrate your patients’ spiritual request(s) in their care. For a patient who serves a higher power, admitting to a problem (eg, fears related to COVID-19) or seeking professional help for symptoms (eg, anxiety, depression) may imply spiritual doubt. Patients may believe that seeking professional assistance means they are questioning the omnipotence of their deity to prevent or heal a condition. While spiritual distress can stimulate changes in behavior, it may not be pathological.

To avoid misdiagnosis, refer to the description “V62.89 (Z65.8) Religious or Spiritual Problem” in the DSM-5.⁷ If you find that it is a discord in faith that is affecting the patient’s presentation, and that this has not caused a psychiatric disorder, document this appropriately and provide the necessary resources to continue supporting the patient holistically.

As the world grapples with the coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic, the search for answers, comfort, how to cope, and how to make sense of it all has become paramount. People commonly turn to their faith in times of crisis, but this recent global public health emergency is unlike many have ever seen or could have imagined.¹ What happens when the well-intentioned journey for spiritual insight intersects with psychiatric symptomatology? Where does the line between these phenomena get crossed? As a psychiatric resident and person who was raised in the Pentecostal faith, I have observed faith and psychopathology come to a head in the last 6 months. COVID-19 has dealt a religious strain of undocumented cases; I hope to shed light on the topic by sharing my experience of navigating the assessment and treatment plan of patients with psychiatric symptoms whose spiritual beliefs are a cornerstone of life.

Piety, or pathology?

The following approaches have helped me to identify what is driven by faith vs what is psychopathology:

While taking the patient history. Obtaining a history from a patient who professes to have strong spiritual beliefs and presents with psychiatric symptoms is similar to a standard patient interview, but pay special attention to how the patient came to the emergency department. Was there a family member, friend, or emergency medical services present at that time? During the interview, patients often appear “normal,” which may lead a clinician to question the reason for the consult, yet considering the recent events preceding the presentation will be a good place to start gathering the appropriate information for investigation.

Next, compare the patient’s recent daily functioning with his/her baseline. If this information comes solely from the patient, it may be skewed, so try to retrieve information from a collateral source. If the patient was accompanied by someone, request permission from the patient to speak with him/her. It may also be best in some instances to speak with the collateral source out of earshot of the patient. Be aware that collateral information that comes from just one source also could be biased, so search for additional contacts to help acquire a comprehensive representation of the circumstances.

Information about a patient could come from a faith leader because people often rely on their faith leaders when they are ill, in need of support, or in crisis.² Faith leaders may have valuable information and insight into the patient and the history of the patient’s illness. In addition, diverse sources of collateral reports may be helpful because specific spiritual views and practices can vary even within one family or congregation. What may be an abnormal practice to some followers may be normal for others.³ When approaching these situations with parishioners, it is essential to maintain confidentiality.

While performing the clinical examination. As with any psychiatric diagnosis, other causative factors (metabolic and organic) need to be ruled out. Also, assess for the use of mood-altering substances. The patient may express offense or resistance to such questions, but maintain a matter-of-fact approach and explain that assessment for substance use is a routine part of the clinical examination. Approximately 18% of people in the United States with psychiatric disorders have a comorbid substance use disorder.⁴ However, keep in mind that a patient who refuses substance use screening is not necessarily hiding something. The road to being thorough may lead to strained rapport with the patient, and this risk must be balanced with providing the best care. As in any other clinical situation, seek evidence to both verify and clarify information without being deterred by a patient’s vocalization of spiritual tenants.

Learn about your patients’ beliefs

Do not feel defeated if you find these interviews difficult. Religion and symptomatology can overlap and fluctuate within the same faith group, which can make these types of assessments complex.⁵ In an effort to understand the patient more clearly, be sensitive to their spiritual practices and receptive to learning about unfamiliar spiritual beliefs. Be transparent about not knowing a specific belief or practice, and exhibit humility. Most patients are open to sharing their religious/spiritual views with a clinician who is sincere about wanting insight. Understanding the value of spiritual care is an important skill that many medical practitioners often lack.⁶ This understanding is especially critical when patients express worries related to the COVID-19 pandemic and how they are coping.

Continue to: Integrate your patient's spiritual requests

If you are comfortable with certain practices that do not compromise your values or beliefs or put a patient at risk, try to integrate your patients’ spiritual request(s) in their care. For a patient who serves a higher power, admitting to a problem (eg, fears related to COVID-19) or seeking professional help for symptoms (eg, anxiety, depression) may imply spiritual doubt. Patients may believe that seeking professional assistance means they are questioning the omnipotence of their deity to prevent or heal a condition. While spiritual distress can stimulate changes in behavior, it may not be pathological.

