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The hunt for N-acetylcysteine: Medicine or dietary supplement?
Medicine or dietary supplement? N-acetylcysteine (NAC) is marketed as both and in 2021, the supplement abruptly became difficult to find, causing distress to people who had been using it for a variety of conditions. The story behind its disappearance is one of a cat-and-mouse chase between manufacturers, advocacy agencies, and the Food and Drug Administration.
NAC is a medication that was approved by the FDA in 1963. It has two FDA-approved uses: To prevent hepatotoxicity after overdose with acetaminophen, administered intravenously or by mouth, and as a mucolytic agent – previously available as Mucomyst, now available only as a generic – given by inhaler or nebulizer for pulmonary illnesses. Since the 1990s, NAC has been labeled by manufacturers as a dietary supplement. It is a derivative of the amino acid L-cysteine and a precursor to glutathione, an antioxidant.
Studies have had small sample sizes, and the supplement has not been considered an “off label” use of an already available medication. People have purchased NAC from retail drug and big box stores, Amazon, and online companies. So what’s the problem?
In July 2020, the FDA issued a warning letter to Purple Biosciences LLC, because of claims on the company’s website that the product “Purple Tree,” sold by Amazon, could cure hangovers that result from alcohol intoxication. The letter discussed justification for why a hangover is a disease, and goes on to note:
Based on the product label on your website, it appears that you intend to market your Purple Tree® product, which contains N-acetyl-L-cysteine (NAC), as a dietary supplement. However, even if your product labeling did not have therapeutic claims that make your product an unapproved new drug, your product could not be a dietary supplement, because it does not meet the definition of dietary supplement ... products containing that article are outside the definition of a dietary supplement, unless before such approval that article was marketed as a dietary supplement or as a food. NAC was approved as a new drug under section 505 of the Act [21 U.S.C. § 355] on September 14, 1963.
The issue here is that because NAC was first approved as a drug in 1963, it cannot be marketed as a supplement. If it had been marketed as a supplement before it was approved as a drug by the FDA, then it could remain on the market. The fact that it had been sold as a supplement since the 1990s and could be classified as an “old dietary ingredient” according to the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994 did not seem to matter. Following the warning letter, NAC was pulled from shelves and websites.
Citizen petitions allow people and organizations to request that the FDA change their policy. During summer 2021, there were two citizen petitions – one from the Council for Responsible Nutrition (CRN) and another from the Natural Products Association (NPA) – asking that the FDA look at policy around NAC. In response, in November 2021, the FDA put out a request for more information about how long NAC had been used and if there were safety concerns, to determine if making it a lawful supplement would be appropriate. CRN promptly released a response that they were “extremely dissatisfied” and felt this was an unnecessary tactic to delay a decision. Two members of Congress wrote letters to the FDA in support of leaving NAC as an available supplement. Congressman Jeff Duncan noted that there were over 1,170 products containing NAC.
The FDA continued to issue responses. On March 31, 2022, the agency formally denied the requests of the two citizen petitions, and 3 weeks later the Guidance for Industry: Policy Regarding N-acetyl-L-cysteine was released, saying that the FDA would “... exercise enforcement discretion with respect to the sale and distribution of certain products that contain NAC.” While NAC was still not considered a supplement, no safety issues had been identified to date. Thus, while the FDA investigation continues, the agency will essentially look the other way.
The agency will consider rulemaking to include NAC as a supplement, a process that may take years. In a notice of final guidance released in August 2022, the FDA reiterated, “unless we identify safety-related concerns during our ongoing review, FDA intends to exercise enforcement discretion until either of the following occurs: we complete notice-and-comment rulemaking to allow the use of NAC in or as a dietary supplement (should we move forward with such proceedings) or we deny the NPA citizen petition’s request for rulemaking.”
It’s a win for the consumer who wants the supplement, and a half-win for the supplement manufacturers and their advocacy organizations who would like NAC to be an official dietary supplement. But just to be clear, the issue is one of a technicality: If NAC had been marketed as a supplement before it was a drug, it would just be a dietary supplement without all the controversy and scrutiny. It was not pulled because of a clinical concern.
For now, NAC is again readily available.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.
Medicine or dietary supplement? N-acetylcysteine (NAC) is marketed as both and in 2021, the supplement abruptly became difficult to find, causing distress to people who had been using it for a variety of conditions. The story behind its disappearance is one of a cat-and-mouse chase between manufacturers, advocacy agencies, and the Food and Drug Administration.
NAC is a medication that was approved by the FDA in 1963. It has two FDA-approved uses: To prevent hepatotoxicity after overdose with acetaminophen, administered intravenously or by mouth, and as a mucolytic agent – previously available as Mucomyst, now available only as a generic – given by inhaler or nebulizer for pulmonary illnesses. Since the 1990s, NAC has been labeled by manufacturers as a dietary supplement. It is a derivative of the amino acid L-cysteine and a precursor to glutathione, an antioxidant.
Studies have had small sample sizes, and the supplement has not been considered an “off label” use of an already available medication. People have purchased NAC from retail drug and big box stores, Amazon, and online companies. So what’s the problem?
In July 2020, the FDA issued a warning letter to Purple Biosciences LLC, because of claims on the company’s website that the product “Purple Tree,” sold by Amazon, could cure hangovers that result from alcohol intoxication. The letter discussed justification for why a hangover is a disease, and goes on to note:
Based on the product label on your website, it appears that you intend to market your Purple Tree® product, which contains N-acetyl-L-cysteine (NAC), as a dietary supplement. However, even if your product labeling did not have therapeutic claims that make your product an unapproved new drug, your product could not be a dietary supplement, because it does not meet the definition of dietary supplement ... products containing that article are outside the definition of a dietary supplement, unless before such approval that article was marketed as a dietary supplement or as a food. NAC was approved as a new drug under section 505 of the Act [21 U.S.C. § 355] on September 14, 1963.
The issue here is that because NAC was first approved as a drug in 1963, it cannot be marketed as a supplement. If it had been marketed as a supplement before it was approved as a drug by the FDA, then it could remain on the market. The fact that it had been sold as a supplement since the 1990s and could be classified as an “old dietary ingredient” according to the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994 did not seem to matter. Following the warning letter, NAC was pulled from shelves and websites.
Citizen petitions allow people and organizations to request that the FDA change their policy. During summer 2021, there were two citizen petitions – one from the Council for Responsible Nutrition (CRN) and another from the Natural Products Association (NPA) – asking that the FDA look at policy around NAC. In response, in November 2021, the FDA put out a request for more information about how long NAC had been used and if there were safety concerns, to determine if making it a lawful supplement would be appropriate. CRN promptly released a response that they were “extremely dissatisfied” and felt this was an unnecessary tactic to delay a decision. Two members of Congress wrote letters to the FDA in support of leaving NAC as an available supplement. Congressman Jeff Duncan noted that there were over 1,170 products containing NAC.
The FDA continued to issue responses. On March 31, 2022, the agency formally denied the requests of the two citizen petitions, and 3 weeks later the Guidance for Industry: Policy Regarding N-acetyl-L-cysteine was released, saying that the FDA would “... exercise enforcement discretion with respect to the sale and distribution of certain products that contain NAC.” While NAC was still not considered a supplement, no safety issues had been identified to date. Thus, while the FDA investigation continues, the agency will essentially look the other way.
The agency will consider rulemaking to include NAC as a supplement, a process that may take years. In a notice of final guidance released in August 2022, the FDA reiterated, “unless we identify safety-related concerns during our ongoing review, FDA intends to exercise enforcement discretion until either of the following occurs: we complete notice-and-comment rulemaking to allow the use of NAC in or as a dietary supplement (should we move forward with such proceedings) or we deny the NPA citizen petition’s request for rulemaking.”
It’s a win for the consumer who wants the supplement, and a half-win for the supplement manufacturers and their advocacy organizations who would like NAC to be an official dietary supplement. But just to be clear, the issue is one of a technicality: If NAC had been marketed as a supplement before it was a drug, it would just be a dietary supplement without all the controversy and scrutiny. It was not pulled because of a clinical concern.
For now, NAC is again readily available.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.
Medicine or dietary supplement? N-acetylcysteine (NAC) is marketed as both and in 2021, the supplement abruptly became difficult to find, causing distress to people who had been using it for a variety of conditions. The story behind its disappearance is one of a cat-and-mouse chase between manufacturers, advocacy agencies, and the Food and Drug Administration.
NAC is a medication that was approved by the FDA in 1963. It has two FDA-approved uses: To prevent hepatotoxicity after overdose with acetaminophen, administered intravenously or by mouth, and as a mucolytic agent – previously available as Mucomyst, now available only as a generic – given by inhaler or nebulizer for pulmonary illnesses. Since the 1990s, NAC has been labeled by manufacturers as a dietary supplement. It is a derivative of the amino acid L-cysteine and a precursor to glutathione, an antioxidant.
Studies have had small sample sizes, and the supplement has not been considered an “off label” use of an already available medication. People have purchased NAC from retail drug and big box stores, Amazon, and online companies. So what’s the problem?
In July 2020, the FDA issued a warning letter to Purple Biosciences LLC, because of claims on the company’s website that the product “Purple Tree,” sold by Amazon, could cure hangovers that result from alcohol intoxication. The letter discussed justification for why a hangover is a disease, and goes on to note:
Based on the product label on your website, it appears that you intend to market your Purple Tree® product, which contains N-acetyl-L-cysteine (NAC), as a dietary supplement. However, even if your product labeling did not have therapeutic claims that make your product an unapproved new drug, your product could not be a dietary supplement, because it does not meet the definition of dietary supplement ... products containing that article are outside the definition of a dietary supplement, unless before such approval that article was marketed as a dietary supplement or as a food. NAC was approved as a new drug under section 505 of the Act [21 U.S.C. § 355] on September 14, 1963.
The issue here is that because NAC was first approved as a drug in 1963, it cannot be marketed as a supplement. If it had been marketed as a supplement before it was approved as a drug by the FDA, then it could remain on the market. The fact that it had been sold as a supplement since the 1990s and could be classified as an “old dietary ingredient” according to the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994 did not seem to matter. Following the warning letter, NAC was pulled from shelves and websites.
Citizen petitions allow people and organizations to request that the FDA change their policy. During summer 2021, there were two citizen petitions – one from the Council for Responsible Nutrition (CRN) and another from the Natural Products Association (NPA) – asking that the FDA look at policy around NAC. In response, in November 2021, the FDA put out a request for more information about how long NAC had been used and if there were safety concerns, to determine if making it a lawful supplement would be appropriate. CRN promptly released a response that they were “extremely dissatisfied” and felt this was an unnecessary tactic to delay a decision. Two members of Congress wrote letters to the FDA in support of leaving NAC as an available supplement. Congressman Jeff Duncan noted that there were over 1,170 products containing NAC.
The FDA continued to issue responses. On March 31, 2022, the agency formally denied the requests of the two citizen petitions, and 3 weeks later the Guidance for Industry: Policy Regarding N-acetyl-L-cysteine was released, saying that the FDA would “... exercise enforcement discretion with respect to the sale and distribution of certain products that contain NAC.” While NAC was still not considered a supplement, no safety issues had been identified to date. Thus, while the FDA investigation continues, the agency will essentially look the other way.
The agency will consider rulemaking to include NAC as a supplement, a process that may take years. In a notice of final guidance released in August 2022, the FDA reiterated, “unless we identify safety-related concerns during our ongoing review, FDA intends to exercise enforcement discretion until either of the following occurs: we complete notice-and-comment rulemaking to allow the use of NAC in or as a dietary supplement (should we move forward with such proceedings) or we deny the NPA citizen petition’s request for rulemaking.”
It’s a win for the consumer who wants the supplement, and a half-win for the supplement manufacturers and their advocacy organizations who would like NAC to be an official dietary supplement. But just to be clear, the issue is one of a technicality: If NAC had been marketed as a supplement before it was a drug, it would just be a dietary supplement without all the controversy and scrutiny. It was not pulled because of a clinical concern.
For now, NAC is again readily available.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.
Is corporate telepsychiatry the solution to access to care problems?
When Sue W’s mother died in 2018, she struggled terribly. She was already seeing a psychotherapist and was taking duloxetine, prescribed by her primary care physician. But her grief was profound, and her depression became paralyzing. She needed to see a psychiatrist, and there were many available in or near her hometown, a Connecticut suburb of New York City, but neither Sue, her therapist, nor her primary care doctor could find a psychiatrist who participated with her insurance. Finally, she was given the name of a psychiatrist in Manhattan who practiced online, and she made an appointment on the Skypiatrist (a telepsychiatry group founded in 2016) website.
“I hesitated about it at first,” Sue said. “The doctor was nice, and I liked the convenience. Appointments were 15 minutes long, although the first session was longer. He focused on the medications, which was okay because I already have a therapist. And it was really easy. I made appointments on their website and I saw the doctor through the same site, and I really liked that I could send him messages.” The psychiatrist was responsive when Sue had trouble coming off duloxetine, and he gave her instructions for a slower taper. The treatment was affordable and accessible, and she got better.
When you also consider that many private-practice psychiatrists do not participate with insurance panels, online companies that do accept insurance may add value, convenience, and access.
Cerebral, the largest online psychiatric service in the country, began seeing patients in January 2020, offering medications and psychotherapy. They participate with a number of commercial insurers, and this varies by state, but not with Medicaid or Medicare. Patients pay a monthly fee, and an initial 30-minute medication evaluation session is conducted, often with a nurse practitioner. They advertise wait times of less than 7 days.
Another company, Done, offers treatment specifically for ADHD. They don’t accept insurance for appointments; patients must submit their own claims for reimbursement. Their pricing structure involves a fee of $199 for the first month, then $79 a month thereafter, which does not include medications. Hims – another online company – targets men with a variety of health issues, including mental health problems.
Some of these internet companies have been in the news recently for concerns related to quality of care and prescribing practices. A The Wall Street Journal article of March 26, 2022, quoted clinicians who had previously worked for Cerebral and Done who left because they felt pressured to see patients quickly and to prescribe stimulants. Not all of the prescribers were unhappy, however. Yina Cruz-Harris, a nurse practitioner at Done who has a doctorate in nursing practice, said that she manages 2,300 patients with ADHD for Done. Virtually all are on stimulants. She renews each patient’s monthly prescription from her New Jersey home, based mostly on online forms filled out by the patients. She’s fast, doing two renewals per minute, and Done pays her almost $10 per patient, working out to around $20,000 in monthly earnings.
In May, the Department of Justice began looking into Cerebral’s practices around controlled substances and more recently, Cerebral has been in the news for complaints from patients that they have been unable to reach their prescribers when problems arise. Some pharmacy chains have refused to fill prescriptions for controlled medications from online telehealth providers, and some online providers, including Cerebral, are no longer prescribing controlled substances. A front-page The Wall Street Journal article on Aug. 19, 2022, told the story of a man with a history of addiction who was prescribed stimulants after a brief appointment with a prescriber at Done. Family and friends in his sober house believe that the stimulants triggered a relapse, and he died of an opioid overdose.
During the early days of the pandemic, nonemergency psychiatric care was shut down and we all became virtual psychiatrists. Many of us saw new patients and prescribed controlled medications to people we had never met in real life.
“John Brown,” MD, PhD, spoke with me on the condition that I don’t use his real name or the name of the practice he left. He was hired by a traditional group practice with a multidisciplinary staff and several offices in his state. Most of the clinicians worked part time and were contractual employees, and Dr. Brown was hired to develop a specialty service. He soon learned that the practice – which participates with a number of insurance plans – was not financially stable, and it was acquired by an investment firm with no medical experience.
“They wanted everyone to work 40-hour weeks and see 14 patients a day, including 3-4 new patients, and suddenly everyone was overextended and exhausted. Overnight, most of the therapists left, and they hired nurse practitioners to replace many of the psychiatrists. People weren’t getting good care.” While this was not a telepsychiatry startup, it was a corporate takeover of a traditional practice that was unable to remain financially solvent while participating with insurance panels.
Like Sue W, Elizabeth K struggled to get treatment for ADHD even before the pandemic.
“I work multiple part-time jobs, don’t own a car, and don’t have insurance. Before telehealth became available, it was difficult and discouraging for me to maintain consistent treatment. It took me months to get initial appointments with a doctor and I live in one of the largest cities in the country.” She was pleased with the care she received by Done.
“I was pleasantly surprised by the authenticity and thoroughness of my first telehealth provider,” Elizabeth noted. “She remembered and considered more about me, my medical history, and details of my personal life than nearly every psychiatric doctor I’ve ever seen. They informed me of the long-term effects of medications and the importance of routine cardiovascular check-ups. Also, they wouldn’t prescribe more than 5 mg of Adderall (even though I had been prescribed 30-90 mg a day for most of my life) until I completed a medical check-up with blood pressure and blood test results.”
Corporate telepsychiatry may fill an important void and provide care to many people who have been unable to access traditional treatment. Something, however, has to account for the fact that care is more affordable through startups than through traditional psychiatric practices. Startups have expensive technological and infrastructure costs and added layers of administration. This translates to either higher volumes with shorter appointments, less compensation for prescribers, or both. How this will affect the future of psychiatric care remains to be seen.
Dr. Miller, is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
When Sue W’s mother died in 2018, she struggled terribly. She was already seeing a psychotherapist and was taking duloxetine, prescribed by her primary care physician. But her grief was profound, and her depression became paralyzing. She needed to see a psychiatrist, and there were many available in or near her hometown, a Connecticut suburb of New York City, but neither Sue, her therapist, nor her primary care doctor could find a psychiatrist who participated with her insurance. Finally, she was given the name of a psychiatrist in Manhattan who practiced online, and she made an appointment on the Skypiatrist (a telepsychiatry group founded in 2016) website.
“I hesitated about it at first,” Sue said. “The doctor was nice, and I liked the convenience. Appointments were 15 minutes long, although the first session was longer. He focused on the medications, which was okay because I already have a therapist. And it was really easy. I made appointments on their website and I saw the doctor through the same site, and I really liked that I could send him messages.” The psychiatrist was responsive when Sue had trouble coming off duloxetine, and he gave her instructions for a slower taper. The treatment was affordable and accessible, and she got better.
When you also consider that many private-practice psychiatrists do not participate with insurance panels, online companies that do accept insurance may add value, convenience, and access.
Cerebral, the largest online psychiatric service in the country, began seeing patients in January 2020, offering medications and psychotherapy. They participate with a number of commercial insurers, and this varies by state, but not with Medicaid or Medicare. Patients pay a monthly fee, and an initial 30-minute medication evaluation session is conducted, often with a nurse practitioner. They advertise wait times of less than 7 days.
Another company, Done, offers treatment specifically for ADHD. They don’t accept insurance for appointments; patients must submit their own claims for reimbursement. Their pricing structure involves a fee of $199 for the first month, then $79 a month thereafter, which does not include medications. Hims – another online company – targets men with a variety of health issues, including mental health problems.
Some of these internet companies have been in the news recently for concerns related to quality of care and prescribing practices. A The Wall Street Journal article of March 26, 2022, quoted clinicians who had previously worked for Cerebral and Done who left because they felt pressured to see patients quickly and to prescribe stimulants. Not all of the prescribers were unhappy, however. Yina Cruz-Harris, a nurse practitioner at Done who has a doctorate in nursing practice, said that she manages 2,300 patients with ADHD for Done. Virtually all are on stimulants. She renews each patient’s monthly prescription from her New Jersey home, based mostly on online forms filled out by the patients. She’s fast, doing two renewals per minute, and Done pays her almost $10 per patient, working out to around $20,000 in monthly earnings.
In May, the Department of Justice began looking into Cerebral’s practices around controlled substances and more recently, Cerebral has been in the news for complaints from patients that they have been unable to reach their prescribers when problems arise. Some pharmacy chains have refused to fill prescriptions for controlled medications from online telehealth providers, and some online providers, including Cerebral, are no longer prescribing controlled substances. A front-page The Wall Street Journal article on Aug. 19, 2022, told the story of a man with a history of addiction who was prescribed stimulants after a brief appointment with a prescriber at Done. Family and friends in his sober house believe that the stimulants triggered a relapse, and he died of an opioid overdose.
During the early days of the pandemic, nonemergency psychiatric care was shut down and we all became virtual psychiatrists. Many of us saw new patients and prescribed controlled medications to people we had never met in real life.
