Archive for the ‘Thinking about psychiatry’ Category

The Rosenhan experiment examined

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010

The ‘Rosenhan experiment’ is a well known experiment examining the validity of psychiatric diagnosis.  It was published in 1975 by David Rosenhan in a paper entitled ‘On being sane in insane places’

The study consisted of two parts.  The first involved ‘pseudopatients’ – people who had never had symptoms of serious mental disorder – who, as part of the study, briefly reported auditory hallucinations in order to gain admission to psychiatric hospitals across the United States. 

After admission, the pseudopatients no longer reported hallucinations and behaved as they ‘normally’ would.  Despite this many were confined as inpatients for substantial periods of time and all were discharged with the diagnosis of a psychiatric disorder. 

For the second part of the experiment staff at a teaching hospital, whose staff had learned of Rosenhan’s above results, were informed that one or more pseudopatients would attempt to be admitted to their hospital over an ensuing three month period.  Many patients were subsequently identified as likely pseudopatients but in fact no pseudopatient had been sent. 

‘On being sane…’ also examines, though the experience of the pseudopatients, the patient experience of psychiatric inpatient wards.  This part of the paper is discussed often only in passing.

Rosenhan’s conclusion was stark:  A psychiatric diagnosis is more a function of the situation in which the observer finds a patient and reveals little about a patient themselves. 

“It is clear that we cannot distinguish the sane from the insane in psychiatric hospitals“

Despite being over thirty years old the Rosenhan experiment remains well known and is often cited.  Accounts of the experiment are widespread on the internet, but critiques are rarer and many people accept the study’s conclusions at face value. 

This was an audacious experiment and the subsequent paper had an extremely good title, but was Rosenhan justified in his conclusion?  Anthony Clare, amongst others, wrote that Rosenhan was ‘theorising in the absence of sufficient data’.  But if Rosenhan was correct then his experiment remains extremely important; as if diagnoses are in ‘the mind of the observer’ and do not reflect a quality inherent a patient, they are of little use. 

If you wish to read the original paper it can be found here.  Spitzer’s 1975 critique is available here (for a fee).  Davis’s critique here.  Clare’s ‘Psychiatry in dissent’ is available in preview here.

Circumstances of diagnosis and the detecting of sanity.

In the experiment eight pseudopatients presented at psychiatric hospitals complaining of hearing a voice.  Asked what the voices said, they replied that the voices were often unclear, but as far as they could tell, said “empty,” “hollow,” and “thud.”  Beyond alleging this symptom, and falsifying their names and vocations, no other falsehoods were told.  Upon admission to the ward the pseudopatients are reported to have ceased to claim symptoms and behaved as they ‘normally’ would. 

Length of hospitalization was an average of 19 days during which time no pseudopatients were identified as fraudulent. All pseudopatients except one (diagnosed with bipolar disorder) were discharged with a diagnosis of ‘schizophrenia in remission’.  In light of this Rosenhan regards there to have been ‘uniform failure to recognise sanity’.  Rosenhan refused to identify the hospitals used on the grounds of his concern for confidentiality.  This is laudable in some respects, but it makes it impossible for anyone at the hospitals in question to corroborate or refute this account of how the pseudopatients acted or were perceived. 

It is a difficulty that Rosenhan seeks to answer whether patients can be identified as ‘sane’ or ‘insane’, whilst psychiatrists, whose practice he wishes to scrutinize, do not make such distinctions in their practice but instead aim to identify and treat what they view as psychiatric disorders.  This objection aside, and working within this terminology, in his 1975 critique Spitzer identifies three possible meanings for ‘detecting of sanity’. 

  1. Recognition, when he is first seen, that the pseudopatient is feigning insanity as he attempts to gain admission to the hospital. This would be detecting sanity in a sane person simulating insanity.
  2. Recognition, after having observed him acting normally during his hospitalization, that the pseudopatient was initially feigning insanity. This would be detecting that the currently sane person never was insane.
  3. Recognition, during hospitalization, that the pseudopatient, though initially appearing to be ‘insane’ was no longer showing signs of psychiatric disturbance.

Only the first two involve identifying a pseudopatient as a fraud and Spitzer feels that it is these that Rosenhan implies are all that are relevant to the central research question.  He disagrees, writing that when the third definition of detecting of sanity is considered Rosenhan’s conclusions cannot be sustained. 

This assertion hinges on Rosenhan’s report that all the pseudopatients were diagnosed as being ‘in remission’, that is recognised as being, currently, without signs of mental disorder or ‘sane’.  By this view the data as reported by Rosenhan contradicts Rosenhan’s own conclusion.  Spitzer also writes that ‘schizophrenia in remission’ was a diagnosis rarely used by psychiatrists at the time of the experiment, and as such this indicates that the diagnoses given were a function of the patients’ behaviours and not simply of the environment in which they were made. 

Should a psychiatrist be able to able to detect that a patient is a fraud?  That is, should a psychiatrist be able to detect that, after observing a patient acting normally, that they were initially feigning insanity?  Rosenhan reports that this possibility was considered by the pseudopatients’ fellow patients but by no clinical staff:

“It was quite common for the patients to “detect” the pseudopatient’s sanity.  During the first three hospitalizations, when accurate counts were kept, 35 of a total of 118 patients on the admissions ward voiced their suspicions, some vigorously.  “You’re not crazy.  You’re a journalist, or a professor (referring to the continual note-taking).  You’re checking up on the hospital.” …. The fact that the patients often recognized normality when staff did not raises important questions.”

Rosenhan reports that the psychiatrists did not spend much time with the pseudopatients.  Other patients of course had ample time to formulate their own theories.  Whilst the medical staff’s lack of engagement with the pseudopatients is regrettable, it does point towards poor clinical skills rather than an indictment of psychiatric classification.  Clare again:

“Rosenhan and those many critics of psychiatry who have greeted his paper with enthusiasm seem in fact to be saying that, since the doctors did not appear to have the faintest idea as to what constitutes the operational concept of ’schizophrenia’ and yet applied it with haste to people showing virtually no signs or symptoms whatsoever, the whole diagnostic approach should be scrapped!”

Rosenhan later wrote that he considered the patients apparent insight over that of the psychiatrists as due to the ‘experimenter effect’ or ‘expectation bias’.  The professionals expected to see a patient with a mental illness, so they looked for reasons to believe it, and eventually they convinced themselves that the pseudopatients were actually suffering from schizophrenia.

People do sometimes simulate mental illness for their own ends and this is a genuine diagnostic problem.  It is a situation not unique to psychiatry and how easily a disorder psychiatric or otherwise can be feigned tells us little about the worth of the psychiatric classification system.  Kety has something to say on this. 

“If I were to drink a quart of blood and, concealing what I had done, come to the emergency room of any hospital vomiting blood, the behavior of the staff would be quite predictable. If they labeled and treated me as having a bleeding peptic ulcer, I doubt that I could argue convincingly that medical science does not know how to diagnose that condition”

Clare makes a similar point using the example that the signs and symptoms of diabetes exist independently of whether they are correctly elicited or not. 

