PTSD

A social worker called with a plea in April 2020, when the hospital was filled with COVID-19 patients, some so sick they were on ventilators. “I need your help with a family. Mom is in the ICU, intubated; her son died here 2 weeks ago of COVID and her daughters are overwhelmed, unable to visit because of restrictions. The staff anticipates extubating Elvira imminently, but she will be fragile and alone. When is the right time to tell Elvira that Tony died?”

That happened at the beginning of the COVID pandemic. I handled the case remotely with heroic help from overburdened nurses and doctors who were acting as medical staff, social workers, and substitute family to an isolated patient in the hospital. Such was the confusion with the new virus before vaccines and treatments.
 

The impact of pandemics: A historical perspective

Beginning in antiquity, there were pandemics that decimated populations. Before antibiotics, vaccines or awareness of microorganisms, people feared contagion and sought isolation from the sick. People also thought that those who recovered were less likely to fall ill again, and if they did get sick, the illness would be milder.

There is abundant documentation of bubonic plague outbreaks, such as the “Black Death” in the Middle Ages. The Spanish flu of 1918 struck down robust young Americans and spread worldwide. Although the bubonic plague was at the center of major infectious outbreaks, including the pandemic of the Justinian era (500s) and the Great Plague of London (1665-1666), other infectious diseases, untreatable at the time, prevailed simultaneously. Wars, world trade, unsanitary conditions, and urban crowding enhanced the spread. Pandemics shaped history. Some historians attribute the fall of the Roman Empire to unrelenting infectious disease carried in migratory battles.

Even in the earliest outbreaks, the poor populace died more readily than the well off, who had means to escape and seclude themselves from congested areas. Samuel Pepys, a diarist of the London Plague, was a famed businessman and government official; he wrote of seeing the suffering in his city, but he escaped to live with his wife in their country home. What Samuel Pepys wrote of London during the Plague can apply to the early period of the COVID pandemic: “How few people I see, and those looking like people that had taken leave of the world.”

There are lurid descriptions of the chaos of pandemics, especially of the Black Death and the Plague of London. First published in 1722, Daniel Defoe’s “A Journal of the Plague Year” describes the suffering of the sick that included people abandoning the afflicted and others running rampant with delirium in the streets, screaming in pain. City officials took cruel measures that they considered necessary, such as locking away families in their homes, sick and well together, when an individual member showed symptoms. The Middle Ages saw deadly anti-Semitism. During the Black Death, fanatics murdered Jews in the belief that they brought on the pestilence. Ignorance created panic.

As happens in tragedy, there was also bravery. Some stayed to tend to the sick; charities provided food for poor people during the London Plague.
 

Back to the 21st century

After 3 weeks on the ventilator, Elvira got extubated. A team including her doctor, nurse, and Connie, one of her daughters, told Elvira that her 28-year-old son had died of COVID. I began telepsychiatry with Elvira and her two daughters. Treatment continued after Elvira returned home. In telephone sessions, we discussed bereavement and how to cope with the emotional and physical challenges in recovery.

Before he contracted COVID, Tony, Elvira’s son, had compromised health. He was on dialysis awaiting a kidney transplant. His mother prepared his meals and often accompanied Tony to doctor appointments. Still, Elvira said, “I wasn’t there to hold his hand.” At age 71, Elvira was also at high risk. She suffered from diabetes, high blood pressure, hyperlipidemia, and had coronary stents. Elvira was compliant with medications for her conditions.
 

What we know; where we are

“Infectious diseases are not static conditions but depend upon a constantly changing relationship between parasite and invaded species which is bound to result in modifications of both clinical and epidemiological manifestations.”

Hans Zinsser, Rats, Lice and History

We need to be informed by history and grateful to the geniuses who brought us into the modern age of medicine. We can prevent diseases with public health measures, and by understanding and treating crises. Edward Jenner, who recognized the protective effect of cowpox against smallpox, developed inoculations beginning in 1796; he ushered in immunology and saved the lives of millions. Smallpox is now eradicated. A succession of microbe hunters, including Louis Pasteur and Robert Koch, benefited from the development of the microscope by Antonie van Leeuwenhoek. With the advent and use of penicillin in the early 1940s, Alexander Fleming welcomed antibiotics; by the 1960s this modality became widespread. In the mid-20th century, immunologists recognized that bacteria and viruses change and adapt to the environment.

The planet has seen ravaging pandemics that then dissipated and, although untreatable at the time, disappeared into a reservoir, such as rats or lice. People also developed herd immunity from exposure to the offending microorganisms within the population. Less toxic, these agents no longer kill those who get infected but they can be transmissible and endemic to humans.

The mental health consequences of pandemics are reminiscent of other severe illnesses. The seriously ill develop cognitive aberrations and can become delirious. The population at risk and those who get sick can experience depression, PTSD, and anxiety – including panic.
 

Update on Elvira

Elvira continues to improve. She also participates in support groups, including one that addresses bereavement for parents of children who died of COVID and other causes. “I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye,” she said. But what she calls her “brain fog” has dissipated. She walks better, and she is getting evaluation of radiculopathy, probably from nerve root injury during her 3 weeks in bed on the ventilator. She’s still experiencing pain in her feet.

With regard to her symptoms she said: “I cry almost every day.” Her PTSD has abated, but she sometimes has nightmares. Elvira is writing a book about the induced coma and the “hallucinations from hell to heaven” she experienced. She wonders:“Did Tony go through the same thing?” Her empathy is enhanced by her background as a retired social worker with the Administration for Children’s Services in New York.
 

The role of psychiatry

In its early, most virulent form, SARS-CoV-2 devastated thousands of people, especially the elderly medically vulnerable. With scientific tools we developed vaccines and treatments and continue to study the dynamics of this virus.

As Andy Miller, MD, chief of the division of infectious diseases at the Hospital for Special Surgery, said when I spoke with him about the virus, because of the way in which viruses mutate, “we must remain aware” of the trajectory of SARS-CoV-2 and “counter irrational beliefs.”

How should psychiatry deal with COVID? As scientists, we seek the truth without bias and politics. Mental illness is our domain. Other specialties have the expertise to treat and even prevent infectious disease. We can assist our doctor colleagues to understand depression, anxiety, PTSD, and cognitive issues when they occur. Our medical mission should be, as always, to treat those who suffer mental illness. Now that extends to the consequences of COVID.
 

Suggested reading

Camus A. The Plague. New York: Vintage Books,. 1991.

Defoe D. A Journal of the Plague Year. Mineola, N.Y.: Dover Publications, 2001.

Kelly J. The Great Mortality: An Intimate History of the Black Death, The Most Devastating Plague of All Time. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005.

Pepys S. The Diary of Samuel Pepys: The Great Plague of London & The Great Fire of London, 1665-1666. Oxford, England: Benediction Classics, 2020.

Emerg Infect Dis. 2005 Mar 11(3):402-96.

Zinsser H. Rats, Lice and History. Boston/Toronto: Little Brown and Co., 1935.

Dr. Cohen is in private practice of psychotherapy and medication management in New York. She has been a consultant at the Hospital for Special Surgery and at New York–Presbyterian, and a forensic psychiatry expert. She changed key facts about Elvira’s case to protect her anonymity.

A social worker called with a plea in April 2020, when the hospital was filled with COVID-19 patients, some so sick they were on ventilators. “I need your help with a family. Mom is in the ICU, intubated; her son died here 2 weeks ago of COVID and her daughters are overwhelmed, unable to visit because of restrictions. The staff anticipates extubating Elvira imminently, but she will be fragile and alone. When is the right time to tell Elvira that Tony died?”

That happened at the beginning of the COVID pandemic. I handled the case remotely with heroic help from overburdened nurses and doctors who were acting as medical staff, social workers, and substitute family to an isolated patient in the hospital. Such was the confusion with the new virus before vaccines and treatments.
 

The impact of pandemics: A historical perspective

Beginning in antiquity, there were pandemics that decimated populations. Before antibiotics, vaccines or awareness of microorganisms, people feared contagion and sought isolation from the sick. People also thought that those who recovered were less likely to fall ill again, and if they did get sick, the illness would be milder.

There is abundant documentation of bubonic plague outbreaks, such as the “Black Death” in the Middle Ages. The Spanish flu of 1918 struck down robust young Americans and spread worldwide. Although the bubonic plague was at the center of major infectious outbreaks, including the pandemic of the Justinian era (500s) and the Great Plague of London (1665-1666), other infectious diseases, untreatable at the time, prevailed simultaneously. Wars, world trade, unsanitary conditions, and urban crowding enhanced the spread. Pandemics shaped history. Some historians attribute the fall of the Roman Empire to unrelenting infectious disease carried in migratory battles.

Even in the earliest outbreaks, the poor populace died more readily than the well off, who had means to escape and seclude themselves from congested areas. Samuel Pepys, a diarist of the London Plague, was a famed businessman and government official; he wrote of seeing the suffering in his city, but he escaped to live with his wife in their country home. What Samuel Pepys wrote of London during the Plague can apply to the early period of the COVID pandemic: “How few people I see, and those looking like people that had taken leave of the world.”

There are lurid descriptions of the chaos of pandemics, especially of the Black Death and the Plague of London. First published in 1722, Daniel Defoe’s “A Journal of the Plague Year” describes the suffering of the sick that included people abandoning the afflicted and others running rampant with delirium in the streets, screaming in pain. City officials took cruel measures that they considered necessary, such as locking away families in their homes, sick and well together, when an individual member showed symptoms. The Middle Ages saw deadly anti-Semitism. During the Black Death, fanatics murdered Jews in the belief that they brought on the pestilence. Ignorance created panic.

As happens in tragedy, there was also bravery. Some stayed to tend to the sick; charities provided food for poor people during the London Plague.
 

Back to the 21st century

After 3 weeks on the ventilator, Elvira got extubated. A team including her doctor, nurse, and Connie, one of her daughters, told Elvira that her 28-year-old son had died of COVID. I began telepsychiatry with Elvira and her two daughters. Treatment continued after Elvira returned home. In telephone sessions, we discussed bereavement and how to cope with the emotional and physical challenges in recovery.

Before he contracted COVID, Tony, Elvira’s son, had compromised health. He was on dialysis awaiting a kidney transplant. His mother prepared his meals and often accompanied Tony to doctor appointments. Still, Elvira said, “I wasn’t there to hold his hand.” At age 71, Elvira was also at high risk. She suffered from diabetes, high blood pressure, hyperlipidemia, and had coronary stents. Elvira was compliant with medications for her conditions.
 

What we know; where we are

“Infectious diseases are not static conditions but depend upon a constantly changing relationship between parasite and invaded species which is bound to result in modifications of both clinical and epidemiological manifestations.”

Hans Zinsser, Rats, Lice and History

We need to be informed by history and grateful to the geniuses who brought us into the modern age of medicine. We can prevent diseases with public health measures, and by understanding and treating crises. Edward Jenner, who recognized the protective effect of cowpox against smallpox, developed inoculations beginning in 1796; he ushered in immunology and saved the lives of millions. Smallpox is now eradicated. A succession of microbe hunters, including Louis Pasteur and Robert Koch, benefited from the development of the microscope by Antonie van Leeuwenhoek. With the advent and use of penicillin in the early 1940s, Alexander Fleming welcomed antibiotics; by the 1960s this modality became widespread. In the mid-20th century, immunologists recognized that bacteria and viruses change and adapt to the environment.

