Residents/Training

In patients with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), stimulants reduce impulsivity and improve attention and focus. In individuals who do not have this disorder, stimulants are believed to enhance cognition, attention, and physical performance. In this article, I describe how a patient whose intermittent use of stimulants for motivation and cognitive enhancement shaped my approach to the diagnosis of ADHD.

Instant gratification and quick solutions

When I joined my psychiatry residency program, I expected to primarily treat patients who had depression, bipolar disorder, or psychosis. However, as I transitioned to my second year of residency, most patients I was assigned to had been diagnosed with ADHD. One of them was a 30-year-old in his fourth year of dental school. On his first visit, he requested a refill of dextroamphetamine and amphetamine 10 mg twice a day. He had been diagnosed with ADHD 5 years ago. He explained that he only needed this medication when preparing for his board examinations to motivate him and boost his focus and retention before studying. His study schedule included the exact doses and times he planned to take his stimulant.

I asked him questions to confirm the diagnosis, but he rushed to reassure me that he had already been diagnosed with ADHD and had been doing well on dextroamphetamine and amphetamine for many years. I was inclined to question his diagnosis of ADHD after learning of his “as-needed” use of stimulants as brain enhancers. His medical record reflecting the diagnosis of ADHD dated back to when he was a first-year dental student. The diagnosis was based on the patient’s report of procrastination for as long as he could remember. It also hinged on difficulties learning a second language and math being a challenging subject for him. Despite this, he managed to do well in school and earn an undergraduate degree, well enough to later pursue dentistry at a reputable university.

I thought, “Isn’t it normal to lose motivation and have doubts when preparing for a high-stakes exam like the boards? Aren’t these negative thoughts distracting enough to render sustained focus impossible? Doesn’t everyone struggle with procrastination, especially when they need to study? If learning a new language requires devotion, consistency, and sacrifice, isn’t it inherently challenging? Doesn’t good performance in math depend on multiple factors (ie, a strong foundation, cumulative learning, frequent practice), and thus leaves many students struggling?”

This interaction and many similar ones made me scrutinize the diagnosis of ADHD in patients I encounter in clinical settings. We live in a society where instant gratification is cherished, and quick fixes are pursued with little contemplation of pitfalls. Students use stimulants to cram for exams, high-functioning professionals use them to meet deadlines, and athletes use them to enhance performance and improve reaction times. Psychiatry seems to be drawn into the demands of society and may be fueling the “quick-fix” mentality by prescribing stimulants to healthy individuals who want to improve their focus, and then diagnosing them with ADHD to align the prescription with an appropriate diagnosis. Research on the adverse effects of stimulant use in adults is not convincing nor conclusive enough to sway prescribers from denying the average adult patient a stimulant to enhance cognitive function before a high-stakes exam or a critical, career-shaping project if they present with some ADHD traits, which the patient might even hyperbolize to secure the desired prescription. All of this may contribute to the perceived rising prevalence of ADHD among adults.

As for my 30-year-old dental student, I reasoned that continuing his medication, for now, would help me establish rapport and trust. This would allow me to counsel him on the long-term adverse effects of stimulants, and develop a plan to optimize his sleep, focus, and time management skills, eventually improving his cognition and attention naturally. Unfortunately, he did not show up to future appointments after I sent him the refill.

In patients with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), stimulants reduce impulsivity and improve attention and focus. In individuals who do not have this disorder, stimulants are believed to enhance cognition, attention, and physical performance. In this article, I describe how a patient whose intermittent use of stimulants for motivation and cognitive enhancement shaped my approach to the diagnosis of ADHD.

Instant gratification and quick solutions

When I joined my psychiatry residency program, I expected to primarily treat patients who had depression, bipolar disorder, or psychosis. However, as I transitioned to my second year of residency, most patients I was assigned to had been diagnosed with ADHD. One of them was a 30-year-old in his fourth year of dental school. On his first visit, he requested a refill of dextroamphetamine and amphetamine 10 mg twice a day. He had been diagnosed with ADHD 5 years ago. He explained that he only needed this medication when preparing for his board examinations to motivate him and boost his focus and retention before studying. His study schedule included the exact doses and times he planned to take his stimulant.

I asked him questions to confirm the diagnosis, but he rushed to reassure me that he had already been diagnosed with ADHD and had been doing well on dextroamphetamine and amphetamine for many years. I was inclined to question his diagnosis of ADHD after learning of his “as-needed” use of stimulants as brain enhancers. His medical record reflecting the diagnosis of ADHD dated back to when he was a first-year dental student. The diagnosis was based on the patient’s report of procrastination for as long as he could remember. It also hinged on difficulties learning a second language and math being a challenging subject for him. Despite this, he managed to do well in school and earn an undergraduate degree, well enough to later pursue dentistry at a reputable university.

I thought, “Isn’t it normal to lose motivation and have doubts when preparing for a high-stakes exam like the boards? Aren’t these negative thoughts distracting enough to render sustained focus impossible? Doesn’t everyone struggle with procrastination, especially when they need to study? If learning a new language requires devotion, consistency, and sacrifice, isn’t it inherently challenging? Doesn’t good performance in math depend on multiple factors (ie, a strong foundation, cumulative learning, frequent practice), and thus leaves many students struggling?”

This interaction and many similar ones made me scrutinize the diagnosis of ADHD in patients I encounter in clinical settings. We live in a society where instant gratification is cherished, and quick fixes are pursued with little contemplation of pitfalls. Students use stimulants to cram for exams, high-functioning professionals use them to meet deadlines, and athletes use them to enhance performance and improve reaction times. Psychiatry seems to be drawn into the demands of society and may be fueling the “quick-fix” mentality by prescribing stimulants to healthy individuals who want to improve their focus, and then diagnosing them with ADHD to align the prescription with an appropriate diagnosis. Research on the adverse effects of stimulant use in adults is not convincing nor conclusive enough to sway prescribers from denying the average adult patient a stimulant to enhance cognitive function before a high-stakes exam or a critical, career-shaping project if they present with some ADHD traits, which the patient might even hyperbolize to secure the desired prescription. All of this may contribute to the perceived rising prevalence of ADHD among adults.

As for my 30-year-old dental student, I reasoned that continuing his medication, for now, would help me establish rapport and trust. This would allow me to counsel him on the long-term adverse effects of stimulants, and develop a plan to optimize his sleep, focus, and time management skills, eventually improving his cognition and attention naturally. Unfortunately, he did not show up to future appointments after I sent him the refill.

In patients with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), stimulants reduce impulsivity and improve attention and focus. In individuals who do not have this disorder, stimulants are believed to enhance cognition, attention, and physical performance. In this article, I describe how a patient whose intermittent use of stimulants for motivation and cognitive enhancement shaped my approach to the diagnosis of ADHD.

Instant gratification and quick solutions

When I joined my psychiatry residency program, I expected to primarily treat patients who had depression, bipolar disorder, or psychosis. However, as I transitioned to my second year of residency, most patients I was assigned to had been diagnosed with ADHD. One of them was a 30-year-old in his fourth year of dental school. On his first visit, he requested a refill of dextroamphetamine and amphetamine 10 mg twice a day. He had been diagnosed with ADHD 5 years ago. He explained that he only needed this medication when preparing for his board examinations to motivate him and boost his focus and retention before studying. His study schedule included the exact doses and times he planned to take his stimulant.

I asked him questions to confirm the diagnosis, but he rushed to reassure me that he had already been diagnosed with ADHD and had been doing well on dextroamphetamine and amphetamine for many years. I was inclined to question his diagnosis of ADHD after learning of his “as-needed” use of stimulants as brain enhancers. His medical record reflecting the diagnosis of ADHD dated back to when he was a first-year dental student. The diagnosis was based on the patient’s report of procrastination for as long as he could remember. It also hinged on difficulties learning a second language and math being a challenging subject for him. Despite this, he managed to do well in school and earn an undergraduate degree, well enough to later pursue dentistry at a reputable university.

I thought, “Isn’t it normal to lose motivation and have doubts when preparing for a high-stakes exam like the boards? Aren’t these negative thoughts distracting enough to render sustained focus impossible? Doesn’t everyone struggle with procrastination, especially when they need to study? If learning a new language requires devotion, consistency, and sacrifice, isn’t it inherently challenging? Doesn’t good performance in math depend on multiple factors (ie, a strong foundation, cumulative learning, frequent practice), and thus leaves many students struggling?”

This interaction and many similar ones made me scrutinize the diagnosis of ADHD in patients I encounter in clinical settings. We live in a society where instant gratification is cherished, and quick fixes are pursued with little contemplation of pitfalls. Students use stimulants to cram for exams, high-functioning professionals use them to meet deadlines, and athletes use them to enhance performance and improve reaction times. Psychiatry seems to be drawn into the demands of society and may be fueling the “quick-fix” mentality by prescribing stimulants to healthy individuals who want to improve their focus, and then diagnosing them with ADHD to align the prescription with an appropriate diagnosis. Research on the adverse effects of stimulant use in adults is not convincing nor conclusive enough to sway prescribers from denying the average adult patient a stimulant to enhance cognitive function before a high-stakes exam or a critical, career-shaping project if they present with some ADHD traits, which the patient might even hyperbolize to secure the desired prescription. All of this may contribute to the perceived rising prevalence of ADHD among adults.

As for my 30-year-old dental student, I reasoned that continuing his medication, for now, would help me establish rapport and trust. This would allow me to counsel him on the long-term adverse effects of stimulants, and develop a plan to optimize his sleep, focus, and time management skills, eventually improving his cognition and attention naturally. Unfortunately, he did not show up to future appointments after I sent him the refill.

Ramadan is one of the obligatory pillars in Islam during which healthy Muslims are required to fast from dawn until sunset every day for 1 month. There are an estimated 3.45 million Muslims in the United States, and this population will continue to grow by 100,000 per year.¹ With the increased growth of the Muslim population, it is important for clinicians to be aware of how patients of Muslim faith are affected during Ramadan. In this article, we explore the potential risks, as well as the benefits, the month of Ramadan brings to patients. We will also explain how being religiously aware is necessary to provide optimal care for these individuals.

For some patients, fasting may pose risks

Similar to other communities in the United States, individuals who are Muslim experience mood disorders, anxiety disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, schizophrenia, substance use disorders, and other psychiatric illnesses.² During the month of Ramadan, Muslims are to abstain completely from eating and drinking from dawn until sunset. This includes medications as well as food and drink.

Due to these circumstances, patients will often change the timing, frequency, and dosing of their medications to allow them to fast. One study found 60% of Muslims made medication adjustments during Ramadan without seeking medical advice.³ It is possible that such alterations may be detrimental. During Ramadan, some Muslims wake up early in the morning to eat a pre-dawn meal, and often go back to sleep. This has been reported to cause a delay in sleep-wake times and to reduce rapid eye movement sleep.⁴ These circadian rhythm changes can be detrimental to patients with bipolar disorder. One study found higher rates of relapse to depression and mania in patients with bipolar disorder who were fasting during Ramadan.⁵ Circadian rhythm disturbances also may worsen depression.⁶ Another point of concern is patients with eating disorders. One small case series (N = 6) found that fasting during Ramadan exacerbated symptoms in patients with eating disorders.⁷

Another concern is that dehydration while fasting can lead to lithium toxicity. However, one study found lithium levels remained stable while fasting for 10 to 12 hours.⁵ Another showed that changing lithium dosing from twice a day to once a day allowed for easier administration without causing a subtherapeutic change in blood lithium levels.⁸

The practice also may have benefits for mental health

For many Muslims, Ramadan is the best time of the year, where they reconnect with their religion and experience the utmost spiritual growth. Studies have shown that the incidence of suicide is lowest during Ramadan compared to other months.⁹ A study of older men found that intermittent fasting and calorie restriction (not during Ramadan) resulted in decreases in tension, confusion, anger, and mood disturbance.¹⁰ Another study found that fasting during Ramadan had a positive impact on depression, anxiety, stress, and cognitive function.¹¹

Clinical considerations

To provide the best care for Muslim patients during Ramadan, clinicians should take a holistic approach and take all factors into consideration. It is common for circadian rhythm disruptions to exacerbate mood disorders, so encourage patients to maintain healthy sleep hygiene to their best ability during this month. Another important consideration is medication timing and dosing.¹² For patients prescribed a medication that typically is taken twice a day, determine if this dosing can be changed to once a day, or if both doses can be taken when it is permissible to eat (sunset to dawn). For medications that are absorbed with food, consider how these medications might be adjusted and maintained while a patient is fasting. Some medications may be sedating or activating, so the timing of administration may need to be adjusted to meet the patient’s needs. Lastly, keep in mind that certain medications can have withdrawal effects, and the likelihood of this occurring while a patient is fasting.

One vital point is that if a patient is at high risk of clinically decompensating due to fasting or medication adjustments or discontinuation, advise them to not fast. Muslims with physical or mental illnesses are excused from fasting. Bear in mind that because Ramadan is meant to be a month of heightened spirituality, many Muslims will prefer to fast.

Ramadan is one of the obligatory pillars in Islam during which healthy Muslims are required to fast from dawn until sunset every day for 1 month. There are an estimated 3.45 million Muslims in the United States, and this population will continue to grow by 100,000 per year.¹ With the increased growth of the Muslim population, it is important for clinicians to be aware of how patients of Muslim faith are affected during Ramadan. In this article, we explore the potential risks, as well as the benefits, the month of Ramadan brings to patients. We will also explain how being religiously aware is necessary to provide optimal care for these individuals.