“John Brown,” MD, PhD, spoke with me on the condition that I don’t use his real name or the name of the practice he left. He was hired by a traditional group practice with a multidisciplinary staff and several offices in his state. Most of the clinicians worked part time and were contractual employees, and Dr. Brown was hired to develop a specialty service. He soon learned that the practice – which participates with a number of insurance plans – was not financially stable, and it was acquired by an investment firm with no medical experience.
“They wanted everyone to work 40-hour weeks and see 14 patients a day, including 3-4 new patients, and suddenly everyone was overextended and exhausted. Overnight, most of the therapists left, and they hired nurse practitioners to replace many of the psychiatrists. People weren’t getting good care.” While this was not a telepsychiatry startup, it was a corporate takeover of a traditional practice that was unable to remain financially solvent while participating with insurance panels.
Like Sue W, Elizabeth K struggled to get treatment for ADHD even before the pandemic.
“I work multiple part-time jobs, don’t own a car, and don’t have insurance. Before telehealth became available, it was difficult and discouraging for me to maintain consistent treatment. It took me months to get initial appointments with a doctor and I live in one of the largest cities in the country.” She was pleased with the care she received by Done.
“I was pleasantly surprised by the authenticity and thoroughness of my first telehealth provider,” Elizabeth noted. “She remembered and considered more about me, my medical history, and details of my personal life than nearly every psychiatric doctor I’ve ever seen. They informed me of the long-term effects of medications and the importance of routine cardiovascular check-ups. Also, they wouldn’t prescribe more than 5 mg of Adderall (even though I had been prescribed 30-90 mg a day for most of my life) until I completed a medical check-up with blood pressure and blood test results.”
Corporate telepsychiatry may fill an important void and provide care to many people who have been unable to access traditional treatment. Something, however, has to account for the fact that care is more affordable through startups than through traditional psychiatric practices. Startups have expensive technological and infrastructure costs and added layers of administration. This translates to either higher volumes with shorter appointments, less compensation for prescribers, or both. How this will affect the future of psychiatric care remains to be seen.
Dr. Miller, is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
When Sue W’s mother died in 2018, she struggled terribly. She was already seeing a psychotherapist and was taking duloxetine, prescribed by her primary care physician. But her grief was profound, and her depression became paralyzing. She needed to see a psychiatrist, and there were many available in or near her hometown, a Connecticut suburb of New York City, but neither Sue, her therapist, nor her primary care doctor could find a psychiatrist who participated with her insurance. Finally, she was given the name of a psychiatrist in Manhattan who practiced online, and she made an appointment on the Skypiatrist (a telepsychiatry group founded in 2016) website.
“I hesitated about it at first,” Sue said. “The doctor was nice, and I liked the convenience. Appointments were 15 minutes long, although the first session was longer. He focused on the medications, which was okay because I already have a therapist. And it was really easy. I made appointments on their website and I saw the doctor through the same site, and I really liked that I could send him messages.” The psychiatrist was responsive when Sue had trouble coming off duloxetine, and he gave her instructions for a slower taper. The treatment was affordable and accessible, and she got better.
When you also consider that many private-practice psychiatrists do not participate with insurance panels, online companies that do accept insurance may add value, convenience, and access.
Cerebral, the largest online psychiatric service in the country, began seeing patients in January 2020, offering medications and psychotherapy. They participate with a number of commercial insurers, and this varies by state, but not with Medicaid or Medicare. Patients pay a monthly fee, and an initial 30-minute medication evaluation session is conducted, often with a nurse practitioner. They advertise wait times of less than 7 days.
Another company, Done, offers treatment specifically for ADHD. They don’t accept insurance for appointments; patients must submit their own claims for reimbursement. Their pricing structure involves a fee of $199 for the first month, then $79 a month thereafter, which does not include medications. Hims – another online company – targets men with a variety of health issues, including mental health problems.
Some of these internet companies have been in the news recently for concerns related to quality of care and prescribing practices. A The Wall Street Journal article of March 26, 2022, quoted clinicians who had previously worked for Cerebral and Done who left because they felt pressured to see patients quickly and to prescribe stimulants. Not all of the prescribers were unhappy, however. Yina Cruz-Harris, a nurse practitioner at Done who has a doctorate in nursing practice, said that she manages 2,300 patients with ADHD for Done. Virtually all are on stimulants. She renews each patient’s monthly prescription from her New Jersey home, based mostly on online forms filled out by the patients. She’s fast, doing two renewals per minute, and Done pays her almost $10 per patient, working out to around $20,000 in monthly earnings.
In May, the Department of Justice began looking into Cerebral’s practices around controlled substances and more recently, Cerebral has been in the news for complaints from patients that they have been unable to reach their prescribers when problems arise. Some pharmacy chains have refused to fill prescriptions for controlled medications from online telehealth providers, and some online providers, including Cerebral, are no longer prescribing controlled substances. A front-page The Wall Street Journal article on Aug. 19, 2022, told the story of a man with a history of addiction who was prescribed stimulants after a brief appointment with a prescriber at Done. Family and friends in his sober house believe that the stimulants triggered a relapse, and he died of an opioid overdose.
During the early days of the pandemic, nonemergency psychiatric care was shut down and we all became virtual psychiatrists. Many of us saw new patients and prescribed controlled medications to people we had never met in real life.
“John Brown,” MD, PhD, spoke with me on the condition that I don’t use his real name or the name of the practice he left. He was hired by a traditional group practice with a multidisciplinary staff and several offices in his state. Most of the clinicians worked part time and were contractual employees, and Dr. Brown was hired to develop a specialty service. He soon learned that the practice – which participates with a number of insurance plans – was not financially stable, and it was acquired by an investment firm with no medical experience.
“They wanted everyone to work 40-hour weeks and see 14 patients a day, including 3-4 new patients, and suddenly everyone was overextended and exhausted. Overnight, most of the therapists left, and they hired nurse practitioners to replace many of the psychiatrists. People weren’t getting good care.” While this was not a telepsychiatry startup, it was a corporate takeover of a traditional practice that was unable to remain financially solvent while participating with insurance panels.
Like Sue W, Elizabeth K struggled to get treatment for ADHD even before the pandemic.
“I work multiple part-time jobs, don’t own a car, and don’t have insurance. Before telehealth became available, it was difficult and discouraging for me to maintain consistent treatment. It took me months to get initial appointments with a doctor and I live in one of the largest cities in the country.” She was pleased with the care she received by Done.
“I was pleasantly surprised by the authenticity and thoroughness of my first telehealth provider,” Elizabeth noted. “She remembered and considered more about me, my medical history, and details of my personal life than nearly every psychiatric doctor I’ve ever seen. They informed me of the long-term effects of medications and the importance of routine cardiovascular check-ups. Also, they wouldn’t prescribe more than 5 mg of Adderall (even though I had been prescribed 30-90 mg a day for most of my life) until I completed a medical check-up with blood pressure and blood test results.”
Corporate telepsychiatry may fill an important void and provide care to many people who have been unable to access traditional treatment. Something, however, has to account for the fact that care is more affordable through startups than through traditional psychiatric practices. Startups have expensive technological and infrastructure costs and added layers of administration. This translates to either higher volumes with shorter appointments, less compensation for prescribers, or both. How this will affect the future of psychiatric care remains to be seen.
Dr. Miller, is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Religious fundamentalism and later-life anxiety
I was a resident, young and naive, when I bumped into my neighbor in the hospital hallway as he walked out of a psychiatrist’s office.
“Why are you here?” I asked, thinking that my neighbor, a theology professor, had some professional reason to be meeting with a psychiatrist, perhaps some type of community project. As the question escaped from my lips, however, I had an instant sense of regret and made a “note to self” in bold, all capital letters with a few exclamation points: Don’t ever ask friends or neighbors why they are visiting a psychiatrist.
Fast-forward a number of decades, and I received an email from that neighbor. Charles Marsh, is now a professor of religious studies at the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, director of the Lived Theology Project, and author of several books. He sent me a link to an article he’d written about his treatment for an anxiety disorder and let me know he was working on a book on the topic. I later received the galleys for his manuscript, Evangelical Anxiety: A Memoir, which was released last month by HarperOne.
Professor Marsh opens his story as he’s sitting with his family in church, listening to his pastor’s sermon. It is a quiet April day, and as they are throughout this memoir, his descriptions are so vivid that the reader is sitting next to him in his familiar pew, there in that church on that Sunday, seeing what he sees, smelling what he smells, and feeling what he feels. The pastor confers a wish on his congregants: He’d like them all to have a nervous breakdown in their youth. He goes on to say that if Martin Luther had lived in the days of Prozac, his inner torment would have been quelled, and there would have been no Protestant reformation. Professor Marsh then treats us to the first of many humorous moments – he rushes home and swallows a tablet of Ativan.
Professor Marsh focuses on a single dividing point for his life, a day in the fall of 1981. He was resting on his bed in his dorm room at Harvard Divinity School at the ripe age of 23 years, 6 months, and 3 days (but who’s counting), when all of who he was changed. He described what he went through that night:
It was then that a high pandemonium ripped away everything protecting me from the world outside. I was no longer a person alone in his room. In an instant, I could hear all things inside my body in their deepest repercussions. My heart and its soft aortic murmur, my breath’s every exhalation and inhalation, the downward silences, the laborious intake – would this one be the last? How much noise the body makes when amped up on fear! I could hear the hiss of molecules colliding. And outside in the yellow night, the compressors harrumphing atop the nearby physics building, the sound of car engines and slamming doors. All these things I heard as tormenting assault, a soundscape I could not mute. I’d become a thought thinking about thinking itself and nothing else, metaphysics’ ancient curse. A cogitation cycling through every autonomous body function, placing on each a question mark like flowers for the dead.
This moment in time – this “breakdown,” as Professor Marsh repeatedly refers to it – bifurcated his life. He went from being a person who lived “disguised to myself as unaghast and free” to someone who could no longer find escape in his reading, who struggled in his own skin and his own mind, and who, for lack of a better description, was tortured. The “breakdown” passed, and Professor Marsh diagnosed himself with generalized anxiety disorder.
That night, he did not go to an emergency department nor did he seek help from services that were available to Harvard students. There was no psychiatrist, no therapy, no medication. It was, for him, with his fundamentalist Christian background, a religious event of sorts.
I counted it all joy if I should suffer. My sorrow, my soul’s sin-sickness, was not unintelligible – it was a kind of blessing, something that might draw me, like a medieval saint, to the suffering of my Lord, something that would testify wordlessly to my heroic exertion to attain purity. And, at least during those late days of autumn 1981, the heavens above and the earth below, spirit and flesh, felt miraculously aligned. Though suffering, this was the life I had craved.
Charles Marsh grew up as a Baptist pastor’s son in the Deep South during a time when the civil rights movement came to a head, and life was marked by fear and change. The memoir is not simply about one man’s struggle with an anxiety disorder, but a beautifully written account of life as an evangelical Christian during a tumultuous time of racial tensions and horrible violence. He details his life as a lonely only child in a God-fearing world cast in dark shadows, one where he struggled to belong and called out to his mother in the nights. Inside this world, Professor Marsh searched for his own religious identity, with the pride of being a high school “Jesus freak,” running alongside his repressed and frustrated sexual longings.
It was a world of good and bad, of heaven and hell, only the two became so confused as he talked about his existence full of fears: The windows were barred; violence and fear were central in his Alabama hometown, “the epicenter of white terrorism,” and then later when his family moved to Mississippi. He feared the barking dogs that guarded the houses, the bullies who tormented him, and the bullying in which, he too, joined in. He feared the switch-wielding adults – his mother, his principals, his coaches, and his youth pastor, all set on “breaking the will of the child,” a term he explains to be a Christian concept in which the child’s own will is broken so that he will be submissive to his parents and to God.
Professor Marsh wanted so much to be good. And we’re not sure he even knew what that was as he battled his desire to conform and belong, and his ever-present sexual impulses. Even as an adult, he was certain his mother would know if he had premarital sex and he would have to kill himself. Sex outside of marriage was the one unpardonable sin.
He suffered in silence and shame. It was not until a few years later that he entered psychotherapy as a doctoral student. When he moved to Baltimore, he again looked for a therapist and eventually found himself with a psychiatrist who was training to be a psychoanalyst in the hospital where I was a resident. This psychoanalysis proved to be transformative and healing, but first, Professor Marsh needed to reconcile his treatment with his religious beliefs, as therapy and fundamental religion travel different roads.
Analysis and faith traverse similar terrain – they understand how language and narrative heal. They may see each other as strangers or competitors, but they need not. Like prayer, the analytic dialogue slows down to ponder, to meander, to piece together, to redeem; both inspire the mind toward hope under the influence of an empathetic listener. Neither needs the other to effectuate its truths, but they follow parallel tracks into the mysteries of being human, where all truth is God’s truth. It’s more than fine that they neither merge nor collide.
He goes on to describe how powerful the process was for him and his healing.
Analysis is the space where one feels – where I felt in an embodied way, in the unhurried hours over months and years – a trust in the beautiful interplay between the center and the extremes. My body and mind would not be raised in resurrected splendor in the course of the treatment. I wish to emphasize the point. It was tempting to think that it would, that I would undergo a miraculous transformation. If not resurrected splendor, then surely I would take on the “new man.” Instead, I received the gift of mortal life: the freedom to be imperfect, to have fears and face them, to accept brokenness, to let go of the will to control all outcomes.
Professor Marsh’s use of language is extraordinary; he has a gift for metaphors and descriptions, and he carries the reader alongside him on a splendid journey. It has to be said, however, that he assumes a lot: He is a sophisticated scholar who mentions religious leaders, philosophers, historical characters, and the occasional rock song, with no patience for those who don’t follow his quick transitions and impressive vocabulary; I could have read this book with a dictionary beside me (but I didn’t).
It’s an illuminating journey, often sad and disturbing, sometimes funny and endearing, and ultimately uplifting. In our skeptical world where psychiatrists are so are often undone, it is refreshing to read a memoir where the psychiatrist is the good guy and the patient emerges healed and whole.
Dr. Miller, is a coauthor of Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
I was a resident, young and naive, when I bumped into my neighbor in the hospital hallway as he walked out of a psychiatrist’s office.
“Why are you here?” I asked, thinking that my neighbor, a theology professor, had some professional reason to be meeting with a psychiatrist, perhaps some type of community project. As the question escaped from my lips, however, I had an instant sense of regret and made a “note to self” in bold, all capital letters with a few exclamation points: Don’t ever ask friends or neighbors why they are visiting a psychiatrist.
Fast-forward a number of decades, and I received an email from that neighbor. Charles Marsh, is now a professor of religious studies at the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, director of the Lived Theology Project, and author of several books. He sent me a link to an article he’d written about his treatment for an anxiety disorder and let me know he was working on a book on the topic. I later received the galleys for his manuscript, Evangelical Anxiety: A Memoir, which was released last month by HarperOne.
Professor Marsh opens his story as he’s sitting with his family in church, listening to his pastor’s sermon. It is a quiet April day, and as they are throughout this memoir, his descriptions are so vivid that the reader is sitting next to him in his familiar pew, there in that church on that Sunday, seeing what he sees, smelling what he smells, and feeling what he feels. The pastor confers a wish on his congregants: He’d like them all to have a nervous breakdown in their youth. He goes on to say that if Martin Luther had lived in the days of Prozac, his inner torment would have been quelled, and there would have been no Protestant reformation. Professor Marsh then treats us to the first of many humorous moments – he rushes home and swallows a tablet of Ativan.
Professor Marsh focuses on a single dividing point for his life, a day in the fall of 1981. He was resting on his bed in his dorm room at Harvard Divinity School at the ripe age of 23 years, 6 months, and 3 days (but who’s counting), when all of who he was changed. He described what he went through that night:
It was then that a high pandemonium ripped away everything protecting me from the world outside. I was no longer a person alone in his room. In an instant, I could hear all things inside my body in their deepest repercussions. My heart and its soft aortic murmur, my breath’s every exhalation and inhalation, the downward silences, the laborious intake – would this one be the last? How much noise the body makes when amped up on fear! I could hear the hiss of molecules colliding. And outside in the yellow night, the compressors harrumphing atop the nearby physics building, the sound of car engines and slamming doors. All these things I heard as tormenting assault, a soundscape I could not mute. I’d become a thought thinking about thinking itself and nothing else, metaphysics’ ancient curse. A cogitation cycling through every autonomous body function, placing on each a question mark like flowers for the dead.
This moment in time – this “breakdown,” as Professor Marsh repeatedly refers to it – bifurcated his life. He went from being a person who lived “disguised to myself as unaghast and free” to someone who could no longer find escape in his reading, who struggled in his own skin and his own mind, and who, for lack of a better description, was tortured. The “breakdown” passed, and Professor Marsh diagnosed himself with generalized anxiety disorder.
That night, he did not go to an emergency department nor did he seek help from services that were available to Harvard students. There was no psychiatrist, no therapy, no medication. It was, for him, with his fundamentalist Christian background, a religious event of sorts.
I counted it all joy if I should suffer. My sorrow, my soul’s sin-sickness, was not unintelligible – it was a kind of blessing, something that might draw me, like a medieval saint, to the suffering of my Lord, something that would testify wordlessly to my heroic exertion to attain purity. And, at least during those late days of autumn 1981, the heavens above and the earth below, spirit and flesh, felt miraculously aligned. Though suffering, this was the life I had craved.
Charles Marsh grew up as a Baptist pastor’s son in the Deep South during a time when the civil rights movement came to a head, and life was marked by fear and change. The memoir is not simply about one man’s struggle with an anxiety disorder, but a beautifully written account of life as an evangelical Christian during a tumultuous time of racial tensions and horrible violence. He details his life as a lonely only child in a God-fearing world cast in dark shadows, one where he struggled to belong and called out to his mother in the nights. Inside this world, Professor Marsh searched for his own religious identity, with the pride of being a high school “Jesus freak,” running alongside his repressed and frustrated sexual longings.
It was a world of good and bad, of heaven and hell, only the two became so confused as he talked about his existence full of fears: The windows were barred; violence and fear were central in his Alabama hometown, “the epicenter of white terrorism,” and then later when his family moved to Mississippi. He feared the barking dogs that guarded the houses, the bullies who tormented him, and the bullying in which, he too, joined in. He feared the switch-wielding adults – his mother, his principals, his coaches, and his youth pastor, all set on “breaking the will of the child,” a term he explains to be a Christian concept in which the child’s own will is broken so that he will be submissive to his parents and to God.
Professor Marsh wanted so much to be good. And we’re not sure he even knew what that was as he battled his desire to conform and belong, and his ever-present sexual impulses. Even as an adult, he was certain his mother would know if he had premarital sex and he would have to kill himself. Sex outside of marriage was the one unpardonable sin.
He suffered in silence and shame. It was not until a few years later that he entered psychotherapy as a doctoral student. When he moved to Baltimore, he again looked for a therapist and eventually found himself with a psychiatrist who was training to be a psychoanalyst in the hospital where I was a resident. This psychoanalysis proved to be transformative and healing, but first, Professor Marsh needed to reconcile his treatment with his religious beliefs, as therapy and fundamental religion travel different roads.
Analysis and faith traverse similar terrain – they understand how language and narrative heal. They may see each other as strangers or competitors, but they need not. Like prayer, the analytic dialogue slows down to ponder, to meander, to piece together, to redeem; both inspire the mind toward hope under the influence of an empathetic listener. Neither needs the other to effectuate its truths, but they follow parallel tracks into the mysteries of being human, where all truth is God’s truth. It’s more than fine that they neither merge nor collide.
He goes on to describe how powerful the process was for him and his healing.
Analysis is the space where one feels – where I felt in an embodied way, in the unhurried hours over months and years – a trust in the beautiful interplay between the center and the extremes. My body and mind would not be raised in resurrected splendor in the course of the treatment. I wish to emphasize the point. It was tempting to think that it would, that I would undergo a miraculous transformation. If not resurrected splendor, then surely I would take on the “new man.” Instead, I received the gift of mortal life: the freedom to be imperfect, to have fears and face them, to accept brokenness, to let go of the will to control all outcomes.
Professor Marsh’s use of language is extraordinary; he has a gift for metaphors and descriptions, and he carries the reader alongside him on a splendid journey. It has to be said, however, that he assumes a lot: He is a sophisticated scholar who mentions religious leaders, philosophers, historical characters, and the occasional rock song, with no patience for those who don’t follow his quick transitions and impressive vocabulary; I could have read this book with a dictionary beside me (but I didn’t).