The planet has seen ravaging pandemics that then dissipated and, although untreatable at the time, disappeared into a reservoir, such as rats or lice. People also developed herd immunity from exposure to the offending microorganisms within the population. Less toxic, these agents no longer kill those who get infected but they can be transmissible and endemic to humans.

The mental health consequences of pandemics are reminiscent of other severe illnesses. The seriously ill develop cognitive aberrations and can become delirious. The population at risk and those who get sick can experience depression, PTSD, and anxiety – including panic.
 

Update on Elvira

Elvira continues to improve. She also participates in support groups, including one that addresses bereavement for parents of children who died of COVID and other causes. “I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye,” she said. But what she calls her “brain fog” has dissipated. She walks better, and she is getting evaluation of radiculopathy, probably from nerve root injury during her 3 weeks in bed on the ventilator. She’s still experiencing pain in her feet.

With regard to her symptoms she said: “I cry almost every day.” Her PTSD has abated, but she sometimes has nightmares. Elvira is writing a book about the induced coma and the “hallucinations from hell to heaven” she experienced. She wonders:“Did Tony go through the same thing?” Her empathy is enhanced by her background as a retired social worker with the Administration for Children’s Services in New York.
 

The role of psychiatry

In its early, most virulent form, SARS-CoV-2 devastated thousands of people, especially the elderly medically vulnerable. With scientific tools we developed vaccines and treatments and continue to study the dynamics of this virus.

As Andy Miller, MD, chief of the division of infectious diseases at the Hospital for Special Surgery, said when I spoke with him about the virus, because of the way in which viruses mutate, “we must remain aware” of the trajectory of SARS-CoV-2 and “counter irrational beliefs.”

How should psychiatry deal with COVID? As scientists, we seek the truth without bias and politics. Mental illness is our domain. Other specialties have the expertise to treat and even prevent infectious disease. We can assist our doctor colleagues to understand depression, anxiety, PTSD, and cognitive issues when they occur. Our medical mission should be, as always, to treat those who suffer mental illness. Now that extends to the consequences of COVID.
 

Suggested reading

Camus A. The Plague. New York: Vintage Books,. 1991.

Defoe D. A Journal of the Plague Year. Mineola, N.Y.: Dover Publications, 2001.

Kelly J. The Great Mortality: An Intimate History of the Black Death, The Most Devastating Plague of All Time. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005.

Pepys S. The Diary of Samuel Pepys: The Great Plague of London & The Great Fire of London, 1665-1666. Oxford, England: Benediction Classics, 2020.

Emerg Infect Dis. 2005 Mar 11(3):402-96.

Zinsser H. Rats, Lice and History. Boston/Toronto: Little Brown and Co., 1935.

Dr. Cohen is in private practice of psychotherapy and medication management in New York. She has been a consultant at the Hospital for Special Surgery and at New York–Presbyterian, and a forensic psychiatry expert. She changed key facts about Elvira’s case to protect her anonymity.

A social worker called with a plea in April 2020, when the hospital was filled with COVID-19 patients, some so sick they were on ventilators. “I need your help with a family. Mom is in the ICU, intubated; her son died here 2 weeks ago of COVID and her daughters are overwhelmed, unable to visit because of restrictions. The staff anticipates extubating Elvira imminently, but she will be fragile and alone. When is the right time to tell Elvira that Tony died?”

That happened at the beginning of the COVID pandemic. I handled the case remotely with heroic help from overburdened nurses and doctors who were acting as medical staff, social workers, and substitute family to an isolated patient in the hospital. Such was the confusion with the new virus before vaccines and treatments.
 

The impact of pandemics: A historical perspective

Beginning in antiquity, there were pandemics that decimated populations. Before antibiotics, vaccines or awareness of microorganisms, people feared contagion and sought isolation from the sick. People also thought that those who recovered were less likely to fall ill again, and if they did get sick, the illness would be milder.

There is abundant documentation of bubonic plague outbreaks, such as the “Black Death” in the Middle Ages. The Spanish flu of 1918 struck down robust young Americans and spread worldwide. Although the bubonic plague was at the center of major infectious outbreaks, including the pandemic of the Justinian era (500s) and the Great Plague of London (1665-1666), other infectious diseases, untreatable at the time, prevailed simultaneously. Wars, world trade, unsanitary conditions, and urban crowding enhanced the spread. Pandemics shaped history. Some historians attribute the fall of the Roman Empire to unrelenting infectious disease carried in migratory battles.

Even in the earliest outbreaks, the poor populace died more readily than the well off, who had means to escape and seclude themselves from congested areas. Samuel Pepys, a diarist of the London Plague, was a famed businessman and government official; he wrote of seeing the suffering in his city, but he escaped to live with his wife in their country home. What Samuel Pepys wrote of London during the Plague can apply to the early period of the COVID pandemic: “How few people I see, and those looking like people that had taken leave of the world.”

There are lurid descriptions of the chaos of pandemics, especially of the Black Death and the Plague of London. First published in 1722, Daniel Defoe’s “A Journal of the Plague Year” describes the suffering of the sick that included people abandoning the afflicted and others running rampant with delirium in the streets, screaming in pain. City officials took cruel measures that they considered necessary, such as locking away families in their homes, sick and well together, when an individual member showed symptoms. The Middle Ages saw deadly anti-Semitism. During the Black Death, fanatics murdered Jews in the belief that they brought on the pestilence. Ignorance created panic.

As happens in tragedy, there was also bravery. Some stayed to tend to the sick; charities provided food for poor people during the London Plague.
 

Back to the 21st century

After 3 weeks on the ventilator, Elvira got extubated. A team including her doctor, nurse, and Connie, one of her daughters, told Elvira that her 28-year-old son had died of COVID. I began telepsychiatry with Elvira and her two daughters. Treatment continued after Elvira returned home. In telephone sessions, we discussed bereavement and how to cope with the emotional and physical challenges in recovery.

Before he contracted COVID, Tony, Elvira’s son, had compromised health. He was on dialysis awaiting a kidney transplant. His mother prepared his meals and often accompanied Tony to doctor appointments. Still, Elvira said, “I wasn’t there to hold his hand.” At age 71, Elvira was also at high risk. She suffered from diabetes, high blood pressure, hyperlipidemia, and had coronary stents. Elvira was compliant with medications for her conditions.
 

What we know; where we are

“Infectious diseases are not static conditions but depend upon a constantly changing relationship between parasite and invaded species which is bound to result in modifications of both clinical and epidemiological manifestations.”

Hans Zinsser, Rats, Lice and History

We need to be informed by history and grateful to the geniuses who brought us into the modern age of medicine. We can prevent diseases with public health measures, and by understanding and treating crises. Edward Jenner, who recognized the protective effect of cowpox against smallpox, developed inoculations beginning in 1796; he ushered in immunology and saved the lives of millions. Smallpox is now eradicated. A succession of microbe hunters, including Louis Pasteur and Robert Koch, benefited from the development of the microscope by Antonie van Leeuwenhoek. With the advent and use of penicillin in the early 1940s, Alexander Fleming welcomed antibiotics; by the 1960s this modality became widespread. In the mid-20th century, immunologists recognized that bacteria and viruses change and adapt to the environment.

The planet has seen ravaging pandemics that then dissipated and, although untreatable at the time, disappeared into a reservoir, such as rats or lice. People also developed herd immunity from exposure to the offending microorganisms within the population. Less toxic, these agents no longer kill those who get infected but they can be transmissible and endemic to humans.

The mental health consequences of pandemics are reminiscent of other severe illnesses. The seriously ill develop cognitive aberrations and can become delirious. The population at risk and those who get sick can experience depression, PTSD, and anxiety – including panic.
 

Update on Elvira

Elvira continues to improve. She also participates in support groups, including one that addresses bereavement for parents of children who died of COVID and other causes. “I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye,” she said. But what she calls her “brain fog” has dissipated. She walks better, and she is getting evaluation of radiculopathy, probably from nerve root injury during her 3 weeks in bed on the ventilator. She’s still experiencing pain in her feet.

With regard to her symptoms she said: “I cry almost every day.” Her PTSD has abated, but she sometimes has nightmares. Elvira is writing a book about the induced coma and the “hallucinations from hell to heaven” she experienced. She wonders:“Did Tony go through the same thing?” Her empathy is enhanced by her background as a retired social worker with the Administration for Children’s Services in New York.
 

The role of psychiatry

In its early, most virulent form, SARS-CoV-2 devastated thousands of people, especially the elderly medically vulnerable. With scientific tools we developed vaccines and treatments and continue to study the dynamics of this virus.

As Andy Miller, MD, chief of the division of infectious diseases at the Hospital for Special Surgery, said when I spoke with him about the virus, because of the way in which viruses mutate, “we must remain aware” of the trajectory of SARS-CoV-2 and “counter irrational beliefs.”

How should psychiatry deal with COVID? As scientists, we seek the truth without bias and politics. Mental illness is our domain. Other specialties have the expertise to treat and even prevent infectious disease. We can assist our doctor colleagues to understand depression, anxiety, PTSD, and cognitive issues when they occur. Our medical mission should be, as always, to treat those who suffer mental illness. Now that extends to the consequences of COVID.
 

Suggested reading

Camus A. The Plague. New York: Vintage Books,. 1991.

Defoe D. A Journal of the Plague Year. Mineola, N.Y.: Dover Publications, 2001.

Kelly J. The Great Mortality: An Intimate History of the Black Death, The Most Devastating Plague of All Time. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005.

Pepys S. The Diary of Samuel Pepys: The Great Plague of London & The Great Fire of London, 1665-1666. Oxford, England: Benediction Classics, 2020.

Emerg Infect Dis. 2005 Mar 11(3):402-96.

Zinsser H. Rats, Lice and History. Boston/Toronto: Little Brown and Co., 1935.

Dr. Cohen is in private practice of psychotherapy and medication management in New York. She has been a consultant at the Hospital for Special Surgery and at New York–Presbyterian, and a forensic psychiatry expert. She changed key facts about Elvira’s case to protect her anonymity.

As a psychiatrist dedicated to working with people who are experiencing homelessness, I was very impressed with the new book edited by Col. (Ret.) Elspeth Cameron Ritchie, MD, MPH, and Maria D. Llorente, MD, about treating and providing services to this vulnerable population.

Courtesy Springer Publishing

The book, “Clinical Management of the Homeless Patient: Social, Psychiatric, and Medical Issues” (Cham, Switzerland: Springer Nature Switzerland, 2021), offers an in-depth review and analysis of the biopsychosocial complexities that affect how medical and behavioral health conditions present in those who are unhoused. Notably, the book recommends with great sensitivity best practices to address these conditions with care, understanding, and love.

This text, invaluable in particular for those of us clinicians who work with people experiencing homelessness (PEH), provides a historical context of homelessness in the United States, an evaluation of the current state, and indispensable guidance for medical and behavioral health practitioners, case managers, housing navigators, and policy makers alike. It also serves as an inspiring source for those who are considering work in the public sector while reminding those of us in the field why we continue to do this challenging and rewarding work.