For some patients, fasting may pose risks

Similar to other communities in the United States, individuals who are Muslim experience mood disorders, anxiety disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, schizophrenia, substance use disorders, and other psychiatric illnesses.² During the month of Ramadan, Muslims are to abstain completely from eating and drinking from dawn until sunset. This includes medications as well as food and drink.

Due to these circumstances, patients will often change the timing, frequency, and dosing of their medications to allow them to fast. One study found 60% of Muslims made medication adjustments during Ramadan without seeking medical advice.³ It is possible that such alterations may be detrimental. During Ramadan, some Muslims wake up early in the morning to eat a pre-dawn meal, and often go back to sleep. This has been reported to cause a delay in sleep-wake times and to reduce rapid eye movement sleep.⁴ These circadian rhythm changes can be detrimental to patients with bipolar disorder. One study found higher rates of relapse to depression and mania in patients with bipolar disorder who were fasting during Ramadan.⁵ Circadian rhythm disturbances also may worsen depression.⁶ Another point of concern is patients with eating disorders. One small case series (N = 6) found that fasting during Ramadan exacerbated symptoms in patients with eating disorders.⁷

Another concern is that dehydration while fasting can lead to lithium toxicity. However, one study found lithium levels remained stable while fasting for 10 to 12 hours.⁵ Another showed that changing lithium dosing from twice a day to once a day allowed for easier administration without causing a subtherapeutic change in blood lithium levels.⁸

The practice also may have benefits for mental health

For many Muslims, Ramadan is the best time of the year, where they reconnect with their religion and experience the utmost spiritual growth. Studies have shown that the incidence of suicide is lowest during Ramadan compared to other months.⁹ A study of older men found that intermittent fasting and calorie restriction (not during Ramadan) resulted in decreases in tension, confusion, anger, and mood disturbance.¹⁰ Another study found that fasting during Ramadan had a positive impact on depression, anxiety, stress, and cognitive function.¹¹

Clinical considerations

To provide the best care for Muslim patients during Ramadan, clinicians should take a holistic approach and take all factors into consideration. It is common for circadian rhythm disruptions to exacerbate mood disorders, so encourage patients to maintain healthy sleep hygiene to their best ability during this month. Another important consideration is medication timing and dosing.¹² For patients prescribed a medication that typically is taken twice a day, determine if this dosing can be changed to once a day, or if both doses can be taken when it is permissible to eat (sunset to dawn). For medications that are absorbed with food, consider how these medications might be adjusted and maintained while a patient is fasting. Some medications may be sedating or activating, so the timing of administration may need to be adjusted to meet the patient’s needs. Lastly, keep in mind that certain medications can have withdrawal effects, and the likelihood of this occurring while a patient is fasting.

One vital point is that if a patient is at high risk of clinically decompensating due to fasting or medication adjustments or discontinuation, advise them to not fast. Muslims with physical or mental illnesses are excused from fasting. Bear in mind that because Ramadan is meant to be a month of heightened spirituality, many Muslims will prefer to fast.

Ramadan is one of the obligatory pillars in Islam during which healthy Muslims are required to fast from dawn until sunset every day for 1 month. There are an estimated 3.45 million Muslims in the United States, and this population will continue to grow by 100,000 per year.¹ With the increased growth of the Muslim population, it is important for clinicians to be aware of how patients of Muslim faith are affected during Ramadan. In this article, we explore the potential risks, as well as the benefits, the month of Ramadan brings to patients. We will also explain how being religiously aware is necessary to provide optimal care for these individuals.

For some patients, fasting may pose risks

Similar to other communities in the United States, individuals who are Muslim experience mood disorders, anxiety disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, schizophrenia, substance use disorders, and other psychiatric illnesses.² During the month of Ramadan, Muslims are to abstain completely from eating and drinking from dawn until sunset. This includes medications as well as food and drink.

Due to these circumstances, patients will often change the timing, frequency, and dosing of their medications to allow them to fast. One study found 60% of Muslims made medication adjustments during Ramadan without seeking medical advice.³ It is possible that such alterations may be detrimental. During Ramadan, some Muslims wake up early in the morning to eat a pre-dawn meal, and often go back to sleep. This has been reported to cause a delay in sleep-wake times and to reduce rapid eye movement sleep.⁴ These circadian rhythm changes can be detrimental to patients with bipolar disorder. One study found higher rates of relapse to depression and mania in patients with bipolar disorder who were fasting during Ramadan.⁵ Circadian rhythm disturbances also may worsen depression.⁶ Another point of concern is patients with eating disorders. One small case series (N = 6) found that fasting during Ramadan exacerbated symptoms in patients with eating disorders.⁷

Another concern is that dehydration while fasting can lead to lithium toxicity. However, one study found lithium levels remained stable while fasting for 10 to 12 hours.⁵ Another showed that changing lithium dosing from twice a day to once a day allowed for easier administration without causing a subtherapeutic change in blood lithium levels.⁸

The practice also may have benefits for mental health

For many Muslims, Ramadan is the best time of the year, where they reconnect with their religion and experience the utmost spiritual growth. Studies have shown that the incidence of suicide is lowest during Ramadan compared to other months.⁹ A study of older men found that intermittent fasting and calorie restriction (not during Ramadan) resulted in decreases in tension, confusion, anger, and mood disturbance.¹⁰ Another study found that fasting during Ramadan had a positive impact on depression, anxiety, stress, and cognitive function.¹¹

Clinical considerations

To provide the best care for Muslim patients during Ramadan, clinicians should take a holistic approach and take all factors into consideration. It is common for circadian rhythm disruptions to exacerbate mood disorders, so encourage patients to maintain healthy sleep hygiene to their best ability during this month. Another important consideration is medication timing and dosing.¹² For patients prescribed a medication that typically is taken twice a day, determine if this dosing can be changed to once a day, or if both doses can be taken when it is permissible to eat (sunset to dawn). For medications that are absorbed with food, consider how these medications might be adjusted and maintained while a patient is fasting. Some medications may be sedating or activating, so the timing of administration may need to be adjusted to meet the patient’s needs. Lastly, keep in mind that certain medications can have withdrawal effects, and the likelihood of this occurring while a patient is fasting.

One vital point is that if a patient is at high risk of clinically decompensating due to fasting or medication adjustments or discontinuation, advise them to not fast. Muslims with physical or mental illnesses are excused from fasting. Bear in mind that because Ramadan is meant to be a month of heightened spirituality, many Muslims will prefer to fast.

Oh, great!” a senior resident sardonically remarked with a smirk as they read up on the next patient in the clinic. “A borderline patient. Get ready for a rough one ... Ugh.”

Before ever stepping foot into the patient’s room, this resident had prematurely established and demonstrated an unfortunate dynamic for any student or trainee within earshot. This is an all-too-familiar occurrence when caring for individuals with borderline personality disorder (BPD), or any other patients deemed to be “difficult.” The patient, however, likely walked into the room with a traumatic past that they continue to suffer from, in addition to any other issues for which they were seeking care.

Consider what these patients have experienced

A typical profile of these resilient patients with BPD: They were born emotionally sensitive. They grew up in homes with caretakers who knowingly or unknowingly invalidated their complaints about having their feelings hurt, about being abused emotionally, sexually, or otherwise, or about their worries concerning their interactions with peers at school. These caretakers may have been frightening and unpredictable, randomly showing affection or arbitrarily punishing for any perceived misstep, which led these patients to develop (for their own safety’s sake) a hypersensitivity to the affect of others. Their wariness and distrust of their social surroundings may have led to a skeptical view of kindness from others. Over time, without any guidance from prior demonstrations of healthy coping skills or interpersonal outlets from their caregivers, the emotional pressure builds. This pressure finally erupts in the form of impulsivity, self-harm, desperation, and defensiveness—in other words, survival. This is often followed by these patients’ first experience with receiving some degree of appropriate response to their complaints—their first experience with feeling seen and heard by their caretakers. They learn that their needs are met only when they cry out in desperation.^1-3

These patients typically bring these maladaptive coping skills with them into adulthood, which often leads to a series of intense, unhealthy, and short-lived interpersonal and professional connections. They desire healthy, lasting connections with others, but through no fault of their own are unable to appropriately manage the normal stressors therein.¹ Often, these patients do not know of their eventual BPD diagnosis, or even reject it due to its ever-negative valence. For other patients, receiving a personality disorder diagnosis is incredibly validating because they are no longer alone regarding this type of suffering, and a doctor—a caretaker—is finally making sense of this tumultuous world.

The countertransference of frustration, anxiety, doubt, and annoyance we may feel when caring for patients with BPD pales in comparison to living in their shoes and carrying the weight of what they have had to endure before presenting to our care. As these resilient patients wait in the exam room for the chance to be heard, let this be a reminder to greet them with the patience, understanding, empathy, and compassion that physicians are known to embody.

Suggestions for working with ‘difficult’ patients

The following tips may be helpful for building rapport with patients with BPD or other “difficult” patients:

• validate their complaints, and the difficulties they cause
• be genuine and honest when discussing their complaints
• acknowledge your own mistakes and misunderstandings in their care
• don’t be defensive—accept criticism with an open mind
• practice listening with intent, and reflective listening
• set ground rules and stick to them (eg, time limits, prescribing expectations, patient-physician relationship boundaries)
• educate and support the patient and their loved ones.

Oh, great!” a senior resident sardonically remarked with a smirk as they read up on the next patient in the clinic. “A borderline patient. Get ready for a rough one ... Ugh.”

Before ever stepping foot into the patient’s room, this resident had prematurely established and demonstrated an unfortunate dynamic for any student or trainee within earshot. This is an all-too-familiar occurrence when caring for individuals with borderline personality disorder (BPD), or any other patients deemed to be “difficult.” The patient, however, likely walked into the room with a traumatic past that they continue to suffer from, in addition to any other issues for which they were seeking care.

Consider what these patients have experienced

A typical profile of these resilient patients with BPD: They were born emotionally sensitive. They grew up in homes with caretakers who knowingly or unknowingly invalidated their complaints about having their feelings hurt, about being abused emotionally, sexually, or otherwise, or about their worries concerning their interactions with peers at school. These caretakers may have been frightening and unpredictable, randomly showing affection or arbitrarily punishing for any perceived misstep, which led these patients to develop (for their own safety’s sake) a hypersensitivity to the affect of others. Their wariness and distrust of their social surroundings may have led to a skeptical view of kindness from others. Over time, without any guidance from prior demonstrations of healthy coping skills or interpersonal outlets from their caregivers, the emotional pressure builds. This pressure finally erupts in the form of impulsivity, self-harm, desperation, and defensiveness—in other words, survival. This is often followed by these patients’ first experience with receiving some degree of appropriate response to their complaints—their first experience with feeling seen and heard by their caretakers. They learn that their needs are met only when they cry out in desperation.^1-3

These patients typically bring these maladaptive coping skills with them into adulthood, which often leads to a series of intense, unhealthy, and short-lived interpersonal and professional connections. They desire healthy, lasting connections with others, but through no fault of their own are unable to appropriately manage the normal stressors therein.¹ Often, these patients do not know of their eventual BPD diagnosis, or even reject it due to its ever-negative valence. For other patients, receiving a personality disorder diagnosis is incredibly validating because they are no longer alone regarding this type of suffering, and a doctor—a caretaker—is finally making sense of this tumultuous world.

The countertransference of frustration, anxiety, doubt, and annoyance we may feel when caring for patients with BPD pales in comparison to living in their shoes and carrying the weight of what they have had to endure before presenting to our care. As these resilient patients wait in the exam room for the chance to be heard, let this be a reminder to greet them with the patience, understanding, empathy, and compassion that physicians are known to embody.

Suggestions for working with ‘difficult’ patients

The following tips may be helpful for building rapport with patients with BPD or other “difficult” patients:

• validate their complaints, and the difficulties they cause
• be genuine and honest when discussing their complaints
• acknowledge your own mistakes and misunderstandings in their care
• don’t be defensive—accept criticism with an open mind
• practice listening with intent, and reflective listening
• set ground rules and stick to them (eg, time limits, prescribing expectations, patient-physician relationship boundaries)
• educate and support the patient and their loved ones.

Oh, great!” a senior resident sardonically remarked with a smirk as they read up on the next patient in the clinic. “A borderline patient. Get ready for a rough one ... Ugh.”

Before ever stepping foot into the patient’s room, this resident had prematurely established and demonstrated an unfortunate dynamic for any student or trainee within earshot. This is an all-too-familiar occurrence when caring for individuals with borderline personality disorder (BPD), or any other patients deemed to be “difficult.” The patient, however, likely walked into the room with a traumatic past that they continue to suffer from, in addition to any other issues for which they were seeking care.