Rosenhan does consider in his paper that that a mental illness is a life sentence:

“A broken leg is something one recovers from, but mental illness allegedly endures forever”

If a disorder was known to be always chronic and unremitting, it would illogical not to question the original diagnosis if the patient was later found to be asymptomatic and it is at this that Rosenhan is presumably driving.  If the pseudopatients ‘recovered’ from an incurable illness whilst under the gaze of their psychiatrists and this did not alter the diagnosis then this would be an example, just as Rosenhan says, of the hospital environment influencing diagnostic decision making.  But in stating that mental illness is something that endures forever Rosenhan is taking a very selective view of the wide range of presentations all of which come under the umbrella of ‘schizophrenia’.  Schizophrenia has acute subtypes from which full recovery is possible and can also relapse and remit. 

As for the non-existent impostor experiment it is surprising that it was agreed to by the teaching hospital in question.  The poor reliability of psychiatric diagnoses means that the design of the experiment could only produce an outcome where actual patients were incorrectly identified as pseudopatients. 

Conditions on the ward

All of the pseudopatients took extensive notes.  Rosenhan makes much of this writing being "seen as an aspect of their pathological behaviour” on the grounds of the nursing entry that read “engages in writing behaviour”.  Spitzer argues that was routine for nursing staff to frequently and intentionally comment on non-pathological activities in which a patient engages to enable other staff members to have knowledge of how the patient spends his time.  As such, a comment about note taking is therefore inevitable and unremarkable.  He is struck by what he sees as Rosenhan’s actual failure to provide data demonstrating where normal hospital experiences were categorized as pathological. 

Rosenhan’s account of the conditions on the psychiatric wards is, for me, the most interesting part of the paper.  The staff and patients were strictly segregated, the professional staff and especially the psychiatrists being rarely seen and having little patient contact. 

“Staff and patients are strictly segregated. Staff have their own living space, including their dining facilities, bathrooms, and assembly places. The glassed quarters that contain the professional staff, which the pseudopatients came to call “the cage,” sit out on every dayroom. The staff emerge primarily for care-taking purposes – to give medication, to conduct therapy or group meeting, to instruct or reprimand a patient. Otherwise, staff keep to themselves, almost as if the disorder that afflicts their charges is somehow catching.”

This description bears resemblance to modern UK psychiatric wards.  Psychiatrists spend little time with the patients in their care and nurses are occupied for a great deal of their time sitting in a locked room doing paperwork.  The healthcare staff members with the most patient contact are the least qualified.  This is far from ideal, and a target for improvement, but it should be noted that within healthcare this distance between staff and patients is not restricted to psychiatric wards and the pressures on staff due to the number of patients in their care means that a more desirable personal service is something with which the NHS struggles in all its domains.

Rosenhan’s description of the depersonalising effect of a long stay on the wards is also powerful.  Despite their commitment to the experiment in which they are taking part, their wish to resist the powerlessness they experience leads several of them to jeopardise the study. 

“The patient is deprived of many of his legal rights by dint of his psychiatric commitment. He is shorn of credibility by virtue of his psychiatric label. His freedom of movement is restricted. He cannot initiate contact with the staff, but may only respond to such overtures as they make. Personal privacy is minimal. Patient quarters and possessions can be entered and examined by any staff member, for whatever reason. His personal history and anguish is available to any staff member (often including the “grey lady” and “candy striper” volunteer) who chooses to read his folder, regardless of their therapeutic relationship to him. His personal hygiene and waste evacuation are often monitored. The water closets have no doors.”

Attendants were reported to deliver verbal and occasional physical abuse to patients, something that can in no way be justified.  Rosenhan’s report of this leads to an interesting inconsistency.  Despite initial descriptions of abusive staff behaviour, in his conclusion Rosenhan describes the staff as overwhelmingly ‘committed and … uncommonly intelligent’.  Spitzer considers that this is because of Rosenhan does not wish to direct attention toward shortcomings of the staff, rather wishing to concentrate on diagnostic labels. 

Validity of diagnosis.

There are two issues here.  Where the psychiatrists who met his pseudopatients wrong to make a diagnosis of schizophrenia within the DSM II diagnostic framework? And are psychiatric diagnoses of use or should they be replaced by an alternative?

The ease with which the pseudopatients gained admission on the basis of what are reported to be mild symptoms was remarked upon by Anthony Clare in Psychiatry in Dissent. 

“It is a matter of some interest that a solitary complaint of a hallucinatory voice in the absence of any other unusual experience or personal discomfort should actually persuade certain American hospitals to open their doors.  Such is the current demand for a psychiatric bed within the National Health Service and the prevailing emphasis on treating patients outside hospitals and in the community that the average admitting doctor in Britain is likely to find himself under strict instructions to avoid admitting any patient who can see, speak, and do all of these things without bothering himself or others to an significant extent.  On suspects that, in Britain, Professor Rosenhan might well be advised to go home like a good man, get a decent night’s rest and come back again in the morning.” 

And many people have been critical of the way the pseudopatients were diagnosed with schizophrenia on the basis of hallucinations – a single symptom and not even essential for the diagnosis.  Anthony Clare again:

“…the doctors did not appear to have the faintest idea as to what constitutes the operational concept of ’schizophrenia’ and yet applied it with haste to people showing virtually no signs or symptoms whatsoever…”

Spitzer remarks that the doctors should have been wary of making a diagnosis of schizophrenia in a previously unknown patient presenting without any history of insidious onset.  However he is more lenient toward the pseudopatients’ psychiatrists, writing that, given the information available, schizophrenia was the most reasonable diagnosis.  Davis and Weiner agree, respectively arguing from statistical and attribution theory standpoints that schizophrenia was the most likely diagnosis.  Rosenhan himself presents no differential diagnosis. 

Hunter takes exception to Rosenhan’s assertion that the pseudopatients acted ‘normally’ in the hospital:

“The pseudopatients did not behave normally in the hospital.  Had their behaviour been normal, they would have talked to the nurses’ station and said “Look, I am a normal person who tried to see if I could get into the hospital by behaving in a crazy way or saying crazy things.  It worked and I was admitted to the hospital but now I would like to be discharged from the hospital”.

We in fact learn very little about the diagnostic process beyond the initial presentations of the pseudopatients.  It should be noted that the pseudopatients would likely not have been, unlike Rosenhan’s assertion, admitted on the basis of their hallucinations solely.  Their presentation to hospital and request for admission may also have carried diagnostic weight as it suggested much greater distress.  However, whatever the fine detail, throughout their stay, the pseudopatients do not appear to have been assessed in detail.

The poor diagnostic skills and apparent lack of curiosity of the psychiatrists that the pseudopatients met is not an indictment of the classification per se, rather its application.   The Rosenhan paper offers no insight as to why psychiatric classification had developed into the shape that he found it in 1973. 

The purpose of a disease classification system is that it allows healthcare professionals to:

  • Communicate with each other about the subject of their concern
  • Avoid unacceptable variations in diagnostic practice
  • Predict their outcome disorders and suggest a treatment.
  • Conduct research

Amongst others Richard Bentall has made a career out of pointing out that psychiatric diagnosis is neither particularly valid nor reliable.  However in Spitzer’s view the historical precedent is that classification in medicine has always been preceded by clinicians using imperfect systems.  These have then improved on the basis of clinical and research experience.  The clinician is forced to do the best he/she can until something better comes along. 