To avoid misdiagnosis, refer to the description “V62.89 (Z65.8) Religious or Spiritual Problem” in the DSM-5.⁷ If you find that it is a discord in faith that is affecting the patient’s presentation, and that this has not caused a psychiatric disorder, document this appropriately and provide the necessary resources to continue supporting the patient holistically.

As the world grapples with the coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic, the search for answers, comfort, how to cope, and how to make sense of it all has become paramount. People commonly turn to their faith in times of crisis, but this recent global public health emergency is unlike many have ever seen or could have imagined.¹ What happens when the well-intentioned journey for spiritual insight intersects with psychiatric symptomatology? Where does the line between these phenomena get crossed? As a psychiatric resident and person who was raised in the Pentecostal faith, I have observed faith and psychopathology come to a head in the last 6 months. COVID-19 has dealt a religious strain of undocumented cases; I hope to shed light on the topic by sharing my experience of navigating the assessment and treatment plan of patients with psychiatric symptoms whose spiritual beliefs are a cornerstone of life.

Piety, or pathology?

The following approaches have helped me to identify what is driven by faith vs what is psychopathology:

While taking the patient history. Obtaining a history from a patient who professes to have strong spiritual beliefs and presents with psychiatric symptoms is similar to a standard patient interview, but pay special attention to how the patient came to the emergency department. Was there a family member, friend, or emergency medical services present at that time? During the interview, patients often appear “normal,” which may lead a clinician to question the reason for the consult, yet considering the recent events preceding the presentation will be a good place to start gathering the appropriate information for investigation.

Next, compare the patient’s recent daily functioning with his/her baseline. If this information comes solely from the patient, it may be skewed, so try to retrieve information from a collateral source. If the patient was accompanied by someone, request permission from the patient to speak with him/her. It may also be best in some instances to speak with the collateral source out of earshot of the patient. Be aware that collateral information that comes from just one source also could be biased, so search for additional contacts to help acquire a comprehensive representation of the circumstances.

Information about a patient could come from a faith leader because people often rely on their faith leaders when they are ill, in need of support, or in crisis.² Faith leaders may have valuable information and insight into the patient and the history of the patient’s illness. In addition, diverse sources of collateral reports may be helpful because specific spiritual views and practices can vary even within one family or congregation. What may be an abnormal practice to some followers may be normal for others.³ When approaching these situations with parishioners, it is essential to maintain confidentiality.

While performing the clinical examination. As with any psychiatric diagnosis, other causative factors (metabolic and organic) need to be ruled out. Also, assess for the use of mood-altering substances. The patient may express offense or resistance to such questions, but maintain a matter-of-fact approach and explain that assessment for substance use is a routine part of the clinical examination. Approximately 18% of people in the United States with psychiatric disorders have a comorbid substance use disorder.⁴ However, keep in mind that a patient who refuses substance use screening is not necessarily hiding something. The road to being thorough may lead to strained rapport with the patient, and this risk must be balanced with providing the best care. As in any other clinical situation, seek evidence to both verify and clarify information without being deterred by a patient’s vocalization of spiritual tenants.

Learn about your patients’ beliefs

Do not feel defeated if you find these interviews difficult. Religion and symptomatology can overlap and fluctuate within the same faith group, which can make these types of assessments complex.⁵ In an effort to understand the patient more clearly, be sensitive to their spiritual practices and receptive to learning about unfamiliar spiritual beliefs. Be transparent about not knowing a specific belief or practice, and exhibit humility. Most patients are open to sharing their religious/spiritual views with a clinician who is sincere about wanting insight. Understanding the value of spiritual care is an important skill that many medical practitioners often lack.⁶ This understanding is especially critical when patients express worries related to the COVID-19 pandemic and how they are coping.

Continue to: Integrate your patient's spiritual requests

If you are comfortable with certain practices that do not compromise your values or beliefs or put a patient at risk, try to integrate your patients’ spiritual request(s) in their care. For a patient who serves a higher power, admitting to a problem (eg, fears related to COVID-19) or seeking professional help for symptoms (eg, anxiety, depression) may imply spiritual doubt. Patients may believe that seeking professional assistance means they are questioning the omnipotence of their deity to prevent or heal a condition. While spiritual distress can stimulate changes in behavior, it may not be pathological.