Consider what these patients have experienced

A typical profile of these resilient patients with BPD: They were born emotionally sensitive. They grew up in homes with caretakers who knowingly or unknowingly invalidated their complaints about having their feelings hurt, about being abused emotionally, sexually, or otherwise, or about their worries concerning their interactions with peers at school. These caretakers may have been frightening and unpredictable, randomly showing affection or arbitrarily punishing for any perceived misstep, which led these patients to develop (for their own safety’s sake) a hypersensitivity to the affect of others. Their wariness and distrust of their social surroundings may have led to a skeptical view of kindness from others. Over time, without any guidance from prior demonstrations of healthy coping skills or interpersonal outlets from their caregivers, the emotional pressure builds. This pressure finally erupts in the form of impulsivity, self-harm, desperation, and defensiveness—in other words, survival. This is often followed by these patients’ first experience with receiving some degree of appropriate response to their complaints—their first experience with feeling seen and heard by their caretakers. They learn that their needs are met only when they cry out in desperation.^1-3

These patients typically bring these maladaptive coping skills with them into adulthood, which often leads to a series of intense, unhealthy, and short-lived interpersonal and professional connections. They desire healthy, lasting connections with others, but through no fault of their own are unable to appropriately manage the normal stressors therein.¹ Often, these patients do not know of their eventual BPD diagnosis, or even reject it due to its ever-negative valence. For other patients, receiving a personality disorder diagnosis is incredibly validating because they are no longer alone regarding this type of suffering, and a doctor—a caretaker—is finally making sense of this tumultuous world.

The countertransference of frustration, anxiety, doubt, and annoyance we may feel when caring for patients with BPD pales in comparison to living in their shoes and carrying the weight of what they have had to endure before presenting to our care. As these resilient patients wait in the exam room for the chance to be heard, let this be a reminder to greet them with the patience, understanding, empathy, and compassion that physicians are known to embody.

Suggestions for working with ‘difficult’ patients

The following tips may be helpful for building rapport with patients with BPD or other “difficult” patients:

• validate their complaints, and the difficulties they cause
• be genuine and honest when discussing their complaints
• acknowledge your own mistakes and misunderstandings in their care
• don’t be defensive—accept criticism with an open mind
• practice listening with intent, and reflective listening
• set ground rules and stick to them (eg, time limits, prescribing expectations, patient-physician relationship boundaries)
• educate and support the patient and their loved ones.

In the modern-day practice of medicine, turf wars are more common than one may realize. Presently, an ongoing battle over who should be prescribing and administering ketamine for novel treatment uses is being waged among psychiatrists, anesthesiologists, family physicians, and emergency physicians. Whoever emerges victorious will determine whether psychiatric care is administered in a safe and cost-effective manner, or if it will merely benefit the bottom line of the prescriber. In this article, we discuss how ketamine may have a role for treatment-resistant depression (TRD), and why psychiatrists are uniquely qualified to prescribe and administer this medication for this purpose.

New approaches to treatment-resistant depression

Antidepressant medications, long the mainstay of depression treatment, have been shown to be safe and relatively equally effective, with varying tolerability. However, 33% percent of patients do not achieve remission after 4 trials of antidepressant therapy.¹ Most antidepressant efficacy studies report remission rates of 35% to 40%,² which means many patients require subsequent switching and/or augmentation of their treatment.³ The STAR*D trial demonstrated that after 2 adequate antidepressant trials, the likelihood of remission diminishes.⁴

After a patient’s depression is found to be treatment-resistant, the onus of guiding treatment shifts away from the patient’s primary care physician to the more specialized psychiatrist. Few would question the suitability of a psychiatrist’s expertise in handling complicated and nuanced mental illness. In order to manage TRD, psychiatrists enter a terrain of emerging novel therapies with rapid onset, different mechanisms of action, and parenteral routes of administration.

One such therapy is esketamine, the S-enantiomer of ketamine. The FDA approved the intranasal (IN) formulation of esketamine in March 2019 after the medication had been designated as a breakthrough therapy for TRD in 2013 and studied in 6 Phase III clinical trials.⁵ The S-enantiomer of ketamine is known to bind to the N-methyl-D-aspartate receptor stronger than the R-enantiomer.⁶ The mechanism of action of both stereoisomers on other receptors, such as opioid and alpha-amino-3-hydroxy-5-methyl-4-isoxazolepropionic acid (AMPA), is the focus of intensive research and remains to be fully elucidated, but initial studies indicate rapid neuroplasticity and synaptogenesis.⁷ What is clear is that this new intervention can provide relief to patients with TRD via a pharmacologically distinct mechanism.⁸

Ketamine may be administered intranasally, intravenously, or orally. A meta-analysis aimed at assessing differences in ketamine efficacy for depression based on route of administration have shown that both IV and IN ketamine are effective, though it is not possible to draw conclusions regarding a direct comparison based on available data.⁹ Despite several landmark published studies, such as those by Zarate et al,¹⁰ IV ketamine is not FDA-approved for TRD.

Continue to: Why psychiatrists?

Psychiatrists have been prescribing IN esketamine, which is covered by most commercial insurances and administered in certified healthcare settings under a Risk Evaluation and Mitigation Strategy program.⁵ However, anesthesiologists and emergency physicians have opened a crop of boutique and concierge health clinics offering various “packages” of IV ketamine infusions for a slew of mental ailments, including depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and posttraumatic stress disorder.¹¹ Minimal investigation reveals that these services are being prescribed mainly by practitioners in fields other than psychiatry. Intravenous ketamine has long been used off-label as a treatment for depression not by psychiatrists but by practitioners of anesthesiology or emergency medicine. Although these clinicians are likely familiar with ketamine as an anesthetic, they have no foundation or expertise in the diagnosis and treatment of complex mood disorders. The FDA-approved indication for esketamine falls firmly in the realm of psychiatric treatment. Physicians who have not completed a psychiatry residency have neither the training nor experience necessary to determine whether a patient is a candidate for this treatment.

One potential adverse effect of ketamine is an emergence phenomenon, colloquially named a “K-hole,” that can induce symptoms of psychosis such as disturbing hallucinations. Patients who have a history of psychosis need to be carefully evaluated for appropriateness to receive this treatment.

Furthermore, ketamine treatments administered by physicians who are not psychiatrists are billed not through insurance but mostly via private pay. A patient may therefore be charged $350 to $1,000 per infusion, to be paid out of pocket.¹¹ Tally that up over the standard 6 to 12 initial treatment infusions, followed by maintenance infusions, and these patients with profound depression are potentially building up significant debt. Does this practice align with the ethical principles of autonomy, justice, beneficence, and nonmaleficence that all physicians swore to uphold? Will psychiatrists take a stand against the financial exploitation of a vulnerable group that is desperate to find any potential relief from their depression?

In the modern-day practice of medicine, turf wars are more common than one may realize. Presently, an ongoing battle over who should be prescribing and administering ketamine for novel treatment uses is being waged among psychiatrists, anesthesiologists, family physicians, and emergency physicians. Whoever emerges victorious will determine whether psychiatric care is administered in a safe and cost-effective manner, or if it will merely benefit the bottom line of the prescriber. In this article, we discuss how ketamine may have a role for treatment-resistant depression (TRD), and why psychiatrists are uniquely qualified to prescribe and administer this medication for this purpose.

New approaches to treatment-resistant depression

Antidepressant medications, long the mainstay of depression treatment, have been shown to be safe and relatively equally effective, with varying tolerability. However, 33% percent of patients do not achieve remission after 4 trials of antidepressant therapy.¹ Most antidepressant efficacy studies report remission rates of 35% to 40%,² which means many patients require subsequent switching and/or augmentation of their treatment.³ The STAR*D trial demonstrated that after 2 adequate antidepressant trials, the likelihood of remission diminishes.⁴

After a patient’s depression is found to be treatment-resistant, the onus of guiding treatment shifts away from the patient’s primary care physician to the more specialized psychiatrist. Few would question the suitability of a psychiatrist’s expertise in handling complicated and nuanced mental illness. In order to manage TRD, psychiatrists enter a terrain of emerging novel therapies with rapid onset, different mechanisms of action, and parenteral routes of administration.

One such therapy is esketamine, the S-enantiomer of ketamine. The FDA approved the intranasal (IN) formulation of esketamine in March 2019 after the medication had been designated as a breakthrough therapy for TRD in 2013 and studied in 6 Phase III clinical trials.⁵ The S-enantiomer of ketamine is known to bind to the N-methyl-D-aspartate receptor stronger than the R-enantiomer.⁶ The mechanism of action of both stereoisomers on other receptors, such as opioid and alpha-amino-3-hydroxy-5-methyl-4-isoxazolepropionic acid (AMPA), is the focus of intensive research and remains to be fully elucidated, but initial studies indicate rapid neuroplasticity and synaptogenesis.⁷ What is clear is that this new intervention can provide relief to patients with TRD via a pharmacologically distinct mechanism.⁸

Ketamine may be administered intranasally, intravenously, or orally. A meta-analysis aimed at assessing differences in ketamine efficacy for depression based on route of administration have shown that both IV and IN ketamine are effective, though it is not possible to draw conclusions regarding a direct comparison based on available data.⁹ Despite several landmark published studies, such as those by Zarate et al,¹⁰ IV ketamine is not FDA-approved for TRD.

Continue to: Why psychiatrists?

Psychiatrists have been prescribing IN esketamine, which is covered by most commercial insurances and administered in certified healthcare settings under a Risk Evaluation and Mitigation Strategy program.⁵ However, anesthesiologists and emergency physicians have opened a crop of boutique and concierge health clinics offering various “packages” of IV ketamine infusions for a slew of mental ailments, including depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and posttraumatic stress disorder.¹¹ Minimal investigation reveals that these services are being prescribed mainly by practitioners in fields other than psychiatry. Intravenous ketamine has long been used off-label as a treatment for depression not by psychiatrists but by practitioners of anesthesiology or emergency medicine. Although these clinicians are likely familiar with ketamine as an anesthetic, they have no foundation or expertise in the diagnosis and treatment of complex mood disorders. The FDA-approved indication for esketamine falls firmly in the realm of psychiatric treatment. Physicians who have not completed a psychiatry residency have neither the training nor experience necessary to determine whether a patient is a candidate for this treatment.

One potential adverse effect of ketamine is an emergence phenomenon, colloquially named a “K-hole,” that can induce symptoms of psychosis such as disturbing hallucinations. Patients who have a history of psychosis need to be carefully evaluated for appropriateness to receive this treatment.

Furthermore, ketamine treatments administered by physicians who are not psychiatrists are billed not through insurance but mostly via private pay. A patient may therefore be charged $350 to $1,000 per infusion, to be paid out of pocket.¹¹ Tally that up over the standard 6 to 12 initial treatment infusions, followed by maintenance infusions, and these patients with profound depression are potentially building up significant debt. Does this practice align with the ethical principles of autonomy, justice, beneficence, and nonmaleficence that all physicians swore to uphold? Will psychiatrists take a stand against the financial exploitation of a vulnerable group that is desperate to find any potential relief from their depression?

In the modern-day practice of medicine, turf wars are more common than one may realize. Presently, an ongoing battle over who should be prescribing and administering ketamine for novel treatment uses is being waged among psychiatrists, anesthesiologists, family physicians, and emergency physicians. Whoever emerges victorious will determine whether psychiatric care is administered in a safe and cost-effective manner, or if it will merely benefit the bottom line of the prescriber. In this article, we discuss how ketamine may have a role for treatment-resistant depression (TRD), and why psychiatrists are uniquely qualified to prescribe and administer this medication for this purpose.

New approaches to treatment-resistant depression

Antidepressant medications, long the mainstay of depression treatment, have been shown to be safe and relatively equally effective, with varying tolerability. However, 33% percent of patients do not achieve remission after 4 trials of antidepressant therapy.¹ Most antidepressant efficacy studies report remission rates of 35% to 40%,² which means many patients require subsequent switching and/or augmentation of their treatment.³ The STAR*D trial demonstrated that after 2 adequate antidepressant trials, the likelihood of remission diminishes.⁴

After a patient’s depression is found to be treatment-resistant, the onus of guiding treatment shifts away from the patient’s primary care physician to the more specialized psychiatrist. Few would question the suitability of a psychiatrist’s expertise in handling complicated and nuanced mental illness. In order to manage TRD, psychiatrists enter a terrain of emerging novel therapies with rapid onset, different mechanisms of action, and parenteral routes of administration.

One such therapy is esketamine, the S-enantiomer of ketamine. The FDA approved the intranasal (IN) formulation of esketamine in March 2019 after the medication had been designated as a breakthrough therapy for TRD in 2013 and studied in 6 Phase III clinical trials.⁵ The S-enantiomer of ketamine is known to bind to the N-methyl-D-aspartate receptor stronger than the R-enantiomer.⁶ The mechanism of action of both stereoisomers on other receptors, such as opioid and alpha-amino-3-hydroxy-5-methyl-4-isoxazolepropionic acid (AMPA), is the focus of intensive research and remains to be fully elucidated, but initial studies indicate rapid neuroplasticity and synaptogenesis.⁷ What is clear is that this new intervention can provide relief to patients with TRD via a pharmacologically distinct mechanism.⁸

Ketamine may be administered intranasally, intravenously, or orally. A meta-analysis aimed at assessing differences in ketamine efficacy for depression based on route of administration have shown that both IV and IN ketamine are effective, though it is not possible to draw conclusions regarding a direct comparison based on available data.⁹ Despite several landmark published studies, such as those by Zarate et al,¹⁰ IV ketamine is not FDA-approved for TRD.