Tips can provide hope to clinicians

The volume is divided into four clear sections that are easy to navigate depending on your area of expertise and interest. Each chapter consolidates an extensive literature review into an intriguing and thought-provoking analysis. Part I, “The Big Picture – Social and Medical Issues,” focuses on conditions that disproportionately affect those who are unhoused. The authors offer a glimpse into the unique challenges of managing routine health conditions. They also detail the practical knowledge that’s needed to best care for our most vulnerable neighbors; for example, promoting a shared decision-making model; simplifying treatment plans; prescribing, when possible, medications that are dosed daily – instead of multiple times per day; allowing for walk-in appointments; and addressing cultural, linguistic, and educational barriers.

Most chapters highlight informative case examples that bring the text to life. It can be heartbreaking to recognize and witness the inhumane conditions in which PEH live, and these practical tips and suggestions for future policies based on best practices can help prevent burnout and provide hope for those who care for this community.

Part II, “Psychiatric Issues and Treatments,” presents a brief yet comprehensive history on homelessness, beginning with the deep shame that PEH experienced in Colonial times as the result of cultural and religious influences. Sadly, that negative judgment continues to this day.

The authors also explain how deinstitutionalization and transinstitutionalization have shaped the current state of homelessness, including why many PEH receive their care in emergency departments while incarcerated. This section highlights the barriers of care that are created not just by the patient, but also by the clinicians and systems of care – and what’s needed practically to overcome those challenges.

I appreciate the chapter on substance use disorders. It reminds us that the most commonly used substance among PEH is tobacco, which has serious health effects and for which we have treatment; nevertheless, tobacco use is often overlooked because of the intense focus on opioid use disorder. This section also provides examples of the trauma-informed language to use when addressing difficult and sometimes stigmatizing topics, such as survival sex and trauma history.

The evidence-based discussion continues in Part III with a focus on topics that everyone working with PEH should understand, including food insecurity, the criminal justice system, and sex trafficking. Part IV highlights best practices that should be replicated in every community, including Housing First approaches, medical respite care, and multiple Veterans Administration programs.

Throughout the text, major themes reverberate across the chapters, beginning with empathy. All who work with PEH must understand the conditions and challenges PEH face every day that affect their physical and mental health. The authors offer a stark and pointed reminder that being unhoused amounts to a full-time job just to meet basic needs. In addition, the devastating role of trauma and structural racism in creating and promoting the conditions that lead someone to be unhoused cannot be underestimated.

Fortunately, the primary aim of the book is to highlight solutions, and it’s here that the book shines. While some interventions are well-known, such as the importance of working in multidisciplinary teams, building trust and rapport with our patients, and urging clinicians and institutions to examine their own judgments and biases that might interfere with humane treatment, other suggestions will lead some readers into new territory. The authors, for example, maintain that we need more data and evidence-based research that include PEH. They also make a case for more preventive care and enhanced professional education for all health care workers that centers on trauma-informed care, social determinants of health, and the unique needs of especially vulnerable communities, such as the unhoused LBGTQ+ community and policies that promote best practices, such as Housing First. The book is a stirring read. It offers both inspiration and practical guidance for all who are currently working with or interested in caring for people experiencing homelessness.

Dr. Bird is a psychiatrist with Alameda County Health Care for the Homeless and the TRUST Clinic in Oakland, Calif. She also is a cofounder of StreetHealth, a backpack street medicine team that provides psychiatric and substance use disorder treatment to people experiencing homelessness in downtown Oakland.

Dr. Bird has no disclosures.

As a psychiatrist dedicated to working with people who are experiencing homelessness, I was very impressed with the new book edited by Col. (Ret.) Elspeth Cameron Ritchie, MD, MPH, and Maria D. Llorente, MD, about treating and providing services to this vulnerable population.

Courtesy Springer Publishing

The book, “Clinical Management of the Homeless Patient: Social, Psychiatric, and Medical Issues” (Cham, Switzerland: Springer Nature Switzerland, 2021), offers an in-depth review and analysis of the biopsychosocial complexities that affect how medical and behavioral health conditions present in those who are unhoused. Notably, the book recommends with great sensitivity best practices to address these conditions with care, understanding, and love.

This text, invaluable in particular for those of us clinicians who work with people experiencing homelessness (PEH), provides a historical context of homelessness in the United States, an evaluation of the current state, and indispensable guidance for medical and behavioral health practitioners, case managers, housing navigators, and policy makers alike. It also serves as an inspiring source for those who are considering work in the public sector while reminding those of us in the field why we continue to do this challenging and rewarding work.

Tips can provide hope to clinicians

The volume is divided into four clear sections that are easy to navigate depending on your area of expertise and interest. Each chapter consolidates an extensive literature review into an intriguing and thought-provoking analysis. Part I, “The Big Picture – Social and Medical Issues,” focuses on conditions that disproportionately affect those who are unhoused. The authors offer a glimpse into the unique challenges of managing routine health conditions. They also detail the practical knowledge that’s needed to best care for our most vulnerable neighbors; for example, promoting a shared decision-making model; simplifying treatment plans; prescribing, when possible, medications that are dosed daily – instead of multiple times per day; allowing for walk-in appointments; and addressing cultural, linguistic, and educational barriers.

Most chapters highlight informative case examples that bring the text to life. It can be heartbreaking to recognize and witness the inhumane conditions in which PEH live, and these practical tips and suggestions for future policies based on best practices can help prevent burnout and provide hope for those who care for this community.

Part II, “Psychiatric Issues and Treatments,” presents a brief yet comprehensive history on homelessness, beginning with the deep shame that PEH experienced in Colonial times as the result of cultural and religious influences. Sadly, that negative judgment continues to this day.

The authors also explain how deinstitutionalization and transinstitutionalization have shaped the current state of homelessness, including why many PEH receive their care in emergency departments while incarcerated. This section highlights the barriers of care that are created not just by the patient, but also by the clinicians and systems of care – and what’s needed practically to overcome those challenges.

I appreciate the chapter on substance use disorders. It reminds us that the most commonly used substance among PEH is tobacco, which has serious health effects and for which we have treatment; nevertheless, tobacco use is often overlooked because of the intense focus on opioid use disorder. This section also provides examples of the trauma-informed language to use when addressing difficult and sometimes stigmatizing topics, such as survival sex and trauma history.

The evidence-based discussion continues in Part III with a focus on topics that everyone working with PEH should understand, including food insecurity, the criminal justice system, and sex trafficking. Part IV highlights best practices that should be replicated in every community, including Housing First approaches, medical respite care, and multiple Veterans Administration programs.

Throughout the text, major themes reverberate across the chapters, beginning with empathy. All who work with PEH must understand the conditions and challenges PEH face every day that affect their physical and mental health. The authors offer a stark and pointed reminder that being unhoused amounts to a full-time job just to meet basic needs. In addition, the devastating role of trauma and structural racism in creating and promoting the conditions that lead someone to be unhoused cannot be underestimated.

Fortunately, the primary aim of the book is to highlight solutions, and it’s here that the book shines. While some interventions are well-known, such as the importance of working in multidisciplinary teams, building trust and rapport with our patients, and urging clinicians and institutions to examine their own judgments and biases that might interfere with humane treatment, other suggestions will lead some readers into new territory. The authors, for example, maintain that we need more data and evidence-based research that include PEH. They also make a case for more preventive care and enhanced professional education for all health care workers that centers on trauma-informed care, social determinants of health, and the unique needs of especially vulnerable communities, such as the unhoused LBGTQ+ community and policies that promote best practices, such as Housing First. The book is a stirring read. It offers both inspiration and practical guidance for all who are currently working with or interested in caring for people experiencing homelessness.

Dr. Bird is a psychiatrist with Alameda County Health Care for the Homeless and the TRUST Clinic in Oakland, Calif. She also is a cofounder of StreetHealth, a backpack street medicine team that provides psychiatric and substance use disorder treatment to people experiencing homelessness in downtown Oakland.

Dr. Bird has no disclosures.

As a psychiatrist dedicated to working with people who are experiencing homelessness, I was very impressed with the new book edited by Col. (Ret.) Elspeth Cameron Ritchie, MD, MPH, and Maria D. Llorente, MD, about treating and providing services to this vulnerable population.

Courtesy Springer Publishing

The book, “Clinical Management of the Homeless Patient: Social, Psychiatric, and Medical Issues” (Cham, Switzerland: Springer Nature Switzerland, 2021), offers an in-depth review and analysis of the biopsychosocial complexities that affect how medical and behavioral health conditions present in those who are unhoused. Notably, the book recommends with great sensitivity best practices to address these conditions with care, understanding, and love.

This text, invaluable in particular for those of us clinicians who work with people experiencing homelessness (PEH), provides a historical context of homelessness in the United States, an evaluation of the current state, and indispensable guidance for medical and behavioral health practitioners, case managers, housing navigators, and policy makers alike. It also serves as an inspiring source for those who are considering work in the public sector while reminding those of us in the field why we continue to do this challenging and rewarding work.

Tips can provide hope to clinicians

The volume is divided into four clear sections that are easy to navigate depending on your area of expertise and interest. Each chapter consolidates an extensive literature review into an intriguing and thought-provoking analysis. Part I, “The Big Picture – Social and Medical Issues,” focuses on conditions that disproportionately affect those who are unhoused. The authors offer a glimpse into the unique challenges of managing routine health conditions. They also detail the practical knowledge that’s needed to best care for our most vulnerable neighbors; for example, promoting a shared decision-making model; simplifying treatment plans; prescribing, when possible, medications that are dosed daily – instead of multiple times per day; allowing for walk-in appointments; and addressing cultural, linguistic, and educational barriers.

Most chapters highlight informative case examples that bring the text to life. It can be heartbreaking to recognize and witness the inhumane conditions in which PEH live, and these practical tips and suggestions for future policies based on best practices can help prevent burnout and provide hope for those who care for this community.

Part II, “Psychiatric Issues and Treatments,” presents a brief yet comprehensive history on homelessness, beginning with the deep shame that PEH experienced in Colonial times as the result of cultural and religious influences. Sadly, that negative judgment continues to this day.

The authors also explain how deinstitutionalization and transinstitutionalization have shaped the current state of homelessness, including why many PEH receive their care in emergency departments while incarcerated. This section highlights the barriers of care that are created not just by the patient, but also by the clinicians and systems of care – and what’s needed practically to overcome those challenges.

I appreciate the chapter on substance use disorders. It reminds us that the most commonly used substance among PEH is tobacco, which has serious health effects and for which we have treatment; nevertheless, tobacco use is often overlooked because of the intense focus on opioid use disorder. This section also provides examples of the trauma-informed language to use when addressing difficult and sometimes stigmatizing topics, such as survival sex and trauma history.

The evidence-based discussion continues in Part III with a focus on topics that everyone working with PEH should understand, including food insecurity, the criminal justice system, and sex trafficking. Part IV highlights best practices that should be replicated in every community, including Housing First approaches, medical respite care, and multiple Veterans Administration programs.

Throughout the text, major themes reverberate across the chapters, beginning with empathy. All who work with PEH must understand the conditions and challenges PEH face every day that affect their physical and mental health. The authors offer a stark and pointed reminder that being unhoused amounts to a full-time job just to meet basic needs. In addition, the devastating role of trauma and structural racism in creating and promoting the conditions that lead someone to be unhoused cannot be underestimated.