In contrast to psychiatric disorders, the diagnosing of physical medical conditions is often portrayed as being solid and dependable.  This does not bear close inspection, as many medical conditions are at least as vaguely described as psychiatric disorders.  Although it is true that by-and-large a physical illnesses diagnosis rests on biological ‘facts’, the accompanying negative impact on person is the most important factor and this is highly subjective.  For instance we all have bacteria in the back of our throats, but do not consider ourselves to have an infection. 

In light of his experiment, rather than the syndromal classification system, Rosenhan would favour a classification system based on behaviours:

“It seems more useful … to limit our discussions to behaviours, the stimuli that provoke them, and their correlates”

Yet despite this early on in the paper he writes that “Anxiety and depression exist”, suggesting he favours an ad-hoc classification system at least. 

Conclusion

Rosenhan concludes:

“It is clear that we cannot distinguish the sane from the insane in psychiatric hospitals. The hospital itself imposes a special environment in which the meaning of behavior can easily be misunderstood. The consequences to patients hospitalized in such an environment – the powerlessness, depersonalization, segregation, mortification, and self-labeling – seem undoubtedly counter-therapeutic.”

There are sufficient objections to the design of Rosenhan’s experiment – not least that his study consisted of only eight subjects- to doubt whether he is justified in writing his initial sentence.  Rosenhan’s observational study of conditions on psychiatric wards – to which the rest of the above paragraph alludes – still has relevance today and remains a note of caution for anyone who works in mental health.   

Links:

Mind changers 27 July 2009 Radio 4: The pseudopatient study

Scribd: On Being Sane in Insane Places A Critical Review

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“Who wants to be a psychiatrist?” London Division academic day May 20 2010

Tuesday, June 8th, 2010

“Who wants to be a psychiatrist?” a London Division academic day, was an interesting day of talks, workshops and discussion examining reasons and solutions for the current problems of UK psychiatric recruitment. 

Prof Robert Howard, Dean of the Royal College of Psychiatrists, perhaps summed the current situation the most baldly.  "The recruitment crisis is the biggest challenge psychiatry faces".  Concerning, he also said that this is leading to an "unacceptable variation in quality amongst trainees and consultants".  

The situation does indeed appear to be dire.  This year the London Deanery received 250 applications for core training posts, down from 400 in previous years.  In the country as a whole the competition ratio of applicants to psychiatric training to jobs available is 1:1.  The result, as Michael Maier, head of the London Specialty School of Psychiatry put it, is that “psychiatry is a recruiting, not a selecting specialty”.  

Yet despite this, a recent Royal Society of Medicine study found that, alongside general practice, it was doctors who worked in psychiatry who found their lives the most satisfying.  The popularity of the study of psychology suggests that, amongst school leavers, a general lack of interest in the mind and its problems is not a problem; however again and again, upon leaving foundation jobs, doctors in training choose other specialities for a career.

 How could this have come about?  Prof Ania Korszun from Barts and the London suggested three culprits: psychiatry is seen as not ‘medical’ or ‘scientific’ enough; psychiatry recruitment suffers by association with the widespread popular stigma surrounding mental disorder; and medical students are discouraged from psychiatric careers by the negative views held by doctors working in other specialities with whom they spend much of their training.  

This relentless disparagement directed towards the ears of impressionable medical students appears to be particularly potent.  Dr Gianetta Rands, who talked about psychiatry as a part of foundation training, told us that the longer medical students spend in non-psychiatric specialities the less likely they are to choose a career in psychiatry.  The split between acute trusts and mental health trusts also means that psychiatrists are rarely present – be it at grand rounds or in the canteen – to put forward an alternative viewpoint.  It has been recognised that more psychiatry foundation year placements are required, especially in year one.  There are currently 500 placements over both years, but 2000 are needed.

Psychiatry undoubtedly has an image problem and Dr Peter Byrne, chairman of the Royal College of Psychiatry’s public education committee, presented a fascinating talk about the profile that psychiatrists have in the media and also our role as ‘evidence based public educators’.  An interesting insight was that whilst newspaper stories about physical health most often concerned the stereotype of ‘bad patient’, those concerning mental health focus on that of the ‘bad doctor’.  The recent BBC programme Mental: A history of the madhouse is an example of this.  Dr Byrne encouraged media engagement by psychiatrists and this theme was further examined in a workshop run by Dr Mark Salter, the event’s organiser.  Other workshops tackled writing skills, running student psychiatric societies and making a psychiatric documentary.  

Given the current situation, it might have been possible to find some of the messages of the day dispiriting.  Fortunately there were many moments of levity and an overall note of optimism.  Dr Chris Manning, a GP with experience of mental health services from both sides, praised psychiatrists and delivered an enthusiastic panegyric: “Minding the brain – the best job in the world”.  Dr Kate Stein, a foundation doctor, was equally enthusiastic when she told us about her plans for a psychiatric career.  The active role of medical students present as delegates was also welcome and encouraging.  

Of course it is not simply enough to identify a problem and there is a plan of action, in which – amongst others – Prof Howard, Dean of the College, is taking a special interest.  He wishes to raise the profile of psychiatry, especially with medical students, and to make medicine in general ‘more psychiatric’.

The day closed with a rabble rousing talk from Prof Simon Wessely “Why psychiatrists still need to be doctors”.  Prof Wessely convincingly argued that patients both want and need their mental health disorders to be treated by psychiatrists who are also doctors.  He spoke of the value of our ability to make a diagnosis and in our use of the biomedical model.  Psychiatrists’ ability to distinguish physical from psychiatric disease makes us indispensible to our physical medicine colleagues.  

Psychiatry has in fact never recruited as many UK trained doctors as it needs to fill its posts and in seeking to reverse this phenomenon we seek to overturn a historical precedent.  Improving the situation requires action on many fronts.  It particularly concerns me that we may be recruiting the wrong mix of students to medical school, as current science focused selection criteria favours technical knowledge over a candidate’s potential to flourish into the practitioner of holistic medicine that psychiatric practice requires and may preclude those who will eventually wish to take the path required by psychiatric practice.  A central message of “Who wants to be a psychiatrist?” is that we can all become involved in this debate and every day should regard ourselves as “walking, talking adverts for psychiatry”.

 

Also published in the June newsletter of the RCPsych London Division

 

Image credit Wikipedia

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Pre-modern and modern early environments

Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

happy_family4

There are few people working in mental health who would argue that early childhood experience does not have a significant effect on one’s functioning in later life.  It’s easy to think up reasons why this should be so;  the architecture of the brain is under development during this time and  appears to be sensitive to impoverished or adverse circumstances. In his book The impact of inequality sociologist Richard Wilkinson discusses this point.  In pre-modern times he argues the distinct delineation between family and wider society did not exist and as a result the rearing atmosphere much more closely resembled that of later life.