Continue to: Why psychiatrists?

Psychiatrists have been prescribing IN esketamine, which is covered by most commercial insurances and administered in certified healthcare settings under a Risk Evaluation and Mitigation Strategy program.⁵ However, anesthesiologists and emergency physicians have opened a crop of boutique and concierge health clinics offering various “packages” of IV ketamine infusions for a slew of mental ailments, including depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and posttraumatic stress disorder.¹¹ Minimal investigation reveals that these services are being prescribed mainly by practitioners in fields other than psychiatry. Intravenous ketamine has long been used off-label as a treatment for depression not by psychiatrists but by practitioners of anesthesiology or emergency medicine. Although these clinicians are likely familiar with ketamine as an anesthetic, they have no foundation or expertise in the diagnosis and treatment of complex mood disorders. The FDA-approved indication for esketamine falls firmly in the realm of psychiatric treatment. Physicians who have not completed a psychiatry residency have neither the training nor experience necessary to determine whether a patient is a candidate for this treatment.

One potential adverse effect of ketamine is an emergence phenomenon, colloquially named a “K-hole,” that can induce symptoms of psychosis such as disturbing hallucinations. Patients who have a history of psychosis need to be carefully evaluated for appropriateness to receive this treatment.

Furthermore, ketamine treatments administered by physicians who are not psychiatrists are billed not through insurance but mostly via private pay. A patient may therefore be charged $350 to $1,000 per infusion, to be paid out of pocket.¹¹ Tally that up over the standard 6 to 12 initial treatment infusions, followed by maintenance infusions, and these patients with profound depression are potentially building up significant debt. Does this practice align with the ethical principles of autonomy, justice, beneficence, and nonmaleficence that all physicians swore to uphold? Will psychiatrists take a stand against the financial exploitation of a vulnerable group that is desperate to find any potential relief from their depression?

As a psychiatry resident and as a part of consultation-liaison service, I have visited many palliative care patients to assist other physicians in managing psychiatric issues such as depression, anxiety, or delirium. But recently, as the first resident from our Department of Psychiatry who was sent to a palliative care rotation, I followed these patients as a part of a primary palliative care team. Doing so allowed me to see patients from the other side of the bridge.

Palliative care focuses on providing relief from the suffering and stress of a patient’s illness, with the primary goal of improving the quality of life of the patient and their families. The palliative care team works in collaboration with the patient’s other clinicians to provide an extra layer of support. They provide biopsychosociocultural interventions that are in harmony with the needs of the patient rather than the prognosis of the illness. To do so, they first must evaluate the needs of the patient and their family. This is a time-consuming, energy-consuming, emotionally draining job.

During my palliative care rotation, I attended table rounds, bedside rounds, family meetings, long counseling sessions, and disposition planning meetings. This rotation also gave me the opportunity to place my feet in the shoes of a palliative care team and to reflect on how it feels to be the physician of a patient who is dying, which as a psychiatric resident I had seldom experienced. I learned that although working with patients who are dying can cause stress, burnout, and compassion fatigue, it also helps physicians appreciate the little things in life. To appreciate all the blessings we have that we usually take for granted. To practice gratitude. To be kind.

Upon reflection, I learned that the rounds of palliative care are actually mindfulness-based discussions that provide cushions of supportive work, facilitate feelings of being in control, tend to alleviate physical as well as mental suffering, foster clear-sighted hope, and assist in establishing small, subjectively significant, realistic goals for the patient’s immediate future, and to help the patient achieve these goals.

A valuable lesson from a patient

I want to highlight a case of a 65-year-old woman I first visited while I was shadowing my attending, who had been providing palliative care to the patient and her family for several months. The patient was admitted to a tertiary care hospital because cancer had invaded her small bowel and caused mechanical obstruction, resulting in intractable vomiting, abdominal distension, and anorexia. She underwent open laparotomy and ileostomy for symptomatic relief. A nasogastric tube was placed, and she was put on total parenteral nutrition. The day I met her was her third postoperative day. She had been improving significantly, and she wanted to eat. She was missing food. Most of the discussion in the round among my attending, the patient, and her family was centered around how to get to the point where she would be able to eat again and appreciate the taste of biryani.

What my attending did was incredible. After assessing the patient’s needs, he instilled a realistic hope: the hope of tasting food again. The attending, while acknowledging the patient’s apprehensions, respectfully and supportively kept her from wandering into the future, made every possible attempt to bring her attention back to the present moment, and helped her establish goals for the present and her immediate future. My attending was not toxic-positive, forcing his patient to uselessly revisit her current trauma. Instead, he was kind, empathic, and considerate. His primary focus was to understand rather than to be understood, to help her find meaning, and to improve her quality of life—a quality she defined for herself, which was to taste the food of her choice.

That day, when I returned to my working station in the psychiatry ward and had lunch in the break room, I thought, “When I eat, how often do I think about eating?” Mostly I either think about work, tasks, and presentations, or I scroll on social media.

Our taste buds indeed get adapted to repetitive stimulation, but the experience of eating our favorite dish is the naked truth of being alive, and is something that I have been taking for granted for a long time. These are little things in life that I need to appreciate, and learn to cultivate their power.

As a psychiatry resident and as a part of consultation-liaison service, I have visited many palliative care patients to assist other physicians in managing psychiatric issues such as depression, anxiety, or delirium. But recently, as the first resident from our Department of Psychiatry who was sent to a palliative care rotation, I followed these patients as a part of a primary palliative care team. Doing so allowed me to see patients from the other side of the bridge.

Palliative care focuses on providing relief from the suffering and stress of a patient’s illness, with the primary goal of improving the quality of life of the patient and their families. The palliative care team works in collaboration with the patient’s other clinicians to provide an extra layer of support. They provide biopsychosociocultural interventions that are in harmony with the needs of the patient rather than the prognosis of the illness. To do so, they first must evaluate the needs of the patient and their family. This is a time-consuming, energy-consuming, emotionally draining job.

During my palliative care rotation, I attended table rounds, bedside rounds, family meetings, long counseling sessions, and disposition planning meetings. This rotation also gave me the opportunity to place my feet in the shoes of a palliative care team and to reflect on how it feels to be the physician of a patient who is dying, which as a psychiatric resident I had seldom experienced. I learned that although working with patients who are dying can cause stress, burnout, and compassion fatigue, it also helps physicians appreciate the little things in life. To appreciate all the blessings we have that we usually take for granted. To practice gratitude. To be kind.

Upon reflection, I learned that the rounds of palliative care are actually mindfulness-based discussions that provide cushions of supportive work, facilitate feelings of being in control, tend to alleviate physical as well as mental suffering, foster clear-sighted hope, and assist in establishing small, subjectively significant, realistic goals for the patient’s immediate future, and to help the patient achieve these goals.

A valuable lesson from a patient

I want to highlight a case of a 65-year-old woman I first visited while I was shadowing my attending, who had been providing palliative care to the patient and her family for several months. The patient was admitted to a tertiary care hospital because cancer had invaded her small bowel and caused mechanical obstruction, resulting in intractable vomiting, abdominal distension, and anorexia. She underwent open laparotomy and ileostomy for symptomatic relief. A nasogastric tube was placed, and she was put on total parenteral nutrition. The day I met her was her third postoperative day. She had been improving significantly, and she wanted to eat. She was missing food. Most of the discussion in the round among my attending, the patient, and her family was centered around how to get to the point where she would be able to eat again and appreciate the taste of biryani.

What my attending did was incredible. After assessing the patient’s needs, he instilled a realistic hope: the hope of tasting food again. The attending, while acknowledging the patient’s apprehensions, respectfully and supportively kept her from wandering into the future, made every possible attempt to bring her attention back to the present moment, and helped her establish goals for the present and her immediate future. My attending was not toxic-positive, forcing his patient to uselessly revisit her current trauma. Instead, he was kind, empathic, and considerate. His primary focus was to understand rather than to be understood, to help her find meaning, and to improve her quality of life—a quality she defined for herself, which was to taste the food of her choice.

That day, when I returned to my working station in the psychiatry ward and had lunch in the break room, I thought, “When I eat, how often do I think about eating?” Mostly I either think about work, tasks, and presentations, or I scroll on social media.

Our taste buds indeed get adapted to repetitive stimulation, but the experience of eating our favorite dish is the naked truth of being alive, and is something that I have been taking for granted for a long time. These are little things in life that I need to appreciate, and learn to cultivate their power.

As a psychiatry resident and as a part of consultation-liaison service, I have visited many palliative care patients to assist other physicians in managing psychiatric issues such as depression, anxiety, or delirium. But recently, as the first resident from our Department of Psychiatry who was sent to a palliative care rotation, I followed these patients as a part of a primary palliative care team. Doing so allowed me to see patients from the other side of the bridge.

Palliative care focuses on providing relief from the suffering and stress of a patient’s illness, with the primary goal of improving the quality of life of the patient and their families. The palliative care team works in collaboration with the patient’s other clinicians to provide an extra layer of support. They provide biopsychosociocultural interventions that are in harmony with the needs of the patient rather than the prognosis of the illness. To do so, they first must evaluate the needs of the patient and their family. This is a time-consuming, energy-consuming, emotionally draining job.

During my palliative care rotation, I attended table rounds, bedside rounds, family meetings, long counseling sessions, and disposition planning meetings. This rotation also gave me the opportunity to place my feet in the shoes of a palliative care team and to reflect on how it feels to be the physician of a patient who is dying, which as a psychiatric resident I had seldom experienced. I learned that although working with patients who are dying can cause stress, burnout, and compassion fatigue, it also helps physicians appreciate the little things in life. To appreciate all the blessings we have that we usually take for granted. To practice gratitude. To be kind.

Upon reflection, I learned that the rounds of palliative care are actually mindfulness-based discussions that provide cushions of supportive work, facilitate feelings of being in control, tend to alleviate physical as well as mental suffering, foster clear-sighted hope, and assist in establishing small, subjectively significant, realistic goals for the patient’s immediate future, and to help the patient achieve these goals.

A valuable lesson from a patient

I want to highlight a case of a 65-year-old woman I first visited while I was shadowing my attending, who had been providing palliative care to the patient and her family for several months. The patient was admitted to a tertiary care hospital because cancer had invaded her small bowel and caused mechanical obstruction, resulting in intractable vomiting, abdominal distension, and anorexia. She underwent open laparotomy and ileostomy for symptomatic relief. A nasogastric tube was placed, and she was put on total parenteral nutrition. The day I met her was her third postoperative day. She had been improving significantly, and she wanted to eat. She was missing food. Most of the discussion in the round among my attending, the patient, and her family was centered around how to get to the point where she would be able to eat again and appreciate the taste of biryani.

What my attending did was incredible. After assessing the patient’s needs, he instilled a realistic hope: the hope of tasting food again. The attending, while acknowledging the patient’s apprehensions, respectfully and supportively kept her from wandering into the future, made every possible attempt to bring her attention back to the present moment, and helped her establish goals for the present and her immediate future. My attending was not toxic-positive, forcing his patient to uselessly revisit her current trauma. Instead, he was kind, empathic, and considerate. His primary focus was to understand rather than to be understood, to help her find meaning, and to improve her quality of life—a quality she defined for herself, which was to taste the food of her choice.

That day, when I returned to my working station in the psychiatry ward and had lunch in the break room, I thought, “When I eat, how often do I think about eating?” Mostly I either think about work, tasks, and presentations, or I scroll on social media.

Our taste buds indeed get adapted to repetitive stimulation, but the experience of eating our favorite dish is the naked truth of being alive, and is something that I have been taking for granted for a long time. These are little things in life that I need to appreciate, and learn to cultivate their power.

At morning shift change a few months ago on my consultation-liaison rotation, I thanked the night float resident who had been called to a case that was not at all psychiatrically acute. When I told my colleague I was sorry she had had such a “soft consult” during a busy shift, she graciously replied that the patient had been exceedingly pleasant. She said, “Sometimes we just offer our presence, and you know what? I’m glad I’m in that kind of field. The ‘being-present’ kind of field.”

As mental health professionals, we pride ourselves on being present for our patients and our colleagues alike. Winnicott¹ originally coined the psychoanalytic term “holding” to denote one of the earliest stages of parental care, wherein an environment of both physical and emotional reliability allows a child to develop their sense of self. The complementary concept of “containing,” developed by Bion,² indicates a parental figure’s receiving the child’s emotions, however difficult, and then processing them into a more tolerable form. I am frequently struck by how often our role as psychiatrists is not necessarily to offer a specific diagnosis or medication recommendation, but instead to “hold” by listening, “contain” whatever emotions emerge, and offer a sense of validation and perhaps a biopsychosocial formulation for the patient’s experience.^3-5 In the consultation-liaison setting, we might assess the contribution of sleep cycle disturbance, postoperative opioids, and anticholinergic medications on a patient’s mental status. Just as important, we might help the patient and their primary team understand that the patient’s history of childhood trauma could, under stressful conditions such as a prolonged hospitalization, lead to affective dysregulation and result in projective identification through which the team felt just as frustrated and helpless as the patient.