It’s an illuminating journey, often sad and disturbing, sometimes funny and endearing, and ultimately uplifting. In our skeptical world where psychiatrists are so are often undone, it is refreshing to read a memoir where the psychiatrist is the good guy and the patient emerges healed and whole.
Dr. Miller, is a coauthor of Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
I was a resident, young and naive, when I bumped into my neighbor in the hospital hallway as he walked out of a psychiatrist’s office.
“Why are you here?” I asked, thinking that my neighbor, a theology professor, had some professional reason to be meeting with a psychiatrist, perhaps some type of community project. As the question escaped from my lips, however, I had an instant sense of regret and made a “note to self” in bold, all capital letters with a few exclamation points: Don’t ever ask friends or neighbors why they are visiting a psychiatrist.
Fast-forward a number of decades, and I received an email from that neighbor. Charles Marsh, is now a professor of religious studies at the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, director of the Lived Theology Project, and author of several books. He sent me a link to an article he’d written about his treatment for an anxiety disorder and let me know he was working on a book on the topic. I later received the galleys for his manuscript, Evangelical Anxiety: A Memoir, which was released last month by HarperOne.
Professor Marsh opens his story as he’s sitting with his family in church, listening to his pastor’s sermon. It is a quiet April day, and as they are throughout this memoir, his descriptions are so vivid that the reader is sitting next to him in his familiar pew, there in that church on that Sunday, seeing what he sees, smelling what he smells, and feeling what he feels. The pastor confers a wish on his congregants: He’d like them all to have a nervous breakdown in their youth. He goes on to say that if Martin Luther had lived in the days of Prozac, his inner torment would have been quelled, and there would have been no Protestant reformation. Professor Marsh then treats us to the first of many humorous moments – he rushes home and swallows a tablet of Ativan.
Professor Marsh focuses on a single dividing point for his life, a day in the fall of 1981. He was resting on his bed in his dorm room at Harvard Divinity School at the ripe age of 23 years, 6 months, and 3 days (but who’s counting), when all of who he was changed. He described what he went through that night:
It was then that a high pandemonium ripped away everything protecting me from the world outside. I was no longer a person alone in his room. In an instant, I could hear all things inside my body in their deepest repercussions. My heart and its soft aortic murmur, my breath’s every exhalation and inhalation, the downward silences, the laborious intake – would this one be the last? How much noise the body makes when amped up on fear! I could hear the hiss of molecules colliding. And outside in the yellow night, the compressors harrumphing atop the nearby physics building, the sound of car engines and slamming doors. All these things I heard as tormenting assault, a soundscape I could not mute. I’d become a thought thinking about thinking itself and nothing else, metaphysics’ ancient curse. A cogitation cycling through every autonomous body function, placing on each a question mark like flowers for the dead.
This moment in time – this “breakdown,” as Professor Marsh repeatedly refers to it – bifurcated his life. He went from being a person who lived “disguised to myself as unaghast and free” to someone who could no longer find escape in his reading, who struggled in his own skin and his own mind, and who, for lack of a better description, was tortured. The “breakdown” passed, and Professor Marsh diagnosed himself with generalized anxiety disorder.
That night, he did not go to an emergency department nor did he seek help from services that were available to Harvard students. There was no psychiatrist, no therapy, no medication. It was, for him, with his fundamentalist Christian background, a religious event of sorts.
I counted it all joy if I should suffer. My sorrow, my soul’s sin-sickness, was not unintelligible – it was a kind of blessing, something that might draw me, like a medieval saint, to the suffering of my Lord, something that would testify wordlessly to my heroic exertion to attain purity. And, at least during those late days of autumn 1981, the heavens above and the earth below, spirit and flesh, felt miraculously aligned. Though suffering, this was the life I had craved.
Charles Marsh grew up as a Baptist pastor’s son in the Deep South during a time when the civil rights movement came to a head, and life was marked by fear and change. The memoir is not simply about one man’s struggle with an anxiety disorder, but a beautifully written account of life as an evangelical Christian during a tumultuous time of racial tensions and horrible violence. He details his life as a lonely only child in a God-fearing world cast in dark shadows, one where he struggled to belong and called out to his mother in the nights. Inside this world, Professor Marsh searched for his own religious identity, with the pride of being a high school “Jesus freak,” running alongside his repressed and frustrated sexual longings.
It was a world of good and bad, of heaven and hell, only the two became so confused as he talked about his existence full of fears: The windows were barred; violence and fear were central in his Alabama hometown, “the epicenter of white terrorism,” and then later when his family moved to Mississippi. He feared the barking dogs that guarded the houses, the bullies who tormented him, and the bullying in which, he too, joined in. He feared the switch-wielding adults – his mother, his principals, his coaches, and his youth pastor, all set on “breaking the will of the child,” a term he explains to be a Christian concept in which the child’s own will is broken so that he will be submissive to his parents and to God.
Professor Marsh wanted so much to be good. And we’re not sure he even knew what that was as he battled his desire to conform and belong, and his ever-present sexual impulses. Even as an adult, he was certain his mother would know if he had premarital sex and he would have to kill himself. Sex outside of marriage was the one unpardonable sin.
He suffered in silence and shame. It was not until a few years later that he entered psychotherapy as a doctoral student. When he moved to Baltimore, he again looked for a therapist and eventually found himself with a psychiatrist who was training to be a psychoanalyst in the hospital where I was a resident. This psychoanalysis proved to be transformative and healing, but first, Professor Marsh needed to reconcile his treatment with his religious beliefs, as therapy and fundamental religion travel different roads.
Analysis and faith traverse similar terrain – they understand how language and narrative heal. They may see each other as strangers or competitors, but they need not. Like prayer, the analytic dialogue slows down to ponder, to meander, to piece together, to redeem; both inspire the mind toward hope under the influence of an empathetic listener. Neither needs the other to effectuate its truths, but they follow parallel tracks into the mysteries of being human, where all truth is God’s truth. It’s more than fine that they neither merge nor collide.
He goes on to describe how powerful the process was for him and his healing.
Analysis is the space where one feels – where I felt in an embodied way, in the unhurried hours over months and years – a trust in the beautiful interplay between the center and the extremes. My body and mind would not be raised in resurrected splendor in the course of the treatment. I wish to emphasize the point. It was tempting to think that it would, that I would undergo a miraculous transformation. If not resurrected splendor, then surely I would take on the “new man.” Instead, I received the gift of mortal life: the freedom to be imperfect, to have fears and face them, to accept brokenness, to let go of the will to control all outcomes.
Professor Marsh’s use of language is extraordinary; he has a gift for metaphors and descriptions, and he carries the reader alongside him on a splendid journey. It has to be said, however, that he assumes a lot: He is a sophisticated scholar who mentions religious leaders, philosophers, historical characters, and the occasional rock song, with no patience for those who don’t follow his quick transitions and impressive vocabulary; I could have read this book with a dictionary beside me (but I didn’t).
It’s an illuminating journey, often sad and disturbing, sometimes funny and endearing, and ultimately uplifting. In our skeptical world where psychiatrists are so are often undone, it is refreshing to read a memoir where the psychiatrist is the good guy and the patient emerges healed and whole.
Dr. Miller, is a coauthor of Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. She has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
When suffering defies diagnosis
I still remember the woman who came to my office that day, years ago. She was struggling and uncomfortable, and she wanted “something” for stress. She described her life, and to me, it sounded stressful. She lived in a blended family and she described the chaos that one might expect to find in a household with four teens, their friends, their activities, and all it took to keep the household going. I spent 2 hours evaluating the patient, and I could not find a diagnosis that fit this problem nor – I believed – a pill that would fix it. She didn’t “meet criteria” for a psychiatric disorder, but she insisted she was uncomfortable and she wanted to try medication. I admit, I relented and I gave her a prescription for fluoxetine.
When she returned a few weeks later, my patient said she felt better, and what I remember decades later was her statement: “Now I can see dishes in the sink and be okay with it.” Perhaps she had downplayed her anxiety during our first meeting, but what I took from this was that some people are uncomfortable in ways that our lexicon does not capture, and sometimes medication helps with this discomfort.
The APA’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders attempts to capture the problems of emotional and behavioral distress and classify them into discrete syndromes that can be validated and reliably diagnosed by different evaluators. Our disorders are syndromic; they are defined by clusters of symptoms that occur together, and not by a single symptom, lab value, or radiologic finding. The DSM is rewritten periodically so that what is or is not a disorder can bend with new discoveries and with a changing culture. And for better or for worse, when there is an available medication that can alleviate a problem, this may influence what once was a variant of normal into becoming a disorder.
Our illnesses often lie along a spectrum, so there is no precise point where someone who is easily distracted is a person with attention deficit disorder as opposed to being a mentally healthy person who is easily distracted, or a shy person is someone with social anxiety disorder. whether they want to address this with medications, and whether their distress warrants taking a chance that they might have side effects or an adverse reaction to a medication.
When we look at our criteria, sometimes we fall short. One needs to have at least five symptoms out of nine options, to be present for 2 weeks to be diagnosed with major depression, yet I don’t know a single psychiatrist who would not offer medication to a patient who ascribed to feeling profoundly sad with thoughts of suicide in the absence of other symptoms of depression. These issues have come to the forefront with the recent inclusion of prolonged grief in the DSM, as a disorder that is distinct from both normal grieving and from major depression.
In recent weeks, mass murder has been on everyone’s mind as we mourn those lost in Uvalde, Buffalo, and unfortunately, in so many other places. Absolutely no one thinks that someone who shoots strangers is “normal” or emotionally well. Yet psychiatry is often tasked with figuring out if someone is mad (mentally ill), bad (evil), or both. We don’t have a clear path for how to treat and manage people who commit horrendous acts of violence unless they meet criteria for another illness. Yet no one would argue that a person who informs others that he is thinking of killing strangers is in need of some type of intervention, regardless of his motive. We struggle too, with how to manage people who have more regular angry outbursts or emotional dysregulation. Perhaps we diagnose intermittent explosive disorder, or irritability caused by a mood disorder, but we don’t always know how to help people to control their tempers and modulate their emotions. And our semantics to describe psychic pain and anguish are surprisingly limited – sometimes we can only assume that someone who lashes out must be in turmoil.
Psychiatry continues to struggle with our relationship with human suffering. Suffering is part of life, not necessarily a sign of illness, and in his iconic memoir, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, MD, wrote of the atrocities he endured in a Nazi concentration camp. It was through his suffering that Dr. Frankl found meaning and he used these harrowing experiences to fuel positive emotions later in life. Dr. Frankl wrote: “If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death, human life cannot be complete.”
Suffering may be the kindling for acts of violence, or for profound creativity. Would we have music, art, cinema, poetry, or fiction if no one ever suffered? Yet suffering and emotional torment are often what leads people to seek treatment, and what leads us, as healers, to offer any range of therapies. For years, suicide rates have been rising, as have overdose death. And now, in addition to these “deaths of despair,” we are hearing about skyrocketing rates of depression and anxiety in our world that is so full of reasons to be sad and anxious. Access to treatment is limited by so many things, and it is not always clear when one needs psychiatric interventions or when problems will heal on their own, leaving scars or not.
I wrote this article in response to the hundreds of comments that were placed on an article I wrote after the horrors at Uvalde and Buffalo: “Don’t Equate Mass Shootings with Mental Illness.” Many of the commenters suggested I believe the shooter was perfectly sane, and that I am naive (or worse). Many wrote in with their own thoughts about what causes people to become mass murderers. One commenter wrote: “To suggest that random killers do not have mental health issues and their behavior is normal is ridiculous.” I don’t believe that I ever suggested that such behavior was normal, but – for many of these crimes – we as a society have decided to treat the behavior as criminal and not as the product of our current concept of mental disorders. Obviously, people who are well, who are emotionally at peace and comfortable in their own skin, don’t kill strangers.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.
I still remember the woman who came to my office that day, years ago. She was struggling and uncomfortable, and she wanted “something” for stress. She described her life, and to me, it sounded stressful. She lived in a blended family and she described the chaos that one might expect to find in a household with four teens, their friends, their activities, and all it took to keep the household going. I spent 2 hours evaluating the patient, and I could not find a diagnosis that fit this problem nor – I believed – a pill that would fix it. She didn’t “meet criteria” for a psychiatric disorder, but she insisted she was uncomfortable and she wanted to try medication. I admit, I relented and I gave her a prescription for fluoxetine.
When she returned a few weeks later, my patient said she felt better, and what I remember decades later was her statement: “Now I can see dishes in the sink and be okay with it.” Perhaps she had downplayed her anxiety during our first meeting, but what I took from this was that some people are uncomfortable in ways that our lexicon does not capture, and sometimes medication helps with this discomfort.
The APA’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders attempts to capture the problems of emotional and behavioral distress and classify them into discrete syndromes that can be validated and reliably diagnosed by different evaluators. Our disorders are syndromic; they are defined by clusters of symptoms that occur together, and not by a single symptom, lab value, or radiologic finding. The DSM is rewritten periodically so that what is or is not a disorder can bend with new discoveries and with a changing culture. And for better or for worse, when there is an available medication that can alleviate a problem, this may influence what once was a variant of normal into becoming a disorder.
Our illnesses often lie along a spectrum, so there is no precise point where someone who is easily distracted is a person with attention deficit disorder as opposed to being a mentally healthy person who is easily distracted, or a shy person is someone with social anxiety disorder. whether they want to address this with medications, and whether their distress warrants taking a chance that they might have side effects or an adverse reaction to a medication.
When we look at our criteria, sometimes we fall short. One needs to have at least five symptoms out of nine options, to be present for 2 weeks to be diagnosed with major depression, yet I don’t know a single psychiatrist who would not offer medication to a patient who ascribed to feeling profoundly sad with thoughts of suicide in the absence of other symptoms of depression. These issues have come to the forefront with the recent inclusion of prolonged grief in the DSM, as a disorder that is distinct from both normal grieving and from major depression.
In recent weeks, mass murder has been on everyone’s mind as we mourn those lost in Uvalde, Buffalo, and unfortunately, in so many other places. Absolutely no one thinks that someone who shoots strangers is “normal” or emotionally well. Yet psychiatry is often tasked with figuring out if someone is mad (mentally ill), bad (evil), or both. We don’t have a clear path for how to treat and manage people who commit horrendous acts of violence unless they meet criteria for another illness. Yet no one would argue that a person who informs others that he is thinking of killing strangers is in need of some type of intervention, regardless of his motive. We struggle too, with how to manage people who have more regular angry outbursts or emotional dysregulation. Perhaps we diagnose intermittent explosive disorder, or irritability caused by a mood disorder, but we don’t always know how to help people to control their tempers and modulate their emotions. And our semantics to describe psychic pain and anguish are surprisingly limited – sometimes we can only assume that someone who lashes out must be in turmoil.
Psychiatry continues to struggle with our relationship with human suffering. Suffering is part of life, not necessarily a sign of illness, and in his iconic memoir, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, MD, wrote of the atrocities he endured in a Nazi concentration camp. It was through his suffering that Dr. Frankl found meaning and he used these harrowing experiences to fuel positive emotions later in life. Dr. Frankl wrote: “If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death, human life cannot be complete.”
Suffering may be the kindling for acts of violence, or for profound creativity. Would we have music, art, cinema, poetry, or fiction if no one ever suffered? Yet suffering and emotional torment are often what leads people to seek treatment, and what leads us, as healers, to offer any range of therapies. For years, suicide rates have been rising, as have overdose death. And now, in addition to these “deaths of despair,” we are hearing about skyrocketing rates of depression and anxiety in our world that is so full of reasons to be sad and anxious. Access to treatment is limited by so many things, and it is not always clear when one needs psychiatric interventions or when problems will heal on their own, leaving scars or not.
I wrote this article in response to the hundreds of comments that were placed on an article I wrote after the horrors at Uvalde and Buffalo: “Don’t Equate Mass Shootings with Mental Illness.” Many of the commenters suggested I believe the shooter was perfectly sane, and that I am naive (or worse). Many wrote in with their own thoughts about what causes people to become mass murderers. One commenter wrote: “To suggest that random killers do not have mental health issues and their behavior is normal is ridiculous.” I don’t believe that I ever suggested that such behavior was normal, but – for many of these crimes – we as a society have decided to treat the behavior as criminal and not as the product of our current concept of mental disorders. Obviously, people who are well, who are emotionally at peace and comfortable in their own skin, don’t kill strangers.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.
I still remember the woman who came to my office that day, years ago. She was struggling and uncomfortable, and she wanted “something” for stress. She described her life, and to me, it sounded stressful. She lived in a blended family and she described the chaos that one might expect to find in a household with four teens, their friends, their activities, and all it took to keep the household going. I spent 2 hours evaluating the patient, and I could not find a diagnosis that fit this problem nor – I believed – a pill that would fix it. She didn’t “meet criteria” for a psychiatric disorder, but she insisted she was uncomfortable and she wanted to try medication. I admit, I relented and I gave her a prescription for fluoxetine.
When she returned a few weeks later, my patient said she felt better, and what I remember decades later was her statement: “Now I can see dishes in the sink and be okay with it.” Perhaps she had downplayed her anxiety during our first meeting, but what I took from this was that some people are uncomfortable in ways that our lexicon does not capture, and sometimes medication helps with this discomfort.
The APA’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders attempts to capture the problems of emotional and behavioral distress and classify them into discrete syndromes that can be validated and reliably diagnosed by different evaluators. Our disorders are syndromic; they are defined by clusters of symptoms that occur together, and not by a single symptom, lab value, or radiologic finding. The DSM is rewritten periodically so that what is or is not a disorder can bend with new discoveries and with a changing culture. And for better or for worse, when there is an available medication that can alleviate a problem, this may influence what once was a variant of normal into becoming a disorder.
Our illnesses often lie along a spectrum, so there is no precise point where someone who is easily distracted is a person with attention deficit disorder as opposed to being a mentally healthy person who is easily distracted, or a shy person is someone with social anxiety disorder. whether they want to address this with medications, and whether their distress warrants taking a chance that they might have side effects or an adverse reaction to a medication.
When we look at our criteria, sometimes we fall short. One needs to have at least five symptoms out of nine options, to be present for 2 weeks to be diagnosed with major depression, yet I don’t know a single psychiatrist who would not offer medication to a patient who ascribed to feeling profoundly sad with thoughts of suicide in the absence of other symptoms of depression. These issues have come to the forefront with the recent inclusion of prolonged grief in the DSM, as a disorder that is distinct from both normal grieving and from major depression.
In recent weeks, mass murder has been on everyone’s mind as we mourn those lost in Uvalde, Buffalo, and unfortunately, in so many other places. Absolutely no one thinks that someone who shoots strangers is “normal” or emotionally well. Yet psychiatry is often tasked with figuring out if someone is mad (mentally ill), bad (evil), or both. We don’t have a clear path for how to treat and manage people who commit horrendous acts of violence unless they meet criteria for another illness. Yet no one would argue that a person who informs others that he is thinking of killing strangers is in need of some type of intervention, regardless of his motive. We struggle too, with how to manage people who have more regular angry outbursts or emotional dysregulation. Perhaps we diagnose intermittent explosive disorder, or irritability caused by a mood disorder, but we don’t always know how to help people to control their tempers and modulate their emotions. And our semantics to describe psychic pain and anguish are surprisingly limited – sometimes we can only assume that someone who lashes out must be in turmoil.
Psychiatry continues to struggle with our relationship with human suffering. Suffering is part of life, not necessarily a sign of illness, and in his iconic memoir, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, MD, wrote of the atrocities he endured in a Nazi concentration camp. It was through his suffering that Dr. Frankl found meaning and he used these harrowing experiences to fuel positive emotions later in life. Dr. Frankl wrote: “If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death, human life cannot be complete.”
Suffering may be the kindling for acts of violence, or for profound creativity. Would we have music, art, cinema, poetry, or fiction if no one ever suffered? Yet suffering and emotional torment are often what leads people to seek treatment, and what leads us, as healers, to offer any range of therapies. For years, suicide rates have been rising, as have overdose death. And now, in addition to these “deaths of despair,” we are hearing about skyrocketing rates of depression and anxiety in our world that is so full of reasons to be sad and anxious. Access to treatment is limited by so many things, and it is not always clear when one needs psychiatric interventions or when problems will heal on their own, leaving scars or not.