Fortunately, the primary aim of the book is to highlight solutions, and it’s here that the book shines. While some interventions are well-known, such as the importance of working in multidisciplinary teams, building trust and rapport with our patients, and urging clinicians and institutions to examine their own judgments and biases that might interfere with humane treatment, other suggestions will lead some readers into new territory. The authors, for example, maintain that we need more data and evidence-based research that include PEH. They also make a case for more preventive care and enhanced professional education for all health care workers that centers on trauma-informed care, social determinants of health, and the unique needs of especially vulnerable communities, such as the unhoused LBGTQ+ community and policies that promote best practices, such as Housing First. The book is a stirring read. It offers both inspiration and practical guidance for all who are currently working with or interested in caring for people experiencing homelessness.

Dr. Bird is a psychiatrist with Alameda County Health Care for the Homeless and the TRUST Clinic in Oakland, Calif. She also is a cofounder of StreetHealth, a backpack street medicine team that provides psychiatric and substance use disorder treatment to people experiencing homelessness in downtown Oakland.

Dr. Bird has no disclosures.

While 2022 is lurking around the corner, many of us still have 2020 on our minds. Social media posts are already emerging: “No new years resolutions. It is the circumstances turn to improve [sic],” one post declares. Others proclaim that it is difficult coming to terms with the idea that 2022 is actually pronounced “2020 too.” A critical difference exists between then and now – we have experienced months of living in limbo and rolling with the punches of pandemic life.

In some ways, it has become easy to think of the early pandemic days as a distant memory, yet respect that the impact of 2020 has been indelible for virtually all of us and feels palpable as if it were yesterday.

The year 2020 was marked by the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, which was accompanied by extreme uncertainty, loss of all kinds, and emotional turmoil. The early pandemic had a profound economic and social impact, with added stress tethered to political and race-related division in America that created divides among families and friends, and yielded ceaseless discourse related to divergent perspectives. This only exacerbated the stress that came with the pandemic, given that providing support and leaning on one another was more important than ever. All of this was compounded by natural disasters that have plagued the country.

So much was unprecedented. There was a collective sense of feeling “worn down,” and the burnout that was felt was quite profound. Enormous amounts of mental and physical effort were allocated to simply surviving, getting basic needs met, having enough food and supplies, and completing basic tasks. Ordinary relating felt taxing. At this stage of the pandemic, the COVID-19 experience can be conceived of as a traumatic stressor capable of eliciting a traumatic response and exacerbating other mental health symptoms. Our capacity to cope has been diminished. Anxiety rates have soared, as have rates of clinical depression. Those most affected have had lower household incomes, are unmarried, and have experienced pandemic-related stressors. The links between the impact of the pandemic on mental health have been clear.

The pandemic has forced the landscape of social support to dramatically change. Initially, we felt pulled to connect and we leaned into the use of virtual platforms to connect for all matters (simple social gatherings, big birthday events, family reunions, celebration of holidays, work duties, and academic work). However, “Zoom fatigue” began to set in, and our screen time was maxed out. There has been the added dynamic of frontline workers who did not have the option to work virtually or from home. This group largely has felt disconnected from others who didn’t understand the depth of their anxiety and loneliness of their experience. Health care workers have had to make challenging, life-and-death, patient-related decisions that called into question personal morals and ethics all while their own lives were at risk.

Fast-forward to the present, and support systems have either strengthened or worn down – which has yielded a unique dichotomy. Maintaining friendships has either felt of utmost importance given the impact of the disconnect and physical distance or has felt challenging given the mental energy expended from working and connecting virtually. Empathy burnout is also a real and important facet in the equation. We begin to ask the question: Are we checking in with others in the spirit of authentic relating, to cultivate real connection, or to check a box?
 

Impact of layered traumas

It is interesting to think about the pandemic’s traumatic impact being “superimposed” on top of the “ordinary traumas” experienced outside of the pandemic. We are essentially at the 2-year mark, in some ways have cultivated a sense of resilience and found ways to adapt, and in other ways at times feel right back where we were in early 2020. There were moments that felt hopeful, glimmers of normalcy, and setbacks that all ebbed and flowed – but even so, there have not been many “mental breaks,” only temporary and transient reprieves. Some got sick and died; some recovered; and others are still experiencing long-hauler syndrome and have lingering sequelae. Despite adaptation and resilience, one can’t help but wonder the impact of superimposed traumas on top of this collective trauma. Many of us have not even rebounded from the pandemic, and then are faced with loss, grief, challenges, illness, hard and big life decisions. We are challenged to answer the question: How do we endure in the face of this trauma inception?

It has been a challenging time for all, including those who are ordinarily happy-go-lucky, resilient, and see the glass half-full and are struggling with the idea of struggling. I am no “resilience expert” but gleaned much wisdom from responding to the Surfside, Fla., building collapse. This was a collective trauma that took place in the summer of 2021, and the wisdom of this event highlighted the value of collective healing and unification even in spite of the times. What happened in Surfside was a shock, and the loss was felt by those directly affected, the surrounding community, and those who were part of the disaster response efforts. All of those parties had been processing losses prior to this – loss of normalcy because of the pandemic, loss of people we loved as a result, other personal losses – and this community tragedy was yet another loss to disentangle on top of a period in U.S. history demarcated by a great lack of unity, divisiveness, anger, and hatred. The collapse highlighted the small size yet interconnectedness of the community and the power of connection and authentic relating. It was overwhelming in the moment but extremely heartening and beautiful to see the amount of willingness to drop everything and help. Despite feeling worn down from the pandemic, people drew upon their internal resources, natural goodness, and kindness “reserves” to provide support.

Responding to the collapse highlighted that resilience in the context of collective trauma requires flexibility, embracing uncertainty, cultivating unity, and paying attention to meeting basic needs/self-care. The role of kindness cannot be overemphasized. In the realm of reflecting on the notion of kindness, it is worth noting how much power there is to bearing witness to someone’s experience, especially when they are in pain. Sometimes there are no words, nothing “to do,” no solution to offer other than just “being,” which can be enough. People often diminish the role or at the very least do not recognize the power of showing up for someone and just listening. Pandemic resilience, and coping with coalescing traumas, is likely composed of these same facets that were essential in the context of coping with the collapse.

It is not only the immediate impact of a trauma as much as the aftermath that needs to processed and worked through. In one sense, people feel that they should be adjusted to and accustomed to this new reality, and at the same time, one has to remember and reflect on how unnatural this experience has been. There is an impact of a cumulative onslaught of negative events, and it is hard to imagine not being phased, remaining unchanged, or not feeling affected. We may feel hardened and that there are limits to the compassion we have to offer others. We may be feel empathic. There can be desensitization and an apathy to others’ suffering when our patience is worn down and we have limited bandwidth. There are data to support the idea that a level of habituation occurs to individuals who experience multiple traumas, which yields a level of “sensitization” to the negative impact of subsequent events. It becomes easy to make comparisons of suffering. The challenge will be to rise above these and make a conscious effort to connect with who and how we were before we were worn down.

I am still in awe about how much I learned from the victims’ families, survivors, and my colleagues at Surfside – about pain, suffering, loss, resilience, coping, fortitude, and meaning making. We were all forced to think beyond ourselves, show up for others, and unify in a way that remedied this period of fragmentation. With respect to the pandemic and “where we are at now,” some elements of our lives are stabilizing; other aspects feel volatile from the fatigue of what we have been experiencing. This pandemic has not fully abated, but we can find some clarity in the value of setting boundaries and knowing our limits – but not overlooking the power of unity and kindness and the value of the reciprocating those qualities.

Dr. Feldman is a licensed clinical psychologist in private practice in Miami. She is an adjunct professor in the college of psychology at Nova Southeastern University, Fort Lauderdale, Fla., where she teaches clinical psychology doctoral students. She also serves on the board of directors of the Southeast Florida Association for Psychoanalytic Psychology. Dr. Feldman has no disclosures.

While 2022 is lurking around the corner, many of us still have 2020 on our minds. Social media posts are already emerging: “No new years resolutions. It is the circumstances turn to improve [sic],” one post declares. Others proclaim that it is difficult coming to terms with the idea that 2022 is actually pronounced “2020 too.” A critical difference exists between then and now – we have experienced months of living in limbo and rolling with the punches of pandemic life.

In some ways, it has become easy to think of the early pandemic days as a distant memory, yet respect that the impact of 2020 has been indelible for virtually all of us and feels palpable as if it were yesterday.

The year 2020 was marked by the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, which was accompanied by extreme uncertainty, loss of all kinds, and emotional turmoil. The early pandemic had a profound economic and social impact, with added stress tethered to political and race-related division in America that created divides among families and friends, and yielded ceaseless discourse related to divergent perspectives. This only exacerbated the stress that came with the pandemic, given that providing support and leaning on one another was more important than ever. All of this was compounded by natural disasters that have plagued the country.

So much was unprecedented. There was a collective sense of feeling “worn down,” and the burnout that was felt was quite profound. Enormous amounts of mental and physical effort were allocated to simply surviving, getting basic needs met, having enough food and supplies, and completing basic tasks. Ordinary relating felt taxing. At this stage of the pandemic, the COVID-19 experience can be conceived of as a traumatic stressor capable of eliciting a traumatic response and exacerbating other mental health symptoms. Our capacity to cope has been diminished. Anxiety rates have soared, as have rates of clinical depression. Those most affected have had lower household incomes, are unmarried, and have experienced pandemic-related stressors. The links between the impact of the pandemic on mental health have been clear.

The pandemic has forced the landscape of social support to dramatically change. Initially, we felt pulled to connect and we leaned into the use of virtual platforms to connect for all matters (simple social gatherings, big birthday events, family reunions, celebration of holidays, work duties, and academic work). However, “Zoom fatigue” began to set in, and our screen time was maxed out. There has been the added dynamic of frontline workers who did not have the option to work virtually or from home. This group largely has felt disconnected from others who didn’t understand the depth of their anxiety and loneliness of their experience. Health care workers have had to make challenging, life-and-death, patient-related decisions that called into question personal morals and ethics all while their own lives were at risk.

Fast-forward to the present, and support systems have either strengthened or worn down – which has yielded a unique dichotomy. Maintaining friendships has either felt of utmost importance given the impact of the disconnect and physical distance or has felt challenging given the mental energy expended from working and connecting virtually. Empathy burnout is also a real and important facet in the equation. We begin to ask the question: Are we checking in with others in the spirit of authentic relating, to cultivate real connection, or to check a box?
 

Impact of layered traumas

It is interesting to think about the pandemic’s traumatic impact being “superimposed” on top of the “ordinary traumas” experienced outside of the pandemic. We are essentially at the 2-year mark, in some ways have cultivated a sense of resilience and found ways to adapt, and in other ways at times feel right back where we were in early 2020. There were moments that felt hopeful, glimmers of normalcy, and setbacks that all ebbed and flowed – but even so, there have not been many “mental breaks,” only temporary and transient reprieves. Some got sick and died; some recovered; and others are still experiencing long-hauler syndrome and have lingering sequelae. Despite adaptation and resilience, one can’t help but wonder the impact of superimposed traumas on top of this collective trauma. Many of us have not even rebounded from the pandemic, and then are faced with loss, grief, challenges, illness, hard and big life decisions. We are challenged to answer the question: How do we endure in the face of this trauma inception?