The relentless pursuit of efficiency vs time spent with patients

In inpatient work, I may serve as short-term psychotherapist for the patient, their family members, or a consulting team, and I treasure the time spent in those roles. But I concurrently hold various other responsibilities during my shift, including the roles of triage clinician, medical ethicist, and psychopharmacology expert (or, in the case of a newly-third-year resident such as myself, a nonexpert trying to build her knowledge base). I am also literally holding a pager, which intrudes—with aggressive cacophony, vibration, or both—upon the sanctity of any space. The pager is a reminder of a myriad of tasks: calling collateral, answering questions from team members, pre-charting, note-writing, ordering labs, checking labs, updating the handoff, reconciling medication lists, filling out legal paperwork, triaging the next consult. These are unavoidable and generally necessary parts of clinical work, but sometimes they veer into sheer drudgery.

As a medical student, learning to complete tasks is a substantial part of each clinical rotation, and task completion provides plenty of dopaminergic reinforcements that could masquerade as job satisfaction. Through my first year and a half of residency, I pushed hard to build “efficiency” in my workflow, but eventually, task completion stopped providing sufficient inherent satisfaction. It has been a relief to find that amid the stream of checkboxes, the true work of psychiatric care (the interactions with patients, their clinical presentations, and considering their differential diagnoses and treatment options) feels deeply meaningful and ever more fascinating.

At times, I am angered by the reality of limited clinician bandwidth. This frustration motivates me to seek system-level improvements that can enable us to deliver quality psychiatric care while mitigating the risk of clinician burnout. What ends up shortchanged in the relentless pursuit of efficiency is the time spent with patients. This is never more apparent than during a busy inpatient shift, when I often need to compress patient interactions and focus only on the most acute clinical questions. When I have to apologize for stepping out of the interview room to answer yet another page, I marvel at seeing attending psychiatrists who—with apparent ease—make patients feel as if they have all the time in the world, and I wonder when I will be able to do the same.

And yet, there are other times when my pager stays blessedly quiet, time can slow down in the room, and I can make a patient feel heard, held, and contained. In those moments, I also hold my own need for connection with the patient, and can recall what my colleague reminded me: what a privilege it is to be in the “being-present” kind of field.

At morning shift change a few months ago on my consultation-liaison rotation, I thanked the night float resident who had been called to a case that was not at all psychiatrically acute. When I told my colleague I was sorry she had had such a “soft consult” during a busy shift, she graciously replied that the patient had been exceedingly pleasant. She said, “Sometimes we just offer our presence, and you know what? I’m glad I’m in that kind of field. The ‘being-present’ kind of field.”

As mental health professionals, we pride ourselves on being present for our patients and our colleagues alike. Winnicott¹ originally coined the psychoanalytic term “holding” to denote one of the earliest stages of parental care, wherein an environment of both physical and emotional reliability allows a child to develop their sense of self. The complementary concept of “containing,” developed by Bion,² indicates a parental figure’s receiving the child’s emotions, however difficult, and then processing them into a more tolerable form. I am frequently struck by how often our role as psychiatrists is not necessarily to offer a specific diagnosis or medication recommendation, but instead to “hold” by listening, “contain” whatever emotions emerge, and offer a sense of validation and perhaps a biopsychosocial formulation for the patient’s experience.^3-5 In the consultation-liaison setting, we might assess the contribution of sleep cycle disturbance, postoperative opioids, and anticholinergic medications on a patient’s mental status. Just as important, we might help the patient and their primary team understand that the patient’s history of childhood trauma could, under stressful conditions such as a prolonged hospitalization, lead to affective dysregulation and result in projective identification through which the team felt just as frustrated and helpless as the patient.

The relentless pursuit of efficiency vs time spent with patients

In inpatient work, I may serve as short-term psychotherapist for the patient, their family members, or a consulting team, and I treasure the time spent in those roles. But I concurrently hold various other responsibilities during my shift, including the roles of triage clinician, medical ethicist, and psychopharmacology expert (or, in the case of a newly-third-year resident such as myself, a nonexpert trying to build her knowledge base). I am also literally holding a pager, which intrudes—with aggressive cacophony, vibration, or both—upon the sanctity of any space. The pager is a reminder of a myriad of tasks: calling collateral, answering questions from team members, pre-charting, note-writing, ordering labs, checking labs, updating the handoff, reconciling medication lists, filling out legal paperwork, triaging the next consult. These are unavoidable and generally necessary parts of clinical work, but sometimes they veer into sheer drudgery.

As a medical student, learning to complete tasks is a substantial part of each clinical rotation, and task completion provides plenty of dopaminergic reinforcements that could masquerade as job satisfaction. Through my first year and a half of residency, I pushed hard to build “efficiency” in my workflow, but eventually, task completion stopped providing sufficient inherent satisfaction. It has been a relief to find that amid the stream of checkboxes, the true work of psychiatric care (the interactions with patients, their clinical presentations, and considering their differential diagnoses and treatment options) feels deeply meaningful and ever more fascinating.

At times, I am angered by the reality of limited clinician bandwidth. This frustration motivates me to seek system-level improvements that can enable us to deliver quality psychiatric care while mitigating the risk of clinician burnout. What ends up shortchanged in the relentless pursuit of efficiency is the time spent with patients. This is never more apparent than during a busy inpatient shift, when I often need to compress patient interactions and focus only on the most acute clinical questions. When I have to apologize for stepping out of the interview room to answer yet another page, I marvel at seeing attending psychiatrists who—with apparent ease—make patients feel as if they have all the time in the world, and I wonder when I will be able to do the same.

And yet, there are other times when my pager stays blessedly quiet, time can slow down in the room, and I can make a patient feel heard, held, and contained. In those moments, I also hold my own need for connection with the patient, and can recall what my colleague reminded me: what a privilege it is to be in the “being-present” kind of field.

At morning shift change a few months ago on my consultation-liaison rotation, I thanked the night float resident who had been called to a case that was not at all psychiatrically acute. When I told my colleague I was sorry she had had such a “soft consult” during a busy shift, she graciously replied that the patient had been exceedingly pleasant. She said, “Sometimes we just offer our presence, and you know what? I’m glad I’m in that kind of field. The ‘being-present’ kind of field.”

As mental health professionals, we pride ourselves on being present for our patients and our colleagues alike. Winnicott¹ originally coined the psychoanalytic term “holding” to denote one of the earliest stages of parental care, wherein an environment of both physical and emotional reliability allows a child to develop their sense of self. The complementary concept of “containing,” developed by Bion,² indicates a parental figure’s receiving the child’s emotions, however difficult, and then processing them into a more tolerable form. I am frequently struck by how often our role as psychiatrists is not necessarily to offer a specific diagnosis or medication recommendation, but instead to “hold” by listening, “contain” whatever emotions emerge, and offer a sense of validation and perhaps a biopsychosocial formulation for the patient’s experience.^3-5 In the consultation-liaison setting, we might assess the contribution of sleep cycle disturbance, postoperative opioids, and anticholinergic medications on a patient’s mental status. Just as important, we might help the patient and their primary team understand that the patient’s history of childhood trauma could, under stressful conditions such as a prolonged hospitalization, lead to affective dysregulation and result in projective identification through which the team felt just as frustrated and helpless as the patient.

The relentless pursuit of efficiency vs time spent with patients

In inpatient work, I may serve as short-term psychotherapist for the patient, their family members, or a consulting team, and I treasure the time spent in those roles. But I concurrently hold various other responsibilities during my shift, including the roles of triage clinician, medical ethicist, and psychopharmacology expert (or, in the case of a newly-third-year resident such as myself, a nonexpert trying to build her knowledge base). I am also literally holding a pager, which intrudes—with aggressive cacophony, vibration, or both—upon the sanctity of any space. The pager is a reminder of a myriad of tasks: calling collateral, answering questions from team members, pre-charting, note-writing, ordering labs, checking labs, updating the handoff, reconciling medication lists, filling out legal paperwork, triaging the next consult. These are unavoidable and generally necessary parts of clinical work, but sometimes they veer into sheer drudgery.

As a medical student, learning to complete tasks is a substantial part of each clinical rotation, and task completion provides plenty of dopaminergic reinforcements that could masquerade as job satisfaction. Through my first year and a half of residency, I pushed hard to build “efficiency” in my workflow, but eventually, task completion stopped providing sufficient inherent satisfaction. It has been a relief to find that amid the stream of checkboxes, the true work of psychiatric care (the interactions with patients, their clinical presentations, and considering their differential diagnoses and treatment options) feels deeply meaningful and ever more fascinating.

At times, I am angered by the reality of limited clinician bandwidth. This frustration motivates me to seek system-level improvements that can enable us to deliver quality psychiatric care while mitigating the risk of clinician burnout. What ends up shortchanged in the relentless pursuit of efficiency is the time spent with patients. This is never more apparent than during a busy inpatient shift, when I often need to compress patient interactions and focus only on the most acute clinical questions. When I have to apologize for stepping out of the interview room to answer yet another page, I marvel at seeing attending psychiatrists who—with apparent ease—make patients feel as if they have all the time in the world, and I wonder when I will be able to do the same.

And yet, there are other times when my pager stays blessedly quiet, time can slow down in the room, and I can make a patient feel heard, held, and contained. In those moments, I also hold my own need for connection with the patient, and can recall what my colleague reminded me: what a privilege it is to be in the “being-present” kind of field.

During the course of my residency training, I have experienced and witnessed patients and visitors harassing health care workers (HCWs) by cursing or directing racial slurs at them, making sexist comments, or threatening their lives. What should be the correct response to this harassment? To say nothing may avoid conflict, but the silence perpetuates such abuse. To speak up may provoke aggression or even a physical assault. Further, does our response change if it is not the patient but someone who is accompanying them who exhibits this behavior?

I conducted a survey of psychiatry HCWs at our institution to evaluate the prevalence of and factors associated with such harassment.

An all-too-common problem

In a December 2020 internal survey at the University of Missouri Department of Psychiatry, 59 of 158 HCWs responded, and 26 (44%) reported experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse. Factors that were statistically significantly associated with experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse included being non-White, working in a patient-facing position, and being a nonphysician patient-facing HCW (Table 1). Factors that were not significantly associated with experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse included clinical setting, HCW age, and HCW gender (Table 2).

In addition to comments from patients and visitors, respondents stated that the harassment or abuse also included:

• physically threatening behavior and assault
• reporting a HCW for HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) violations after the HCW declined to provide an early refill of a controlled substance
• being accused of being a bad person for declining to prescribe a specific medication
• insults about not being intelligent enough to be on the treatment team
• comments from colleagues.

At the most basic level of response, the emergency department (ED) remains under the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act (EMTALA) obligation to see, screen, and stabilize any patient, and if psychiatry is consulted in the ED, we should similarly provide this standard of care. Beyond this, we can create behavioral plans for when a relevant diagnosis exists or does not exist, and patients and/or visitors can be terminated from their stay at the location/service/health care system. Whether or not a patient is receiving psychiatric care and/or treatment is irrelevant to the responses to harassment we might consider.

During the incident itself, we are empowered to remove ourselves from the patient encounter. Historically, HCWs have had strong opinions on the next steps, either deciding, “Yes, I am a professional and I will not be bullied,” or “No, I am a professional and I don’t need to deal with this.” Just as we prioritize our patients’ dignities, we should also respect our own and our colleagues’ dignities.

How harassment is handled at our facility

HCWs are commonly unsure whether to “call out” abusive comments during the encounter itself or afterwards. In our hospital, HCWs are encouraged to independently choose to immediately respond, immediately report to a supervisor or hospital security, or defer and report to leadership afterwards via the Patient Safety Network (PSN). The PSN is our hospital’s reporting system for medical errors, near misses, and abuse, neglect, and workplace violence. Relevant examples of abuse, neglect, and workplace violence include:

• Threats. Expression of intent to cause harm, including verbal or written threats and threatening body language
• Physical assault. Attacks ranging from slapping and beating to rape, the use of weapons, or homicide
• Sexual assault. Any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient, such as forced sexual intercourse, forcible sodomy, child molestation, incest, fondling, and attempted rape.

Continue to: Once complete...

Once complete, the PSN report is sent to Risk Management and other relevant groups, such as a 5-person team of security investigators, who are trained in trauma-informed interviewing and re-directive techniques. This team can immediately speak to the patient face-to-face in the inpatient setting or follow-up via phone in the outpatient setting.

The PSN report may result in the creation of a behavior plan for the patient that outlines the behaviors of concern, staff interventions, and consequences for persistent violations. The behavior plan is saved in the patient’s medical chart, and an alert pops up every time the chart is opened. The behavior plan is reviewed once annually for revision or deletion, as appropriate.

Lessons from our facility’s policy

In our health care system, our primary response to HCW harassment is to create a patient behavior plan that lays out specific expectations, care parameters, and consequences (up to terminating a patient from the entire health care system, except for EMTALA-level care). Clinicians are encouraged to report harassment to hospital administration, and a team of security investigators discusses expectations with the patient and/or visitors to prevent further abuse. We believe that describing our policies may be helpful to other health care systems and HCWs who confront this widespread issue.

During the course of my residency training, I have experienced and witnessed patients and visitors harassing health care workers (HCWs) by cursing or directing racial slurs at them, making sexist comments, or threatening their lives. What should be the correct response to this harassment? To say nothing may avoid conflict, but the silence perpetuates such abuse. To speak up may provoke aggression or even a physical assault. Further, does our response change if it is not the patient but someone who is accompanying them who exhibits this behavior?