Here’s what Wilkinson has to say (pg 266)

“The relationship between early experience and later social behaviour has often been seen as a process by which people’s relationship to societal authority is modelled on their childhood relationship to parental authority. This comes close to the idea that the function of early sensitivity is to use early social experience as an indicator of the nature of the social relationships we will have to deal with later in life: preparing us to be more or less confident, secure, aggressive, friendly, dependent, independent, trusting, or suspicious.

In modern societies, where children grow up in a nuclear family environment in which the quality of social relations might be quite different from those in the wider society, the results of early sensitivity can often look counterproductive. Many children are brought up amid great conflict and end up lacking the social skills, such as the ability to trust and cooperate, that are helpful during adult life in modern societies. Others grow up in a very secure and caring emotional atmosphere that leaves them ill-prepared for a world in which personal ambition, competition wealth, and position count for so much. But in the small groups in which our pre-human and prehistoric human ancestors lived, there was rarely such a sharp distinction between the separate social worlds of the nuclear family and the wider society as there is in modern societies. In the small foraging bands of our prehistory there was less scope for a mismatch between the social environment of childhood and adulthood. Rather than being brought up in separate nuclear families providing self-contained emotional environments distinct from the rest of society, children would have had direct exposure to the kind of community they would have to live in as adults.”

I don’t know much about this sort of thing, so if anyone knows any pertinent further reading, please leave a comment.

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Reconcile, Prozac for dogs

Thursday, January 14th, 2010

prozacfordogs

Fluoxetine hydrochloride (3-(p-trifluoromethylphenoxy)-N-methyl-3-phenylpropylamine HCl) was first described in a scientific journal in 1974 as a selective serotonin -uptake inhibitor.  It was licenced for use in the treatment of depression in Belgium in 1986 and the USA in 1987.  Before its launch, to introduce it to the public, its manufacturer Eli Lilly funded eight million brochures (“Depression: what you need to know”) and 200 000 posters.  It would become one of the best selling pharmaceuticals of its age; by 1992 annual sales had reached US$1bn and by 1995 they had doubled to US$2bn.  In 1999 ‘Prozac’ – the trade name of fluoxetine – was named on of the ‘Products of the century’ by Fortune magazine.

The impact of the drug is hard to overstate, both in terms of the culture of the treatment of mental health disorders and in Western society at large.  Prior to the introduction of fluoxetine antidepressants had a reputation of having side effects and were cautiously prescribed as they were toxic in overdose.  Fluoxetine, on the other hand, was relatively benign and its introduction practically created a market in drugs for mood problems that could be safely prescribed to anyone who wanted them.

Other SSRIs followed in fluoxetine’s wake and the result has been an explosion in the diagnosing of depression and the prescribing of antidepressants.  This is all the more incredible when one considers that the revenue from antidepressants sales in 1975 was US$200million and the market was considered to be saturated.  ‘Prozac’ has since entered the popular lexicon and spawned its own sub-genre of literature.  Of these perhaps the best known is Prozac Nation, a bestselling – but in my view rather tedious – memoir of mental illness written by Elizabeth Wurtzel.

There have been some hiccups along the way.  Fluoxetine doesn’t have as few side effects as originally thought and, amongst those who are prescribed it, anorgasmia is quite common.  Nausea is often experienced initially and it can sometimes increase rather than reduce anxiety.  There have been concerns about other SSRI drugs, notably paroxetine, increasing suicide risk in young adults and in 1989, Joseph Wesbecker shot and killed eight people and injured 12 others in Kentucky before killing himself.  More recently a meta-analysis of 35 clinical trials of four antidepressants including fluoxetine concluded that the action of the medications was not clinical significance for any patient who was not severely depressed.

In 2007 Eli Lilly began to market fluoxetine for dogs under the name Reconcile.  In this incarnation it’s chewable, tastes like beef and is intended to treat something called ‘canine separation anxiety’.  This disorder amounts to a set of behaviours displayed by a dog when being left alone for too long.  A dog so affected may urinate in inappropriate places or chew furniture.  At the time of launch Lilly said that their research showed the up to 17% of dogs suffered from this behavioural disturbance.  Reconcile comes in a once a day chewable beef flavoured capsule.

I don’t know much about dogs, but other people seem to really like them.  I’ve been trying to think about what antidepressants for dogs tells us about ourselves.  Many people see dogs as part of their families and as such project onto them human attributes.  In their advertising Lilly avoid suggesting that Reconcile is a treatment for ‘canine depression’ but other articles written at the time of Reconcile’s launch are not so careful, here in the Times:

In Britain, research among pet-owners carried out for Sainsbury’s Bank in 2003 indicated that 632,000 dogs and cats had suffered from depression in the previous year.

Nearly three times as many pets had suffered from behavioural problems that which could be linked to depression, often resulting in the animal damaging its home or becoming moody or aggressive, according to the research.

The experience of a human disease such as depression involves complex human attributes such as thoughts, emotions and language.  To suggest that we can extend the concept of a specific human mental illnesses such as depression to dogs is to stretch the paradigm almost to breaking point and shows at once how loosely lay people apply the concept and how engrained widespread mental illness it is in everyday thinking.

Not that this association will worry the pharmaceutical companies.  Marketing antidepressants to dogs tacitly encourages dog owners to consider that their dogs have mental health conditions previously described in humans and this can only be good for sales.  Many pharmaceuticals develop mission creep whereby manufacturers endeavor to win them licences to allow their use to treat disorders distinct from those for which they were initially licenced.  Initially cleared for depression only, Fluoxetine is now used for anorexia and bulimia nervosa, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic disorder, premenstrual dysphoria and generalized anxiety disorder.  Viewed in this light, the launch of Reconcile, and fluoxetine’s crossing of the species barrier, is just part of the drugs product lifecycle.

This is not to say of course that fluoxetine doesn’t have its uses for animals.  In similarity to human subjects it may have impressive effects in some, moderate for others and no effect for a substantial number.  The emphasis is on the problem being in the dog and nowhere else,  just like in humans.

Links:

Animals can model psychiatric symptoms – Psychiatric news 2003
Pooches Pop Prozac to Treat Behavioral Problems
Prozac for your dog – Technology Review 2007
Eternal Sunshine – Observer May 2007

Emotions in animals – Wikipedia

***
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Global Psychiatry

Thursday, October 1st, 2009

psychiatry-couch2

Writing generally, in its approach to the study and treatment of mental disorders, Western psychiatry has tended to ignore socio-cultural factors, preferring instead to conceptualize the illnesses with which it is concerned as having a biological basis and a single aetiology and presentation.  Mental disorders as seen by the West are universal and those elsewhere marginalized and considered culture bound.  All cultures do have recognised human behavioural breakdowns – sustained anomalous behaviours judged negatively and regarded as disruptive to organized social life – but this does not mean that there is a single ‘true’ psychiatry.

Whilst there are likely to be some universal – biological – processes involved in the aetiology of mental disorders, to conceive human behavioural disturbance simply in terms of chemical processes is simplistic.  Their causes are multi-determined, with socio-cultural factors playing a crucial role.  Human beings and their cultures are not separable but interdependent and reflective of one another.  The culture of individuals will interact with biological, psychological and environmental variables to determine the causes and manifestations of mental disorder.  The symptoms, meanings and appropriate treatments of mental disorders are then likely to vary across cultures.  That the dividing line between the sane and insane is culturally determined is clear, as it is being constantly readjusted even in Western medicine; homosexuality for instance crossed over from mental disorder to normal behaviour in 1974*.  A behavioural disturbance seen in another culture may resemble that identified by Western medicine, and a Western treatment may even be of assistance in its resolution, but to disregard a local viewpoint and impose a Western one risks medical imperialism.