To avoid misdiagnosis, refer to the description “V62.89 (Z65.8) Religious or Spiritual Problem” in the DSM-5.⁷ If you find that it is a discord in faith that is affecting the patient’s presentation, and that this has not caused a psychiatric disorder, document this appropriately and provide the necessary resources to continue supporting the patient holistically.

Since beginning my psychiatry residency, I have come to dread situations in which I feel like the antagonist in my patient’s life. These are moments when, due to psychiatric illness or intoxication, my patient does not want my help. In these situations, the patient’s condition may prevent shared decision-making to determine the best care for them. I experienced such a situation on my first day of residency, and that encounter taught me several valuable lessons.

An anxiety-filled first day

While working with my attending physician in a psychiatric emergency department, we met with a patient who had become agitated and was threatening staff members. The patient was also loudly protesting any use of medications. As a medical student, I had encountered patients who were agitated, but this moment felt vastly different because I was now tasked with addressing the problem. I still remember how my muscles tensed out of anxiety. As the attending took the lead in talking with the patient, the situation continued to escalate. The patient’s agitation was preventing them from being able to safely cooperate with staff despite our efforts at verbal de-escalation. As several staff members stayed with the patient, my attending and I went back to the workroom, where she instructed me to place orders for emergent medications. I sat there, an anxious intern with the solemn power and responsibility to order medications that might need to be administered against the will of an agitated patient. The moment was surreal.

A harsh reality

I had envisioned my first day of residency to be quite different. I had expected to sit with patients, healing them by listening to their stories and giving them the attention they deserved. But instead, I found myself nervously inputting medication orders, checking and rechecking that the doses and administration routes were accurate—all the while knowing that the patient would likely refuse the medications. If that occurred, the patient would need to be held by staff so the medications could be administered. Although I knew that administering emergent medications was the appropriate clinical decision to prevent harm to the patient and others, I felt conflicted by acting in opposition to the patient’s wishes. In that moment, intoxication or illness compromised patient autonomy for the sake of beneficence. I struggled with a creeping sense of guilt.

Although I did not have the chance to interact with this specific patient again, I often reflect on that encounter. I have learned that at times, the use of emergent medications or court commitments for medication administration or hospitalizations is necessary. Since that first shift, I have cared for many other patients who have received emergent medications under similar circumstances. I have observed that such treatment often stabilizes patients and enables me to engage them in meaningful conversation to optimize their care.

Lessons learned

While some of what I have experienced during my training has made me uncomfortable, I have taken with me several valuable lessons. When a patient’s intoxication or illness prevents shared decision-making, our focus as physicians should remain on the patient’s safety, health, and well-being. It is necessary to engage patients in conversations to enable us to understand what ails them and promptly determine the right treatment, tailored to their specific needs and goals.

Moving forward, I know that I will encounter many more similar situations. I hope to position myself quickly and safely alongside agitated patients to engage them in shared decision-making. As a physician, I will approach every encounter with my patients as an opportunity to understand their goals for care, and empower them to make informed decisions regarding their treatment.

Since beginning my psychiatry residency, I have come to dread situations in which I feel like the antagonist in my patient’s life. These are moments when, due to psychiatric illness or intoxication, my patient does not want my help. In these situations, the patient’s condition may prevent shared decision-making to determine the best care for them. I experienced such a situation on my first day of residency, and that encounter taught me several valuable lessons.

An anxiety-filled first day

While working with my attending physician in a psychiatric emergency department, we met with a patient who had become agitated and was threatening staff members. The patient was also loudly protesting any use of medications. As a medical student, I had encountered patients who were agitated, but this moment felt vastly different because I was now tasked with addressing the problem. I still remember how my muscles tensed out of anxiety. As the attending took the lead in talking with the patient, the situation continued to escalate. The patient’s agitation was preventing them from being able to safely cooperate with staff despite our efforts at verbal de-escalation. As several staff members stayed with the patient, my attending and I went back to the workroom, where she instructed me to place orders for emergent medications. I sat there, an anxious intern with the solemn power and responsibility to order medications that might need to be administered against the will of an agitated patient. The moment was surreal.