I conducted a survey of psychiatry HCWs at our institution to evaluate the prevalence of and factors associated with such harassment.

An all-too-common problem

In a December 2020 internal survey at the University of Missouri Department of Psychiatry, 59 of 158 HCWs responded, and 26 (44%) reported experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse. Factors that were statistically significantly associated with experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse included being non-White, working in a patient-facing position, and being a nonphysician patient-facing HCW (Table 1). Factors that were not significantly associated with experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse included clinical setting, HCW age, and HCW gender (Table 2).

In addition to comments from patients and visitors, respondents stated that the harassment or abuse also included:

• physically threatening behavior and assault
• reporting a HCW for HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) violations after the HCW declined to provide an early refill of a controlled substance
• being accused of being a bad person for declining to prescribe a specific medication
• insults about not being intelligent enough to be on the treatment team
• comments from colleagues.

At the most basic level of response, the emergency department (ED) remains under the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act (EMTALA) obligation to see, screen, and stabilize any patient, and if psychiatry is consulted in the ED, we should similarly provide this standard of care. Beyond this, we can create behavioral plans for when a relevant diagnosis exists or does not exist, and patients and/or visitors can be terminated from their stay at the location/service/health care system. Whether or not a patient is receiving psychiatric care and/or treatment is irrelevant to the responses to harassment we might consider.

During the incident itself, we are empowered to remove ourselves from the patient encounter. Historically, HCWs have had strong opinions on the next steps, either deciding, “Yes, I am a professional and I will not be bullied,” or “No, I am a professional and I don’t need to deal with this.” Just as we prioritize our patients’ dignities, we should also respect our own and our colleagues’ dignities.

How harassment is handled at our facility

HCWs are commonly unsure whether to “call out” abusive comments during the encounter itself or afterwards. In our hospital, HCWs are encouraged to independently choose to immediately respond, immediately report to a supervisor or hospital security, or defer and report to leadership afterwards via the Patient Safety Network (PSN). The PSN is our hospital’s reporting system for medical errors, near misses, and abuse, neglect, and workplace violence. Relevant examples of abuse, neglect, and workplace violence include:

• Threats. Expression of intent to cause harm, including verbal or written threats and threatening body language
• Physical assault. Attacks ranging from slapping and beating to rape, the use of weapons, or homicide
• Sexual assault. Any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient, such as forced sexual intercourse, forcible sodomy, child molestation, incest, fondling, and attempted rape.

Continue to: Once complete...

Once complete, the PSN report is sent to Risk Management and other relevant groups, such as a 5-person team of security investigators, who are trained in trauma-informed interviewing and re-directive techniques. This team can immediately speak to the patient face-to-face in the inpatient setting or follow-up via phone in the outpatient setting.

The PSN report may result in the creation of a behavior plan for the patient that outlines the behaviors of concern, staff interventions, and consequences for persistent violations. The behavior plan is saved in the patient’s medical chart, and an alert pops up every time the chart is opened. The behavior plan is reviewed once annually for revision or deletion, as appropriate.

Lessons from our facility’s policy

In our health care system, our primary response to HCW harassment is to create a patient behavior plan that lays out specific expectations, care parameters, and consequences (up to terminating a patient from the entire health care system, except for EMTALA-level care). Clinicians are encouraged to report harassment to hospital administration, and a team of security investigators discusses expectations with the patient and/or visitors to prevent further abuse. We believe that describing our policies may be helpful to other health care systems and HCWs who confront this widespread issue.

During the course of my residency training, I have experienced and witnessed patients and visitors harassing health care workers (HCWs) by cursing or directing racial slurs at them, making sexist comments, or threatening their lives. What should be the correct response to this harassment? To say nothing may avoid conflict, but the silence perpetuates such abuse. To speak up may provoke aggression or even a physical assault. Further, does our response change if it is not the patient but someone who is accompanying them who exhibits this behavior?

I conducted a survey of psychiatry HCWs at our institution to evaluate the prevalence of and factors associated with such harassment.

An all-too-common problem

In a December 2020 internal survey at the University of Missouri Department of Psychiatry, 59 of 158 HCWs responded, and 26 (44%) reported experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse. Factors that were statistically significantly associated with experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse included being non-White, working in a patient-facing position, and being a nonphysician patient-facing HCW (Table 1). Factors that were not significantly associated with experiencing or witnessing on-the-job harassment or abuse included clinical setting, HCW age, and HCW gender (Table 2).

In addition to comments from patients and visitors, respondents stated that the harassment or abuse also included:

• physically threatening behavior and assault
• reporting a HCW for HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) violations after the HCW declined to provide an early refill of a controlled substance
• being accused of being a bad person for declining to prescribe a specific medication
• insults about not being intelligent enough to be on the treatment team
• comments from colleagues.

At the most basic level of response, the emergency department (ED) remains under the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act (EMTALA) obligation to see, screen, and stabilize any patient, and if psychiatry is consulted in the ED, we should similarly provide this standard of care. Beyond this, we can create behavioral plans for when a relevant diagnosis exists or does not exist, and patients and/or visitors can be terminated from their stay at the location/service/health care system. Whether or not a patient is receiving psychiatric care and/or treatment is irrelevant to the responses to harassment we might consider.

During the incident itself, we are empowered to remove ourselves from the patient encounter. Historically, HCWs have had strong opinions on the next steps, either deciding, “Yes, I am a professional and I will not be bullied,” or “No, I am a professional and I don’t need to deal with this.” Just as we prioritize our patients’ dignities, we should also respect our own and our colleagues’ dignities.

How harassment is handled at our facility

HCWs are commonly unsure whether to “call out” abusive comments during the encounter itself or afterwards. In our hospital, HCWs are encouraged to independently choose to immediately respond, immediately report to a supervisor or hospital security, or defer and report to leadership afterwards via the Patient Safety Network (PSN). The PSN is our hospital’s reporting system for medical errors, near misses, and abuse, neglect, and workplace violence. Relevant examples of abuse, neglect, and workplace violence include:

• Threats. Expression of intent to cause harm, including verbal or written threats and threatening body language
• Physical assault. Attacks ranging from slapping and beating to rape, the use of weapons, or homicide
• Sexual assault. Any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient, such as forced sexual intercourse, forcible sodomy, child molestation, incest, fondling, and attempted rape.

Continue to: Once complete...

Once complete, the PSN report is sent to Risk Management and other relevant groups, such as a 5-person team of security investigators, who are trained in trauma-informed interviewing and re-directive techniques. This team can immediately speak to the patient face-to-face in the inpatient setting or follow-up via phone in the outpatient setting.

The PSN report may result in the creation of a behavior plan for the patient that outlines the behaviors of concern, staff interventions, and consequences for persistent violations. The behavior plan is saved in the patient’s medical chart, and an alert pops up every time the chart is opened. The behavior plan is reviewed once annually for revision or deletion, as appropriate.

Lessons from our facility’s policy

In our health care system, our primary response to HCW harassment is to create a patient behavior plan that lays out specific expectations, care parameters, and consequences (up to terminating a patient from the entire health care system, except for EMTALA-level care). Clinicians are encouraged to report harassment to hospital administration, and a team of security investigators discusses expectations with the patient and/or visitors to prevent further abuse. We believe that describing our policies may be helpful to other health care systems and HCWs who confront this widespread issue.

Many psychiatry trainees consider private practice as a career option or form of supplemental income. In my experience, however, residency training may provide limited introduction to the general steps involved in starting a practice. In this article, I briefly summarize what I learned while exploring the private practice option as a psychiatry resident.

A good specialty for private practice

Trainees in the earlier stages of their education should be aware that the first step toward private practice may actually occur during medical school, when they are considering which specialty to pursue. If a student is particularly interested in solo private practice, they may want to select a specialty with the potential for less overhead in an independent setting. Psychiatry typically has lower overhead costs than some other specialties. This gap widens even further with the increased popularity and acceptance of telepsychiatry.

Budgeting and finance

Once you decide to pursue private practice, you will want to consider whether you prefer solo practice or group practice, and part-time or full-time. If working for yourself, you will need to understand business planning and budgeting, including how to project revenue and expenses. When first starting in solo practice—especially if you are not taking over a previously established practice—it is useful to have secondary sources of income. This can be a part-time clinical position, working with on-demand health care companies, contracting, consulting, etc. Many new physicians begin with a full-time position and decide to initiate their private practice on a part-time basis. This approach provides a level of financial security that you otherwise would not have. However, a full-time position requires full-time energy, hours, and attention, and it can be challenging to balance full-time and part-time work. Whichever approach you decide to take, it can be most helpful to simply keep an open mind and always consider looking further into any new opportunity that interests you.

Insurance and licensing

You don’t have to wait to establish your own practice to purchase malpractice insurance. Shop around for the best rates and the coverage that most comprehensively fits your needs. If your training program allows “moonlighting,” you might need your own insurance to work at sites other than your training hospital. Many residents begin to apply for independent state licensure at the same time they begin pursuing moonlighting opportunities. It may be helpful not to wait until the last minute to do this, because the process has quite a few steps and can take a while. If your state requires letters of reference, think about which of your supervisors you can ask for one. If you plan to work in a state other than that of your training location, it may be helpful to simultaneously apply for your medical license in that state, because you will already be going through the process. Certain states offer reciprocity regarding medical licenses. The Interstate Medical Licensure Compact offers an expedited pathway to licensure for qualified physicians who want to practice in multiple states.¹

Marketing your practice

Potential sources for building a panel of patients include referral networks, insurance panels, professional organizations, social media, networking, directories, and word of mouth. If you plan to accept health insurance, the directories provided by insurance panels will allow potential patients to find you when searching for practitioners who accept their plan. Professional organizations offer similar directories, and some private companies also provide directories, either for free or for a fee.

Use technology to your advantage

The exciting thing about starting a private practice today is that the technology available to support a small practice has drastically improved. Many software applications can help with scheduling and billing, which minimizes the need for office staff and enables you to be more productive. These programs typically are available via an online subscription that gives you access to an electronic medical record and other features for a monthly fee. Many of these programs provide add-ons such as a website for your practice and integrated telehealth services. While these programs typically perform many of the same functions, each has a different setup and varying workflows. An online search can facilitate a side-by-side comparison of the software programs that most closely meet your needs.

Seek out mentors and consultants

Finally, try to find a private practice mentor, and reach out to as many people as possible who have worked in any type of private practice setting. A mentor can alert you to factors you might not otherwise have considered. It also may be helpful to establish some form of supervision; such opportunities can be found through professional societies and other groups for private practice clinicians. In these groups, you also can ask other clinicians to recommend private practice and practice management consultants.

Stepping into the unknown can be an intimidating experience; however, you will not know what you are capable of until you try. Fortunately, psychiatry offers the flexibility to create a hybrid career that allows you to follow your passion and maintain your level of comfort. The American Psychiatric Association offers members additional information in the practice management resources section of its website.²

Many psychiatry trainees consider private practice as a career option or form of supplemental income. In my experience, however, residency training may provide limited introduction to the general steps involved in starting a practice. In this article, I briefly summarize what I learned while exploring the private practice option as a psychiatry resident.

A good specialty for private practice

Trainees in the earlier stages of their education should be aware that the first step toward private practice may actually occur during medical school, when they are considering which specialty to pursue. If a student is particularly interested in solo private practice, they may want to select a specialty with the potential for less overhead in an independent setting. Psychiatry typically has lower overhead costs than some other specialties. This gap widens even further with the increased popularity and acceptance of telepsychiatry.

Budgeting and finance

Once you decide to pursue private practice, you will want to consider whether you prefer solo practice or group practice, and part-time or full-time. If working for yourself, you will need to understand business planning and budgeting, including how to project revenue and expenses. When first starting in solo practice—especially if you are not taking over a previously established practice—it is useful to have secondary sources of income. This can be a part-time clinical position, working with on-demand health care companies, contracting, consulting, etc. Many new physicians begin with a full-time position and decide to initiate their private practice on a part-time basis. This approach provides a level of financial security that you otherwise would not have. However, a full-time position requires full-time energy, hours, and attention, and it can be challenging to balance full-time and part-time work. Whichever approach you decide to take, it can be most helpful to simply keep an open mind and always consider looking further into any new opportunity that interests you.

Insurance and licensing

You don’t have to wait to establish your own practice to purchase malpractice insurance. Shop around for the best rates and the coverage that most comprehensively fits your needs. If your training program allows “moonlighting,” you might need your own insurance to work at sites other than your training hospital. Many residents begin to apply for independent state licensure at the same time they begin pursuing moonlighting opportunities. It may be helpful not to wait until the last minute to do this, because the process has quite a few steps and can take a while. If your state requires letters of reference, think about which of your supervisors you can ask for one. If you plan to work in a state other than that of your training location, it may be helpful to simultaneously apply for your medical license in that state, because you will already be going through the process. Certain states offer reciprocity regarding medical licenses. The Interstate Medical Licensure Compact offers an expedited pathway to licensure for qualified physicians who want to practice in multiple states.¹

Marketing your practice

Potential sources for building a panel of patients include referral networks, insurance panels, professional organizations, social media, networking, directories, and word of mouth. If you plan to accept health insurance, the directories provided by insurance panels will allow potential patients to find you when searching for practitioners who accept their plan. Professional organizations offer similar directories, and some private companies also provide directories, either for free or for a fee.