I wrote this article in response to the hundreds of comments that were placed on an article I wrote after the horrors at Uvalde and Buffalo: “Don’t Equate Mass Shootings with Mental Illness.” Many of the commenters suggested I believe the shooter was perfectly sane, and that I am naive (or worse). Many wrote in with their own thoughts about what causes people to become mass murderers. One commenter wrote: “To suggest that random killers do not have mental health issues and their behavior is normal is ridiculous.” I don’t believe that I ever suggested that such behavior was normal, but – for many of these crimes – we as a society have decided to treat the behavior as criminal and not as the product of our current concept of mental disorders. Obviously, people who are well, who are emotionally at peace and comfortable in their own skin, don’t kill strangers.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.
Don’t equate mass shootings with mental illness
Here we go again, and again, and again.
There just aren’t enough tears, and before the bodies of 19 small children are identified, the political noise starts up. Mass shootings are a part of the American landscape, but when they happen at schools, we all feel a distinct sense of violation and gaping grief. Those children are so innocent, so deserving of a right to live their lives, hold their place with their families, create their own legacies, and die of natural causes at a ripe old age. And those children could have been our children. There was nothing special about them; they were just sent to school that day like every child who is sent to school every day.
Here is how the politics goes: The Republicans will blame the Democrats and the Democrats will blame the Republicans. Is Rachel Maddow at fault, or is it Tucker Carlson? Social media accounts blamed both of them for the racially motivated mass murder in a Buffalo grocery store on May 14.
Mass murders were previously defined as a shooting where four or more victims are killed, excluding the shooter, in a public place that is not related to the commission of another crime. In 2012, the definition was changed to include events with three victims. This definition excludes gang violence and the murder of family members.
When it comes to explaining mass murder, the camps divide: They are the result of some combination of mental illness, easy access to firearms, and terrorism and hate. For psychiatry, there is a unique place in the argument – half of all mass shooters have exhibited signs or symptoms of psychiatric illness, and for those who want to deflect the issue away from issues related to the regulation of firearms, it becomes easy to blame “mental illness,” as though that explains it all. Either the gunman “snapped” in such a way that no one could have predicted, or the mental health system is at fault for not preventing it.
There are many ways to be emotionally disturbed; mental illness is only one of them, and there is no psychiatric diagnosis that includes the symptom of shooting strangers, or shooting children. The vast majority of people, including nearly all psychiatrists, will never know someone who perpetrates a mass shooting.
Take John Hinckley Jr., who shot President Ronald Reagan as a means to impress actress Jodie Foster. Sometimes these killings are motivated by delusional beliefs. But the planning and preparation that goes into most mass shootings involves a degree of organization and forethought that we don’t typically see in those with severe psychotic disorders.
The other psychological explanation that satisfies some of a nonmedical population is that these killers “just snap.” This, too, is a term that is not included in our diagnostic vocabulary, but it remains a way for some to explain that which can’t be explained. If mental illness, however, is the cause of mass murders, then more stringent gun control is unnecessary. Every state already has a mechanism to prevent those with criminal and specified psychiatric histories from buying legal firearms, and it may be inevitable that these screens are not perfect.
The next line of political thinking moves to the psychiatric “if only.” If only there were more state hospital beds and if only it were easier to compel people with psychiatric disorders to get treatment against their will, then we could eliminate these crimes. The Virginia tech shooter was mandated to get outpatient psychiatric treatment after a brief hospitalization, yet he never went and there was no mechanism in place to track him.
In cases where a person with a psychotic illness has a history of repeated violent episodes after stopping medications, it does make sense to mandate treatment, not because they are likely to shoot strangers, but because some people do become violent when they are ill and mental illness is believed to play a role in 10% of murders.
Mass murders remain rare, and while advocates for legislation that would make it easier to mandate involuntary care have cited violence prevention as a reason, it is hard to imagine that we would force people to get care because they “might” commit such a crime – unless there was convincing evidence that someone was at risk of committing such a heinous act.
For those who oppose stronger gun control laws, the “what if” may circulate around the need for even more firearms. What if teachers carried guns? What if schools were more heavily policed? What if the criminals were made to be afraid?
We are left with the fact that other countries do not see these numbers of mass shooting events, yet mental illness is ubiquitous. While the presence of psychiatric disorders does little to explain school shootings, we still have no understanding of what motivated the Sandy Hook killer, and it remains to be seen what we will come to understand about the gunman in Uvalde, Texas.
Mental illness is not unique to the United States; however, the number of available firearms is. In a country of 323 million people (including children and people who live in institutions where they have no access to firearms), there are estimated to be over 400 million guns in the United States, 98% of which are owned by civilians.
Hate crimes and terrorism are another explanation for mass murders. In these instances, the gunman makes his motive obvious: There are social media announcements, or the site of the shooting is a synagogue, a mosque, or a location where the victims are of a specific race or religion. But hate may come out of a psychotic illness, and easy access to firearms allows for these crimes to continue.
Firearms are now the No. 1 cause of mortality in children. Very few of these deaths are the result of mass murders. Many more are from accidental deaths, targeted crime, or suicide. Still, school shootings rip at our hearts. Neither the victims nor their grieving families have any role in the act, and suffering leaves its mark on families, communities, and all of us.
Are there answers?
In many states, physicians can now request emergency removal of firearms from the home of someone who is both mentally ill and threatening either suicide or homicide. During the era when high-capacity firearms were banned, from 1994 to 2004, mass murders decreased in our country. While most gunmen use legal firearms they have purchased, I would contend that “smart guns” – firearms that allow only the legal owner to operate them based on biometrics – would prevent some mass shootings and many accidents, crimes, and suicides. Universal background checks and tracking gun purchases in the way we monitor controlled medications, or even Sudafed, might allow authorities to predict who might be at risk of committing these heinous acts.
In his newly released book, Trigger Points: Inside the Mission to Stop Mass Murders in America, journalist Mark Follman argues for a proactive community approach using threat assessment methods and providing wraparound services to those who are deemed to be at risk for violent acts. Mr. Follman’s voice is one of the few out there saying that these events are not random and are, in fact, preventable.
In psychiatry, we struggle with school shootings such as the one we just saw in Uvalde. Our own hearts ache as we hold our children close and empathize with the loss of strangers who have been through the unthinkable. We help our patients as they process their emotions. And we wonder whether any of our patients might ever do anything so horrific. The feelings get complicated, the sadness and anger intermingle while the frustration builds, and we are left with our fears and the hope that if that very rare person were to walk through our office door, we would know what to do.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Here we go again, and again, and again.
There just aren’t enough tears, and before the bodies of 19 small children are identified, the political noise starts up. Mass shootings are a part of the American landscape, but when they happen at schools, we all feel a distinct sense of violation and gaping grief. Those children are so innocent, so deserving of a right to live their lives, hold their place with their families, create their own legacies, and die of natural causes at a ripe old age. And those children could have been our children. There was nothing special about them; they were just sent to school that day like every child who is sent to school every day.
Here is how the politics goes: The Republicans will blame the Democrats and the Democrats will blame the Republicans. Is Rachel Maddow at fault, or is it Tucker Carlson? Social media accounts blamed both of them for the racially motivated mass murder in a Buffalo grocery store on May 14.
Mass murders were previously defined as a shooting where four or more victims are killed, excluding the shooter, in a public place that is not related to the commission of another crime. In 2012, the definition was changed to include events with three victims. This definition excludes gang violence and the murder of family members.
When it comes to explaining mass murder, the camps divide: They are the result of some combination of mental illness, easy access to firearms, and terrorism and hate. For psychiatry, there is a unique place in the argument – half of all mass shooters have exhibited signs or symptoms of psychiatric illness, and for those who want to deflect the issue away from issues related to the regulation of firearms, it becomes easy to blame “mental illness,” as though that explains it all. Either the gunman “snapped” in such a way that no one could have predicted, or the mental health system is at fault for not preventing it.
There are many ways to be emotionally disturbed; mental illness is only one of them, and there is no psychiatric diagnosis that includes the symptom of shooting strangers, or shooting children. The vast majority of people, including nearly all psychiatrists, will never know someone who perpetrates a mass shooting.
Take John Hinckley Jr., who shot President Ronald Reagan as a means to impress actress Jodie Foster. Sometimes these killings are motivated by delusional beliefs. But the planning and preparation that goes into most mass shootings involves a degree of organization and forethought that we don’t typically see in those with severe psychotic disorders.
The other psychological explanation that satisfies some of a nonmedical population is that these killers “just snap.” This, too, is a term that is not included in our diagnostic vocabulary, but it remains a way for some to explain that which can’t be explained. If mental illness, however, is the cause of mass murders, then more stringent gun control is unnecessary. Every state already has a mechanism to prevent those with criminal and specified psychiatric histories from buying legal firearms, and it may be inevitable that these screens are not perfect.
The next line of political thinking moves to the psychiatric “if only.” If only there were more state hospital beds and if only it were easier to compel people with psychiatric disorders to get treatment against their will, then we could eliminate these crimes. The Virginia tech shooter was mandated to get outpatient psychiatric treatment after a brief hospitalization, yet he never went and there was no mechanism in place to track him.
In cases where a person with a psychotic illness has a history of repeated violent episodes after stopping medications, it does make sense to mandate treatment, not because they are likely to shoot strangers, but because some people do become violent when they are ill and mental illness is believed to play a role in 10% of murders.
Mass murders remain rare, and while advocates for legislation that would make it easier to mandate involuntary care have cited violence prevention as a reason, it is hard to imagine that we would force people to get care because they “might” commit such a crime – unless there was convincing evidence that someone was at risk of committing such a heinous act.
For those who oppose stronger gun control laws, the “what if” may circulate around the need for even more firearms. What if teachers carried guns? What if schools were more heavily policed? What if the criminals were made to be afraid?
We are left with the fact that other countries do not see these numbers of mass shooting events, yet mental illness is ubiquitous. While the presence of psychiatric disorders does little to explain school shootings, we still have no understanding of what motivated the Sandy Hook killer, and it remains to be seen what we will come to understand about the gunman in Uvalde, Texas.
Mental illness is not unique to the United States; however, the number of available firearms is. In a country of 323 million people (including children and people who live in institutions where they have no access to firearms), there are estimated to be over 400 million guns in the United States, 98% of which are owned by civilians.
Hate crimes and terrorism are another explanation for mass murders. In these instances, the gunman makes his motive obvious: There are social media announcements, or the site of the shooting is a synagogue, a mosque, or a location where the victims are of a specific race or religion. But hate may come out of a psychotic illness, and easy access to firearms allows for these crimes to continue.
Firearms are now the No. 1 cause of mortality in children. Very few of these deaths are the result of mass murders. Many more are from accidental deaths, targeted crime, or suicide. Still, school shootings rip at our hearts. Neither the victims nor their grieving families have any role in the act, and suffering leaves its mark on families, communities, and all of us.
Are there answers?
In many states, physicians can now request emergency removal of firearms from the home of someone who is both mentally ill and threatening either suicide or homicide. During the era when high-capacity firearms were banned, from 1994 to 2004, mass murders decreased in our country. While most gunmen use legal firearms they have purchased, I would contend that “smart guns” – firearms that allow only the legal owner to operate them based on biometrics – would prevent some mass shootings and many accidents, crimes, and suicides. Universal background checks and tracking gun purchases in the way we monitor controlled medications, or even Sudafed, might allow authorities to predict who might be at risk of committing these heinous acts.
In his newly released book, Trigger Points: Inside the Mission to Stop Mass Murders in America, journalist Mark Follman argues for a proactive community approach using threat assessment methods and providing wraparound services to those who are deemed to be at risk for violent acts. Mr. Follman’s voice is one of the few out there saying that these events are not random and are, in fact, preventable.
In psychiatry, we struggle with school shootings such as the one we just saw in Uvalde. Our own hearts ache as we hold our children close and empathize with the loss of strangers who have been through the unthinkable. We help our patients as they process their emotions. And we wonder whether any of our patients might ever do anything so horrific. The feelings get complicated, the sadness and anger intermingle while the frustration builds, and we are left with our fears and the hope that if that very rare person were to walk through our office door, we would know what to do.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Here we go again, and again, and again.
There just aren’t enough tears, and before the bodies of 19 small children are identified, the political noise starts up. Mass shootings are a part of the American landscape, but when they happen at schools, we all feel a distinct sense of violation and gaping grief. Those children are so innocent, so deserving of a right to live their lives, hold their place with their families, create their own legacies, and die of natural causes at a ripe old age. And those children could have been our children. There was nothing special about them; they were just sent to school that day like every child who is sent to school every day.
Here is how the politics goes: The Republicans will blame the Democrats and the Democrats will blame the Republicans. Is Rachel Maddow at fault, or is it Tucker Carlson? Social media accounts blamed both of them for the racially motivated mass murder in a Buffalo grocery store on May 14.
Mass murders were previously defined as a shooting where four or more victims are killed, excluding the shooter, in a public place that is not related to the commission of another crime. In 2012, the definition was changed to include events with three victims. This definition excludes gang violence and the murder of family members.
When it comes to explaining mass murder, the camps divide: They are the result of some combination of mental illness, easy access to firearms, and terrorism and hate. For psychiatry, there is a unique place in the argument – half of all mass shooters have exhibited signs or symptoms of psychiatric illness, and for those who want to deflect the issue away from issues related to the regulation of firearms, it becomes easy to blame “mental illness,” as though that explains it all. Either the gunman “snapped” in such a way that no one could have predicted, or the mental health system is at fault for not preventing it.
There are many ways to be emotionally disturbed; mental illness is only one of them, and there is no psychiatric diagnosis that includes the symptom of shooting strangers, or shooting children. The vast majority of people, including nearly all psychiatrists, will never know someone who perpetrates a mass shooting.
Take John Hinckley Jr., who shot President Ronald Reagan as a means to impress actress Jodie Foster. Sometimes these killings are motivated by delusional beliefs. But the planning and preparation that goes into most mass shootings involves a degree of organization and forethought that we don’t typically see in those with severe psychotic disorders.
The other psychological explanation that satisfies some of a nonmedical population is that these killers “just snap.” This, too, is a term that is not included in our diagnostic vocabulary, but it remains a way for some to explain that which can’t be explained. If mental illness, however, is the cause of mass murders, then more stringent gun control is unnecessary. Every state already has a mechanism to prevent those with criminal and specified psychiatric histories from buying legal firearms, and it may be inevitable that these screens are not perfect.
The next line of political thinking moves to the psychiatric “if only.” If only there were more state hospital beds and if only it were easier to compel people with psychiatric disorders to get treatment against their will, then we could eliminate these crimes. The Virginia tech shooter was mandated to get outpatient psychiatric treatment after a brief hospitalization, yet he never went and there was no mechanism in place to track him.
In cases where a person with a psychotic illness has a history of repeated violent episodes after stopping medications, it does make sense to mandate treatment, not because they are likely to shoot strangers, but because some people do become violent when they are ill and mental illness is believed to play a role in 10% of murders.
Mass murders remain rare, and while advocates for legislation that would make it easier to mandate involuntary care have cited violence prevention as a reason, it is hard to imagine that we would force people to get care because they “might” commit such a crime – unless there was convincing evidence that someone was at risk of committing such a heinous act.
For those who oppose stronger gun control laws, the “what if” may circulate around the need for even more firearms. What if teachers carried guns? What if schools were more heavily policed? What if the criminals were made to be afraid?
We are left with the fact that other countries do not see these numbers of mass shooting events, yet mental illness is ubiquitous. While the presence of psychiatric disorders does little to explain school shootings, we still have no understanding of what motivated the Sandy Hook killer, and it remains to be seen what we will come to understand about the gunman in Uvalde, Texas.
Mental illness is not unique to the United States; however, the number of available firearms is. In a country of 323 million people (including children and people who live in institutions where they have no access to firearms), there are estimated to be over 400 million guns in the United States, 98% of which are owned by civilians.
Hate crimes and terrorism are another explanation for mass murders. In these instances, the gunman makes his motive obvious: There are social media announcements, or the site of the shooting is a synagogue, a mosque, or a location where the victims are of a specific race or religion. But hate may come out of a psychotic illness, and easy access to firearms allows for these crimes to continue.
Firearms are now the No. 1 cause of mortality in children. Very few of these deaths are the result of mass murders. Many more are from accidental deaths, targeted crime, or suicide. Still, school shootings rip at our hearts. Neither the victims nor their grieving families have any role in the act, and suffering leaves its mark on families, communities, and all of us.
Are there answers?
In many states, physicians can now request emergency removal of firearms from the home of someone who is both mentally ill and threatening either suicide or homicide. During the era when high-capacity firearms were banned, from 1994 to 2004, mass murders decreased in our country. While most gunmen use legal firearms they have purchased, I would contend that “smart guns” – firearms that allow only the legal owner to operate them based on biometrics – would prevent some mass shootings and many accidents, crimes, and suicides. Universal background checks and tracking gun purchases in the way we monitor controlled medications, or even Sudafed, might allow authorities to predict who might be at risk of committing these heinous acts.
In his newly released book, Trigger Points: Inside the Mission to Stop Mass Murders in America, journalist Mark Follman argues for a proactive community approach using threat assessment methods and providing wraparound services to those who are deemed to be at risk for violent acts. Mr. Follman’s voice is one of the few out there saying that these events are not random and are, in fact, preventable.
In psychiatry, we struggle with school shootings such as the one we just saw in Uvalde. Our own hearts ache as we hold our children close and empathize with the loss of strangers who have been through the unthinkable. We help our patients as they process their emotions. And we wonder whether any of our patients might ever do anything so horrific. The feelings get complicated, the sadness and anger intermingle while the frustration builds, and we are left with our fears and the hope that if that very rare person were to walk through our office door, we would know what to do.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Lost keys, missed appointments: The struggle of treating executive dysfunction
Maybe you know some of these patients: They may come late or not show up at all. They may have little to say and minimize their difficulties, often because they are ashamed of how much effort it takes to meet ordinary obligations. They may struggle to complete assignments, fail classes, or lose jobs. And being in the right place at the right time can feel monumental to them: They forget appointments, double book themselves, or sometimes sleep through important events.
It’s not just appointments. They lose their keys and valuables, forget to pay bills, and may not answer calls, texts, or emails. Their voicemail may be full and people are often frustrated with them. These are all characteristics of executive dysfunction, which together can make the routine responsibilities of life very difficult.
Treatments include stimulants, and because of their potential for abuse, these medications are more strictly regulated when it comes to prescribing. The FDA does not allow them to be phoned into a pharmacy or refills to be added to prescriptions. Patients must wait until right before they are due to run out to get the next prescription, and this can present a problem if the patient travels or takes long vacations.
And although it is not the patient’s fault that stimulants can’t be ordered with refills, this adds to the burden of treating patients who take them. It’s hard to imagine that these restrictions on stimulants and opiates (but not on benzodiazepines) do much to deter abuse or diversion.
I trained at a time when ADD and ADHD were disorders of childhood, and as an adult psychiatrist, I was not exposed to patients on these medications. Occasionally, a stimulant was prescribed in a low dose to help activate a very depressed patient, but it was thought that children outgrow issues of attention and focus, and I have never felt fully confident in the more nuanced use of these medications with adults. Most of the patients I now treat with ADD have come to me on stable doses of the medications or at least with a history that directs care.
With others, the tip-off to look for the disorder is their disorganization in the absence of a substance use or active mood disorder. Medications help, sometimes remarkably, yet patients still struggle with organization and planning, and sometimes I find myself frustrated when patients forget their appointments or the issues around prescribing stimulants become time-consuming.
David W. Goodman, MD, director of the Adult Attention Deficit Center of Maryland, Lutherville, currently treats hundreds of patients with ADD and has written and spoken extensively about treating this disorder in adults.
“There are three things that make it difficult to manage patients with ADD,” Dr. Goodman noted, referring specifically to administrative issues. “You can’t write for refills, but with e-prescribing you can write a sequence of prescriptions with ‘fill-after’ dates. Or some patients are able to get a 90-day supply from mail-order pharmacies. Still, it’s a hassle if the patient moves around, as college students often do, and there are inventory shortages when some pharmacies can’t get the medications.”
