It comes down to how we, as a community, should treat the mentally ill. Funding for mental health has been ravaged over the last number of years, and as a result, we see more patients hospitalized who are sicker and sicker, with fewer resources. We discharge patients from our hospitals; they cannot afford the medications they need or don’t have the resources they need to access them; they are seen, if at all, by publicly funded mental health centers that are woefully underfunded and woefully overcrowded; and they do the best they can to provide treatment, but they might see a patient once every four months for 15 or 20 minutes, and these are patients with serious, serious mental illnesses who need regular longitudinal care with a doctor they know and trust, who knows their symptoms and can monitor them and can provide a treatment plan that’s specific to each patient. As funding gets cut for care for the mentally ill, we are relegating them to longer periods of sickness. That has repercussions in our communities. It increases homelessness, it increases drug use, it increases criminal recidivism, court costs, prison costs. So do we, or do we not, as a society, believe that it’s a priority to fund care for the mentally ill?
How often are you satisfied with the diagnosis you arrive at?
There are times, as with the patient who had thoughts of killing her child, where the diagnosis is incredibly important. There are other times when diagnosis is less important than treatment. Lauren had numerous diagnoses given to her at various times—bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, depression, anxiety—and all along, she was essentially doing the same thing. So it didn’t much matter in her situation what her diagnosis was. What mattered was trying to determine what was driving her behavior and how we could interrupt this terrible cycle.
You write, “It’s difficult to separate symptoms from the social stressors that exacerbate them.” Can you talk about this?
There are often psychiatric symptoms—depression, anxiety, hallucinations—that go hand in hand with the fact that our patients are experiencing incredibly stressful things in their lives. Someone might be hospitalized because they are depressed and suicidal. That person may have just lost his job and have a wife who’s threatening to leave him. It’s very difficult in those moments to tease apart what is disease and what is circumstantial. So many of our patients have homelessness and trauma and substance abuse that it’s difficult to separate illness from context.
You juxtapose scenes at the hospital with scenes of your life at home. What has your experience as a psychiatrist taught you about your own life?
I feel like I have a much deeper understanding of the capacity of the mind. There was a moment I had a deep fear of dropping my daughter into a lake, and I understood that this extreme fear was irrational. My patients who cannot let go of this level of anxiety are experiencing this all the time. I think there are moments in our lives when we brush up against the kinds of suffering that people endure. For me, that lends a greater capacity for empathy. And what strikes me in seeing my patients is how vulnerable all of us are to losing an equilibrium that we might otherwise have. A huge tragedy can rock your whole foundation.
Those diagnosed with body integrity identity disorder believe that a part of their body—a leg or a foot, for example—isn’t meant to be there, and they want it cut off. Which would, in fact, “cure” their condition and help them feel better. You write, “What is worse: to live without a leg or to live with an obsession that controls your life?”
These people are in touch with reality, it’s not as if there are strange voices to cut off their arm or pluck out an eye. They just feel, very much, that “my right leg doesn’t belong” or “I was meant to be an amputee—my left leg should end above my knee.” These are very precise ideas. The research demonstrates that if, in fact, they become amputees, which they sometimes do through very gruesome measures on their own, the suffering resolves. As doctors, we have taken an ethical oath to do no harm. So it’s difficult to square the idea of amputating a healthy limb as treatment for someone. But it can stop suffering. So that kind of question is exactly what falls into the category of the “mystery of psychiatry.” How do we begin to understand that feeling and the resolution of that feeling? If we have a means of resolving the distress, are we compelled to do it even though we don’t fully understand the etiology of the distress or the resolution? Are you cutting off a leg to treat an illness of the brain? It’s so difficult to comprehend, but we do all kinds of treatments that we don’t exactly know how they work but we know that it helps people get better. It’s a real dilemma that has more to do with repugnance and our response to the proposed action than anything else.