Use technology to your advantage

The exciting thing about starting a private practice today is that the technology available to support a small practice has drastically improved. Many software applications can help with scheduling and billing, which minimizes the need for office staff and enables you to be more productive. These programs typically are available via an online subscription that gives you access to an electronic medical record and other features for a monthly fee. Many of these programs provide add-ons such as a website for your practice and integrated telehealth services. While these programs typically perform many of the same functions, each has a different setup and varying workflows. An online search can facilitate a side-by-side comparison of the software programs that most closely meet your needs.

Seek out mentors and consultants

Finally, try to find a private practice mentor, and reach out to as many people as possible who have worked in any type of private practice setting. A mentor can alert you to factors you might not otherwise have considered. It also may be helpful to establish some form of supervision; such opportunities can be found through professional societies and other groups for private practice clinicians. In these groups, you also can ask other clinicians to recommend private practice and practice management consultants.

Stepping into the unknown can be an intimidating experience; however, you will not know what you are capable of until you try. Fortunately, psychiatry offers the flexibility to create a hybrid career that allows you to follow your passion and maintain your level of comfort. The American Psychiatric Association offers members additional information in the practice management resources section of its website.²

Many psychiatry trainees consider private practice as a career option or form of supplemental income. In my experience, however, residency training may provide limited introduction to the general steps involved in starting a practice. In this article, I briefly summarize what I learned while exploring the private practice option as a psychiatry resident.

A good specialty for private practice

Trainees in the earlier stages of their education should be aware that the first step toward private practice may actually occur during medical school, when they are considering which specialty to pursue. If a student is particularly interested in solo private practice, they may want to select a specialty with the potential for less overhead in an independent setting. Psychiatry typically has lower overhead costs than some other specialties. This gap widens even further with the increased popularity and acceptance of telepsychiatry.

Budgeting and finance

Once you decide to pursue private practice, you will want to consider whether you prefer solo practice or group practice, and part-time or full-time. If working for yourself, you will need to understand business planning and budgeting, including how to project revenue and expenses. When first starting in solo practice—especially if you are not taking over a previously established practice—it is useful to have secondary sources of income. This can be a part-time clinical position, working with on-demand health care companies, contracting, consulting, etc. Many new physicians begin with a full-time position and decide to initiate their private practice on a part-time basis. This approach provides a level of financial security that you otherwise would not have. However, a full-time position requires full-time energy, hours, and attention, and it can be challenging to balance full-time and part-time work. Whichever approach you decide to take, it can be most helpful to simply keep an open mind and always consider looking further into any new opportunity that interests you.

Insurance and licensing

You don’t have to wait to establish your own practice to purchase malpractice insurance. Shop around for the best rates and the coverage that most comprehensively fits your needs. If your training program allows “moonlighting,” you might need your own insurance to work at sites other than your training hospital. Many residents begin to apply for independent state licensure at the same time they begin pursuing moonlighting opportunities. It may be helpful not to wait until the last minute to do this, because the process has quite a few steps and can take a while. If your state requires letters of reference, think about which of your supervisors you can ask for one. If you plan to work in a state other than that of your training location, it may be helpful to simultaneously apply for your medical license in that state, because you will already be going through the process. Certain states offer reciprocity regarding medical licenses. The Interstate Medical Licensure Compact offers an expedited pathway to licensure for qualified physicians who want to practice in multiple states.¹

Marketing your practice

Potential sources for building a panel of patients include referral networks, insurance panels, professional organizations, social media, networking, directories, and word of mouth. If you plan to accept health insurance, the directories provided by insurance panels will allow potential patients to find you when searching for practitioners who accept their plan. Professional organizations offer similar directories, and some private companies also provide directories, either for free or for a fee.

Use technology to your advantage

The exciting thing about starting a private practice today is that the technology available to support a small practice has drastically improved. Many software applications can help with scheduling and billing, which minimizes the need for office staff and enables you to be more productive. These programs typically are available via an online subscription that gives you access to an electronic medical record and other features for a monthly fee. Many of these programs provide add-ons such as a website for your practice and integrated telehealth services. While these programs typically perform many of the same functions, each has a different setup and varying workflows. An online search can facilitate a side-by-side comparison of the software programs that most closely meet your needs.

Seek out mentors and consultants

Finally, try to find a private practice mentor, and reach out to as many people as possible who have worked in any type of private practice setting. A mentor can alert you to factors you might not otherwise have considered. It also may be helpful to establish some form of supervision; such opportunities can be found through professional societies and other groups for private practice clinicians. In these groups, you also can ask other clinicians to recommend private practice and practice management consultants.

Stepping into the unknown can be an intimidating experience; however, you will not know what you are capable of until you try. Fortunately, psychiatry offers the flexibility to create a hybrid career that allows you to follow your passion and maintain your level of comfort. The American Psychiatric Association offers members additional information in the practice management resources section of its website.²

Being a physician gives me great privilege. However, this privilege did not start the moment I donned the white coat, but when I was born Asian American, to parents who hold advanced education degrees. It grew when our family moved to a White neighborhood and I was accepted into an elite college. For medical school and residency, I chose an academic program embedded in an urban setting that serves underprivileged minority communities. I entered psychiatry to facilitate healing. Yet as I read the headlines about people of color who had died at the hands of law enforcement, I found myself feeling overwhelmingly hopeless and numb.

In these individuals, I saw people who looked and lived just like the patients I chose to serve. But during this time, I did not see myself as the healer, but part of the system that brought pain and distress. As an Asian American, I identified with Tou Thao—the Asian American police officer involved in George Floyd’s death. In the medical community with which I identified, I found that ever-rising cases of COVID-19 were disproportionately affecting lower-income minority communities. In a polarizing world, I felt my Asian American identity prevented me from experiencing the pain and suffering Black communities faced. This was not my fight, and if it was, I was more immersed in the side that brought trauma to my patients. From a purely rational perspective, I had no right to feel sad. Intellectually, I felt unqualified to share in their pain, yet here I was, crying in my room.

An evolving transformation

As much as I wanted to take a break, training did not stop. A transformation occurred from an emerging awareness of the unique environment within which I was training and the intersection of who I knew myself to be. Serving in an urban program, I was given the opportunity for candid conversations with health professionals of color. I was humbled when Black colleagues proactively reached out to educate me about the historical context of these events and help me process them. I asked hard questions of my fellow residents who were Black, and listened to their answers and personal stories, which was difficult.

With my patients, I began to listen more intently and think about the systemic issues I had previously written off. One patient missed their appointment because public transportation was closed due to COVID-19. Another patient who was homeless was helped immensely by assistance with housing when he could no longer sleep at his place of residence. Really listening to him revealed that his street had become a common route for protests. With my therapy patient who experienced panic attacks listening to the news, I simply sat and grieved with them. I chose these interactions not because I was uniquely qualified, intelligent, or had any ability to change the trajectory of our country, but because they grew from me simply working in the context I chose and seeking the relationships I naturally sought.

How I define myself

As doctors, we accept the burden of caring for society’s ailments with the ultimate hope of celebrating triumph over the adversity of psychiatric illness. However, superseding our profession is the social system in which we live. I am part of a system that has historically caused trauma to some while benefitting others. Thus, between the calling of my practice and the country I practice in, I found a divergence. Once I accepted the truth of this system and the very personal way it affects me, my colleagues, and patients I serve, I was able to internally reconcile and rediscover hope. While I cannot change my experiences, advantages, or privilege, these facts do not change the reality that I am a citizen of the globe and human first. This realization is the silver lining of these perilous times; training among people of color who graciously included me in their experiences, and my willingness to listen and self-reflect. I now choose to define myself by what makes me similar to my patients instead of what isolates me from them. The tangible results of this deliberate step toward authenticity are renewed inspiration and joy.

For those of you who may have found yourself with no “ethnic home team” (or a desire for a new one), I leave you with this simple charge: Let your emotional reactions guide you to truth, and challenge yourself to process them with someone who doesn’t look like you. Leave your title at the door and embrace humility. You might be pleasantly surprised at the human you find when you look in the mirror.

Being a physician gives me great privilege. However, this privilege did not start the moment I donned the white coat, but when I was born Asian American, to parents who hold advanced education degrees. It grew when our family moved to a White neighborhood and I was accepted into an elite college. For medical school and residency, I chose an academic program embedded in an urban setting that serves underprivileged minority communities. I entered psychiatry to facilitate healing. Yet as I read the headlines about people of color who had died at the hands of law enforcement, I found myself feeling overwhelmingly hopeless and numb.

In these individuals, I saw people who looked and lived just like the patients I chose to serve. But during this time, I did not see myself as the healer, but part of the system that brought pain and distress. As an Asian American, I identified with Tou Thao—the Asian American police officer involved in George Floyd’s death. In the medical community with which I identified, I found that ever-rising cases of COVID-19 were disproportionately affecting lower-income minority communities. In a polarizing world, I felt my Asian American identity prevented me from experiencing the pain and suffering Black communities faced. This was not my fight, and if it was, I was more immersed in the side that brought trauma to my patients. From a purely rational perspective, I had no right to feel sad. Intellectually, I felt unqualified to share in their pain, yet here I was, crying in my room.

An evolving transformation

As much as I wanted to take a break, training did not stop. A transformation occurred from an emerging awareness of the unique environment within which I was training and the intersection of who I knew myself to be. Serving in an urban program, I was given the opportunity for candid conversations with health professionals of color. I was humbled when Black colleagues proactively reached out to educate me about the historical context of these events and help me process them. I asked hard questions of my fellow residents who were Black, and listened to their answers and personal stories, which was difficult.

With my patients, I began to listen more intently and think about the systemic issues I had previously written off. One patient missed their appointment because public transportation was closed due to COVID-19. Another patient who was homeless was helped immensely by assistance with housing when he could no longer sleep at his place of residence. Really listening to him revealed that his street had become a common route for protests. With my therapy patient who experienced panic attacks listening to the news, I simply sat and grieved with them. I chose these interactions not because I was uniquely qualified, intelligent, or had any ability to change the trajectory of our country, but because they grew from me simply working in the context I chose and seeking the relationships I naturally sought.

How I define myself

As doctors, we accept the burden of caring for society’s ailments with the ultimate hope of celebrating triumph over the adversity of psychiatric illness. However, superseding our profession is the social system in which we live. I am part of a system that has historically caused trauma to some while benefitting others. Thus, between the calling of my practice and the country I practice in, I found a divergence. Once I accepted the truth of this system and the very personal way it affects me, my colleagues, and patients I serve, I was able to internally reconcile and rediscover hope. While I cannot change my experiences, advantages, or privilege, these facts do not change the reality that I am a citizen of the globe and human first. This realization is the silver lining of these perilous times; training among people of color who graciously included me in their experiences, and my willingness to listen and self-reflect. I now choose to define myself by what makes me similar to my patients instead of what isolates me from them. The tangible results of this deliberate step toward authenticity are renewed inspiration and joy.

For those of you who may have found yourself with no “ethnic home team” (or a desire for a new one), I leave you with this simple charge: Let your emotional reactions guide you to truth, and challenge yourself to process them with someone who doesn’t look like you. Leave your title at the door and embrace humility. You might be pleasantly surprised at the human you find when you look in the mirror.

Being a physician gives me great privilege. However, this privilege did not start the moment I donned the white coat, but when I was born Asian American, to parents who hold advanced education degrees. It grew when our family moved to a White neighborhood and I was accepted into an elite college. For medical school and residency, I chose an academic program embedded in an urban setting that serves underprivileged minority communities. I entered psychiatry to facilitate healing. Yet as I read the headlines about people of color who had died at the hands of law enforcement, I found myself feeling overwhelmingly hopeless and numb.

In these individuals, I saw people who looked and lived just like the patients I chose to serve. But during this time, I did not see myself as the healer, but part of the system that brought pain and distress. As an Asian American, I identified with Tou Thao—the Asian American police officer involved in George Floyd’s death. In the medical community with which I identified, I found that ever-rising cases of COVID-19 were disproportionately affecting lower-income minority communities. In a polarizing world, I felt my Asian American identity prevented me from experiencing the pain and suffering Black communities faced. This was not my fight, and if it was, I was more immersed in the side that brought trauma to my patients. From a purely rational perspective, I had no right to feel sad. Intellectually, I felt unqualified to share in their pain, yet here I was, crying in my room.

An evolving transformation

As much as I wanted to take a break, training did not stop. A transformation occurred from an emerging awareness of the unique environment within which I was training and the intersection of who I knew myself to be. Serving in an urban program, I was given the opportunity for candid conversations with health professionals of color. I was humbled when Black colleagues proactively reached out to educate me about the historical context of these events and help me process them. I asked hard questions of my fellow residents who were Black, and listened to their answers and personal stories, which was difficult.

With my patients, I began to listen more intently and think about the systemic issues I had previously written off. One patient missed their appointment because public transportation was closed due to COVID-19. Another patient who was homeless was helped immensely by assistance with housing when he could no longer sleep at his place of residence. Really listening to him revealed that his street had become a common route for protests. With my therapy patient who experienced panic attacks listening to the news, I simply sat and grieved with them. I chose these interactions not because I was uniquely qualified, intelligent, or had any ability to change the trajectory of our country, but because they grew from me simply working in the context I chose and seeking the relationships I naturally sought.