“The second issue,” he adds, “is that it’s the nature of this disorder that patients struggle with organizational issues. Yelling at someone with ADD to pay attention is like yelling at a blind person not to run into furniture when they are in a new room. They go through life with people being impatient that they can’t do the things an ordinary person can do easily.”
Finally, Dr. Goodman noted that the clinicians who treat patients with ADD may have counter-transference issues.
“You have to understand that this is a disability and be sympathetic to it. They often have comorbid disorders, including personality disorders, and this can all bleed over to cause frustrations in their care. Psychiatrists who treat patients with ADD need to know they can deal with them compassionately.”
“I am occasionally contacted by patients who already have an ADHD diagnosis and are on stimulants, and who seem like they just want to get their prescriptions filled and aren’t interested in working on their issues,” says Douglas Beech, MD, a psychiatrist in private practice in Worthington, Ohio. “The doctor in this situation can feel like they are functioning as a sort of drug dealer. There are logistical matters that are structurally inherent in trying to assist these patients, from both a regulatory perspective and from a functional perspective. Dr. Beech feels that it’s helpful to acknowledge these issues when seeing patients with ADHD, so that he is prepared when problems do arise.
“It can almost feel cruel to charge a patient for a “no-show,” when difficulty keeping appointments may be a symptom of their illness, Dr. Beech adds. But he does believe it’s important to apply any fee policy equitably to all patients. “I don’t apply the ‘missed appointment’ policy differently to a person with an ADHD diagnosis versus any other diagnosis.” Though for their first missed appointment, he does give patients a “mulligan.”
“I don’t charge, but it puts both patient and doctor on notice,” he says.
And when his patients do miss an appointment, he offers to send a reminder for the next time, which is he says is effective. “With electronic messaging, this is a quick and easy way to prevent missed appointments and the complications that arise with prescriptions and rescheduling,” says Dr. Beech.
Dr. Goodman speaks about manging a large caseload of patients, many of whom have organizational issues.
“I have a full-time office manager who handles a lot of the logistics of scheduling and prescribing. Patients are sent multiple reminders, and I charge a nominal administrative fee if prescriptions need to be sent outside of appointments. This is not to make money, but to encourage patients to consider the administrative time.”
“I charge for appointments that are not canceled 48 hours in advance, and for patients who have missed appointments, a credit card is kept on file,” he says.
In a practice similar to Dr. Beech, Dr. Goodman notes that he shows some flexibility for new patients when they miss an appointment the first time. “By the second time, they know this is the policy. Having ADHD can be financially costly.”
He notes that about 10% of his patients, roughly one a day, cancel late or don’t show up for scheduled appointments: “We keep a waitlist, and if someone cancels before the appointment, we can often fill the time with another patient in need on our waitlist.”
Dr. Goodman noted repeatedly that the clinician needs to be able to empathize with the patient’s condition and how they suffer. “This is not something people choose to have. The trap is that people think that if you’re successful you can’t have ADHD, and that’s not true. Often people with this condition work harder, are brighter, and find ways to compensate.”
If a practice is set up to accommodate the needs of patients with attention and organizational issues, treating them can be very gratifying. In settings without administrative support, the psychiatrist needs to stay cognizant of this invisible disability and the frustration that may come with this disorder, not just for the patient, but also for the family, friends, and employers, and even for the psychiatrist.
Dr. Dinah Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins, Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Maybe you know some of these patients: They may come late or not show up at all. They may have little to say and minimize their difficulties, often because they are ashamed of how much effort it takes to meet ordinary obligations. They may struggle to complete assignments, fail classes, or lose jobs. And being in the right place at the right time can feel monumental to them: They forget appointments, double book themselves, or sometimes sleep through important events.
It’s not just appointments. They lose their keys and valuables, forget to pay bills, and may not answer calls, texts, or emails. Their voicemail may be full and people are often frustrated with them. These are all characteristics of executive dysfunction, which together can make the routine responsibilities of life very difficult.
Treatments include stimulants, and because of their potential for abuse, these medications are more strictly regulated when it comes to prescribing. The FDA does not allow them to be phoned into a pharmacy or refills to be added to prescriptions. Patients must wait until right before they are due to run out to get the next prescription, and this can present a problem if the patient travels or takes long vacations.
And although it is not the patient’s fault that stimulants can’t be ordered with refills, this adds to the burden of treating patients who take them. It’s hard to imagine that these restrictions on stimulants and opiates (but not on benzodiazepines) do much to deter abuse or diversion.
I trained at a time when ADD and ADHD were disorders of childhood, and as an adult psychiatrist, I was not exposed to patients on these medications. Occasionally, a stimulant was prescribed in a low dose to help activate a very depressed patient, but it was thought that children outgrow issues of attention and focus, and I have never felt fully confident in the more nuanced use of these medications with adults. Most of the patients I now treat with ADD have come to me on stable doses of the medications or at least with a history that directs care.
With others, the tip-off to look for the disorder is their disorganization in the absence of a substance use or active mood disorder. Medications help, sometimes remarkably, yet patients still struggle with organization and planning, and sometimes I find myself frustrated when patients forget their appointments or the issues around prescribing stimulants become time-consuming.
David W. Goodman, MD, director of the Adult Attention Deficit Center of Maryland, Lutherville, currently treats hundreds of patients with ADD and has written and spoken extensively about treating this disorder in adults.
“There are three things that make it difficult to manage patients with ADD,” Dr. Goodman noted, referring specifically to administrative issues. “You can’t write for refills, but with e-prescribing you can write a sequence of prescriptions with ‘fill-after’ dates. Or some patients are able to get a 90-day supply from mail-order pharmacies. Still, it’s a hassle if the patient moves around, as college students often do, and there are inventory shortages when some pharmacies can’t get the medications.”
“The second issue,” he adds, “is that it’s the nature of this disorder that patients struggle with organizational issues. Yelling at someone with ADD to pay attention is like yelling at a blind person not to run into furniture when they are in a new room. They go through life with people being impatient that they can’t do the things an ordinary person can do easily.”
Finally, Dr. Goodman noted that the clinicians who treat patients with ADD may have counter-transference issues.
“You have to understand that this is a disability and be sympathetic to it. They often have comorbid disorders, including personality disorders, and this can all bleed over to cause frustrations in their care. Psychiatrists who treat patients with ADD need to know they can deal with them compassionately.”
“I am occasionally contacted by patients who already have an ADHD diagnosis and are on stimulants, and who seem like they just want to get their prescriptions filled and aren’t interested in working on their issues,” says Douglas Beech, MD, a psychiatrist in private practice in Worthington, Ohio. “The doctor in this situation can feel like they are functioning as a sort of drug dealer. There are logistical matters that are structurally inherent in trying to assist these patients, from both a regulatory perspective and from a functional perspective. Dr. Beech feels that it’s helpful to acknowledge these issues when seeing patients with ADHD, so that he is prepared when problems do arise.
“It can almost feel cruel to charge a patient for a “no-show,” when difficulty keeping appointments may be a symptom of their illness, Dr. Beech adds. But he does believe it’s important to apply any fee policy equitably to all patients. “I don’t apply the ‘missed appointment’ policy differently to a person with an ADHD diagnosis versus any other diagnosis.” Though for their first missed appointment, he does give patients a “mulligan.”
“I don’t charge, but it puts both patient and doctor on notice,” he says.
And when his patients do miss an appointment, he offers to send a reminder for the next time, which is he says is effective. “With electronic messaging, this is a quick and easy way to prevent missed appointments and the complications that arise with prescriptions and rescheduling,” says Dr. Beech.
Dr. Goodman speaks about manging a large caseload of patients, many of whom have organizational issues.
“I have a full-time office manager who handles a lot of the logistics of scheduling and prescribing. Patients are sent multiple reminders, and I charge a nominal administrative fee if prescriptions need to be sent outside of appointments. This is not to make money, but to encourage patients to consider the administrative time.”
“I charge for appointments that are not canceled 48 hours in advance, and for patients who have missed appointments, a credit card is kept on file,” he says.
In a practice similar to Dr. Beech, Dr. Goodman notes that he shows some flexibility for new patients when they miss an appointment the first time. “By the second time, they know this is the policy. Having ADHD can be financially costly.”
He notes that about 10% of his patients, roughly one a day, cancel late or don’t show up for scheduled appointments: “We keep a waitlist, and if someone cancels before the appointment, we can often fill the time with another patient in need on our waitlist.”
Dr. Goodman noted repeatedly that the clinician needs to be able to empathize with the patient’s condition and how they suffer. “This is not something people choose to have. The trap is that people think that if you’re successful you can’t have ADHD, and that’s not true. Often people with this condition work harder, are brighter, and find ways to compensate.”
If a practice is set up to accommodate the needs of patients with attention and organizational issues, treating them can be very gratifying. In settings without administrative support, the psychiatrist needs to stay cognizant of this invisible disability and the frustration that may come with this disorder, not just for the patient, but also for the family, friends, and employers, and even for the psychiatrist.
Dr. Dinah Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins, Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Maybe you know some of these patients: They may come late or not show up at all. They may have little to say and minimize their difficulties, often because they are ashamed of how much effort it takes to meet ordinary obligations. They may struggle to complete assignments, fail classes, or lose jobs. And being in the right place at the right time can feel monumental to them: They forget appointments, double book themselves, or sometimes sleep through important events.
It’s not just appointments. They lose their keys and valuables, forget to pay bills, and may not answer calls, texts, or emails. Their voicemail may be full and people are often frustrated with them. These are all characteristics of executive dysfunction, which together can make the routine responsibilities of life very difficult.
Treatments include stimulants, and because of their potential for abuse, these medications are more strictly regulated when it comes to prescribing. The FDA does not allow them to be phoned into a pharmacy or refills to be added to prescriptions. Patients must wait until right before they are due to run out to get the next prescription, and this can present a problem if the patient travels or takes long vacations.
And although it is not the patient’s fault that stimulants can’t be ordered with refills, this adds to the burden of treating patients who take them. It’s hard to imagine that these restrictions on stimulants and opiates (but not on benzodiazepines) do much to deter abuse or diversion.
I trained at a time when ADD and ADHD were disorders of childhood, and as an adult psychiatrist, I was not exposed to patients on these medications. Occasionally, a stimulant was prescribed in a low dose to help activate a very depressed patient, but it was thought that children outgrow issues of attention and focus, and I have never felt fully confident in the more nuanced use of these medications with adults. Most of the patients I now treat with ADD have come to me on stable doses of the medications or at least with a history that directs care.
With others, the tip-off to look for the disorder is their disorganization in the absence of a substance use or active mood disorder. Medications help, sometimes remarkably, yet patients still struggle with organization and planning, and sometimes I find myself frustrated when patients forget their appointments or the issues around prescribing stimulants become time-consuming.
David W. Goodman, MD, director of the Adult Attention Deficit Center of Maryland, Lutherville, currently treats hundreds of patients with ADD and has written and spoken extensively about treating this disorder in adults.
“There are three things that make it difficult to manage patients with ADD,” Dr. Goodman noted, referring specifically to administrative issues. “You can’t write for refills, but with e-prescribing you can write a sequence of prescriptions with ‘fill-after’ dates. Or some patients are able to get a 90-day supply from mail-order pharmacies. Still, it’s a hassle if the patient moves around, as college students often do, and there are inventory shortages when some pharmacies can’t get the medications.”
“The second issue,” he adds, “is that it’s the nature of this disorder that patients struggle with organizational issues. Yelling at someone with ADD to pay attention is like yelling at a blind person not to run into furniture when they are in a new room. They go through life with people being impatient that they can’t do the things an ordinary person can do easily.”
Finally, Dr. Goodman noted that the clinicians who treat patients with ADD may have counter-transference issues.
“You have to understand that this is a disability and be sympathetic to it. They often have comorbid disorders, including personality disorders, and this can all bleed over to cause frustrations in their care. Psychiatrists who treat patients with ADD need to know they can deal with them compassionately.”
“I am occasionally contacted by patients who already have an ADHD diagnosis and are on stimulants, and who seem like they just want to get their prescriptions filled and aren’t interested in working on their issues,” says Douglas Beech, MD, a psychiatrist in private practice in Worthington, Ohio. “The doctor in this situation can feel like they are functioning as a sort of drug dealer. There are logistical matters that are structurally inherent in trying to assist these patients, from both a regulatory perspective and from a functional perspective. Dr. Beech feels that it’s helpful to acknowledge these issues when seeing patients with ADHD, so that he is prepared when problems do arise.
“It can almost feel cruel to charge a patient for a “no-show,” when difficulty keeping appointments may be a symptom of their illness, Dr. Beech adds. But he does believe it’s important to apply any fee policy equitably to all patients. “I don’t apply the ‘missed appointment’ policy differently to a person with an ADHD diagnosis versus any other diagnosis.” Though for their first missed appointment, he does give patients a “mulligan.”
“I don’t charge, but it puts both patient and doctor on notice,” he says.
And when his patients do miss an appointment, he offers to send a reminder for the next time, which is he says is effective. “With electronic messaging, this is a quick and easy way to prevent missed appointments and the complications that arise with prescriptions and rescheduling,” says Dr. Beech.
Dr. Goodman speaks about manging a large caseload of patients, many of whom have organizational issues.
“I have a full-time office manager who handles a lot of the logistics of scheduling and prescribing. Patients are sent multiple reminders, and I charge a nominal administrative fee if prescriptions need to be sent outside of appointments. This is not to make money, but to encourage patients to consider the administrative time.”
“I charge for appointments that are not canceled 48 hours in advance, and for patients who have missed appointments, a credit card is kept on file,” he says.
In a practice similar to Dr. Beech, Dr. Goodman notes that he shows some flexibility for new patients when they miss an appointment the first time. “By the second time, they know this is the policy. Having ADHD can be financially costly.”
He notes that about 10% of his patients, roughly one a day, cancel late or don’t show up for scheduled appointments: “We keep a waitlist, and if someone cancels before the appointment, we can often fill the time with another patient in need on our waitlist.”
Dr. Goodman noted repeatedly that the clinician needs to be able to empathize with the patient’s condition and how they suffer. “This is not something people choose to have. The trap is that people think that if you’re successful you can’t have ADHD, and that’s not true. Often people with this condition work harder, are brighter, and find ways to compensate.”
If a practice is set up to accommodate the needs of patients with attention and organizational issues, treating them can be very gratifying. In settings without administrative support, the psychiatrist needs to stay cognizant of this invisible disability and the frustration that may come with this disorder, not just for the patient, but also for the family, friends, and employers, and even for the psychiatrist.
Dr. Dinah Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins, Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Has the anti-benzodiazepine backlash gone too far?
When benzodiazepines were first introduced, they were greeted with enthusiasm. Librium came first, in 1960, followed by Valium in 1962, and they were seen as an improvement over barbiturates for the treatment of anxiety, insomnia, and seizures. From 1968 to 1982, Valium (diazepam) was the No. 1–selling U.S. pharmaceutical: 2.3 billion tablets of Valium were sold in 1978 alone. Valium was even the subject of a 1966 Rolling Stones hit, “Mother’s Little Helper.”
By the 1980s, it became apparent that there was a downside to these medications: patients became tolerant, dependent, and some became addicted to the medications. In older patients an association was noted with falls and cognitive impairment. And while safe in overdoses when they are the only agent, combined with alcohol or opioids, benzodiazepines can be lethal and have played a significant role in the current overdose crisis.
Because of the problems that are associated with their use, benzodiazepines and their relatives, the Z-drugs used for sleep, have become stigmatized, as have the patients who use them and perhaps even the doctors who prescribe them. Still, there are circumstances where patients find these medications to be helpful, where other medications don’t work, or don’t work quickly enough. They provide fast relief in conditions where there are not always good alternatives.
In the Facebook group, “Psychiatry for All Physicians,” it’s not uncommon for physicians to ask what to do with older patients who are transferred to them on therapeutic doses of benzodiazepines or zolpidem. These are outpatients coming for routine care, and they find the medications helpful and don’t want to discontinue them. They have tried other medications that were not helpful. I’ve been surprised at how often the respondents insist the patient should be told he must taper off the medication. “Just say no,” is often the advice, and perhaps it’s more about the doctor’s discomfort than it is about the individual patient. For sleep issues, cognitive-behavioral therapy is given as the gold-standard treatment, while in my practice I have found it difficult to motivate patients to engage in it, and of those who do, it is sometimes helpful, but not a panacea. Severe anxiety and sleepless nights, however, are not benign conditions.
This “just say no, hold the line” sentiment has me wondering if our pendulum has swung too far with respect to prescribing benzodiazepines. Is this just one more issue that has become strongly polarized? Certainly the literature would support that idea, with some physicians writing about how benzodiazepines are underused, and others urging avoidance.
I posted a poll on Twitter: Has the anti-benzo movement gone too far? In addition, I started a Twitter thread of my own thoughts about prescribing and deprescribing these medications and will give a synopsis of those ideas here.
Clearly, benzodiazepines are harmful to some patients, they have side effects, can be difficult to stop because of withdrawal symptoms, and they carry the risk of addiction. That’s not in question. Many medications, however, have the potential to do more harm than good, for example ibuprofen can cause bleeding or renal problems, and Fosamax, used to treat osteoporosis, can cause osteonecrosis of the jaw and femur, to name just two.
It would be so much easier if we could know in advance who benzodiazepines will harm, just as it would be good if we could know in advance who will get tardive dyskinesia or dyslipidemia from antipsychotic medications, or who will have life-threatening adverse reactions from cancer chemotherapy with no tumor response. There are risks to both starting and stopping sedatives, and if we insist a patient stop a medication because of potential risk, then we are cutting them off from being a partner in their own care. It also creates an adversarial relationship that can be draining for the doctor and upsetting for the patient.
By definition, if someone needs hospitalization for a psychiatric condition, their outpatient benzodiazepine is not keeping them stable and stopping it may be a good idea. If someone is seen in an ED for a fall, it’s common to blame the benzodiazepine, but older people who are not on these medications also fall and have memory problems. In his book, “Being Mortal: Illness, Medicine, and What Matters Most in the End” (New York: Picador, 2014), Atul Gawande, MD, makes the point that taking more than four prescriptions medications increases the risk for falls in the elderly. Still, no one is suggesting patients be taken off their antidepressants, antihypertensives, or blood thinners.
Finally, the question is not should we be giving benzodiazepines out without careful consideration – the answer is clearly no. Physicians don’t pass out benzodiazepines “like candy” for all the above reasons. They are initiated because the patient is suffering and sometimes desperate. Anxiety, panic, intractable insomnia, and severe agitation are all miserable, and alternative treatments may take weeks to work, or not work at all. Yet these subjective symptoms may be dismissed by physicians.
So what do I do in my own practice? I don’t encourage patients to take potentially addictive medications, but I do sometimes use them. I give ‘as needed’ benzodiazepines to people in distress who don’t have a history of misusing them. I never plan to start them as a permanent standing medication, though once in a while that ends up happening. As with other medications, it is best to use the minimally effective dose.
There is some controversy as to whether it is best to use anxiety medications on an “as-needed” basis or as a standing dosage. Psychiatrists who prescribe benzodiazepines more liberally often feel it’s better to give standing doses and prevent breakthrough anxiety. Patients may appear to be ‘medication seeking’ not because they are addicted, but because the doses used are too low to adequately treat their anxiety.
My hope is that there is less risk of tolerance, dependence, or addiction with less-frequent dosing, and I prescribe as-needed benzodiazepines for panic attacks, agitated major depression while we wait for the antidepressant to “kick in,” insomnia during manic episodes, and to people who get very anxious in specific situations such as flying or for medical procedures. I sometimes prescribe them for people with insomnia that does not respond to other treatments, or for disabling generalized anxiety.
For patients who have taken benzodiazepines for many years, I continue to discuss the risks, but often they are not looking to fix something that isn’t broken, or to live a risk-free life. A few of the patients who have come to me on low standing doses of sedatives are now in their 80’s, yet they remain active, live independently, drive, travel, and have busy social lives. One could argue either that the medications are working, or that the patient has become dependent on them and needs them to prevent withdrawal.
These medications present a quandary: by denying patients treatment with benzodiazepines, we are sparing some people addictions (this is good, we should be careful), but we are leaving some people to suffer. There is no perfect answer.
What I do know is that doctors should think carefully and consider the patient in front of them. “No Benzos Ever For Anyone” or “you must come off because there is risk and people will think I am a bad doctor for prescribing them to you” can be done by a robot.