It has been a challenging time for all, including those who are ordinarily happy-go-lucky, resilient, and see the glass half-full and are struggling with the idea of struggling. I am no “resilience expert” but gleaned much wisdom from responding to the Surfside, Fla., building collapse. This was a collective trauma that took place in the summer of 2021, and the wisdom of this event highlighted the value of collective healing and unification even in spite of the times. What happened in Surfside was a shock, and the loss was felt by those directly affected, the surrounding community, and those who were part of the disaster response efforts. All of those parties had been processing losses prior to this – loss of normalcy because of the pandemic, loss of people we loved as a result, other personal losses – and this community tragedy was yet another loss to disentangle on top of a period in U.S. history demarcated by a great lack of unity, divisiveness, anger, and hatred. The collapse highlighted the small size yet interconnectedness of the community and the power of connection and authentic relating. It was overwhelming in the moment but extremely heartening and beautiful to see the amount of willingness to drop everything and help. Despite feeling worn down from the pandemic, people drew upon their internal resources, natural goodness, and kindness “reserves” to provide support.

Responding to the collapse highlighted that resilience in the context of collective trauma requires flexibility, embracing uncertainty, cultivating unity, and paying attention to meeting basic needs/self-care. The role of kindness cannot be overemphasized. In the realm of reflecting on the notion of kindness, it is worth noting how much power there is to bearing witness to someone’s experience, especially when they are in pain. Sometimes there are no words, nothing “to do,” no solution to offer other than just “being,” which can be enough. People often diminish the role or at the very least do not recognize the power of showing up for someone and just listening. Pandemic resilience, and coping with coalescing traumas, is likely composed of these same facets that were essential in the context of coping with the collapse.

It is not only the immediate impact of a trauma as much as the aftermath that needs to processed and worked through. In one sense, people feel that they should be adjusted to and accustomed to this new reality, and at the same time, one has to remember and reflect on how unnatural this experience has been. There is an impact of a cumulative onslaught of negative events, and it is hard to imagine not being phased, remaining unchanged, or not feeling affected. We may feel hardened and that there are limits to the compassion we have to offer others. We may be feel empathic. There can be desensitization and an apathy to others’ suffering when our patience is worn down and we have limited bandwidth. There are data to support the idea that a level of habituation occurs to individuals who experience multiple traumas, which yields a level of “sensitization” to the negative impact of subsequent events. It becomes easy to make comparisons of suffering. The challenge will be to rise above these and make a conscious effort to connect with who and how we were before we were worn down.

I am still in awe about how much I learned from the victims’ families, survivors, and my colleagues at Surfside – about pain, suffering, loss, resilience, coping, fortitude, and meaning making. We were all forced to think beyond ourselves, show up for others, and unify in a way that remedied this period of fragmentation. With respect to the pandemic and “where we are at now,” some elements of our lives are stabilizing; other aspects feel volatile from the fatigue of what we have been experiencing. This pandemic has not fully abated, but we can find some clarity in the value of setting boundaries and knowing our limits – but not overlooking the power of unity and kindness and the value of the reciprocating those qualities.

Dr. Feldman is a licensed clinical psychologist in private practice in Miami. She is an adjunct professor in the college of psychology at Nova Southeastern University, Fort Lauderdale, Fla., where she teaches clinical psychology doctoral students. She also serves on the board of directors of the Southeast Florida Association for Psychoanalytic Psychology. Dr. Feldman has no disclosures.

While 2022 is lurking around the corner, many of us still have 2020 on our minds. Social media posts are already emerging: “No new years resolutions. It is the circumstances turn to improve [sic],” one post declares. Others proclaim that it is difficult coming to terms with the idea that 2022 is actually pronounced “2020 too.” A critical difference exists between then and now – we have experienced months of living in limbo and rolling with the punches of pandemic life.

In some ways, it has become easy to think of the early pandemic days as a distant memory, yet respect that the impact of 2020 has been indelible for virtually all of us and feels palpable as if it were yesterday.

The year 2020 was marked by the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, which was accompanied by extreme uncertainty, loss of all kinds, and emotional turmoil. The early pandemic had a profound economic and social impact, with added stress tethered to political and race-related division in America that created divides among families and friends, and yielded ceaseless discourse related to divergent perspectives. This only exacerbated the stress that came with the pandemic, given that providing support and leaning on one another was more important than ever. All of this was compounded by natural disasters that have plagued the country.

So much was unprecedented. There was a collective sense of feeling “worn down,” and the burnout that was felt was quite profound. Enormous amounts of mental and physical effort were allocated to simply surviving, getting basic needs met, having enough food and supplies, and completing basic tasks. Ordinary relating felt taxing. At this stage of the pandemic, the COVID-19 experience can be conceived of as a traumatic stressor capable of eliciting a traumatic response and exacerbating other mental health symptoms. Our capacity to cope has been diminished. Anxiety rates have soared, as have rates of clinical depression. Those most affected have had lower household incomes, are unmarried, and have experienced pandemic-related stressors. The links between the impact of the pandemic on mental health have been clear.

The pandemic has forced the landscape of social support to dramatically change. Initially, we felt pulled to connect and we leaned into the use of virtual platforms to connect for all matters (simple social gatherings, big birthday events, family reunions, celebration of holidays, work duties, and academic work). However, “Zoom fatigue” began to set in, and our screen time was maxed out. There has been the added dynamic of frontline workers who did not have the option to work virtually or from home. This group largely has felt disconnected from others who didn’t understand the depth of their anxiety and loneliness of their experience. Health care workers have had to make challenging, life-and-death, patient-related decisions that called into question personal morals and ethics all while their own lives were at risk.

Fast-forward to the present, and support systems have either strengthened or worn down – which has yielded a unique dichotomy. Maintaining friendships has either felt of utmost importance given the impact of the disconnect and physical distance or has felt challenging given the mental energy expended from working and connecting virtually. Empathy burnout is also a real and important facet in the equation. We begin to ask the question: Are we checking in with others in the spirit of authentic relating, to cultivate real connection, or to check a box?
 

Impact of layered traumas

It is interesting to think about the pandemic’s traumatic impact being “superimposed” on top of the “ordinary traumas” experienced outside of the pandemic. We are essentially at the 2-year mark, in some ways have cultivated a sense of resilience and found ways to adapt, and in other ways at times feel right back where we were in early 2020. There were moments that felt hopeful, glimmers of normalcy, and setbacks that all ebbed and flowed – but even so, there have not been many “mental breaks,” only temporary and transient reprieves. Some got sick and died; some recovered; and others are still experiencing long-hauler syndrome and have lingering sequelae. Despite adaptation and resilience, one can’t help but wonder the impact of superimposed traumas on top of this collective trauma. Many of us have not even rebounded from the pandemic, and then are faced with loss, grief, challenges, illness, hard and big life decisions. We are challenged to answer the question: How do we endure in the face of this trauma inception?

It has been a challenging time for all, including those who are ordinarily happy-go-lucky, resilient, and see the glass half-full and are struggling with the idea of struggling. I am no “resilience expert” but gleaned much wisdom from responding to the Surfside, Fla., building collapse. This was a collective trauma that took place in the summer of 2021, and the wisdom of this event highlighted the value of collective healing and unification even in spite of the times. What happened in Surfside was a shock, and the loss was felt by those directly affected, the surrounding community, and those who were part of the disaster response efforts. All of those parties had been processing losses prior to this – loss of normalcy because of the pandemic, loss of people we loved as a result, other personal losses – and this community tragedy was yet another loss to disentangle on top of a period in U.S. history demarcated by a great lack of unity, divisiveness, anger, and hatred. The collapse highlighted the small size yet interconnectedness of the community and the power of connection and authentic relating. It was overwhelming in the moment but extremely heartening and beautiful to see the amount of willingness to drop everything and help. Despite feeling worn down from the pandemic, people drew upon their internal resources, natural goodness, and kindness “reserves” to provide support.

Responding to the collapse highlighted that resilience in the context of collective trauma requires flexibility, embracing uncertainty, cultivating unity, and paying attention to meeting basic needs/self-care. The role of kindness cannot be overemphasized. In the realm of reflecting on the notion of kindness, it is worth noting how much power there is to bearing witness to someone’s experience, especially when they are in pain. Sometimes there are no words, nothing “to do,” no solution to offer other than just “being,” which can be enough. People often diminish the role or at the very least do not recognize the power of showing up for someone and just listening. Pandemic resilience, and coping with coalescing traumas, is likely composed of these same facets that were essential in the context of coping with the collapse.

It is not only the immediate impact of a trauma as much as the aftermath that needs to processed and worked through. In one sense, people feel that they should be adjusted to and accustomed to this new reality, and at the same time, one has to remember and reflect on how unnatural this experience has been. There is an impact of a cumulative onslaught of negative events, and it is hard to imagine not being phased, remaining unchanged, or not feeling affected. We may feel hardened and that there are limits to the compassion we have to offer others. We may be feel empathic. There can be desensitization and an apathy to others’ suffering when our patience is worn down and we have limited bandwidth. There are data to support the idea that a level of habituation occurs to individuals who experience multiple traumas, which yields a level of “sensitization” to the negative impact of subsequent events. It becomes easy to make comparisons of suffering. The challenge will be to rise above these and make a conscious effort to connect with who and how we were before we were worn down.

I am still in awe about how much I learned from the victims’ families, survivors, and my colleagues at Surfside – about pain, suffering, loss, resilience, coping, fortitude, and meaning making. We were all forced to think beyond ourselves, show up for others, and unify in a way that remedied this period of fragmentation. With respect to the pandemic and “where we are at now,” some elements of our lives are stabilizing; other aspects feel volatile from the fatigue of what we have been experiencing. This pandemic has not fully abated, but we can find some clarity in the value of setting boundaries and knowing our limits – but not overlooking the power of unity and kindness and the value of the reciprocating those qualities.

Dr. Feldman is a licensed clinical psychologist in private practice in Miami. She is an adjunct professor in the college of psychology at Nova Southeastern University, Fort Lauderdale, Fla., where she teaches clinical psychology doctoral students. She also serves on the board of directors of the Southeast Florida Association for Psychoanalytic Psychology. Dr. Feldman has no disclosures.

It was supper time in the Whittier, California, home of Air Force veteran Danyelle Clark-Gutierrez, and eagerly awaiting a bowl of kibble and canned dog food was Lisa, a 3-year-old yellow Labrador retriever.

Her nails clicking on the kitchen floor as she danced about, Lisa looked more like an exuberant puppy than the highly trained service animal that helps Clark-Gutierrez manage the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“Having her now, it’s like I can go anywhere,” Clark-Gutierrez said. “And, yes, if somebody did come at me, I’d have warning — I could run.”

A growing body of research into PTSD and service animals paved the way for President Joe Biden to sign into law the Puppies Assisting Wounded Servicemembers (PAWS) for Veterans Therapy Act. The legislation, enacted in August, requires the Department of Veterans Affairs to open its service dog referral program to veterans with PTSD and to launch a five-year pilot program in which veterans with PTSD train service dogs for other veterans.

Clark-Gutierrez, 33, is among the 25 percent of female veterans who have reported experiencing military sexual trauma while serving in the U.S. armed services.

Military sexual trauma, combat violence and brain injuries are some of the experiences that increase the risk that service members will develop PTSD. Symptoms include flashbacks to the traumatic event, severe anxiety, nightmares and hypervigilance — all normal reactions to experiencing or witnessing violence, according to psychologists. Someone receives a PTSD diagnosis when symptoms worsen or remain for months or years.

That’s what Clark-Gutierrez said happened to her after ongoing sexual harassment by a fellow airman escalated to a physical attack about a decade ago. A lawyer with three children, she said that to feel safe leaving her home she needed her husband by her side. After diagnosing Clark-Gutierrez with PTSD, doctors at VA hospitals prescribed a cascade of medications for her. At one point, Clark-Gutierrez said, her prescriptions added up to more than a dozen pills a day.