A harsh reality

I had envisioned my first day of residency to be quite different. I had expected to sit with patients, healing them by listening to their stories and giving them the attention they deserved. But instead, I found myself nervously inputting medication orders, checking and rechecking that the doses and administration routes were accurate—all the while knowing that the patient would likely refuse the medications. If that occurred, the patient would need to be held by staff so the medications could be administered. Although I knew that administering emergent medications was the appropriate clinical decision to prevent harm to the patient and others, I felt conflicted by acting in opposition to the patient’s wishes. In that moment, intoxication or illness compromised patient autonomy for the sake of beneficence. I struggled with a creeping sense of guilt.

Although I did not have the chance to interact with this specific patient again, I often reflect on that encounter. I have learned that at times, the use of emergent medications or court commitments for medication administration or hospitalizations is necessary. Since that first shift, I have cared for many other patients who have received emergent medications under similar circumstances. I have observed that such treatment often stabilizes patients and enables me to engage them in meaningful conversation to optimize their care.

Lessons learned

While some of what I have experienced during my training has made me uncomfortable, I have taken with me several valuable lessons. When a patient’s intoxication or illness prevents shared decision-making, our focus as physicians should remain on the patient’s safety, health, and well-being. It is necessary to engage patients in conversations to enable us to understand what ails them and promptly determine the right treatment, tailored to their specific needs and goals.

Moving forward, I know that I will encounter many more similar situations. I hope to position myself quickly and safely alongside agitated patients to engage them in shared decision-making. As a physician, I will approach every encounter with my patients as an opportunity to understand their goals for care, and empower them to make informed decisions regarding their treatment.

Since beginning my psychiatry residency, I have come to dread situations in which I feel like the antagonist in my patient’s life. These are moments when, due to psychiatric illness or intoxication, my patient does not want my help. In these situations, the patient’s condition may prevent shared decision-making to determine the best care for them. I experienced such a situation on my first day of residency, and that encounter taught me several valuable lessons.

An anxiety-filled first day

While working with my attending physician in a psychiatric emergency department, we met with a patient who had become agitated and was threatening staff members. The patient was also loudly protesting any use of medications. As a medical student, I had encountered patients who were agitated, but this moment felt vastly different because I was now tasked with addressing the problem. I still remember how my muscles tensed out of anxiety. As the attending took the lead in talking with the patient, the situation continued to escalate. The patient’s agitation was preventing them from being able to safely cooperate with staff despite our efforts at verbal de-escalation. As several staff members stayed with the patient, my attending and I went back to the workroom, where she instructed me to place orders for emergent medications. I sat there, an anxious intern with the solemn power and responsibility to order medications that might need to be administered against the will of an agitated patient. The moment was surreal.

A harsh reality

I had envisioned my first day of residency to be quite different. I had expected to sit with patients, healing them by listening to their stories and giving them the attention they deserved. But instead, I found myself nervously inputting medication orders, checking and rechecking that the doses and administration routes were accurate—all the while knowing that the patient would likely refuse the medications. If that occurred, the patient would need to be held by staff so the medications could be administered. Although I knew that administering emergent medications was the appropriate clinical decision to prevent harm to the patient and others, I felt conflicted by acting in opposition to the patient’s wishes. In that moment, intoxication or illness compromised patient autonomy for the sake of beneficence. I struggled with a creeping sense of guilt.

Although I did not have the chance to interact with this specific patient again, I often reflect on that encounter. I have learned that at times, the use of emergent medications or court commitments for medication administration or hospitalizations is necessary. Since that first shift, I have cared for many other patients who have received emergent medications under similar circumstances. I have observed that such treatment often stabilizes patients and enables me to engage them in meaningful conversation to optimize their care.

Lessons learned

While some of what I have experienced during my training has made me uncomfortable, I have taken with me several valuable lessons. When a patient’s intoxication or illness prevents shared decision-making, our focus as physicians should remain on the patient’s safety, health, and well-being. It is necessary to engage patients in conversations to enable us to understand what ails them and promptly determine the right treatment, tailored to their specific needs and goals.

Moving forward, I know that I will encounter many more similar situations. I hope to position myself quickly and safely alongside agitated patients to engage them in shared decision-making. As a physician, I will approach every encounter with my patients as an opportunity to understand their goals for care, and empower them to make informed decisions regarding their treatment.

My role as a mother expands and contracts in hard-won harmony with my role as a psychiatry resident. The magnitude of this responsibility compounded on itself when, seemingly overnight, the world we once trusted suddenly became unsafe. Coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19), deadly to immunocompromised individuals and the harbinger of a lethal autoimmune syndrome in children, was at our doorstep.