So, yes, I think the pendulum has swung a bit too far; there is a place for these medications in acute treatment for those at low risk of addiction, and there are people who benefit from them over the long run. At times, they provide immense relief to someone who is really struggling.
So what was the result of my Twitter poll? Of the 219 voters, 34.2% voted: “No, the pendulum has not swung too far, and these medications are harmful”; 65.8% voted: “Yes, these medications are helpful.” There were many comments expressing a wide variety of sentiments. Of those who had taken prescription benzodiazepines, some felt they had been harmed and wished they had never been started on them, and others continue to find them helpful. Psychiatrists, it seems, see them from the vantage point of the populations they treat.
People who are uncomfortable search for answers, and those answers may come in the form of meditation or exercise, medicines, or illicit drugs. It’s interesting that these same patients can now easily obtain “medical” marijuana, and the Rolling Stones’ “Mother’s Little Helper” is often replaced by a gin and tonic.
Dr. Dinah Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
When benzodiazepines were first introduced, they were greeted with enthusiasm. Librium came first, in 1960, followed by Valium in 1962, and they were seen as an improvement over barbiturates for the treatment of anxiety, insomnia, and seizures. From 1968 to 1982, Valium (diazepam) was the No. 1–selling U.S. pharmaceutical: 2.3 billion tablets of Valium were sold in 1978 alone. Valium was even the subject of a 1966 Rolling Stones hit, “Mother’s Little Helper.”
By the 1980s, it became apparent that there was a downside to these medications: patients became tolerant, dependent, and some became addicted to the medications. In older patients an association was noted with falls and cognitive impairment. And while safe in overdoses when they are the only agent, combined with alcohol or opioids, benzodiazepines can be lethal and have played a significant role in the current overdose crisis.
Because of the problems that are associated with their use, benzodiazepines and their relatives, the Z-drugs used for sleep, have become stigmatized, as have the patients who use them and perhaps even the doctors who prescribe them. Still, there are circumstances where patients find these medications to be helpful, where other medications don’t work, or don’t work quickly enough. They provide fast relief in conditions where there are not always good alternatives.
In the Facebook group, “Psychiatry for All Physicians,” it’s not uncommon for physicians to ask what to do with older patients who are transferred to them on therapeutic doses of benzodiazepines or zolpidem. These are outpatients coming for routine care, and they find the medications helpful and don’t want to discontinue them. They have tried other medications that were not helpful. I’ve been surprised at how often the respondents insist the patient should be told he must taper off the medication. “Just say no,” is often the advice, and perhaps it’s more about the doctor’s discomfort than it is about the individual patient. For sleep issues, cognitive-behavioral therapy is given as the gold-standard treatment, while in my practice I have found it difficult to motivate patients to engage in it, and of those who do, it is sometimes helpful, but not a panacea. Severe anxiety and sleepless nights, however, are not benign conditions.
This “just say no, hold the line” sentiment has me wondering if our pendulum has swung too far with respect to prescribing benzodiazepines. Is this just one more issue that has become strongly polarized? Certainly the literature would support that idea, with some physicians writing about how benzodiazepines are underused, and others urging avoidance.
I posted a poll on Twitter: Has the anti-benzo movement gone too far? In addition, I started a Twitter thread of my own thoughts about prescribing and deprescribing these medications and will give a synopsis of those ideas here.
Clearly, benzodiazepines are harmful to some patients, they have side effects, can be difficult to stop because of withdrawal symptoms, and they carry the risk of addiction. That’s not in question. Many medications, however, have the potential to do more harm than good, for example ibuprofen can cause bleeding or renal problems, and Fosamax, used to treat osteoporosis, can cause osteonecrosis of the jaw and femur, to name just two.
It would be so much easier if we could know in advance who benzodiazepines will harm, just as it would be good if we could know in advance who will get tardive dyskinesia or dyslipidemia from antipsychotic medications, or who will have life-threatening adverse reactions from cancer chemotherapy with no tumor response. There are risks to both starting and stopping sedatives, and if we insist a patient stop a medication because of potential risk, then we are cutting them off from being a partner in their own care. It also creates an adversarial relationship that can be draining for the doctor and upsetting for the patient.
By definition, if someone needs hospitalization for a psychiatric condition, their outpatient benzodiazepine is not keeping them stable and stopping it may be a good idea. If someone is seen in an ED for a fall, it’s common to blame the benzodiazepine, but older people who are not on these medications also fall and have memory problems. In his book, “Being Mortal: Illness, Medicine, and What Matters Most in the End” (New York: Picador, 2014), Atul Gawande, MD, makes the point that taking more than four prescriptions medications increases the risk for falls in the elderly. Still, no one is suggesting patients be taken off their antidepressants, antihypertensives, or blood thinners.
Finally, the question is not should we be giving benzodiazepines out without careful consideration – the answer is clearly no. Physicians don’t pass out benzodiazepines “like candy” for all the above reasons. They are initiated because the patient is suffering and sometimes desperate. Anxiety, panic, intractable insomnia, and severe agitation are all miserable, and alternative treatments may take weeks to work, or not work at all. Yet these subjective symptoms may be dismissed by physicians.
So what do I do in my own practice? I don’t encourage patients to take potentially addictive medications, but I do sometimes use them. I give ‘as needed’ benzodiazepines to people in distress who don’t have a history of misusing them. I never plan to start them as a permanent standing medication, though once in a while that ends up happening. As with other medications, it is best to use the minimally effective dose.
There is some controversy as to whether it is best to use anxiety medications on an “as-needed” basis or as a standing dosage. Psychiatrists who prescribe benzodiazepines more liberally often feel it’s better to give standing doses and prevent breakthrough anxiety. Patients may appear to be ‘medication seeking’ not because they are addicted, but because the doses used are too low to adequately treat their anxiety.
My hope is that there is less risk of tolerance, dependence, or addiction with less-frequent dosing, and I prescribe as-needed benzodiazepines for panic attacks, agitated major depression while we wait for the antidepressant to “kick in,” insomnia during manic episodes, and to people who get very anxious in specific situations such as flying or for medical procedures. I sometimes prescribe them for people with insomnia that does not respond to other treatments, or for disabling generalized anxiety.
For patients who have taken benzodiazepines for many years, I continue to discuss the risks, but often they are not looking to fix something that isn’t broken, or to live a risk-free life. A few of the patients who have come to me on low standing doses of sedatives are now in their 80’s, yet they remain active, live independently, drive, travel, and have busy social lives. One could argue either that the medications are working, or that the patient has become dependent on them and needs them to prevent withdrawal.
These medications present a quandary: by denying patients treatment with benzodiazepines, we are sparing some people addictions (this is good, we should be careful), but we are leaving some people to suffer. There is no perfect answer.
What I do know is that doctors should think carefully and consider the patient in front of them. “No Benzos Ever For Anyone” or “you must come off because there is risk and people will think I am a bad doctor for prescribing them to you” can be done by a robot.
So, yes, I think the pendulum has swung a bit too far; there is a place for these medications in acute treatment for those at low risk of addiction, and there are people who benefit from them over the long run. At times, they provide immense relief to someone who is really struggling.
So what was the result of my Twitter poll? Of the 219 voters, 34.2% voted: “No, the pendulum has not swung too far, and these medications are harmful”; 65.8% voted: “Yes, these medications are helpful.” There were many comments expressing a wide variety of sentiments. Of those who had taken prescription benzodiazepines, some felt they had been harmed and wished they had never been started on them, and others continue to find them helpful. Psychiatrists, it seems, see them from the vantage point of the populations they treat.
People who are uncomfortable search for answers, and those answers may come in the form of meditation or exercise, medicines, or illicit drugs. It’s interesting that these same patients can now easily obtain “medical” marijuana, and the Rolling Stones’ “Mother’s Little Helper” is often replaced by a gin and tonic.
Dr. Dinah Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
When benzodiazepines were first introduced, they were greeted with enthusiasm. Librium came first, in 1960, followed by Valium in 1962, and they were seen as an improvement over barbiturates for the treatment of anxiety, insomnia, and seizures. From 1968 to 1982, Valium (diazepam) was the No. 1–selling U.S. pharmaceutical: 2.3 billion tablets of Valium were sold in 1978 alone. Valium was even the subject of a 1966 Rolling Stones hit, “Mother’s Little Helper.”
By the 1980s, it became apparent that there was a downside to these medications: patients became tolerant, dependent, and some became addicted to the medications. In older patients an association was noted with falls and cognitive impairment. And while safe in overdoses when they are the only agent, combined with alcohol or opioids, benzodiazepines can be lethal and have played a significant role in the current overdose crisis.
Because of the problems that are associated with their use, benzodiazepines and their relatives, the Z-drugs used for sleep, have become stigmatized, as have the patients who use them and perhaps even the doctors who prescribe them. Still, there are circumstances where patients find these medications to be helpful, where other medications don’t work, or don’t work quickly enough. They provide fast relief in conditions where there are not always good alternatives.
In the Facebook group, “Psychiatry for All Physicians,” it’s not uncommon for physicians to ask what to do with older patients who are transferred to them on therapeutic doses of benzodiazepines or zolpidem. These are outpatients coming for routine care, and they find the medications helpful and don’t want to discontinue them. They have tried other medications that were not helpful. I’ve been surprised at how often the respondents insist the patient should be told he must taper off the medication. “Just say no,” is often the advice, and perhaps it’s more about the doctor’s discomfort than it is about the individual patient. For sleep issues, cognitive-behavioral therapy is given as the gold-standard treatment, while in my practice I have found it difficult to motivate patients to engage in it, and of those who do, it is sometimes helpful, but not a panacea. Severe anxiety and sleepless nights, however, are not benign conditions.
This “just say no, hold the line” sentiment has me wondering if our pendulum has swung too far with respect to prescribing benzodiazepines. Is this just one more issue that has become strongly polarized? Certainly the literature would support that idea, with some physicians writing about how benzodiazepines are underused, and others urging avoidance.
I posted a poll on Twitter: Has the anti-benzo movement gone too far? In addition, I started a Twitter thread of my own thoughts about prescribing and deprescribing these medications and will give a synopsis of those ideas here.
Clearly, benzodiazepines are harmful to some patients, they have side effects, can be difficult to stop because of withdrawal symptoms, and they carry the risk of addiction. That’s not in question. Many medications, however, have the potential to do more harm than good, for example ibuprofen can cause bleeding or renal problems, and Fosamax, used to treat osteoporosis, can cause osteonecrosis of the jaw and femur, to name just two.
It would be so much easier if we could know in advance who benzodiazepines will harm, just as it would be good if we could know in advance who will get tardive dyskinesia or dyslipidemia from antipsychotic medications, or who will have life-threatening adverse reactions from cancer chemotherapy with no tumor response. There are risks to both starting and stopping sedatives, and if we insist a patient stop a medication because of potential risk, then we are cutting them off from being a partner in their own care. It also creates an adversarial relationship that can be draining for the doctor and upsetting for the patient.
By definition, if someone needs hospitalization for a psychiatric condition, their outpatient benzodiazepine is not keeping them stable and stopping it may be a good idea. If someone is seen in an ED for a fall, it’s common to blame the benzodiazepine, but older people who are not on these medications also fall and have memory problems. In his book, “Being Mortal: Illness, Medicine, and What Matters Most in the End” (New York: Picador, 2014), Atul Gawande, MD, makes the point that taking more than four prescriptions medications increases the risk for falls in the elderly. Still, no one is suggesting patients be taken off their antidepressants, antihypertensives, or blood thinners.
Finally, the question is not should we be giving benzodiazepines out without careful consideration – the answer is clearly no. Physicians don’t pass out benzodiazepines “like candy” for all the above reasons. They are initiated because the patient is suffering and sometimes desperate. Anxiety, panic, intractable insomnia, and severe agitation are all miserable, and alternative treatments may take weeks to work, or not work at all. Yet these subjective symptoms may be dismissed by physicians.
So what do I do in my own practice? I don’t encourage patients to take potentially addictive medications, but I do sometimes use them. I give ‘as needed’ benzodiazepines to people in distress who don’t have a history of misusing them. I never plan to start them as a permanent standing medication, though once in a while that ends up happening. As with other medications, it is best to use the minimally effective dose.
There is some controversy as to whether it is best to use anxiety medications on an “as-needed” basis or as a standing dosage. Psychiatrists who prescribe benzodiazepines more liberally often feel it’s better to give standing doses and prevent breakthrough anxiety. Patients may appear to be ‘medication seeking’ not because they are addicted, but because the doses used are too low to adequately treat their anxiety.
My hope is that there is less risk of tolerance, dependence, or addiction with less-frequent dosing, and I prescribe as-needed benzodiazepines for panic attacks, agitated major depression while we wait for the antidepressant to “kick in,” insomnia during manic episodes, and to people who get very anxious in specific situations such as flying or for medical procedures. I sometimes prescribe them for people with insomnia that does not respond to other treatments, or for disabling generalized anxiety.
For patients who have taken benzodiazepines for many years, I continue to discuss the risks, but often they are not looking to fix something that isn’t broken, or to live a risk-free life. A few of the patients who have come to me on low standing doses of sedatives are now in their 80’s, yet they remain active, live independently, drive, travel, and have busy social lives. One could argue either that the medications are working, or that the patient has become dependent on them and needs them to prevent withdrawal.
These medications present a quandary: by denying patients treatment with benzodiazepines, we are sparing some people addictions (this is good, we should be careful), but we are leaving some people to suffer. There is no perfect answer.
What I do know is that doctors should think carefully and consider the patient in front of them. “No Benzos Ever For Anyone” or “you must come off because there is risk and people will think I am a bad doctor for prescribing them to you” can be done by a robot.
So, yes, I think the pendulum has swung a bit too far; there is a place for these medications in acute treatment for those at low risk of addiction, and there are people who benefit from them over the long run. At times, they provide immense relief to someone who is really struggling.
So what was the result of my Twitter poll? Of the 219 voters, 34.2% voted: “No, the pendulum has not swung too far, and these medications are harmful”; 65.8% voted: “Yes, these medications are helpful.” There were many comments expressing a wide variety of sentiments. Of those who had taken prescription benzodiazepines, some felt they had been harmed and wished they had never been started on them, and others continue to find them helpful. Psychiatrists, it seems, see them from the vantage point of the populations they treat.
People who are uncomfortable search for answers, and those answers may come in the form of meditation or exercise, medicines, or illicit drugs. It’s interesting that these same patients can now easily obtain “medical” marijuana, and the Rolling Stones’ “Mother’s Little Helper” is often replaced by a gin and tonic.
Dr. Dinah Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
Microdosing psychedelics: Untapped potential in psychiatry?
In her month-long memoir, A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life (Knopf, 2017), author Ayelet Waldman turns herself into a one-woman experiment.
Over a single month she takes one-tenth of a recreational dose of LSD every third day. She plots her emotions, her productivity, and her pain along the way. Ms. Waldman obtains the LSD in a single vial, enough for 10 doses, from a researcher, who is retiring. What she’s looking for, she tells the reader, is a really good day – something that has been elusive in her turbulent life.
Although psychedelics remain illegal for both recreational and therapeutic use, they are increasingly being studied at academic centers, and there is hope that they will offer something that our traditional medications might not. However, these are not “micro” doses, but full doses of psychedelic agents that induce clinically-monitored “trips” in order to treat conditions such as depression, anorexia nervosa, or for smoking cessation, to name just a few.
Yet
Because these drugs are illegal under most circumstances, many of the studies involve surveys of users in their natural environments who are already microdosing in an uncontrolled manner. In a 2019 study published in PLOS One, Vince Polito and Richard Stevenson, from Macquarie University, Sydney, gave daily surveys of psychological functioning to 98 microdosers over 6 weeks. Several participants were excluded for using doses that were too high or for concurrent use of other illicit substances.
Whereas the authors found that many people claimed to have positive experiences, there was an increase in neuroticism in some of the subjects. There was no control group and no uniformity to what the subject claimed to be ingesting with regard to dose, frequency, substance, or verification of the chemical content.
University of Chicago neuroscientist Harriet De Wit, PhD, leads one of the few laboratories that conducts controlled, double-blind studies looking at microdosing LSD.
“With microdosing there are expectations, and we don’t know if it’s the expectation or the agent that is making a difference,” she explained. And when asked who in her experience is experimenting with microdosing psychedelics, she expounded “Everybody under the sun!”
Dr. De Wit notes that people microdose to increase their creativity, productivity, focus, and energy, to heighten their spiritual awareness, improve empathy and social relational skills, and to improve their mood – all purported benefits of low-dose psychedelics.
Her group published a study in Addiction Biology, in which 39 subjects were administered low doses of LSD four times over 2 weeks. To address the issues of expectation, the subjects were not told they were participating in a study of hallucinogens specifically but were instead given a list of pharmaceuticals in different classes that they might be given. Microdoses of LSD did not improve either mood or performance, but they did appear to be safe, and they produced no adverse effects.
To date, studies on microdosing have looked at their effects on healthy populations, and the practice has been associated with “Silicon Valley techies” looking for performance enhancement. Ms. Waldman, however, is different.
She is open about her diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and her long history with therapy and medications. As she describes herself in the beginning of her book, she is emotionally uncomfortable, and both irritable and reactive to the point that her life is propelled by interpersonal chaos. In her uncontrolled ‘study,’ she is an N of 1, and she is pleased with the results. Microdosing, she believes, helped her become less irritable, more resilient, and in fact, have some very good days.
By the end of her memoir, she was looking for a way to continue microdosing but was unsure how to safely obtain more LSD and be certain of its purity. Her experience does raise the possibility that microdoses may have therapeutic benefits in people with certain psychiatric conditions, but this has yet to be studied.
J. Raymond DePaulo Jr., MD, is the chair of the National Network of Depression Centers and a distinguished service professor at Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore. “Microdosing of psychedelics is very problematic for two equally serious reasons,” he cautioned. “There is no control over what it is that people are actually taking, it is completely unstudied scientifically, and there is no agreement on what a ‘micro’ dose is.”
He noted that one of his patients thought he was taking psilocybin. A chemical analysis was done that revealed the agent to contain a combination of THC, a stimulant, morphine, and fluoxetine. There wasn’t a trace of psilocybin. “Mislabeling is the rule, not the exception,” Dr. DePaulo has concluded.
He also believes the placebo effect has a powerful role with microdosing. “It’s not working because of what is in the pill, more likely it is working because of what is advertised to be in it.”
Ms. De Wit noted that when she started her study, she tried to find people who were elevated on measures of depression or anxiety, but she was not looking for a specific clinical population of patients with these clinical diagnoses. “We found a handful of people, and they improved, but so did those in the placebo group; they all got better.”
Psychedelic agents interact with antidepressants, so subjects in controlled studies need to go off their medications before enrolling – this is a limiting factor in studies of both macro- and microdosing. Ms. De Wit also notes that there are logistical and practical obstacles – it is difficult to get approval to use these agents, and the patients have to remain in the lab and be observed for several hours after they are administered, just as with standard doses.
As might be expected, data collection and anecdotal microdosing experiences are rampant on the internet. The social media forum Reddit alone boasts 192,000 members in its microdosing group, while Imperial College London invites microdosers to take part in surveys intended to add to the body of knowledge. But despite its popularity, there is little in the way of prospective, agent-verified, placebo-controlled research exploring whether or not microdosing is truly beneficial beyond just anecdotal evidence.
Perhaps microdosing is a fad, or perhaps it offers some benefits to some people. Given the current interest in the therapeutic uses of psychedelics, it would be useful to have controlled studies of lower doses that don’t carry the risk of “bad trips.”
Certainly, psychiatry could use more agents to address mental health issues, and society might benefit from the use of agents that are proven to be evidence-based options for improving creativity and productivity. Anything that has potential to reduce psychiatric suffering seems worthy of further study to delineate which populations could be helped or harmed.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
In her month-long memoir, A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life (Knopf, 2017), author Ayelet Waldman turns herself into a one-woman experiment.
Over a single month she takes one-tenth of a recreational dose of LSD every third day. She plots her emotions, her productivity, and her pain along the way. Ms. Waldman obtains the LSD in a single vial, enough for 10 doses, from a researcher, who is retiring. What she’s looking for, she tells the reader, is a really good day – something that has been elusive in her turbulent life.