“I had medication, and then I had medication for the two or three side effects for each medication,” she said. “And every time they gave me a new med, they had to give me three more. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was just getting so tired. So we started looking at other therapies.”

And that’s how she got her service dog, Lisa. Clark-Gutierrez’s husband, also an Air Force veteran, discovered the nonprofit group K9s for Warriors, which rescues dogs — many from kill shelters — and trains them to be service animals for veterans with PTSD. Lisa is one of about 700 dogs the group has paired with veterans dealing with symptoms caused by traumatic experiences.

“Now with Lisa we take bike rides, we go down to the park, we go to Home Depot,” said Clark-Gutierrez. “I go grocery shopping — normal-people things that I get to do that I didn’t get to do before Lisa.”

That comes as no surprise to Maggie O’Haire, an associate professor of human-animal interaction at Purdue University. Her research suggests that while service dogs aren’t necessarily a cure for PTSD, they do ease its symptoms. Among her published studies is one showing that veterans partnered with these dogs experience less anger and anxiety and get better sleep than those without a service dog. Another of her studies suggests that service dogs lower cortisol levels in veterans who have been traumatized.

“We actually saw patterns of that stress hormone that were more similar to healthy adults who don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder,” O’Haire said.

A congressionally mandated VA study that focuses on service dogs’ impact on veterans with PTSD and was published this year suggests that those partnered with the animals experience less suicidal ideation and more improvement to their symptoms than those without them.

Until now, the federal dog referral program — which relies on nonprofit service dog organizations to pay for the dogs and to provide them to veterans for free — required that participating veterans have a physical mobility issue, such as a lost limb, paralysis or blindness. Veterans like Clark-Gutierrez who have PTSD but no physical disability were on their own in arranging for a service dog.

The pilot program created by the new federal law will give veterans with PTSD the chance to train mental health service dogs for other veterans. It’s modeled on a program at the VA hospital in Palo Alto, California, and will be offered at five VA medical centers nationwide in partnership with accredited service dog training organizations.

“This bill is really about therapeutic, on-the-job training, or ‘training the trainer,’” said Adam Webb, a spokesperson for Sen. Thom Tillis (R-N.C.), who introduced the legislation in the Senate. “We don’t anticipate VA will start prescribing PTSD service dogs, but the data we generate from this pilot program will likely be useful in making that case in the future.”

The Congressional Budget Office estimates the pilot program will cost the VA about $19 million. The law stops short of requiring the VA to pay for the dogs. Instead, the agency will partner with accredited service dog organizations that use private money to cover the cost of adopting, training and pairing the dogs with veterans.

Still, the law represents a welcome about-face in VA policy, said Rory Diamond, CEO of K9s for Warriors.

“For the last 10 years, the VA has essentially told us that they don’t recognize service dogs as helping a veteran with post-traumatic stress,” Diamond said.

PTSD service dogs are often confused with emotional support dogs, Diamond said. The latter provide companionship and are not trained to support someone with a disability. PTSD service dogs cost about $25,000 to adopt and train, he said.

Diamond explained that the command “cover” means “the dog will sit next to the warrior, look behind them and alert them if someone comes up from behind.” The command “block” means the dog will “stand perpendicular and give them some space from whatever’s in front of them.”

Retired Army Master Sgt. David Crenshaw of Kearny, New Jersey, said his service dog, Doc, has changed his life.

“We teach in the military to have a battle buddy,” Crenshaw said. “And these service animals act as a battle buddy.”

A few months ago, Crenshaw experienced this firsthand. He had generally avoided large gatherings because persistent hypervigilance is one symptom of his combat-caused PTSD. But this summer, Doc, a pointer and Labrador mix, helped Crenshaw navigate the crowds at Disney World — a significant first for Crenshaw and his family of five.

“I was not agitated. I was not anxious. I was not upset,” said Crenshaw, 39. “It was truly, truly amazing and so much so that I didn’t even have to even stop to think about it in the moment. It just happened naturally.”

Thanks to Doc, Crenshaw said, he no longer takes PTSD drugs or self-medicates with alcohol. Clark-Gutierrez said Lisa, too, has helped her quit using alcohol and stop taking VA-prescribed medications for panic attacks, nightmares and periods of disassociation.

The dogs actually save the VA money over time, Diamond said. “Our warriors are far less likely to be on expensive prescription drugs, are far less likely to use other VA services and far more likely to go to school or go to work. So it’s a win-win-win across the board.”

It was supper time in the Whittier, California, home of Air Force veteran Danyelle Clark-Gutierrez, and eagerly awaiting a bowl of kibble and canned dog food was Lisa, a 3-year-old yellow Labrador retriever.

Her nails clicking on the kitchen floor as she danced about, Lisa looked more like an exuberant puppy than the highly trained service animal that helps Clark-Gutierrez manage the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“Having her now, it’s like I can go anywhere,” Clark-Gutierrez said. “And, yes, if somebody did come at me, I’d have warning — I could run.”

A growing body of research into PTSD and service animals paved the way for President Joe Biden to sign into law the Puppies Assisting Wounded Servicemembers (PAWS) for Veterans Therapy Act. The legislation, enacted in August, requires the Department of Veterans Affairs to open its service dog referral program to veterans with PTSD and to launch a five-year pilot program in which veterans with PTSD train service dogs for other veterans.

Clark-Gutierrez, 33, is among the 25 percent of female veterans who have reported experiencing military sexual trauma while serving in the U.S. armed services.

Military sexual trauma, combat violence and brain injuries are some of the experiences that increase the risk that service members will develop PTSD. Symptoms include flashbacks to the traumatic event, severe anxiety, nightmares and hypervigilance — all normal reactions to experiencing or witnessing violence, according to psychologists. Someone receives a PTSD diagnosis when symptoms worsen or remain for months or years.

That’s what Clark-Gutierrez said happened to her after ongoing sexual harassment by a fellow airman escalated to a physical attack about a decade ago. A lawyer with three children, she said that to feel safe leaving her home she needed her husband by her side. After diagnosing Clark-Gutierrez with PTSD, doctors at VA hospitals prescribed a cascade of medications for her. At one point, Clark-Gutierrez said, her prescriptions added up to more than a dozen pills a day.

“I had medication, and then I had medication for the two or three side effects for each medication,” she said. “And every time they gave me a new med, they had to give me three more. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was just getting so tired. So we started looking at other therapies.”

And that’s how she got her service dog, Lisa. Clark-Gutierrez’s husband, also an Air Force veteran, discovered the nonprofit group K9s for Warriors, which rescues dogs — many from kill shelters — and trains them to be service animals for veterans with PTSD. Lisa is one of about 700 dogs the group has paired with veterans dealing with symptoms caused by traumatic experiences.

“Now with Lisa we take bike rides, we go down to the park, we go to Home Depot,” said Clark-Gutierrez. “I go grocery shopping — normal-people things that I get to do that I didn’t get to do before Lisa.”

That comes as no surprise to Maggie O’Haire, an associate professor of human-animal interaction at Purdue University. Her research suggests that while service dogs aren’t necessarily a cure for PTSD, they do ease its symptoms. Among her published studies is one showing that veterans partnered with these dogs experience less anger and anxiety and get better sleep than those without a service dog. Another of her studies suggests that service dogs lower cortisol levels in veterans who have been traumatized.

“We actually saw patterns of that stress hormone that were more similar to healthy adults who don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder,” O’Haire said.

A congressionally mandated VA study that focuses on service dogs’ impact on veterans with PTSD and was published this year suggests that those partnered with the animals experience less suicidal ideation and more improvement to their symptoms than those without them.

Until now, the federal dog referral program — which relies on nonprofit service dog organizations to pay for the dogs and to provide them to veterans for free — required that participating veterans have a physical mobility issue, such as a lost limb, paralysis or blindness. Veterans like Clark-Gutierrez who have PTSD but no physical disability were on their own in arranging for a service dog.

The pilot program created by the new federal law will give veterans with PTSD the chance to train mental health service dogs for other veterans. It’s modeled on a program at the VA hospital in Palo Alto, California, and will be offered at five VA medical centers nationwide in partnership with accredited service dog training organizations.

“This bill is really about therapeutic, on-the-job training, or ‘training the trainer,’” said Adam Webb, a spokesperson for Sen. Thom Tillis (R-N.C.), who introduced the legislation in the Senate. “We don’t anticipate VA will start prescribing PTSD service dogs, but the data we generate from this pilot program will likely be useful in making that case in the future.”

The Congressional Budget Office estimates the pilot program will cost the VA about $19 million. The law stops short of requiring the VA to pay for the dogs. Instead, the agency will partner with accredited service dog organizations that use private money to cover the cost of adopting, training and pairing the dogs with veterans.

Still, the law represents a welcome about-face in VA policy, said Rory Diamond, CEO of K9s for Warriors.

“For the last 10 years, the VA has essentially told us that they don’t recognize service dogs as helping a veteran with post-traumatic stress,” Diamond said.

PTSD service dogs are often confused with emotional support dogs, Diamond said. The latter provide companionship and are not trained to support someone with a disability. PTSD service dogs cost about $25,000 to adopt and train, he said.

Diamond explained that the command “cover” means “the dog will sit next to the warrior, look behind them and alert them if someone comes up from behind.” The command “block” means the dog will “stand perpendicular and give them some space from whatever’s in front of them.”

Retired Army Master Sgt. David Crenshaw of Kearny, New Jersey, said his service dog, Doc, has changed his life.

“We teach in the military to have a battle buddy,” Crenshaw said. “And these service animals act as a battle buddy.”

A few months ago, Crenshaw experienced this firsthand. He had generally avoided large gatherings because persistent hypervigilance is one symptom of his combat-caused PTSD. But this summer, Doc, a pointer and Labrador mix, helped Crenshaw navigate the crowds at Disney World — a significant first for Crenshaw and his family of five.

“I was not agitated. I was not anxious. I was not upset,” said Crenshaw, 39. “It was truly, truly amazing and so much so that I didn’t even have to even stop to think about it in the moment. It just happened naturally.”

Thanks to Doc, Crenshaw said, he no longer takes PTSD drugs or self-medicates with alcohol. Clark-Gutierrez said Lisa, too, has helped her quit using alcohol and stop taking VA-prescribed medications for panic attacks, nightmares and periods of disassociation.

The dogs actually save the VA money over time, Diamond said. “Our warriors are far less likely to be on expensive prescription drugs, are far less likely to use other VA services and far more likely to go to school or go to work. So it’s a win-win-win across the board.”

It was supper time in the Whittier, California, home of Air Force veteran Danyelle Clark-Gutierrez, and eagerly awaiting a bowl of kibble and canned dog food was Lisa, a 3-year-old yellow Labrador retriever.

Her nails clicking on the kitchen floor as she danced about, Lisa looked more like an exuberant puppy than the highly trained service animal that helps Clark-Gutierrez manage the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“Having her now, it’s like I can go anywhere,” Clark-Gutierrez said. “And, yes, if somebody did come at me, I’d have warning — I could run.”

A growing body of research into PTSD and service animals paved the way for President Joe Biden to sign into law the Puppies Assisting Wounded Servicemembers (PAWS) for Veterans Therapy Act. The legislation, enacted in August, requires the Department of Veterans Affairs to open its service dog referral program to veterans with PTSD and to launch a five-year pilot program in which veterans with PTSD train service dogs for other veterans.