Concepts of mental illness in non-Western cultures can be markedly different.  Non-western cultures for instance appear often to emphasize somatic symptoms when presenting with a depression-like illness, perhaps because of beliefs about the integration of body and mind.  Furthermore, emotional states that appear quite fundamental from the perspective of an English speaker are not always mirrored in the lives and languages of other cultures.  It is often very difficult to find words or phrases for ‘depression’ in the non-Western lexicon.  Such difference is even plainer when we consider that whilst the English language contains over 2000 emotional words, most languages contain fewer than 200.

Of course the reality is much more nuanced than this ‘West vs. the rest’ scenario and in any one place or culture explanatory models that are used to account for disease and illness often vary between different social groups occupying the same location at a point in time.  For example there may be differences in explanatory models between townsfolk, traditional healers and Western trained professional elites.  Western ideas, however have great influence not least in scientific inquiry where much cross-cultural psychiatric research has been undertaken by academic psychiatrists using Western psychiatric concepts to explain behaviour in non-Western people.  Such activity often uses definitions of mental illness as stated in DSM and ICD-10 manuals.  These are supposedly objective accounts, but are in fact in themselves culture bound documents, representing the attempts of one particular group of people to make sense of human behavioural breakdowns.  It is social anthropologists rather than psychiatrists who have been interested in exploring concepts of normality and abnormality in different cultures.

Ideas of the universality of the Western psychiatric model are extremely powerful, but we cannot assume that because Western mental phenomena can be identified in non-Western settings, they mean the same as they do in the Western world.  This is an important topic, as the WHO has said that, within a decade, depression will globally be second only to cardiovascular disease in terms of disease burden.  A more culturally relativistic approach would find this concerning, as ‘depression’ is merely a description syndrome and is highly heterogeneous and socially shaped.  It is therefore unsuitable to be regarded as a universally valid mental health disorder.  Framing people’s difficulties as being in the realm of mental health raises a familiar concern that to act in this way is to draw attention away from other causes of their distress, for instance poverty or lack of rights.

Consider then that despite its prominence, Western psychiatry is simply one of a number of ethno-psychiatries.  It possesses however one important difference: it is the only psychiatric paradigm with the power to project its conclusions onto the rest of the world.

* According to the American Psychiatric association who decided to remove homosexuality from the DSM following a vote

***

Links:

There chapters in these two books touch on this subject
Madness Explained By Richard Bentall / Malignant Sadness Lewis Wolpert

Also:

Are mental disorders caused by universal processes that create recognisable symptoms regardless of the culture in which they occur?

How scientifically valid is the knowledge base of global mental health?

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Individualism

Tuesday, September 8th, 2009

Individualism

The idea of ‘self’ is difficult to define but represents a set of ideas, representations and beliefs that are held about what it is to be a person.  As psychiatry is a subject concerned with thoughts, feelings, behaviours and relationships, how people view themselves and the accompanying attitudes of psychiatrists to this (our ‘gaze’) are central to its execution.  In Western cultures, we overwhelmingly choose to define ourselves in terms of our individual direction and achievements.  This orientation is often portrayed as an objective truth, but is in fact simply an extremely powerful cultural construction.

Construction or not, individualistic ideology has had a substantial influence on thinking about mental distress.  Psychiatrists have based much of their work on individualistic notions which as a consequence assume that emotional problems can be studied and understood separately from any other context.  When seeking to diagnose an individual as having a mental health disorder, current classification systems, when rigidly interpreted, require no consideration to be given to circumstances beyond a patient’s psychopathology.  Forms of emotional distress are then defined in terms of disordered individual experience and social and cultural factors are seen as secondary and may or may not be taken into account.

This approach sits ill at ease alongside patient experience.  The lives of people with mental health problems have often been very eventful, and normally not in a good way.  The message that life stories are largely irrelevant is then not always popular.  Gail A. Hornstein writes in OpenMind on this subject:

Many patients feel deeply wounded by the assumption that madness has no link to life experience. As Jacqui Dillon, Chair of the National Hearing Voices Network, England, said at a recent conference, “Pathologising the experience of people like me, who have suffered terrible trauma, only adds insult to injury and protects those who have abused us. Instead of asking, what’s wrong with you? people should ask, what’s happened to you?”

Our individualistic beliefs are understandable.  They are welcomed by some patients as they allow entry to the sick role and it can be comforting to regard suffering as something separable from the self and which for amelioration can be passed over to an expert.  It would also be strange if psychiatry had been immune to this central tenet of capitalist societies and the approach also proves expedient to research, where individual phenomena can be captured by way of surveys and rating scales.

However as a profession with regards to this, I would hope that we could, collectively, be more ‘self aware’.  This is not to suggest that mental health professionals are deliberately ignoring patients’ stories, that they are bad people, or even that mental health systems have been purposely set up in order to ignore the needs of vulnerable groups but it is interesting how dominant and rarely questioned ideas and discourses can work to render us blind to systemic inconsistencies and inadequacies.

The current paradigm allows the social and ideological origins of distress to be ignored and its implications side-stepped.  Our helpful – but not too helpful – approach makes possible the propagation of mental health services, who are actually supported by a fragmented and individualistic society.

In order to be truly transformative, mental health services would then need to be honest about the social, political and ideological conditions that often lead to mental distress.  Alas even if this were to magically happen, our message would be lost unless there was a corresponding move in greater society toward a value system where people seek satisfaction more from helping others rather than pursuing private advantage.

Proper leadership, that’s what we need.

Interesting link:

From antipsychiatry to critical psychology

Individualism – Wikipedia

***

Addendum 10 September 2009

Here’s an interesting paragraph from Richard Bentall’s Madness Explained

When constructing the self, the child internalizes historically and culturally determined values.  It is therefore possible that the self as known to people of the past may have been quite different from the self as known to people living in the modern world.  Roy Baumeister has argued that for medieval Europeans, the self was relatively transparent, and was equated with visible manifestations and actions.  As life on earth was, at that time, believed to be a preamble to eternal bliss, there was no need to search for self fulfilment.  In modern Western societies, in contrast, the self is often viewed as a hidden territory that can only be known with difficulty, but which must be explored (perhaps with the technical assistance of a psychotherapist) if its special talents are to be fostered and self-actualization achieved.

Also from Psychiatric imperialism: The medicalisation of modern living by Joanna Moncrieff

The medical model of mental illness has facilitated the move towards greater restriction by cloaking it under the mantle of treatment. This process of medicalisation of deviant behaviour conceals complex political issues about the tolerance of diversity, the control of disruptive behaviour and the management of dependency. It enables a society that professes liberal values and individualism to impose and reinforce conformity. It disguises the economics of a system in which human labour is valued only for the profit it can generate, marginalising all those who are not fit or not willing to be so exploited.