COVID-19 and parents who work in health care

After COVID-19 reached the United States, my fellow residents and I began to exchange nervous text messages, wondering what we could expect. Not only did the biological threat of the virus loom at the limited hospital entry points, but news alerts about infected front-line health care professionals and supply shortages jammed our cellphones. We quickly learned that some front-line physicians and nurses in New York had decided to live separately from their families. One article reported that a resident who was 5 months postpartum had chosen to live separately from her infant to protect her from exposure. “What a fundamental conflict of identity,” I thought as I read the article. Looking at my own young family, I felt our vulnerability overcome me. Would I have to do the same?

Difficult choices that exemplify both excitement and fear seem to define parenthood. Only months ago, I was selecting a car seat. As I scoured consumer reports, I became aware of a harrowing irony: in the excitement of nesting, I was also preparing for a collision. In March, when the quarantine began, I found myself evaluating my options for how to protect my family during a pandemic that often feels like a car crash in slow motion.

Health care professionals began to separate from their families to reduce the risk of transmission. Whether children went to live with relatives or health care workers stopped snuggling their young children, a structural boundary was formed just as the roots of attachment were taking shape. When asked about the loss inherent in this separation, these young parents expressed sadness but also said the choice was clear: their need to protect their families was absolute.

Meanwhile, some residents found themselves in a crash course on telemedicine. Safe from coronavirus exposure at work and liberated from a daily commute, these parents saw their young children more than ever before. Young child­ren saw their parents who were residents more than ever before. Perhaps the isolation of a front-line resident was sadly not a new experience.

Reassessing priorities

Now that the first wave of infections has broken over our coastal cities, residents from the front lines of COVID-19 are reuniting with their families. The sacrifices they made are re-evaluated as they begin to recognize anew the value of physical closeness with their loved ones in a dangerous world. One family that separated during the first wave said they would plan an alternate strategy, perhaps invest in a babysitter, rather than divide the household a second time.

While COVID-19 hit us hard, it has also forced a rare opportunity for self-assessment of priorities that we as trainees rarely take. We don’t have a consumer report on the safety ratings of COVID-19 plans. There is no formula for success. Instead, we each balance work and personal life with individual strategies to cope with elements outside of our control. This coping strategy may look different for each family. I hope all training departments take this plurality into account when considering the new demands on residents that have emerged during COVID-19.

My role as a mother expands and contracts in hard-won harmony with my role as a psychiatry resident. The magnitude of this responsibility compounded on itself when, seemingly overnight, the world we once trusted suddenly became unsafe. Coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19), deadly to immunocompromised individuals and the harbinger of a lethal autoimmune syndrome in children, was at our doorstep.

COVID-19 and parents who work in health care

After COVID-19 reached the United States, my fellow residents and I began to exchange nervous text messages, wondering what we could expect. Not only did the biological threat of the virus loom at the limited hospital entry points, but news alerts about infected front-line health care professionals and supply shortages jammed our cellphones. We quickly learned that some front-line physicians and nurses in New York had decided to live separately from their families. One article reported that a resident who was 5 months postpartum had chosen to live separately from her infant to protect her from exposure. “What a fundamental conflict of identity,” I thought as I read the article. Looking at my own young family, I felt our vulnerability overcome me. Would I have to do the same?

Difficult choices that exemplify both excitement and fear seem to define parenthood. Only months ago, I was selecting a car seat. As I scoured consumer reports, I became aware of a harrowing irony: in the excitement of nesting, I was also preparing for a collision. In March, when the quarantine began, I found myself evaluating my options for how to protect my family during a pandemic that often feels like a car crash in slow motion.

Health care professionals began to separate from their families to reduce the risk of transmission. Whether children went to live with relatives or health care workers stopped snuggling their young children, a structural boundary was formed just as the roots of attachment were taking shape. When asked about the loss inherent in this separation, these young parents expressed sadness but also said the choice was clear: their need to protect their families was absolute.

Meanwhile, some residents found themselves in a crash course on telemedicine. Safe from coronavirus exposure at work and liberated from a daily commute, these parents saw their young children more than ever before. Young child­ren saw their parents who were residents more than ever before. Perhaps the isolation of a front-line resident was sadly not a new experience.

Reassessing priorities

Now that the first wave of infections has broken over our coastal cities, residents from the front lines of COVID-19 are reuniting with their families. The sacrifices they made are re-evaluated as they begin to recognize anew the value of physical closeness with their loved ones in a dangerous world. One family that separated during the first wave said they would plan an alternate strategy, perhaps invest in a babysitter, rather than divide the household a second time.