Clark-Gutierrez, 33, is among the 25 percent of female veterans who have reported experiencing military sexual trauma while serving in the U.S. armed services.

Military sexual trauma, combat violence and brain injuries are some of the experiences that increase the risk that service members will develop PTSD. Symptoms include flashbacks to the traumatic event, severe anxiety, nightmares and hypervigilance — all normal reactions to experiencing or witnessing violence, according to psychologists. Someone receives a PTSD diagnosis when symptoms worsen or remain for months or years.

That’s what Clark-Gutierrez said happened to her after ongoing sexual harassment by a fellow airman escalated to a physical attack about a decade ago. A lawyer with three children, she said that to feel safe leaving her home she needed her husband by her side. After diagnosing Clark-Gutierrez with PTSD, doctors at VA hospitals prescribed a cascade of medications for her. At one point, Clark-Gutierrez said, her prescriptions added up to more than a dozen pills a day.

“I had medication, and then I had medication for the two or three side effects for each medication,” she said. “And every time they gave me a new med, they had to give me three more. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was just getting so tired. So we started looking at other therapies.”

And that’s how she got her service dog, Lisa. Clark-Gutierrez’s husband, also an Air Force veteran, discovered the nonprofit group K9s for Warriors, which rescues dogs — many from kill shelters — and trains them to be service animals for veterans with PTSD. Lisa is one of about 700 dogs the group has paired with veterans dealing with symptoms caused by traumatic experiences.

“Now with Lisa we take bike rides, we go down to the park, we go to Home Depot,” said Clark-Gutierrez. “I go grocery shopping — normal-people things that I get to do that I didn’t get to do before Lisa.”

That comes as no surprise to Maggie O’Haire, an associate professor of human-animal interaction at Purdue University. Her research suggests that while service dogs aren’t necessarily a cure for PTSD, they do ease its symptoms. Among her published studies is one showing that veterans partnered with these dogs experience less anger and anxiety and get better sleep than those without a service dog. Another of her studies suggests that service dogs lower cortisol levels in veterans who have been traumatized.

“We actually saw patterns of that stress hormone that were more similar to healthy adults who don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder,” O’Haire said.

A congressionally mandated VA study that focuses on service dogs’ impact on veterans with PTSD and was published this year suggests that those partnered with the animals experience less suicidal ideation and more improvement to their symptoms than those without them.

Until now, the federal dog referral program — which relies on nonprofit service dog organizations to pay for the dogs and to provide them to veterans for free — required that participating veterans have a physical mobility issue, such as a lost limb, paralysis or blindness. Veterans like Clark-Gutierrez who have PTSD but no physical disability were on their own in arranging for a service dog.

The pilot program created by the new federal law will give veterans with PTSD the chance to train mental health service dogs for other veterans. It’s modeled on a program at the VA hospital in Palo Alto, California, and will be offered at five VA medical centers nationwide in partnership with accredited service dog training organizations.

“This bill is really about therapeutic, on-the-job training, or ‘training the trainer,’” said Adam Webb, a spokesperson for Sen. Thom Tillis (R-N.C.), who introduced the legislation in the Senate. “We don’t anticipate VA will start prescribing PTSD service dogs, but the data we generate from this pilot program will likely be useful in making that case in the future.”

The Congressional Budget Office estimates the pilot program will cost the VA about $19 million. The law stops short of requiring the VA to pay for the dogs. Instead, the agency will partner with accredited service dog organizations that use private money to cover the cost of adopting, training and pairing the dogs with veterans.

Still, the law represents a welcome about-face in VA policy, said Rory Diamond, CEO of K9s for Warriors.

“For the last 10 years, the VA has essentially told us that they don’t recognize service dogs as helping a veteran with post-traumatic stress,” Diamond said.

PTSD service dogs are often confused with emotional support dogs, Diamond said. The latter provide companionship and are not trained to support someone with a disability. PTSD service dogs cost about $25,000 to adopt and train, he said.

Diamond explained that the command “cover” means “the dog will sit next to the warrior, look behind them and alert them if someone comes up from behind.” The command “block” means the dog will “stand perpendicular and give them some space from whatever’s in front of them.”

Retired Army Master Sgt. David Crenshaw of Kearny, New Jersey, said his service dog, Doc, has changed his life.

“We teach in the military to have a battle buddy,” Crenshaw said. “And these service animals act as a battle buddy.”

A few months ago, Crenshaw experienced this firsthand. He had generally avoided large gatherings because persistent hypervigilance is one symptom of his combat-caused PTSD. But this summer, Doc, a pointer and Labrador mix, helped Crenshaw navigate the crowds at Disney World — a significant first for Crenshaw and his family of five.

“I was not agitated. I was not anxious. I was not upset,” said Crenshaw, 39. “It was truly, truly amazing and so much so that I didn’t even have to even stop to think about it in the moment. It just happened naturally.”

Thanks to Doc, Crenshaw said, he no longer takes PTSD drugs or self-medicates with alcohol. Clark-Gutierrez said Lisa, too, has helped her quit using alcohol and stop taking VA-prescribed medications for panic attacks, nightmares and periods of disassociation.

The dogs actually save the VA money over time, Diamond said. “Our warriors are far less likely to be on expensive prescription drugs, are far less likely to use other VA services and far more likely to go to school or go to work. So it’s a win-win-win across the board.”

Adding lithium to usual care does not decrease the risk of suicide-related events in those with major depressive disorder (MDD) or bipolar disorder (BD) who have survived a recent suicidal event, new research shows.

The results of a randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled trial in veterans showed no apparent advantage of the drug in preventing self-injury, suicide attempts, or urgent hospitalization to prevent suicide.

“Lithium is an important therapy for bipolar disorders and depression subsets. Our study indicates that, in patients who are actively followed and treated in a system of care that the VA provides, simply adding lithium to their existing management, including medications, is unlikely to be effective for preventing a broad range of suicide-related events,” study investigator Ryan Ferguson, MPH, ScD, Boston Cooperative Studies Coordinating Center, VA Boston Healthcare System, told this news organization.

The study was published online JAMA Psychiatry.
 

Surprising findings

The results were somewhat surprising, Dr. Ferguson added. “Lithium showed little or no effect in our study, compared to observational data and results from previous trials. Many clinicians and practice guidelines had assumed that lithium was an effective agent in preventing suicide,” he said.

However, the authors of an accompanying editorial urge caution in concluding that lithium has no antisuicidal effects.

This “rigorously designed and conducted trial has much to teach but cannot be taken as evidence that lithium treatment is ineffective regarding suicidal risk,” write Ross Baldessarini, MD, and Leonardo Tondo, MD, department of psychiatry, Harvard Medical School, Boston.

Study participants were veterans with MDD or BD receiving care at one of 29 Veterans Administration medical centers who survived a recent suicide-related event. In addition to usual care, they were randomly assigned to receive oral extended-release lithium carbonate starting at 600 mg/day or matching placebo for 52 weeks.

The primary outcome was time to the first repeated suicide-related event, including suicide attempts, interrupted attempts, hospitalizations specifically to prevent suicide, and deaths from suicide.

The trial was stopped for futility after 519 veterans (mean age, 42.8 years; 84% male) were randomly assigned to receive lithium (n = 255) or placebo (n = 264). At 3 months, mean lithium concentrations were 0.54 mEq/L for patients with BD and 0.46 mEq/L for those with MDD.

There was no significant difference in the primary outcome (hazard ratio, 1.10; 95% confidence interval, 0.77-1.55; P = .61).

A total of 127 participants (24.5%) had suicide-related outcomes – 65 in the lithium group and 62 in the placebo group. One death occurred in the lithium group and three in the placebo group. There were no unanticipated drug-related safety concerns.
 

Caveats, cautionary notes

The researchers note that the study did not reach its original recruitment goal. “One of the barriers to recruitment was the perception of many of the clinicians caring for potential participants that the effectiveness of lithium was already established; in fact, this perception was supported by the VA/U.S. Department of Defense Clinical Practice Guideline,” they point out.

They also note that most veterans in the study had depression rather than BD, which is the most common indication for lithium use. Most also had substance use disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, or both, which could influence outcomes.

As a result of small numbers, it wasn’t possible to evaluate outcomes for patients with BD, test whether outcomes differed among patients with BD and MDD, or assess whether comorbidities attenuated the effects of lithium.

The study’s protocol increased participants’ contacts with the VA, which also may have affected outcomes, the researchers note.

In addition, high rates of attrition and low rates of substantial adherence to lithium meant only about half (48.1%) of the study population achieved target serum lithium concentrations.

Editorial writers Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo note that the low circulating concentrations of lithium and the fact that adherence to assigned treatment was considered adequate in only 17% of participants are key limitations of the study.

“In general, controlled treatment trials aimed at detecting suicide preventive effects are difficult to design, perform, and interpret,” they point out.

Evidence supporting an antisuicidal effect of lithium treatment includes nearly three dozen observational trials that have shown fewer suicides or attempts with lithium treatment, as well as “marked, temporary” increases in suicidal behavior soon after stopping lithium treatment.

Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo note the current findings “cannot be taken as evidence that lithium lacks antisuicidal effects. An ironic final note is that recruiting participants to such trials may be made difficult by an evidently prevalent belief that the question of antisuicidal effects of lithium is already settled, which it certainly is not,” they write.

Dr. Ferguson “agrees that more work needs to be done to understand the antisuicidal effect of lithium.

The study received financial and material support from a grant from the Cooperative Studies Program, Office of Research and Development, U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. Dr. Ferguson has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A complete list of author disclosures is available with the original article.

Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo have disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Their editorial was supported by grants from the Bruce J. Anderson Foundation, the McLean Private Donors Fund for Psychiatric Research, and the Aretaeus Foundation of Rome.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Adding lithium to usual care does not decrease the risk of suicide-related events in those with major depressive disorder (MDD) or bipolar disorder (BD) who have survived a recent suicidal event, new research shows.

The results of a randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled trial in veterans showed no apparent advantage of the drug in preventing self-injury, suicide attempts, or urgent hospitalization to prevent suicide.

“Lithium is an important therapy for bipolar disorders and depression subsets. Our study indicates that, in patients who are actively followed and treated in a system of care that the VA provides, simply adding lithium to their existing management, including medications, is unlikely to be effective for preventing a broad range of suicide-related events,” study investigator Ryan Ferguson, MPH, ScD, Boston Cooperative Studies Coordinating Center, VA Boston Healthcare System, told this news organization.

The study was published online JAMA Psychiatry.
 

Surprising findings

The results were somewhat surprising, Dr. Ferguson added. “Lithium showed little or no effect in our study, compared to observational data and results from previous trials. Many clinicians and practice guidelines had assumed that lithium was an effective agent in preventing suicide,” he said.

However, the authors of an accompanying editorial urge caution in concluding that lithium has no antisuicidal effects.

This “rigorously designed and conducted trial has much to teach but cannot be taken as evidence that lithium treatment is ineffective regarding suicidal risk,” write Ross Baldessarini, MD, and Leonardo Tondo, MD, department of psychiatry, Harvard Medical School, Boston.

Study participants were veterans with MDD or BD receiving care at one of 29 Veterans Administration medical centers who survived a recent suicide-related event. In addition to usual care, they were randomly assigned to receive oral extended-release lithium carbonate starting at 600 mg/day or matching placebo for 52 weeks.