(this one makes more sense if you read the entire article…)

The person in the patient BMJ personal view Alastair Santhouse 1 November 2008 (restricted access)

***

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Madness and Genius

Monday, July 6th, 2009

Well before the rise and fall of Michael Jackson, aka ‘Wacko Jacko’ the idea that the gift of exceptional creativity or ‘genius’ is all too often packaged with mental ill health, has long had cultural currency.  If someone mentions this within our earshot at a party, should we mercilessly expose their naivety, or is there substance to this?*

There’s an immediate problem with definition; ‘exceptional creativity’ or ‘genius’, ‘madness’ or ‘mental disorder’ are in themselves difficult to exactly define and a full examination of their meanings would amount to a weighty tome. All these terms are in fact more or less vague and at best we can try to offer them a degree of precision by anchoring them within a set of terms we hope are more exactly understood.  There is no agreed definition of mental ill health, and indeed the various ways to which psychiatric problems as a category are referred – mental ill health/disorder/disease are three – are not synonyms. Equally, the Oxford English Dictionary  offers eight meanings for ‘genius’, the most relevant of which for this purpose is ‘native intellectual power of an exalted type, such as is attributed to those who are esteemed greatest in any department of art, speculation, or practice; instinctive and extraordinary capacity for imaginative creation, original thought, invention, or discovery’.

With this difficulty noted, what can studies tell us?  Looking in the past the mood disorders of poets in Britain and Ireland born in the hundred years 1705 – 1805 have been investigated.  This time period includes esteemed figures such as Lord Byron, Samuel Johnson, William Blake and William Wordsworth. A high rate of mood disorders was found, with this group 30 times more likely to suffer bipolar disorder and five times as likely to commit suicide.  These results are striking, but problematic.  It can be difficult enough to determine whether someone whom you are directly interviewing is mentally disordered, so the reliability of a diagnosis made over the passage of centuries from biographical data is seriously in question.  Furthermore we have really no idea what minds were like in the past, and in diagnosing historical figures with mental disorders characterised well after their deaths, we must recognise that we project ourselves onto them.

Looking at living people avoids some of these difficulties and another study interviewed a group of 47 eminent British writers and artists and found that 38% had been treated for mood disorder.  The poets involved were particularly unfortunate and half had needed hospitalization.*  In line with speculation that bipolar patients are particularly creative, many of the subjects reported changes in mood, cognition and behaviour either preceding or coinciding with the creative process.  In a similar study on the other side of the Atlantic, a group of 30 creative writers living in Iowa was interviewed.  The researcher was actually expecting to find a correlation between creativity and schizophrenia but actually no such was seen.  There was however abnormally high levels of mood disorder in both the writers and their relatives;   eighty percent of the sample had experienced at least one episode of major depression, hypomania or mania compared with 30% in the control group.  The group was followed for the next 15 years and it was found that 43% had bipolar disorder compared to only 10% of the control group and 1% of the general population.

A further two ore studies seem to confirm these findings.  In Denmark bipolar patients and their relatives were interviewed about their lives and their responses were evaluated using a standard measure of lifetime creative achievement.  The patients and their relatives both scored higher than the control group.  A Stanford university study found that people with bipolar disorder and creative discipline controls scored significantly higher than healthy controls on a measure of creativity called the Barron-Welsh Art Scale.

As well as mood disorders at least one study has suggested that schizophrenia may also be implicated.  An investigation of the occupations of the relatives of Icelandic patients with schizophrenia found evidence of high levels of creativity.  Do then psychosis and creativity have common genetic roots?

I haven’t looked at these studies of living patients closely but they do suggest that the correlation between creativity and mental ill health cannot be dismissed as their findings are quite consistent.  It is interesting that the creative process does not appear to be restricted to a single category of mental ill health; this may either mean that the distinctions we make between different mental states are overconfident, or that it is the altered state that is important, but not its precise nature.   The studies are still relatively few however and the numbers of patients included appear limited.  Their definition of creativity is also narrow, being restricted to the arts and such a one dimensional view of creativity may reflect familiar prejudice against the merits scientific disciplines.  It seems unlikely that a person who is successful in science, business or politics will not have to show creative thinking.  There is also no discussion of the direction of causation; those with mental health problems may choose to work in creative areas as the discipline required for full time employment is not necessary.  Equally it is also possible that the isolation, rumination and mental effort required for the act of artistic creation will also have an effect on mental health.  Also note that if there is a connection between mental disorder and exceptional creativity, these may not necessarily both be in the same individual; it is possible that there could exist an excess of mental disorder within the family of the creative individual who is him/herself in fact largely unaffected.

Yet even if studies were uniformly unsupportive I think that the idea of the madness and genius being co-dependent would persist.  The creative process is generally romanticized, a phenomenon in itself unremarkable as this maintains privilege, impresses patrons, and recruits muses.  Perhaps there something mysterious and unexplainable about the creative process such that we feel it requires something equally mysterious and unexplained – mental illness – to account for it; or do we feel that dramatic works must necessarily have dramatic conceptions?  Or in order to soothe the doubts we have about our own achievements do we wish to see talented artists as in some way ‘other’.  Another advantage of mental ill health and creativity being in some way connected – and one that is more likely to mean that a possibly spurious correlation is paraded as fact – is that this allows something positive to come from mental illness.  Note also the idea of ‘genius’ is in itself culturally dependent, being as it is a Western individualistic notion that genius exists within a single person, a great man or woman without whom society would not move forward.  A discussion of the good fortune that lead to their recognition is not generally undertaken.  What constitutes either genius or madness is of course highly subjective and hostage to the gaze we bring and the assumptions and values that gaze has implicit.

Presumably, if the association is genuine, mental ill health must at some level help with the creative process.  A creative person may differ from others in that he or she is more open to experience, is more exploratory, shows increased risk taking, and is more tolerant of ambiguity.  A particularly creative person may experience the order and structure that others find comforting as inhibiting and may feel the need to confront norms and conventions.  Such traits may make him or her more perceptive but also more vulnerable to emotional turmoil.  It does seem likely that artistic creativity will benefit from a variety of experiences and perhaps the struggle to come to terms with personal emotional extremes supports the process as certain thoughts may only be accessible to us when in certain states of mind.  Times of mental health could draw on times of mental ill health for inspiration as Lewis Wolpert has commented.  Depression could help put into perspective thoughts and feelings that have been generated during a more manic phase and in this way it could take an editorial role.

Mental health is however also necessary for great work, as this requires concentration, discipline and great effort. Mental ill health is clearly neither necessary nor sufficient for genius given that not every creative person has a mental health problem.  There does seem to be something to ‘madness and genius’ but how strong a correlation is unclear and is likely to remain hostage to where we choose to draw our lines in the sand.

***
* A recent debate at the Maudsley Hospital took this on and debated the motion ‘this house believes that madness is the price we pay for exceptional creativity’.

None of the speakers were particularly perceptive alas.  It’s available as a podcast, so no need to take my word for this.