Although psychedelics remain illegal for both recreational and therapeutic use, they are increasingly being studied at academic centers, and there is hope that they will offer something that our traditional medications might not. However, these are not “micro” doses, but full doses of psychedelic agents that induce clinically-monitored “trips” in order to treat conditions such as depression, anorexia nervosa, or for smoking cessation, to name just a few.
Yet
Because these drugs are illegal under most circumstances, many of the studies involve surveys of users in their natural environments who are already microdosing in an uncontrolled manner. In a 2019 study published in PLOS One, Vince Polito and Richard Stevenson, from Macquarie University, Sydney, gave daily surveys of psychological functioning to 98 microdosers over 6 weeks. Several participants were excluded for using doses that were too high or for concurrent use of other illicit substances.
Whereas the authors found that many people claimed to have positive experiences, there was an increase in neuroticism in some of the subjects. There was no control group and no uniformity to what the subject claimed to be ingesting with regard to dose, frequency, substance, or verification of the chemical content.
University of Chicago neuroscientist Harriet De Wit, PhD, leads one of the few laboratories that conducts controlled, double-blind studies looking at microdosing LSD.
“With microdosing there are expectations, and we don’t know if it’s the expectation or the agent that is making a difference,” she explained. And when asked who in her experience is experimenting with microdosing psychedelics, she expounded “Everybody under the sun!”
Dr. De Wit notes that people microdose to increase their creativity, productivity, focus, and energy, to heighten their spiritual awareness, improve empathy and social relational skills, and to improve their mood – all purported benefits of low-dose psychedelics.
Her group published a study in Addiction Biology, in which 39 subjects were administered low doses of LSD four times over 2 weeks. To address the issues of expectation, the subjects were not told they were participating in a study of hallucinogens specifically but were instead given a list of pharmaceuticals in different classes that they might be given. Microdoses of LSD did not improve either mood or performance, but they did appear to be safe, and they produced no adverse effects.
To date, studies on microdosing have looked at their effects on healthy populations, and the practice has been associated with “Silicon Valley techies” looking for performance enhancement. Ms. Waldman, however, is different.
She is open about her diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and her long history with therapy and medications. As she describes herself in the beginning of her book, she is emotionally uncomfortable, and both irritable and reactive to the point that her life is propelled by interpersonal chaos. In her uncontrolled ‘study,’ she is an N of 1, and she is pleased with the results. Microdosing, she believes, helped her become less irritable, more resilient, and in fact, have some very good days.
By the end of her memoir, she was looking for a way to continue microdosing but was unsure how to safely obtain more LSD and be certain of its purity. Her experience does raise the possibility that microdoses may have therapeutic benefits in people with certain psychiatric conditions, but this has yet to be studied.
J. Raymond DePaulo Jr., MD, is the chair of the National Network of Depression Centers and a distinguished service professor at Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore. “Microdosing of psychedelics is very problematic for two equally serious reasons,” he cautioned. “There is no control over what it is that people are actually taking, it is completely unstudied scientifically, and there is no agreement on what a ‘micro’ dose is.”
He noted that one of his patients thought he was taking psilocybin. A chemical analysis was done that revealed the agent to contain a combination of THC, a stimulant, morphine, and fluoxetine. There wasn’t a trace of psilocybin. “Mislabeling is the rule, not the exception,” Dr. DePaulo has concluded.
He also believes the placebo effect has a powerful role with microdosing. “It’s not working because of what is in the pill, more likely it is working because of what is advertised to be in it.”
Ms. De Wit noted that when she started her study, she tried to find people who were elevated on measures of depression or anxiety, but she was not looking for a specific clinical population of patients with these clinical diagnoses. “We found a handful of people, and they improved, but so did those in the placebo group; they all got better.”
Psychedelic agents interact with antidepressants, so subjects in controlled studies need to go off their medications before enrolling – this is a limiting factor in studies of both macro- and microdosing. Ms. De Wit also notes that there are logistical and practical obstacles – it is difficult to get approval to use these agents, and the patients have to remain in the lab and be observed for several hours after they are administered, just as with standard doses.
As might be expected, data collection and anecdotal microdosing experiences are rampant on the internet. The social media forum Reddit alone boasts 192,000 members in its microdosing group, while Imperial College London invites microdosers to take part in surveys intended to add to the body of knowledge. But despite its popularity, there is little in the way of prospective, agent-verified, placebo-controlled research exploring whether or not microdosing is truly beneficial beyond just anecdotal evidence.
Perhaps microdosing is a fad, or perhaps it offers some benefits to some people. Given the current interest in the therapeutic uses of psychedelics, it would be useful to have controlled studies of lower doses that don’t carry the risk of “bad trips.”
Certainly, psychiatry could use more agents to address mental health issues, and society might benefit from the use of agents that are proven to be evidence-based options for improving creativity and productivity. Anything that has potential to reduce psychiatric suffering seems worthy of further study to delineate which populations could be helped or harmed.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
In her month-long memoir, A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life (Knopf, 2017), author Ayelet Waldman turns herself into a one-woman experiment.
Over a single month she takes one-tenth of a recreational dose of LSD every third day. She plots her emotions, her productivity, and her pain along the way. Ms. Waldman obtains the LSD in a single vial, enough for 10 doses, from a researcher, who is retiring. What she’s looking for, she tells the reader, is a really good day – something that has been elusive in her turbulent life.
Although psychedelics remain illegal for both recreational and therapeutic use, they are increasingly being studied at academic centers, and there is hope that they will offer something that our traditional medications might not. However, these are not “micro” doses, but full doses of psychedelic agents that induce clinically-monitored “trips” in order to treat conditions such as depression, anorexia nervosa, or for smoking cessation, to name just a few.
Yet
Because these drugs are illegal under most circumstances, many of the studies involve surveys of users in their natural environments who are already microdosing in an uncontrolled manner. In a 2019 study published in PLOS One, Vince Polito and Richard Stevenson, from Macquarie University, Sydney, gave daily surveys of psychological functioning to 98 microdosers over 6 weeks. Several participants were excluded for using doses that were too high or for concurrent use of other illicit substances.
Whereas the authors found that many people claimed to have positive experiences, there was an increase in neuroticism in some of the subjects. There was no control group and no uniformity to what the subject claimed to be ingesting with regard to dose, frequency, substance, or verification of the chemical content.
University of Chicago neuroscientist Harriet De Wit, PhD, leads one of the few laboratories that conducts controlled, double-blind studies looking at microdosing LSD.
“With microdosing there are expectations, and we don’t know if it’s the expectation or the agent that is making a difference,” she explained. And when asked who in her experience is experimenting with microdosing psychedelics, she expounded “Everybody under the sun!”
Dr. De Wit notes that people microdose to increase their creativity, productivity, focus, and energy, to heighten their spiritual awareness, improve empathy and social relational skills, and to improve their mood – all purported benefits of low-dose psychedelics.
Her group published a study in Addiction Biology, in which 39 subjects were administered low doses of LSD four times over 2 weeks. To address the issues of expectation, the subjects were not told they were participating in a study of hallucinogens specifically but were instead given a list of pharmaceuticals in different classes that they might be given. Microdoses of LSD did not improve either mood or performance, but they did appear to be safe, and they produced no adverse effects.
To date, studies on microdosing have looked at their effects on healthy populations, and the practice has been associated with “Silicon Valley techies” looking for performance enhancement. Ms. Waldman, however, is different.
She is open about her diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and her long history with therapy and medications. As she describes herself in the beginning of her book, she is emotionally uncomfortable, and both irritable and reactive to the point that her life is propelled by interpersonal chaos. In her uncontrolled ‘study,’ she is an N of 1, and she is pleased with the results. Microdosing, she believes, helped her become less irritable, more resilient, and in fact, have some very good days.
By the end of her memoir, she was looking for a way to continue microdosing but was unsure how to safely obtain more LSD and be certain of its purity. Her experience does raise the possibility that microdoses may have therapeutic benefits in people with certain psychiatric conditions, but this has yet to be studied.
J. Raymond DePaulo Jr., MD, is the chair of the National Network of Depression Centers and a distinguished service professor at Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore. “Microdosing of psychedelics is very problematic for two equally serious reasons,” he cautioned. “There is no control over what it is that people are actually taking, it is completely unstudied scientifically, and there is no agreement on what a ‘micro’ dose is.”
He noted that one of his patients thought he was taking psilocybin. A chemical analysis was done that revealed the agent to contain a combination of THC, a stimulant, morphine, and fluoxetine. There wasn’t a trace of psilocybin. “Mislabeling is the rule, not the exception,” Dr. DePaulo has concluded.
He also believes the placebo effect has a powerful role with microdosing. “It’s not working because of what is in the pill, more likely it is working because of what is advertised to be in it.”
Ms. De Wit noted that when she started her study, she tried to find people who were elevated on measures of depression or anxiety, but she was not looking for a specific clinical population of patients with these clinical diagnoses. “We found a handful of people, and they improved, but so did those in the placebo group; they all got better.”
Psychedelic agents interact with antidepressants, so subjects in controlled studies need to go off their medications before enrolling – this is a limiting factor in studies of both macro- and microdosing. Ms. De Wit also notes that there are logistical and practical obstacles – it is difficult to get approval to use these agents, and the patients have to remain in the lab and be observed for several hours after they are administered, just as with standard doses.
As might be expected, data collection and anecdotal microdosing experiences are rampant on the internet. The social media forum Reddit alone boasts 192,000 members in its microdosing group, while Imperial College London invites microdosers to take part in surveys intended to add to the body of knowledge. But despite its popularity, there is little in the way of prospective, agent-verified, placebo-controlled research exploring whether or not microdosing is truly beneficial beyond just anecdotal evidence.
Perhaps microdosing is a fad, or perhaps it offers some benefits to some people. Given the current interest in the therapeutic uses of psychedelics, it would be useful to have controlled studies of lower doses that don’t carry the risk of “bad trips.”
Certainly, psychiatry could use more agents to address mental health issues, and society might benefit from the use of agents that are proven to be evidence-based options for improving creativity and productivity. Anything that has potential to reduce psychiatric suffering seems worthy of further study to delineate which populations could be helped or harmed.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Practicing across state lines: A challenge for telemental health
I was taught to think clinically first and legally second. There are moments when following every regulation is clearly detrimental to the well-being of both the patient and the medical community at large, and these challenges have been highlighted by issues with telemental health during the pandemic.
A friend emailed me with a problem: He has a son who is a traveling nurse and is currently in psychotherapy. The therapist has, in accordance with licensing requirements, told his son that she can not see him when assignments take him to any state where she is not licensed. The patient needs to physically be in the same state where the clinician holds a license, technically for every appointment. The nursing assignments last for 3 months and he will be going to a variety of states. Does he really need to get a new therapist every 90 days?
The logistics seem mind-boggling in a time when there is a shortage of mental health professionals, and there are often long wait lists to get care. And even if it was all easy, I’ll point out that working with a therapist is a bit different then going to an urgent care center to have sutures removed or to obtain antibiotics for strep throat: The relationship is not easily interchangeable, and I know of no one who would think it clinically optimal for anyone to change psychotherapists every 3 months. The traveling nurse does not just need to find a “provider” in each state, he needs to find one he is comfortable with and he will have to spend several sessions relaying his history and forming a new therapeutic alliance. And given the ambiguities of psychotherapy, he would optimally see therapists who do not make conflicting interpretations or recommendations. Mind-boggling. And while none of us are irreplaceable, it feels heartless to tell someone who is traveling to provide medical care to others during a pandemic that they can’t have mental health care when our technology would allow for it.
In the “old days” it was simpler: Patients came to the office and both the patient and the clinician were physically located in the same state, even if the patient resided in another state and commuted hours to the appointment. Telemental health was done in select rural areas or in military settings, and most physicians did not consider the option for video visits, much less full video treatment. For the average practitioner, issues of location were not relevant. The exception was for college students who might reside in one state and see a psychiatrist or therapist in another, but typically everyone was comfortable taking a break from therapy when the patient could not meet with the therapist in person. If psychiatrists were having phone or video sessions with out-of-state patients on an occasional basis, it may have been because there was less scrutiny and it was less obvious that this was not permitted.
When the pandemic forced treatment to go online, the issues changed. At the beginning, issues related to state licensing were waived. Now each state has a different requirement with regard to out-of-state physicians; some allow their residents to be seen, while others require the physician to get licensed in their state and the process may or may not be costly or arduous for the provider. The regulations change frequently, and can be quite confusing to follow. Since psychiatry is a shortage field, many psychiatrists are not looking to have more patients from other states and are not motivated to apply for extra licenses.
Life as a practicing psychiatrist has been a moving target: I reopened my practice for some in-person visits for vaccinated patients in June 2021, then closed it when the Omicron surge seemed too risky, and I’ll be reopening soon. Patients, too, have had unpredictable lives.
For the practitioner who is following the rules precisely, the issues can be sticky. It may be fine to have Zoom visits with a patient who lives across the street, but not with the elderly patient who has to drive 90 minutes across a state line, and it’s always fine to have a video session with a patient in Guam. If a patient signs on for a video visit with a doctor licensed in Maine and announces there will be a visit to a brother in Michigan, does the clinician abruptly end the session? Does he charge for the then missed appointment, and don’t we feel this is a waste of the psychiatrist’s time when appointments are limited?
If college students started with therapists in their home states when universities shut down in the spring of 2020, must they now try to get treatment in the states where their college campuses are located? What if the university has a long wait for services, there are no local psychiatrists taking on new patients, or the student feels he is making good progress with the doctor he is working with? And how do we even know for sure where our patients are located? Are we obligated to ask for a precise location at the beginning of each session? What if patients do not offer their locations, or lie about where they are?
Oddly, the issue is with the location of the patient; the doctor can be anywhere as long as the patient’s body is in a state where he or she is licensed. And it has never been a problem to send prescriptions to pharmacies in other states, though this seems to me the essence of practicing across state lines.
In the State of the Union Address on March 1, President Biden had a hefty agenda: The Russian invasion of Ukraine, a global pandemic, spiraling inflation, and for the first time in a SOTU address, our president discussed a strategy to address our National Mental Health Crisis. The fact sheet released by the White House details many long-awaited changes to increase the mental health workforce to address shortages, instituting a “988” crisis line to initiate “someone to call, someone to respond, and somewhere for every American in crisis to go.” The proposals call for a sweeping reform in providing access to services, strengthening parity, and improving community, veterans, and university services – and the Biden administration specifically addresses telemental health. “To maintain continuity of access, the Administration will work with Congress to ensure coverage of tele-behavioral health across health plans, and support appropriate delivery of telemedicine across state lines.”
This is good news, as it’s time we concentrated on allowing for access to care in a consumer-oriented way. It may let us focus on offering good clinical care and not focus on following outdated regulations. Hopefully, those who want help will be able to access it, and perhaps soon a traveling nurse will be permitted to get mental health care with continuity of treatment.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
I was taught to think clinically first and legally second. There are moments when following every regulation is clearly detrimental to the well-being of both the patient and the medical community at large, and these challenges have been highlighted by issues with telemental health during the pandemic.
A friend emailed me with a problem: He has a son who is a traveling nurse and is currently in psychotherapy. The therapist has, in accordance with licensing requirements, told his son that she can not see him when assignments take him to any state where she is not licensed. The patient needs to physically be in the same state where the clinician holds a license, technically for every appointment. The nursing assignments last for 3 months and he will be going to a variety of states. Does he really need to get a new therapist every 90 days?
The logistics seem mind-boggling in a time when there is a shortage of mental health professionals, and there are often long wait lists to get care. And even if it was all easy, I’ll point out that working with a therapist is a bit different then going to an urgent care center to have sutures removed or to obtain antibiotics for strep throat: The relationship is not easily interchangeable, and I know of no one who would think it clinically optimal for anyone to change psychotherapists every 3 months. The traveling nurse does not just need to find a “provider” in each state, he needs to find one he is comfortable with and he will have to spend several sessions relaying his history and forming a new therapeutic alliance. And given the ambiguities of psychotherapy, he would optimally see therapists who do not make conflicting interpretations or recommendations. Mind-boggling. And while none of us are irreplaceable, it feels heartless to tell someone who is traveling to provide medical care to others during a pandemic that they can’t have mental health care when our technology would allow for it.
In the “old days” it was simpler: Patients came to the office and both the patient and the clinician were physically located in the same state, even if the patient resided in another state and commuted hours to the appointment. Telemental health was done in select rural areas or in military settings, and most physicians did not consider the option for video visits, much less full video treatment. For the average practitioner, issues of location were not relevant. The exception was for college students who might reside in one state and see a psychiatrist or therapist in another, but typically everyone was comfortable taking a break from therapy when the patient could not meet with the therapist in person. If psychiatrists were having phone or video sessions with out-of-state patients on an occasional basis, it may have been because there was less scrutiny and it was less obvious that this was not permitted.
When the pandemic forced treatment to go online, the issues changed. At the beginning, issues related to state licensing were waived. Now each state has a different requirement with regard to out-of-state physicians; some allow their residents to be seen, while others require the physician to get licensed in their state and the process may or may not be costly or arduous for the provider. The regulations change frequently, and can be quite confusing to follow. Since psychiatry is a shortage field, many psychiatrists are not looking to have more patients from other states and are not motivated to apply for extra licenses.
Life as a practicing psychiatrist has been a moving target: I reopened my practice for some in-person visits for vaccinated patients in June 2021, then closed it when the Omicron surge seemed too risky, and I’ll be reopening soon. Patients, too, have had unpredictable lives.
For the practitioner who is following the rules precisely, the issues can be sticky. It may be fine to have Zoom visits with a patient who lives across the street, but not with the elderly patient who has to drive 90 minutes across a state line, and it’s always fine to have a video session with a patient in Guam. If a patient signs on for a video visit with a doctor licensed in Maine and announces there will be a visit to a brother in Michigan, does the clinician abruptly end the session? Does he charge for the then missed appointment, and don’t we feel this is a waste of the psychiatrist’s time when appointments are limited?
If college students started with therapists in their home states when universities shut down in the spring of 2020, must they now try to get treatment in the states where their college campuses are located? What if the university has a long wait for services, there are no local psychiatrists taking on new patients, or the student feels he is making good progress with the doctor he is working with? And how do we even know for sure where our patients are located? Are we obligated to ask for a precise location at the beginning of each session? What if patients do not offer their locations, or lie about where they are?
Oddly, the issue is with the location of the patient; the doctor can be anywhere as long as the patient’s body is in a state where he or she is licensed. And it has never been a problem to send prescriptions to pharmacies in other states, though this seems to me the essence of practicing across state lines.
In the State of the Union Address on March 1, President Biden had a hefty agenda: The Russian invasion of Ukraine, a global pandemic, spiraling inflation, and for the first time in a SOTU address, our president discussed a strategy to address our National Mental Health Crisis. The fact sheet released by the White House details many long-awaited changes to increase the mental health workforce to address shortages, instituting a “988” crisis line to initiate “someone to call, someone to respond, and somewhere for every American in crisis to go.” The proposals call for a sweeping reform in providing access to services, strengthening parity, and improving community, veterans, and university services – and the Biden administration specifically addresses telemental health. “To maintain continuity of access, the Administration will work with Congress to ensure coverage of tele-behavioral health across health plans, and support appropriate delivery of telemedicine across state lines.”
This is good news, as it’s time we concentrated on allowing for access to care in a consumer-oriented way. It may let us focus on offering good clinical care and not focus on following outdated regulations. Hopefully, those who want help will be able to access it, and perhaps soon a traveling nurse will be permitted to get mental health care with continuity of treatment.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
I was taught to think clinically first and legally second. There are moments when following every regulation is clearly detrimental to the well-being of both the patient and the medical community at large, and these challenges have been highlighted by issues with telemental health during the pandemic.
A friend emailed me with a problem: He has a son who is a traveling nurse and is currently in psychotherapy. The therapist has, in accordance with licensing requirements, told his son that she can not see him when assignments take him to any state where she is not licensed. The patient needs to physically be in the same state where the clinician holds a license, technically for every appointment. The nursing assignments last for 3 months and he will be going to a variety of states. Does he really need to get a new therapist every 90 days?