While COVID-19 hit us hard, it has also forced a rare opportunity for self-assessment of priorities that we as trainees rarely take. We don’t have a consumer report on the safety ratings of COVID-19 plans. There is no formula for success. Instead, we each balance work and personal life with individual strategies to cope with elements outside of our control. This coping strategy may look different for each family. I hope all training departments take this plurality into account when considering the new demands on residents that have emerged during COVID-19.

My role as a mother expands and contracts in hard-won harmony with my role as a psychiatry resident. The magnitude of this responsibility compounded on itself when, seemingly overnight, the world we once trusted suddenly became unsafe. Coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19), deadly to immunocompromised individuals and the harbinger of a lethal autoimmune syndrome in children, was at our doorstep.

COVID-19 and parents who work in health care

After COVID-19 reached the United States, my fellow residents and I began to exchange nervous text messages, wondering what we could expect. Not only did the biological threat of the virus loom at the limited hospital entry points, but news alerts about infected front-line health care professionals and supply shortages jammed our cellphones. We quickly learned that some front-line physicians and nurses in New York had decided to live separately from their families. One article reported that a resident who was 5 months postpartum had chosen to live separately from her infant to protect her from exposure. “What a fundamental conflict of identity,” I thought as I read the article. Looking at my own young family, I felt our vulnerability overcome me. Would I have to do the same?

Difficult choices that exemplify both excitement and fear seem to define parenthood. Only months ago, I was selecting a car seat. As I scoured consumer reports, I became aware of a harrowing irony: in the excitement of nesting, I was also preparing for a collision. In March, when the quarantine began, I found myself evaluating my options for how to protect my family during a pandemic that often feels like a car crash in slow motion.

Health care professionals began to separate from their families to reduce the risk of transmission. Whether children went to live with relatives or health care workers stopped snuggling their young children, a structural boundary was formed just as the roots of attachment were taking shape. When asked about the loss inherent in this separation, these young parents expressed sadness but also said the choice was clear: their need to protect their families was absolute.

Meanwhile, some residents found themselves in a crash course on telemedicine. Safe from coronavirus exposure at work and liberated from a daily commute, these parents saw their young children more than ever before. Young child­ren saw their parents who were residents more than ever before. Perhaps the isolation of a front-line resident was sadly not a new experience.

Reassessing priorities

Now that the first wave of infections has broken over our coastal cities, residents from the front lines of COVID-19 are reuniting with their families. The sacrifices they made are re-evaluated as they begin to recognize anew the value of physical closeness with their loved ones in a dangerous world. One family that separated during the first wave said they would plan an alternate strategy, perhaps invest in a babysitter, rather than divide the household a second time.

While COVID-19 hit us hard, it has also forced a rare opportunity for self-assessment of priorities that we as trainees rarely take. We don’t have a consumer report on the safety ratings of COVID-19 plans. There is no formula for success. Instead, we each balance work and personal life with individual strategies to cope with elements outside of our control. This coping strategy may look different for each family. I hope all training departments take this plurality into account when considering the new demands on residents that have emerged during COVID-19.

"Ramadan will be depressing this year,” a patient told me as I entered the room for an evaluation. This is one of many similar reactions my patients expressed in March, when mosques began to close and social distancing parameters were put in place to limit the spread of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19). Muslims began to adjust to new social norms, such as replacing warm hugs with waving hands from 6 feet away. They were suddenly advised to avoid century-long cultural practices, such as spending time with extended family, visiting the sick and the elderly, and meeting for Jummah (Friday) prayer at mosque. With increasing anxiety and uncertainty in the air, I began thinking about how the pandemic would psychologically affect Islamic spirituality, especially during Ramadan (the Islamic month of fasting) this year.

As a Muslim psychiatry resident working on an inpatient psychiatric unit and in a psychiatry consultation service during the COVID-19 pandemic, I often explore spirituality and faith with my patients as a way of providing supportive therapy for anxiety. Many of my Christian patients endorsed anxiety about how Easter would be “terrible” this year because they could not attend church. Upon hearing this, I realized that I could not picture a Ramadan during which I was not permitted to go to mosque. How was I supposed to provide supportive therapy for my patients when I also felt so uncertain? These concerns led me to take a step back and remind myself of what I frequently tell my patients when they feel hopeless: “With every difficulty, there comes an opportunity to gain a new perspective.”