How I define myself

As doctors, we accept the burden of caring for society’s ailments with the ultimate hope of celebrating triumph over the adversity of psychiatric illness. However, superseding our profession is the social system in which we live. I am part of a system that has historically caused trauma to some while benefitting others. Thus, between the calling of my practice and the country I practice in, I found a divergence. Once I accepted the truth of this system and the very personal way it affects me, my colleagues, and patients I serve, I was able to internally reconcile and rediscover hope. While I cannot change my experiences, advantages, or privilege, these facts do not change the reality that I am a citizen of the globe and human first. This realization is the silver lining of these perilous times; training among people of color who graciously included me in their experiences, and my willingness to listen and self-reflect. I now choose to define myself by what makes me similar to my patients instead of what isolates me from them. The tangible results of this deliberate step toward authenticity are renewed inspiration and joy.

For those of you who may have found yourself with no “ethnic home team” (or a desire for a new one), I leave you with this simple charge: Let your emotional reactions guide you to truth, and challenge yourself to process them with someone who doesn’t look like you. Leave your title at the door and embrace humility. You might be pleasantly surprised at the human you find when you look in the mirror.

Do you ever leave work thinking “Why do I always feel so tired after my shift?” “How can I overcome this fatigue?” “Is this what I expected?” “How can I get over the dread of so much administrative work when I want more time for my patients?” As clinicians, we face these and many other questions every day. These questions are the result of feeling entrapped in a health care system that has forgotten that clinicians need enough time to get to know and connect with their patients. Burnout is real, and relying on wellness activities is not sufficient to overcome it. Instead, taking the time for some introspection and self-reflection can help to overcome these difficulties.

A valuable lesson

Ten months into my intern year as a psychiatry resident, while on a busy night shift at the psychiatry emergency unit, an 86-year-old man arrived alone, hopeless, and with persistent death wishes. He needed to be heard and comforted by someone. Although he understood the nonnegotiable need to be hospitalized, he was extremely hesitant. But why? After all, he expressed wanting to get better and feared going back home alone, yet he was unwilling to be admitted to the hospital for acute care.

I knew I had to address the reason behind my patient’s ambivalence by further exploring his history. Nonetheless, my physician-in-training mind was battling feelings of stress secondary to what at the time seemed to be a never-ending to-do list full of nurses’ requests and patient-related tasks. Despite an unconscious temptation to rush through the history to please my go, go, go! trainee mind, I do not regret having taken the time to ask and address the often-feared “why.” Why was my patient reluctant to accept my recommendation?

To my surprise, it turned out to be an important matter. He said, “I have 3 dogs back home I don’t want to leave alone. They are the only living memory of my wife, who passed away 5 months ago. They help me stay alive.” I was struck by a feeling of empathy, but also guilt for having almost rushed through the history and not being thorough enough to ask why.

Take time to explore ‘why’

Do we really recognize the importance of being inquisitive in our history-taking? What might seem a simple matter to us (in my patient’s case, his 3 dogs were his main support system) can be a significant cause of a patient’s distress. A patients’ hesitancy to accept our recommendations can be secondary to reasons that unfortunately at times we only partially explore, or do not explore at all. Asking why can open Pandora’s box. It can uncover feelings and emotions such as frustration, anger, anxiety, and sorrow. It can also reveal uncertainties regarding topics such as race, gender identity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, and religion. We should be driven by humble curiosity, and tailor the interview by purposefully asking questions with the goal of learning and understanding our patients’ concerns. This practice serves to cultivate honest and trustworthy physician-patient relationships founded on empathy and respect.

If we know that obtaining an in-depth history is crucial for formulating a patient’s treatment plan, why do we sometimes fall in the trap of obtaining superficial ones, at times limiting ourselves to checklists? Reasons for not delving into our patients’ histories include (but are not limited to) an overload of patients, time constraints, a physician’s personal style, unconscious bias, suboptimal mentoring, and burnout. Of all these reasons, I worry the most about burnout. Physicians face insurmountable academic, institutional, and administrative demands. These constraints inarguably contribute to feeling rushed, and eventually possibly burned out.

Using self-reflection to prevent burnout

Physician burnout—as well as attempts to define, identify, target, and prevent it—has been on the rise in the past decades. If burnout affects the physician-patient relationship, we should make efforts to mitigate it. One should try to rely on internal, rather than external, influences to positively influence our delivery of care. One way to do this is by really getting to know the patient in front of us: a father, mother, brother, sister, member of the community, etc. Understanding our patient’s needs and concerns promotes empathy and connectedness. Another way is to exercise self-reflection by asking ourselves: How do I feel about the care I delivered today? Did I make an effort to fully understand my patients’ concerns? Did I make each patient feel understood? Was I rushing through the day, or was I mindful of the person in front of me? Did I deliver the care I wish I had received?

Although there are innumerable ways to target physician burnout, these self-reflections are quick, simple exercises that easily can be woven into a clinician’s busy schedule. The goal is to be mindful of improving the quality of our interactions with patients to ultimately cultivate our own well-being by potentiating a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction with our profession. I encourage clinicians to always go after the “why.” After all, why not? Thankfully, after some persuasion, my patient accepted voluntary admission, and arranged with neighbors to take care of his 3 dogs.

Do you ever leave work thinking “Why do I always feel so tired after my shift?” “How can I overcome this fatigue?” “Is this what I expected?” “How can I get over the dread of so much administrative work when I want more time for my patients?” As clinicians, we face these and many other questions every day. These questions are the result of feeling entrapped in a health care system that has forgotten that clinicians need enough time to get to know and connect with their patients. Burnout is real, and relying on wellness activities is not sufficient to overcome it. Instead, taking the time for some introspection and self-reflection can help to overcome these difficulties.

A valuable lesson

Ten months into my intern year as a psychiatry resident, while on a busy night shift at the psychiatry emergency unit, an 86-year-old man arrived alone, hopeless, and with persistent death wishes. He needed to be heard and comforted by someone. Although he understood the nonnegotiable need to be hospitalized, he was extremely hesitant. But why? After all, he expressed wanting to get better and feared going back home alone, yet he was unwilling to be admitted to the hospital for acute care.

I knew I had to address the reason behind my patient’s ambivalence by further exploring his history. Nonetheless, my physician-in-training mind was battling feelings of stress secondary to what at the time seemed to be a never-ending to-do list full of nurses’ requests and patient-related tasks. Despite an unconscious temptation to rush through the history to please my go, go, go! trainee mind, I do not regret having taken the time to ask and address the often-feared “why.” Why was my patient reluctant to accept my recommendation?

To my surprise, it turned out to be an important matter. He said, “I have 3 dogs back home I don’t want to leave alone. They are the only living memory of my wife, who passed away 5 months ago. They help me stay alive.” I was struck by a feeling of empathy, but also guilt for having almost rushed through the history and not being thorough enough to ask why.

Take time to explore ‘why’

Do we really recognize the importance of being inquisitive in our history-taking? What might seem a simple matter to us (in my patient’s case, his 3 dogs were his main support system) can be a significant cause of a patient’s distress. A patients’ hesitancy to accept our recommendations can be secondary to reasons that unfortunately at times we only partially explore, or do not explore at all. Asking why can open Pandora’s box. It can uncover feelings and emotions such as frustration, anger, anxiety, and sorrow. It can also reveal uncertainties regarding topics such as race, gender identity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, and religion. We should be driven by humble curiosity, and tailor the interview by purposefully asking questions with the goal of learning and understanding our patients’ concerns. This practice serves to cultivate honest and trustworthy physician-patient relationships founded on empathy and respect.

If we know that obtaining an in-depth history is crucial for formulating a patient’s treatment plan, why do we sometimes fall in the trap of obtaining superficial ones, at times limiting ourselves to checklists? Reasons for not delving into our patients’ histories include (but are not limited to) an overload of patients, time constraints, a physician’s personal style, unconscious bias, suboptimal mentoring, and burnout. Of all these reasons, I worry the most about burnout. Physicians face insurmountable academic, institutional, and administrative demands. These constraints inarguably contribute to feeling rushed, and eventually possibly burned out.

Using self-reflection to prevent burnout

Physician burnout—as well as attempts to define, identify, target, and prevent it—has been on the rise in the past decades. If burnout affects the physician-patient relationship, we should make efforts to mitigate it. One should try to rely on internal, rather than external, influences to positively influence our delivery of care. One way to do this is by really getting to know the patient in front of us: a father, mother, brother, sister, member of the community, etc. Understanding our patient’s needs and concerns promotes empathy and connectedness. Another way is to exercise self-reflection by asking ourselves: How do I feel about the care I delivered today? Did I make an effort to fully understand my patients’ concerns? Did I make each patient feel understood? Was I rushing through the day, or was I mindful of the person in front of me? Did I deliver the care I wish I had received?

Although there are innumerable ways to target physician burnout, these self-reflections are quick, simple exercises that easily can be woven into a clinician’s busy schedule. The goal is to be mindful of improving the quality of our interactions with patients to ultimately cultivate our own well-being by potentiating a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction with our profession. I encourage clinicians to always go after the “why.” After all, why not? Thankfully, after some persuasion, my patient accepted voluntary admission, and arranged with neighbors to take care of his 3 dogs.

Do you ever leave work thinking “Why do I always feel so tired after my shift?” “How can I overcome this fatigue?” “Is this what I expected?” “How can I get over the dread of so much administrative work when I want more time for my patients?” As clinicians, we face these and many other questions every day. These questions are the result of feeling entrapped in a health care system that has forgotten that clinicians need enough time to get to know and connect with their patients. Burnout is real, and relying on wellness activities is not sufficient to overcome it. Instead, taking the time for some introspection and self-reflection can help to overcome these difficulties.

A valuable lesson

Ten months into my intern year as a psychiatry resident, while on a busy night shift at the psychiatry emergency unit, an 86-year-old man arrived alone, hopeless, and with persistent death wishes. He needed to be heard and comforted by someone. Although he understood the nonnegotiable need to be hospitalized, he was extremely hesitant. But why? After all, he expressed wanting to get better and feared going back home alone, yet he was unwilling to be admitted to the hospital for acute care.

I knew I had to address the reason behind my patient’s ambivalence by further exploring his history. Nonetheless, my physician-in-training mind was battling feelings of stress secondary to what at the time seemed to be a never-ending to-do list full of nurses’ requests and patient-related tasks. Despite an unconscious temptation to rush through the history to please my go, go, go! trainee mind, I do not regret having taken the time to ask and address the often-feared “why.” Why was my patient reluctant to accept my recommendation?

To my surprise, it turned out to be an important matter. He said, “I have 3 dogs back home I don’t want to leave alone. They are the only living memory of my wife, who passed away 5 months ago. They help me stay alive.” I was struck by a feeling of empathy, but also guilt for having almost rushed through the history and not being thorough enough to ask why.

Take time to explore ‘why’

Do we really recognize the importance of being inquisitive in our history-taking? What might seem a simple matter to us (in my patient’s case, his 3 dogs were his main support system) can be a significant cause of a patient’s distress. A patients’ hesitancy to accept our recommendations can be secondary to reasons that unfortunately at times we only partially explore, or do not explore at all. Asking why can open Pandora’s box. It can uncover feelings and emotions such as frustration, anger, anxiety, and sorrow. It can also reveal uncertainties regarding topics such as race, gender identity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, and religion. We should be driven by humble curiosity, and tailor the interview by purposefully asking questions with the goal of learning and understanding our patients’ concerns. This practice serves to cultivate honest and trustworthy physician-patient relationships founded on empathy and respect.

If we know that obtaining an in-depth history is crucial for formulating a patient’s treatment plan, why do we sometimes fall in the trap of obtaining superficial ones, at times limiting ourselves to checklists? Reasons for not delving into our patients’ histories include (but are not limited to) an overload of patients, time constraints, a physician’s personal style, unconscious bias, suboptimal mentoring, and burnout. Of all these reasons, I worry the most about burnout. Physicians face insurmountable academic, institutional, and administrative demands. These constraints inarguably contribute to feeling rushed, and eventually possibly burned out.

Using self-reflection to prevent burnout

Physician burnout—as well as attempts to define, identify, target, and prevent it—has been on the rise in the past decades. If burnout affects the physician-patient relationship, we should make efforts to mitigate it. One should try to rely on internal, rather than external, influences to positively influence our delivery of care. One way to do this is by really getting to know the patient in front of us: a father, mother, brother, sister, member of the community, etc. Understanding our patient’s needs and concerns promotes empathy and connectedness. Another way is to exercise self-reflection by asking ourselves: How do I feel about the care I delivered today? Did I make an effort to fully understand my patients’ concerns? Did I make each patient feel understood? Was I rushing through the day, or was I mindful of the person in front of me? Did I deliver the care I wish I had received?

Although there are innumerable ways to target physician burnout, these self-reflections are quick, simple exercises that easily can be woven into a clinician’s busy schedule. The goal is to be mindful of improving the quality of our interactions with patients to ultimately cultivate our own well-being by potentiating a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction with our profession. I encourage clinicians to always go after the “why.” After all, why not? Thankfully, after some persuasion, my patient accepted voluntary admission, and arranged with neighbors to take care of his 3 dogs.