The logistics seem mind-boggling in a time when there is a shortage of mental health professionals, and there are often long wait lists to get care. And even if it was all easy, I’ll point out that working with a therapist is a bit different then going to an urgent care center to have sutures removed or to obtain antibiotics for strep throat: The relationship is not easily interchangeable, and I know of no one who would think it clinically optimal for anyone to change psychotherapists every 3 months. The traveling nurse does not just need to find a “provider” in each state, he needs to find one he is comfortable with and he will have to spend several sessions relaying his history and forming a new therapeutic alliance. And given the ambiguities of psychotherapy, he would optimally see therapists who do not make conflicting interpretations or recommendations. Mind-boggling. And while none of us are irreplaceable, it feels heartless to tell someone who is traveling to provide medical care to others during a pandemic that they can’t have mental health care when our technology would allow for it.
In the “old days” it was simpler: Patients came to the office and both the patient and the clinician were physically located in the same state, even if the patient resided in another state and commuted hours to the appointment. Telemental health was done in select rural areas or in military settings, and most physicians did not consider the option for video visits, much less full video treatment. For the average practitioner, issues of location were not relevant. The exception was for college students who might reside in one state and see a psychiatrist or therapist in another, but typically everyone was comfortable taking a break from therapy when the patient could not meet with the therapist in person. If psychiatrists were having phone or video sessions with out-of-state patients on an occasional basis, it may have been because there was less scrutiny and it was less obvious that this was not permitted.
When the pandemic forced treatment to go online, the issues changed. At the beginning, issues related to state licensing were waived. Now each state has a different requirement with regard to out-of-state physicians; some allow their residents to be seen, while others require the physician to get licensed in their state and the process may or may not be costly or arduous for the provider. The regulations change frequently, and can be quite confusing to follow. Since psychiatry is a shortage field, many psychiatrists are not looking to have more patients from other states and are not motivated to apply for extra licenses.
Life as a practicing psychiatrist has been a moving target: I reopened my practice for some in-person visits for vaccinated patients in June 2021, then closed it when the Omicron surge seemed too risky, and I’ll be reopening soon. Patients, too, have had unpredictable lives.
For the practitioner who is following the rules precisely, the issues can be sticky. It may be fine to have Zoom visits with a patient who lives across the street, but not with the elderly patient who has to drive 90 minutes across a state line, and it’s always fine to have a video session with a patient in Guam. If a patient signs on for a video visit with a doctor licensed in Maine and announces there will be a visit to a brother in Michigan, does the clinician abruptly end the session? Does he charge for the then missed appointment, and don’t we feel this is a waste of the psychiatrist’s time when appointments are limited?
If college students started with therapists in their home states when universities shut down in the spring of 2020, must they now try to get treatment in the states where their college campuses are located? What if the university has a long wait for services, there are no local psychiatrists taking on new patients, or the student feels he is making good progress with the doctor he is working with? And how do we even know for sure where our patients are located? Are we obligated to ask for a precise location at the beginning of each session? What if patients do not offer their locations, or lie about where they are?
Oddly, the issue is with the location of the patient; the doctor can be anywhere as long as the patient’s body is in a state where he or she is licensed. And it has never been a problem to send prescriptions to pharmacies in other states, though this seems to me the essence of practicing across state lines.
In the State of the Union Address on March 1, President Biden had a hefty agenda: The Russian invasion of Ukraine, a global pandemic, spiraling inflation, and for the first time in a SOTU address, our president discussed a strategy to address our National Mental Health Crisis. The fact sheet released by the White House details many long-awaited changes to increase the mental health workforce to address shortages, instituting a “988” crisis line to initiate “someone to call, someone to respond, and somewhere for every American in crisis to go.” The proposals call for a sweeping reform in providing access to services, strengthening parity, and improving community, veterans, and university services – and the Biden administration specifically addresses telemental health. “To maintain continuity of access, the Administration will work with Congress to ensure coverage of tele-behavioral health across health plans, and support appropriate delivery of telemedicine across state lines.”
This is good news, as it’s time we concentrated on allowing for access to care in a consumer-oriented way. It may let us focus on offering good clinical care and not focus on following outdated regulations. Hopefully, those who want help will be able to access it, and perhaps soon a traveling nurse will be permitted to get mental health care with continuity of treatment.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
Another winter for our discontent
Here we are. Again. It’s cold and it’s gray. The sun rises late and sets early, so that it feels like midnight by 8 p.m. Indoor venues are risky with the highly contagious Omicron variant, and I feel like we are all pushing the replay button on 2021’s miserable winter.
In some ways, it’s worse: In 2021 we had the hope that vaccines would pull us out of the pandemic and we had guidance on all that we should not be doing. In January, we were gaming the various Internet sites to get a coveted vaccine for ourselves or our family and friends, then lining up to get jabbed. We did not yet know that it wouldn’t be enough – that we’d need boosters, that Delta and Omicron would defy the vaccines. Yes, the vaccines work miracles to prevent severe disease and death, but the worry of passing the virus to someone who is vulnerable or unvaccinated(!), or both, remains – and now we can wonder how we’ll ever get out of this mess with hopeful talk of an endemic, while we wait on the next variant. I like certainty, and this pandemic is one big screaming reminder that certainty about anything is just a pleasant notion, death and taxes excluded, of course.
Kris Lukish, vice president of human resources at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, started an update to the hospital employees with: “As we begin 2022, it feels like we are experiencing dejà vu, or ‘Groundhog Day,’ or ‘50 First Dates.’ In ‘50 First Dates,’ Drew Barrymore wakes up each day reliving one specific day. It never changes. I realize our world may seem a little like that right now. We thought we’d turned a corner with COVID, and instead we saw a rapid rise in cases and hospitalizations due to the Omicron variant, higher than in previous surges.”
In 2021, many of us skipped holiday travel and ate outdoors. My morning coffee group moved to Zoom and it wasn’t until late spring, when community rates of COVID nose-dived, that I began seeing patients in my office for the first time in over a year. Since many of my patients are over 60, I tested myself with a home antigen test before going into the office. I changed my schedule so sessions began on the half-hour to be sure the suite’s waiting room would be empty, and I purchased an air purifier, cracked the window open, and figured everyone was as safe as we could reasonably be.
By the first Monday in January 2022, the positivity rate in Maryland was just shy of 30%. Twitter circulated anecdotes about false negatives with the home antigen test kits, and I decided it was safest to return to all-virtual appointments.
Mona Masood, DO, is cofounder of the Physician Support Line, a call-in service for doctors that started in March 2020. She has noted a change in the problems physicians face.
“We’re seeing a lot of empathy fatigue,” Dr. Masood said. “It’s not unexpected with a prolonged situation like this – the trauma has doctors in survival mode and they need to be present for themselves, their families, and their patients. People are emotionally drained, and we’re stretching them to the limit. Now at the front lines, doctors are getting a lot of backlash. There are the conspiracy theories, and people who challenge their knowledge and training and it leads them to ask if they should be doing this work. and these are large decisions that are being made in a specific context.
“The other thing we’re hearing is from trainees – residents and fellows – who are expected to carry a lot of work on the COVID units. Some are being told that they can’t graduate because they haven’t finished their other training requirements. This type of systemic issue produces moral injury.”
Dr. Masood talked about what running the support line has been like for her. “I know people want to give more in a catastrophe, and I was realistic that the enthusiasm might die off. I would go as long as psychiatrists volunteer, and the most incredible thing is that it hasn’t stopped. Some of the original people are no longer with us, but others have come aboard, and it’s been incredible to be a part of this.”
In her Jan. 26, 2022, newsletter, epidemiologist Katelyn Jetelina, PhD, MPH, tried to be reassuring about the future. “In order to know how this will end, we need to look at how other pandemics ended,” Dr. Jetelina wrote. “First, recognize the last part of that sentence ... pandemics end. Every epi curve comes down. This pandemic will end, too. Hold that fact close to you.”
She wrote about the three ways that pandemics end. The SARS pandemic of 2002 lasted 1.5 years as public health measures were effective, in large part because the disease was spread only by symptomatic patients. Vaccines offer a second way to end pandemics, as they have for polio and smallpox. “If the globe works together, we could possibly eradicate SARS-CoV-2 with vaccines. [Now that we have numerous animal reservoirs, though, this is close to impossible.]”
Finally, Dr. Jetelina noted that the 1918 flu changed from a pandemic situation to being endemic. “Over time, the virus attenuated, it became less severe.” Society acclimates to a virus with a low mortality rate. “The vast majority of scientists think an endemic state is the future of SARS-CoV-2. I agree.” And she goes on to define endemic as a steady state, but not the absence of suffering. She likens it to malaria and tuberculosis, illnesses with high global mortality.
“An endemic will come without an announcement or headlines, we won’t know we’re there until well after we’ve arrived.” She wrote of the uncertainty that faces us moving forward: We don’t know how much, or how long, immunity from Omicron infections will last, or if future variants will cause more or less severe disease. She casted her vote for global vaccinations, boosters, masks, better ventilation, communication, empathy, and tolerance to end the pandemic.
In Maryland, hospitalizations and positivity are starting to decline from the postholiday surge. I have figured out that I am not good at predicting what will happen next, and the experts don’t seem to be much better. I’d like a headline ending, the kind we looked to be heading toward last June.
I’ve told my patients who want to come in person that I will reassess in March. We have written our own rules, and mine are somewhere in the middle – I don’t go to public indoor spaces unmasked, but I do see vaccinated family and friends in our homes without masks. I don’t want to be responsible for transmitting a potentially fatal illness to a vulnerable patient. Honestly, this makes no sense, but since there is a video option, I feel I should not risk passing a potentially lethal virus to my patients. I just hope I’m not writing this same article again in January 2023.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
Here we are. Again. It’s cold and it’s gray. The sun rises late and sets early, so that it feels like midnight by 8 p.m. Indoor venues are risky with the highly contagious Omicron variant, and I feel like we are all pushing the replay button on 2021’s miserable winter.
In some ways, it’s worse: In 2021 we had the hope that vaccines would pull us out of the pandemic and we had guidance on all that we should not be doing. In January, we were gaming the various Internet sites to get a coveted vaccine for ourselves or our family and friends, then lining up to get jabbed. We did not yet know that it wouldn’t be enough – that we’d need boosters, that Delta and Omicron would defy the vaccines. Yes, the vaccines work miracles to prevent severe disease and death, but the worry of passing the virus to someone who is vulnerable or unvaccinated(!), or both, remains – and now we can wonder how we’ll ever get out of this mess with hopeful talk of an endemic, while we wait on the next variant. I like certainty, and this pandemic is one big screaming reminder that certainty about anything is just a pleasant notion, death and taxes excluded, of course.
Kris Lukish, vice president of human resources at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, started an update to the hospital employees with: “As we begin 2022, it feels like we are experiencing dejà vu, or ‘Groundhog Day,’ or ‘50 First Dates.’ In ‘50 First Dates,’ Drew Barrymore wakes up each day reliving one specific day. It never changes. I realize our world may seem a little like that right now. We thought we’d turned a corner with COVID, and instead we saw a rapid rise in cases and hospitalizations due to the Omicron variant, higher than in previous surges.”
In 2021, many of us skipped holiday travel and ate outdoors. My morning coffee group moved to Zoom and it wasn’t until late spring, when community rates of COVID nose-dived, that I began seeing patients in my office for the first time in over a year. Since many of my patients are over 60, I tested myself with a home antigen test before going into the office. I changed my schedule so sessions began on the half-hour to be sure the suite’s waiting room would be empty, and I purchased an air purifier, cracked the window open, and figured everyone was as safe as we could reasonably be.
By the first Monday in January 2022, the positivity rate in Maryland was just shy of 30%. Twitter circulated anecdotes about false negatives with the home antigen test kits, and I decided it was safest to return to all-virtual appointments.
Mona Masood, DO, is cofounder of the Physician Support Line, a call-in service for doctors that started in March 2020. She has noted a change in the problems physicians face.
“We’re seeing a lot of empathy fatigue,” Dr. Masood said. “It’s not unexpected with a prolonged situation like this – the trauma has doctors in survival mode and they need to be present for themselves, their families, and their patients. People are emotionally drained, and we’re stretching them to the limit. Now at the front lines, doctors are getting a lot of backlash. There are the conspiracy theories, and people who challenge their knowledge and training and it leads them to ask if they should be doing this work. and these are large decisions that are being made in a specific context.
“The other thing we’re hearing is from trainees – residents and fellows – who are expected to carry a lot of work on the COVID units. Some are being told that they can’t graduate because they haven’t finished their other training requirements. This type of systemic issue produces moral injury.”
Dr. Masood talked about what running the support line has been like for her. “I know people want to give more in a catastrophe, and I was realistic that the enthusiasm might die off. I would go as long as psychiatrists volunteer, and the most incredible thing is that it hasn’t stopped. Some of the original people are no longer with us, but others have come aboard, and it’s been incredible to be a part of this.”
In her Jan. 26, 2022, newsletter, epidemiologist Katelyn Jetelina, PhD, MPH, tried to be reassuring about the future. “In order to know how this will end, we need to look at how other pandemics ended,” Dr. Jetelina wrote. “First, recognize the last part of that sentence ... pandemics end. Every epi curve comes down. This pandemic will end, too. Hold that fact close to you.”
She wrote about the three ways that pandemics end. The SARS pandemic of 2002 lasted 1.5 years as public health measures were effective, in large part because the disease was spread only by symptomatic patients. Vaccines offer a second way to end pandemics, as they have for polio and smallpox. “If the globe works together, we could possibly eradicate SARS-CoV-2 with vaccines. [Now that we have numerous animal reservoirs, though, this is close to impossible.]”
Finally, Dr. Jetelina noted that the 1918 flu changed from a pandemic situation to being endemic. “Over time, the virus attenuated, it became less severe.” Society acclimates to a virus with a low mortality rate. “The vast majority of scientists think an endemic state is the future of SARS-CoV-2. I agree.” And she goes on to define endemic as a steady state, but not the absence of suffering. She likens it to malaria and tuberculosis, illnesses with high global mortality.
“An endemic will come without an announcement or headlines, we won’t know we’re there until well after we’ve arrived.” She wrote of the uncertainty that faces us moving forward: We don’t know how much, or how long, immunity from Omicron infections will last, or if future variants will cause more or less severe disease. She casted her vote for global vaccinations, boosters, masks, better ventilation, communication, empathy, and tolerance to end the pandemic.
In Maryland, hospitalizations and positivity are starting to decline from the postholiday surge. I have figured out that I am not good at predicting what will happen next, and the experts don’t seem to be much better. I’d like a headline ending, the kind we looked to be heading toward last June.
I’ve told my patients who want to come in person that I will reassess in March. We have written our own rules, and mine are somewhere in the middle – I don’t go to public indoor spaces unmasked, but I do see vaccinated family and friends in our homes without masks. I don’t want to be responsible for transmitting a potentially fatal illness to a vulnerable patient. Honestly, this makes no sense, but since there is a video option, I feel I should not risk passing a potentially lethal virus to my patients. I just hope I’m not writing this same article again in January 2023.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.
Here we are. Again. It’s cold and it’s gray. The sun rises late and sets early, so that it feels like midnight by 8 p.m. Indoor venues are risky with the highly contagious Omicron variant, and I feel like we are all pushing the replay button on 2021’s miserable winter.
In some ways, it’s worse: In 2021 we had the hope that vaccines would pull us out of the pandemic and we had guidance on all that we should not be doing. In January, we were gaming the various Internet sites to get a coveted vaccine for ourselves or our family and friends, then lining up to get jabbed. We did not yet know that it wouldn’t be enough – that we’d need boosters, that Delta and Omicron would defy the vaccines. Yes, the vaccines work miracles to prevent severe disease and death, but the worry of passing the virus to someone who is vulnerable or unvaccinated(!), or both, remains – and now we can wonder how we’ll ever get out of this mess with hopeful talk of an endemic, while we wait on the next variant. I like certainty, and this pandemic is one big screaming reminder that certainty about anything is just a pleasant notion, death and taxes excluded, of course.
Kris Lukish, vice president of human resources at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, started an update to the hospital employees with: “As we begin 2022, it feels like we are experiencing dejà vu, or ‘Groundhog Day,’ or ‘50 First Dates.’ In ‘50 First Dates,’ Drew Barrymore wakes up each day reliving one specific day. It never changes. I realize our world may seem a little like that right now. We thought we’d turned a corner with COVID, and instead we saw a rapid rise in cases and hospitalizations due to the Omicron variant, higher than in previous surges.”
In 2021, many of us skipped holiday travel and ate outdoors. My morning coffee group moved to Zoom and it wasn’t until late spring, when community rates of COVID nose-dived, that I began seeing patients in my office for the first time in over a year. Since many of my patients are over 60, I tested myself with a home antigen test before going into the office. I changed my schedule so sessions began on the half-hour to be sure the suite’s waiting room would be empty, and I purchased an air purifier, cracked the window open, and figured everyone was as safe as we could reasonably be.
By the first Monday in January 2022, the positivity rate in Maryland was just shy of 30%. Twitter circulated anecdotes about false negatives with the home antigen test kits, and I decided it was safest to return to all-virtual appointments.
Mona Masood, DO, is cofounder of the Physician Support Line, a call-in service for doctors that started in March 2020. She has noted a change in the problems physicians face.
“We’re seeing a lot of empathy fatigue,” Dr. Masood said. “It’s not unexpected with a prolonged situation like this – the trauma has doctors in survival mode and they need to be present for themselves, their families, and their patients. People are emotionally drained, and we’re stretching them to the limit. Now at the front lines, doctors are getting a lot of backlash. There are the conspiracy theories, and people who challenge their knowledge and training and it leads them to ask if they should be doing this work. and these are large decisions that are being made in a specific context.
“The other thing we’re hearing is from trainees – residents and fellows – who are expected to carry a lot of work on the COVID units. Some are being told that they can’t graduate because they haven’t finished their other training requirements. This type of systemic issue produces moral injury.”
Dr. Masood talked about what running the support line has been like for her. “I know people want to give more in a catastrophe, and I was realistic that the enthusiasm might die off. I would go as long as psychiatrists volunteer, and the most incredible thing is that it hasn’t stopped. Some of the original people are no longer with us, but others have come aboard, and it’s been incredible to be a part of this.”
In her Jan. 26, 2022, newsletter, epidemiologist Katelyn Jetelina, PhD, MPH, tried to be reassuring about the future. “In order to know how this will end, we need to look at how other pandemics ended,” Dr. Jetelina wrote. “First, recognize the last part of that sentence ... pandemics end. Every epi curve comes down. This pandemic will end, too. Hold that fact close to you.”
She wrote about the three ways that pandemics end. The SARS pandemic of 2002 lasted 1.5 years as public health measures were effective, in large part because the disease was spread only by symptomatic patients. Vaccines offer a second way to end pandemics, as they have for polio and smallpox. “If the globe works together, we could possibly eradicate SARS-CoV-2 with vaccines. [Now that we have numerous animal reservoirs, though, this is close to impossible.]”
Finally, Dr. Jetelina noted that the 1918 flu changed from a pandemic situation to being endemic. “Over time, the virus attenuated, it became less severe.” Society acclimates to a virus with a low mortality rate. “The vast majority of scientists think an endemic state is the future of SARS-CoV-2. I agree.” And she goes on to define endemic as a steady state, but not the absence of suffering. She likens it to malaria and tuberculosis, illnesses with high global mortality.
“An endemic will come without an announcement or headlines, we won’t know we’re there until well after we’ve arrived.” She wrote of the uncertainty that faces us moving forward: We don’t know how much, or how long, immunity from Omicron infections will last, or if future variants will cause more or less severe disease. She casted her vote for global vaccinations, boosters, masks, better ventilation, communication, empathy, and tolerance to end the pandemic.
In Maryland, hospitalizations and positivity are starting to decline from the postholiday surge. I have figured out that I am not good at predicting what will happen next, and the experts don’t seem to be much better. I’d like a headline ending, the kind we looked to be heading toward last June.
I’ve told my patients who want to come in person that I will reassess in March. We have written our own rules, and mine are somewhere in the middle – I don’t go to public indoor spaces unmasked, but I do see vaccinated family and friends in our homes without masks. I don’t want to be responsible for transmitting a potentially fatal illness to a vulnerable patient. Honestly, this makes no sense, but since there is a video option, I feel I should not risk passing a potentially lethal virus to my patients. I just hope I’m not writing this same article again in January 2023.
Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins. Dr. Miller has no conflicts of interest.