A time for spirituality

When Ramadan began in April, many people who are Muslim and were working from home told me that it felt strange to have so much time during the day to pray, reflect, and read the Quran. Others mentioned that they enjoyed the peace of Iftar (breaking fast) at home, because they could avoid the hustle and bustle of this at mosque. Halfway through Ramadan, a Muslim patient I was treating reported that her “coronavirus anxiety” had improved as she began focusing her energy on Allah, rather than spending hours watching the news and obsessing over death tolls.

Due to the pandemic, many more opportunities for donating to those in need arose, which led my religious community to perform Zakat (providing charity) and send supplies to food banks in our area. Because of social distancing, Muslim families were able to spend more time preparing meals, learning together, and supporting each other. Although mosques were closed due to the pandemic, it seemed as though each home became its own gathering place for spirituality, gratitude, and self-reflection. By the end of Ramadan, the values of self-discipline, empathy, and patience became self-evident.

Increased attention to mental health among Muslims

Psychologically, I believe resilience has grown stronger among Muslims worldwide during this pandemic. Along with adopting a positive mindset, Muslims have committed to creating their own routines to combat anxiety during this stressful time. The Salat (praying 5 times a day) and Taharat (cleanliness) that Islam emphasizes have been helpful in creating structure to offset the uncertainty and fear that is associated with COVID-19.

The discussion of mental illness, which previously has been regarded as a culturally stigmatized topic, has been gaining significant recognition within Islamic communities. Depression, anxiety, and self-care are now emphasized during virtual sermons, and contact information for mental health hotlines and professionals are being rapidly disseminated. There is now a greater sense of encouragement for people of Islamic faith to seek psychiatric help when needed.

Although COVID-19 has limited some social and physical religious practices, this pandemic has helped to strengthen faith and spirituality not only among Muslims, but also people of other faiths. During periods of stress, change, and uncertainty, it is important to remember that “With every difficulty, there comes an opportunity to gain a new perspective.” Although mosques and churches continue to stay closed and anxiety persists, I can now confidently reassure my patients that through this experience we are becoming resilient and learning to value patience, gratitude, and empathy more than ever.

"Ramadan will be depressing this year,” a patient told me as I entered the room for an evaluation. This is one of many similar reactions my patients expressed in March, when mosques began to close and social distancing parameters were put in place to limit the spread of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19). Muslims began to adjust to new social norms, such as replacing warm hugs with waving hands from 6 feet away. They were suddenly advised to avoid century-long cultural practices, such as spending time with extended family, visiting the sick and the elderly, and meeting for Jummah (Friday) prayer at mosque. With increasing anxiety and uncertainty in the air, I began thinking about how the pandemic would psychologically affect Islamic spirituality, especially during Ramadan (the Islamic month of fasting) this year.

As a Muslim psychiatry resident working on an inpatient psychiatric unit and in a psychiatry consultation service during the COVID-19 pandemic, I often explore spirituality and faith with my patients as a way of providing supportive therapy for anxiety. Many of my Christian patients endorsed anxiety about how Easter would be “terrible” this year because they could not attend church. Upon hearing this, I realized that I could not picture a Ramadan during which I was not permitted to go to mosque. How was I supposed to provide supportive therapy for my patients when I also felt so uncertain? These concerns led me to take a step back and remind myself of what I frequently tell my patients when they feel hopeless: “With every difficulty, there comes an opportunity to gain a new perspective.”

A time for spirituality

When Ramadan began in April, many people who are Muslim and were working from home told me that it felt strange to have so much time during the day to pray, reflect, and read the Quran. Others mentioned that they enjoyed the peace of Iftar (breaking fast) at home, because they could avoid the hustle and bustle of this at mosque. Halfway through Ramadan, a Muslim patient I was treating reported that her “coronavirus anxiety” had improved as she began focusing her energy on Allah, rather than spending hours watching the news and obsessing over death tolls.

Due to the pandemic, many more opportunities for donating to those in need arose, which led my religious community to perform Zakat (providing charity) and send supplies to food banks in our area. Because of social distancing, Muslim families were able to spend more time preparing meals, learning together, and supporting each other. Although mosques were closed due to the pandemic, it seemed as though each home became its own gathering place for spirituality, gratitude, and self-reflection. By the end of Ramadan, the values of self-discipline, empathy, and patience became self-evident.