** Comedians are classically seen as depressives.  Oliver James certainly thinks so.  In their book The Naked Jape, Jimmy Carr and Lucy Greeves discuss the ‘sad clown’ stereotype and basically disagree with it. They quote a 1992 study by psychologist James Rotton which found that comedians were actually no more prone to suicidal depression than any other group and there was no difference between the life expectancy of a comedian and any other sort of  entertainer.

Assuming that we buy the line that childhood trauma or hardship can, in some cases, spur individuals on to high-profile achievements, it’s not surprising that many successful and famous jokers have less than Walton-esque family backgrounds. But would you find any fewer damaged individuals if you were to look at rock musicians, or actors, or any other deeply competitive profession where the stakes are high, your personality is exposed to harsh public criticism and you have a bit too much time on your hands?

Lucy Greeves was kind enough to reply to my emails and said that she’s found from her own experience that the trait that most exemplifies comedians is competitiveness rather than melancholy.

I think the thing that strikes a lot of people as odd when they first realise it is how serious most professional comics are in “real life”. I’m not sure why this surprises us, though. We don’t expect opera singers to converse in arias. But because a really good comedian’s trick is to convince his audience that he’s not using a script, we buy into that illusion that he’s just a really hilarious guy who has agreed to be our mate for the evening. Imagine our disappointment when he doesn’t say funny stuff all the time – perhaps he’s depressed?

Interesting huh?

***

These three books have sections on this subject:

Madness explained Richard Bentall
The meaning of madness Neel Burton
Malignant Sadness Lewis Wolpert

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User groups

Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009

In a lecture he gave in October 2008 Consultant Psychiatrist Dr Pat Bracken spoke strongly in favour of engagement of psychiatrists with consumers of mental health services.  He put it rather strongly actually:

‘If we say that we are working to develop user-centred services, training and research programmes then is it simply unethical to carry on as if the user movement did not exist’.

True to this insight, during my time as a psychiatric trainee I’ve had very little to do with user organisations, and they have therefore had little or no impact on my thinking or clinical practice*.  Just like Bracken says, for me they have not existed.  I am unable to say if this is the experience of all psychiatric trainees, or whether my training establishment is particularly indifferent, but I fear that I am not a unique case.  This must be a regrettable oversight.  Any sensible commercial entity (to which health services are becoming increasingly compared) listens to people who take the time to lodge a concern, knowing that if they do not, not only will their disgruntled customer brief others of their dissatisfaction, but also that they will be missing an opportunity to improve.  Within psychiatry, patients can make complaints and are sometimes asked to participate, but they act predominantly as advisors and expertise still resides with professionals.

Why, you might say, does this matter, and why should we single psychiatry out on this?  Perhaps we should not; I personally have seen from working in other medical specialties that psychiatry’s reluctance to engage with user groups is shared by other branches of medicine where there reside doctors who are very unwilling to engage with patients.  Many people return from a stay in a hospital medical or surgical ward with reports of offhand medical staff and have been so uninvolved in their care that they are barely aware of what has happened to them.  However, whilst psychiatric disorders resemble those of physical medicine in many ways, their formulation cannot easily be captured with the same lexicon and the interaction between psychiatrists and their patients is different.  You can, at least in theory treat, a patient’s coronary arteries without so much as exchanging the time of day with them.  A cardiologist who takes into account their patients’ community role and psychological well being may have more satisfied patients, but it is not their primary business.  Psychiatry, on the other hand, deals with thoughts, feelings and behaviours and is entirely cited in the social world.  Our outcomes are less mechanical and more nuanced than those of other parts of medicine.  We have power to define normality, to bestow stigmatizing labels and to take freedoms where we think fit**.

Psychiatric disease is often chronic, so a beneficial relationship between doctors and patients can only be to mutual benefit.  The fuller dialogue with patients and with user groups could lead us to devise services that genuinely engage people with mental health problems and inform our theories as to the nature and boundaries of psychiatric illness.  Such engagement will lead to responsibilities for our patients too; they, as well as the wider public need to be will to be understanding over the particular areas of difficulty in our practice, such as the use of the mental health act.  Recognition will also be needed of the fact that user groups do not speak with one voice and potentially have contradictory messages.

If you have worked with user groups in any capacity, please leave a comment below and tell of your experience.

***

*Criticism of psychiatry from former users is, of course, not new.  In 1620 for instance the House of Lords received the ‘Petition of the Poor Distracted People in the House of Bedlam’ a complaint against the inhumane treatment of the Bedlam Asylum inmates.

** Not that I was there, but this transcript of a 2006 debate organised by the James Naylor Trust gives an idea of how upset some people are with psychiatrists.

Links:

Users’ movement and the challenge to psychiatrists – 1998 British Journal of Psychiatry

Addendum 5 July 2009

An interesting new publication by Pat Bracken and Phil Thomas on the user groups subject:

Beyond consultation: the challenge of working with user/survivor and carer groups

Common sense, nonsense and the new culture wars within psychiatry. Invited commentary on . . Beyond consultation

Authors’ response. Invited commentary on … Beyond consultation

Addendum 8 February 2010

Louise Pembroke has written for Openmind magazine about the relationship between psychiatrists and user groups and this is well worth a read.

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Antidepressants prescribed by psychiatrists only?

Tuesday, June 16th, 2009

Today I saw a female patient who has problems with use of multiple recreational drugs and alcohol.  I was the first psychiatrist that she has ever seen, she has however for the past two years been taking mirtazapine – an antidepressant – and this is prescribed by her hospital physician.  I almost never prescribe medications outside a psychiatric remit, however antidepressants are regularly prescribed by doctors whose area of expertise is not psychiatry.  GPs, ITUs and stroke wards often start their patients on these medications, and hospital physicians can also be very fond of them. 

The notion that there is a very common disease called ‘depression’ that can be addressed with the use of antidepressants is very prevalent in our society and although psychiatrists are ‘experts’ in it, the general abandon doctors show with antidepressant prescribing would suggest that its treatment is something on which all doctors have purchase and is not just the preserve of shrinks.  Yet can this be a good idea?  Many doctors’ insight into this area may be no more nuanced than that gleaned from their teaching at medical school, which from my recollection was simplistic and dogmatic.  Is low mood such a problem that we cannot but afford to have all doctors tackling the problem, or has the diagnosis gone feral and now needs to be tamed by expert tamers with chairs and whips?

In truth ‘depression’ is a very difficult thing to define and any doctor who says that they can reliably differentiate it from sadness is deluding themselves.  Our current best shots at a definition, or at least the one that most people agree on, are the vague aggregation of symptoms offered by DSM-IV and ICD-10.  These definitions are so broad however that they stand accused of pathologizing everyday sadness and have in part lead to the ridiculous notion, useful to some, that one in four of our population suffers from a disorder of their mental health. 

Standing aside whether widely used criteria are worthy, most doctors – including psychiatrists – pay little heed to operational criteria, and instead simply going to a doctor once or twice and stating that you’re ‘not quite yourself’ is most often sufficient for a prescription of antidepressants, which is a de facto diagnosis of depression.  It’s illuminating often to ask people who say that they are ‘depressed’ what meaning they attach to this; the selection of responses I have had range from those equating to mild dysphoria to those expressing unremitting misery.  It is also not unusual for a question about someone’s supposed mental distress to be framed in more concrete terms: ‘I’ve got a lot of trouble with my housing’ being an unfortunate favourite.  If the first doctor won’t provide you with antidepressants, the second surely will.  Doctors we feel they must help and antidepressants allow them to avoid admitting the boundaries of their efficacy.