Increased attention to mental health among Muslims

Psychologically, I believe resilience has grown stronger among Muslims worldwide during this pandemic. Along with adopting a positive mindset, Muslims have committed to creating their own routines to combat anxiety during this stressful time. The Salat (praying 5 times a day) and Taharat (cleanliness) that Islam emphasizes have been helpful in creating structure to offset the uncertainty and fear that is associated with COVID-19.

The discussion of mental illness, which previously has been regarded as a culturally stigmatized topic, has been gaining significant recognition within Islamic communities. Depression, anxiety, and self-care are now emphasized during virtual sermons, and contact information for mental health hotlines and professionals are being rapidly disseminated. There is now a greater sense of encouragement for people of Islamic faith to seek psychiatric help when needed.

Although COVID-19 has limited some social and physical religious practices, this pandemic has helped to strengthen faith and spirituality not only among Muslims, but also people of other faiths. During periods of stress, change, and uncertainty, it is important to remember that “With every difficulty, there comes an opportunity to gain a new perspective.” Although mosques and churches continue to stay closed and anxiety persists, I can now confidently reassure my patients that through this experience we are becoming resilient and learning to value patience, gratitude, and empathy more than ever.

"Ramadan will be depressing this year,” a patient told me as I entered the room for an evaluation. This is one of many similar reactions my patients expressed in March, when mosques began to close and social distancing parameters were put in place to limit the spread of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19). Muslims began to adjust to new social norms, such as replacing warm hugs with waving hands from 6 feet away. They were suddenly advised to avoid century-long cultural practices, such as spending time with extended family, visiting the sick and the elderly, and meeting for Jummah (Friday) prayer at mosque. With increasing anxiety and uncertainty in the air, I began thinking about how the pandemic would psychologically affect Islamic spirituality, especially during Ramadan (the Islamic month of fasting) this year.

As a Muslim psychiatry resident working on an inpatient psychiatric unit and in a psychiatry consultation service during the COVID-19 pandemic, I often explore spirituality and faith with my patients as a way of providing supportive therapy for anxiety. Many of my Christian patients endorsed anxiety about how Easter would be “terrible” this year because they could not attend church. Upon hearing this, I realized that I could not picture a Ramadan during which I was not permitted to go to mosque. How was I supposed to provide supportive therapy for my patients when I also felt so uncertain? These concerns led me to take a step back and remind myself of what I frequently tell my patients when they feel hopeless: “With every difficulty, there comes an opportunity to gain a new perspective.”

A time for spirituality

When Ramadan began in April, many people who are Muslim and were working from home told me that it felt strange to have so much time during the day to pray, reflect, and read the Quran. Others mentioned that they enjoyed the peace of Iftar (breaking fast) at home, because they could avoid the hustle and bustle of this at mosque. Halfway through Ramadan, a Muslim patient I was treating reported that her “coronavirus anxiety” had improved as she began focusing her energy on Allah, rather than spending hours watching the news and obsessing over death tolls.

Due to the pandemic, many more opportunities for donating to those in need arose, which led my religious community to perform Zakat (providing charity) and send supplies to food banks in our area. Because of social distancing, Muslim families were able to spend more time preparing meals, learning together, and supporting each other. Although mosques were closed due to the pandemic, it seemed as though each home became its own gathering place for spirituality, gratitude, and self-reflection. By the end of Ramadan, the values of self-discipline, empathy, and patience became self-evident.

Increased attention to mental health among Muslims

Psychologically, I believe resilience has grown stronger among Muslims worldwide during this pandemic. Along with adopting a positive mindset, Muslims have committed to creating their own routines to combat anxiety during this stressful time. The Salat (praying 5 times a day) and Taharat (cleanliness) that Islam emphasizes have been helpful in creating structure to offset the uncertainty and fear that is associated with COVID-19.

The discussion of mental illness, which previously has been regarded as a culturally stigmatized topic, has been gaining significant recognition within Islamic communities. Depression, anxiety, and self-care are now emphasized during virtual sermons, and contact information for mental health hotlines and professionals are being rapidly disseminated. There is now a greater sense of encouragement for people of Islamic faith to seek psychiatric help when needed.

Although COVID-19 has limited some social and physical religious practices, this pandemic has helped to strengthen faith and spirituality not only among Muslims, but also people of other faiths. During periods of stress, change, and uncertainty, it is important to remember that “With every difficulty, there comes an opportunity to gain a new perspective.” Although mosques and churches continue to stay closed and anxiety persists, I can now confidently reassure my patients that through this experience we are becoming resilient and learning to value patience, gratitude, and empathy more than ever.