Thus a patient who entered a consulting room simply sad, and often unfortunate, leaves anointed as ‘depressed’ having now a stigmatizing mental health disorder, and as this is a disease that sits independent from a life narrative, other avenues of relief which might have otherwise been explored are tacitly discouraged.  Now take the patient we started with.  Anyone standing next to you at a bus stop would tell you that if someone was already taking four psychoactive substances on a daily basis, then addressing these might be the first place to start.    This is what I’d have said to them, but in this rights-based society if I think this and a patient thinks differently, who’s right?

You might think then that this is a call for psychiatrists to act as gatekeepers to the prescribing of antidepressants.  Actually no, depression and antidepressants are one of the stories of our age, which means that they effect everybody and everyone has a part to play in their sensible use.  I’m not going to go so far as to say that there is no such thing as ‘mood disorder’ but in recently years we have all reimagined humans as intensely vulnerable beings, which inevitably means that people will view themselves in this light.  As the prominence of religion in European communities fades and market capitalism continues to propagate the excluded, medicine has become the place to turn for suffering of all kinds, social, physical and mental but this is no substitute for a supportive community.  They don’t teach us at medical school how to know the limits of our business, so we’ve been simply blundering on.  If all doctors can prescribe antidepressants, then all doctors should be part of the conversation about when we’ve gone too far and we should tell people that they’re a lot tougher than they think.

Also published on bmj.com blogs

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Examination of the concept of ‘rational suicide’

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

It has been estimated that approximately 1 000 000 people die of suicide yearly worldwide  and whilst most studies indicate that people who commit suicide have a disturbance of mental functioning this does not exclude a relatively small number of people who, for whatever reason, might express the wish for an early death but yet lack any state that may impair their mental function.  For these people the paternalistic approach applied to many with a desire for suicide appears less appropriate and has lead to the notion of a ‘rational suicide’.  Many people feel strongly that this option for rational thinkers to end their lives should be available and argue that there is a historical precedent; it was in reference to manner of Socrates’ death that Compassion and Choices, an American euthanasia pressure group, was initially called the Hemlock Society.

The emergence of rational suicide as a concept has happened within a framework of contemporary era cultural, technological and philosophical shifts where individualistic attitudes lead people to treat their own goals and desires as paramount whilst advances in medical treatments have lead to increased lifespan.  Therefore at the end of life we are both encouraged, and afforded more opportunity, to contemplate the manner of our own passing.  Judgement of suicide has simultaneously moved away from assigning a successful suicide to be a moral or religious failure towards one where most suicides have come to be seen as the result of disturbance of mind.

Werth and others have suggested criteria under which a rational suicide should be allowed.  That these are notably circumscribed reflects the negative value that suicide generally holds and the concerns of others with this approach.  Proposed are that for a suicide to be considered rational the person in question must have an unremittingly hopeless condition, should make their decision as a free choice and have engaged in a sound decision making process, including assessment by a mental health professional.

Despite the face validity of this line, analysis of what is meant by ‘rational suicide’ and its implications reveal a more nuanced situation than the casual inquirer might anticipate.  From the definitions of the word ‘suicide’, taken from the latin sui meaning ‘of oneself’ and cidium meaning ‘to slay or kill’, and that of rational, an act that it is characterized by reason or is intelligible, sensible, or can be understood , one can surmise that ‘rational suicide’ is self slaying that is characterized by reason or ‘makes sense’ to others .  The arguments in favour of rational suicide generally come in two flavours.  The first emphasizes the need to respect an individual’s autonomy, the modern meaning of which was developed by the philosopher Kant.  In common usage it implies ‘being one’s own person or being able to act according to one’s beliefs or desires without interference’.  Kant expressed it as a respect for persons and wrote that to violate a person’s autonomy is to treat them as a means rather than as an end in themselves.  The ‘right to die’ is then an expression of the most extreme form of autonomy, that is the right to choose the time and manner of one’s passing.  The second argument in support of rational suicide involves the ability of an individual to make rational assessment of utility or ‘good’ that is gained by ending their life and here proponents argue that suicide can provide freedom from painful and hopeless disease.  In this argument the consideration that an individual has for their quality of life is of paramount importance.

However the concepts of autonomy, utility and rationality alone are inadequate arguments for the acceptance of rational suicide as none are ever identifiable in so pure a form as to be considered a philosophical trump card.  Werth’s guidelines are first and foremost pragmatic and with an irreversible decision at stake the standards of rationality must of necessity be high.  To come to a conclusion that an act or intention of suicide is reasonable is not a straightforward matter.

We must also recognize that in seeking a rational suicide, the components that inform this decision are culturally determined, thereby introducing considerable subjectivity and possible external disagreement.  Furthermore if the decision to end one’s life is informed by persistent suffering, then it is unlikely to be made on entirely non-emotional grounds and likely to be subject to cognitive distortions.  It is a curious position to seek to solve a problem in life, by ending the life itself and those intending a rational suicide would presumably actually prefer to be alive, just not under the current circumstances, indicating the presence of significant ambivalence regarding their decision.

There are few people who would argue that autonomy for a patient, at any stage of care, is not important.  However when we respect autonomy we are respecting a person’s right to exercise their right to make independent decisions about their life and these decisions will be made on the basis of considerations which are consistent with a person’s moral values or a personal code.  These values or code would ideally be independently derived; however this is not possible as people are heavily influenced by such things as their culture, parents and friends.  Thus the sense of autonomy as the exercise of independent thought is compromised.

Alternatively, if one wishes to frame rational suicide as the outcome of an audit of a life’s merits and demerits a pertinent question is what the continuation of this life is to be weighed up against.  If the decision is to be truly informed this should involve gaining all possible facts and imagining all consequences.  However since the experience of being dead is entirely unknown it is questionable whether it is possible to adequately foresee the outcome of one’s actions in this regard.

These concerns indicate that it may be difficult to satisfactorily reach a conclusion that rational suicide is possible.  The concept of a suicide being ‘understandable’ is probably more meaningful and suitable although may not carry the same weight.

Comment on this piece

Life is a disease so cut the bullshit please

Further reading:

Autonomy, rationality and the wish to die Clarke Journal of Medical Ethics 1999;25:457-462
A Primer on Rational Suicide and Other Forms of Hastened Death Werth and Holdwick The Counseling Psychologist, Vol. 28, No. 4, 511-539 (2000)
Rational suicide: uncertain moral ground Rich and Butts Journal of Advanced Nursing Volume 46 Issue 3 270 – 278

Encyclopedia of  death and dying – suicide types

Suicide – a rational choice?

The economics of suicide – Slate magazine

Thought for the day 9 June 2009

Addendum 23 June 2009 Neither euthanasia nor suicide but end of life choice,  Guardian 23 June 2009.  More about physician assisted suicide than rational suicide but the comments are interesting, as they touch on many of the issues raised above

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