The primary outcome was time to the first repeated suicide-related event, including suicide attempts, interrupted attempts, hospitalizations specifically to prevent suicide, and deaths from suicide.

The trial was stopped for futility after 519 veterans (mean age, 42.8 years; 84% male) were randomly assigned to receive lithium (n = 255) or placebo (n = 264). At 3 months, mean lithium concentrations were 0.54 mEq/L for patients with BD and 0.46 mEq/L for those with MDD.

There was no significant difference in the primary outcome (hazard ratio, 1.10; 95% confidence interval, 0.77-1.55; P = .61).

A total of 127 participants (24.5%) had suicide-related outcomes – 65 in the lithium group and 62 in the placebo group. One death occurred in the lithium group and three in the placebo group. There were no unanticipated drug-related safety concerns.
 

Caveats, cautionary notes

The researchers note that the study did not reach its original recruitment goal. “One of the barriers to recruitment was the perception of many of the clinicians caring for potential participants that the effectiveness of lithium was already established; in fact, this perception was supported by the VA/U.S. Department of Defense Clinical Practice Guideline,” they point out.

They also note that most veterans in the study had depression rather than BD, which is the most common indication for lithium use. Most also had substance use disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, or both, which could influence outcomes.

As a result of small numbers, it wasn’t possible to evaluate outcomes for patients with BD, test whether outcomes differed among patients with BD and MDD, or assess whether comorbidities attenuated the effects of lithium.

The study’s protocol increased participants’ contacts with the VA, which also may have affected outcomes, the researchers note.

In addition, high rates of attrition and low rates of substantial adherence to lithium meant only about half (48.1%) of the study population achieved target serum lithium concentrations.

Editorial writers Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo note that the low circulating concentrations of lithium and the fact that adherence to assigned treatment was considered adequate in only 17% of participants are key limitations of the study.

“In general, controlled treatment trials aimed at detecting suicide preventive effects are difficult to design, perform, and interpret,” they point out.

Evidence supporting an antisuicidal effect of lithium treatment includes nearly three dozen observational trials that have shown fewer suicides or attempts with lithium treatment, as well as “marked, temporary” increases in suicidal behavior soon after stopping lithium treatment.

Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo note the current findings “cannot be taken as evidence that lithium lacks antisuicidal effects. An ironic final note is that recruiting participants to such trials may be made difficult by an evidently prevalent belief that the question of antisuicidal effects of lithium is already settled, which it certainly is not,” they write.

Dr. Ferguson “agrees that more work needs to be done to understand the antisuicidal effect of lithium.

The study received financial and material support from a grant from the Cooperative Studies Program, Office of Research and Development, U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. Dr. Ferguson has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A complete list of author disclosures is available with the original article.

Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo have disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Their editorial was supported by grants from the Bruce J. Anderson Foundation, the McLean Private Donors Fund for Psychiatric Research, and the Aretaeus Foundation of Rome.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Adding lithium to usual care does not decrease the risk of suicide-related events in those with major depressive disorder (MDD) or bipolar disorder (BD) who have survived a recent suicidal event, new research shows.

The results of a randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled trial in veterans showed no apparent advantage of the drug in preventing self-injury, suicide attempts, or urgent hospitalization to prevent suicide.

“Lithium is an important therapy for bipolar disorders and depression subsets. Our study indicates that, in patients who are actively followed and treated in a system of care that the VA provides, simply adding lithium to their existing management, including medications, is unlikely to be effective for preventing a broad range of suicide-related events,” study investigator Ryan Ferguson, MPH, ScD, Boston Cooperative Studies Coordinating Center, VA Boston Healthcare System, told this news organization.

The study was published online JAMA Psychiatry.
 

Surprising findings

The results were somewhat surprising, Dr. Ferguson added. “Lithium showed little or no effect in our study, compared to observational data and results from previous trials. Many clinicians and practice guidelines had assumed that lithium was an effective agent in preventing suicide,” he said.

However, the authors of an accompanying editorial urge caution in concluding that lithium has no antisuicidal effects.

This “rigorously designed and conducted trial has much to teach but cannot be taken as evidence that lithium treatment is ineffective regarding suicidal risk,” write Ross Baldessarini, MD, and Leonardo Tondo, MD, department of psychiatry, Harvard Medical School, Boston.

Study participants were veterans with MDD or BD receiving care at one of 29 Veterans Administration medical centers who survived a recent suicide-related event. In addition to usual care, they were randomly assigned to receive oral extended-release lithium carbonate starting at 600 mg/day or matching placebo for 52 weeks.

The primary outcome was time to the first repeated suicide-related event, including suicide attempts, interrupted attempts, hospitalizations specifically to prevent suicide, and deaths from suicide.

The trial was stopped for futility after 519 veterans (mean age, 42.8 years; 84% male) were randomly assigned to receive lithium (n = 255) or placebo (n = 264). At 3 months, mean lithium concentrations were 0.54 mEq/L for patients with BD and 0.46 mEq/L for those with MDD.

There was no significant difference in the primary outcome (hazard ratio, 1.10; 95% confidence interval, 0.77-1.55; P = .61).

A total of 127 participants (24.5%) had suicide-related outcomes – 65 in the lithium group and 62 in the placebo group. One death occurred in the lithium group and three in the placebo group. There were no unanticipated drug-related safety concerns.
 

Caveats, cautionary notes

The researchers note that the study did not reach its original recruitment goal. “One of the barriers to recruitment was the perception of many of the clinicians caring for potential participants that the effectiveness of lithium was already established; in fact, this perception was supported by the VA/U.S. Department of Defense Clinical Practice Guideline,” they point out.

They also note that most veterans in the study had depression rather than BD, which is the most common indication for lithium use. Most also had substance use disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, or both, which could influence outcomes.

As a result of small numbers, it wasn’t possible to evaluate outcomes for patients with BD, test whether outcomes differed among patients with BD and MDD, or assess whether comorbidities attenuated the effects of lithium.

The study’s protocol increased participants’ contacts with the VA, which also may have affected outcomes, the researchers note.

In addition, high rates of attrition and low rates of substantial adherence to lithium meant only about half (48.1%) of the study population achieved target serum lithium concentrations.

Editorial writers Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo note that the low circulating concentrations of lithium and the fact that adherence to assigned treatment was considered adequate in only 17% of participants are key limitations of the study.

“In general, controlled treatment trials aimed at detecting suicide preventive effects are difficult to design, perform, and interpret,” they point out.

Evidence supporting an antisuicidal effect of lithium treatment includes nearly three dozen observational trials that have shown fewer suicides or attempts with lithium treatment, as well as “marked, temporary” increases in suicidal behavior soon after stopping lithium treatment.

Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo note the current findings “cannot be taken as evidence that lithium lacks antisuicidal effects. An ironic final note is that recruiting participants to such trials may be made difficult by an evidently prevalent belief that the question of antisuicidal effects of lithium is already settled, which it certainly is not,” they write.

Dr. Ferguson “agrees that more work needs to be done to understand the antisuicidal effect of lithium.

The study received financial and material support from a grant from the Cooperative Studies Program, Office of Research and Development, U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. Dr. Ferguson has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A complete list of author disclosures is available with the original article.

Dr. Baldessarini and Dr. Tondo have disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Their editorial was supported by grants from the Bruce J. Anderson Foundation, the McLean Private Donors Fund for Psychiatric Research, and the Aretaeus Foundation of Rome.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

When the COVID-19 pandemic engulfed the nation well over a year ago, Rebecca Hendrickson, MD, PhD, immersed herself in the shell-shocking revelations that clinicians began posting on social media. The accounts offered just a snapshot of the pandemic’s heavy psychological toll, and Dr. Hendrickson, a psychiatrist at the University of Washington in Seattle and an expert in posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), wanted to know more.

xavierarnau/Getty Images

She and her colleagues devised a survey to assess the impact of several pandemic-related factors, including increased work hours, social distancing restrictions, and lack of adequate personal protective equipment.

What began as a survey of health care workers soon expanded in scope. Of the more than 600 survey respondents to date, health care workers account for about 60%, while the rest are first responders – police officers, firefighters, paramedics, and emergency medical technicians – and nonclinical personnel, such as security guards and office staff, in health care settings. The respondents range in age from 19 to 72, and hail from all regions of the country.

“Our findings were really striking,” Dr. Hendrickson said, “including very high rates of thoughts of suicide and thoughts of leaving one’s current field, which were both strongly linked to COVID-19–related occupational stress exposure.”

The distress stemmed from a multitude of factors. Among the most demoralizing: witnessing patients die in isolation and being stretched thin to provide optimal care for all patients amid an unrelenting onslaught of COVID-19 cases, she said. For some health care workers, living in the garage or basement – to avoid infecting family members with the virus – also wore on their psyches.

Of all health care workers in the study, more than three-quarters reported symptoms that fell within the clinical range for depression (76%) and anxiety (78%). More than 25% noted that they had lost a family member or close colleague to the virus.

Dr. Hendrickson, who works with military veterans at the VA Puget Sound Hospital System’s Mental Illness Research, Education, and Clinical Center and its PTSD outpatient clinic, hadn’t expected the experience of loss to be so pervasive. She said the sheer number of people who “crossed the threshold” into despair concerned her deeply.
 

Signs and symptoms of PTSD

PTSD’s prevalence among health care workers has always been variable, said Jessica Gold, MD, assistant professor and director of wellness, engagement, and outreach in the department of psychiatry at Washington University in St. Louis.

As a psychiatrist who sees health care workers in her clinical practice, Dr. Gold has noted poor baseline mental health, including depression and trauma. Significant data have pointed to a relatively higher suicide rate among physicians than among the general population. These problems have been compounded by COVID-19.

“It has been an unrelenting series of new stressors,” she said, citing lack of resources; a feeling of being unable to help; and the high frequency of risk of death to patients, family and friends, and the caregivers themselves as just as few examples. “It is very likely going to increase our baseline trauma, and honestly, I don’t know that we can predict how. To me, trauma has no real timeline and can show up months or even years after the pandemic.”

PTSD can manifest itself in health care workers in several different ways. A few commonalities Dr. Gold has observed are sleep disruption (including insomnia and nightmares), work avoidance by taking disability or quitting, irritability or other changes in mood, trouble concentrating, and hypervigilance.

She said she has seen physical manifestations of trauma – such as body pain, stomachaches, and teeth grinding, which “you might not realize are at all related to trauma but ultimately are.” Sometimes, she added, “people have panic attacks on the way to work or right when they get to work, or are thinking about work.”

Dr. Gold noted that different types of treatment, such as cognitive-behavioral therapy and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), can be effective for PTSD. Medication is often necessary because of comorbid anxiety, depression, or eating disorders, said Dr. Gold, who is conducting a study on the pandemic’s effects on medical students.
 

The difficulties in isolating COVID-19 as a contributor

Not all researchers are convinced that a causal relationship has been established between the pandemic and worsening mental health among those in the health care sector.

With provider burnout being a long-standing concern in medicine, Ankur A. Butala, MD, assistant professor of neurology, psychiatry, and behavioral sciences at the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, said he remains a bit skeptical that acute stressors during the pandemic amounted to a uniquely potent driving force that can be extrapolated and quantified in a study.

“It’s hard to interpret a chronic, rolling, ongoing trauma like COVID-19 against tools or scales developed to investigate symptoms from a singular and acute trauma, like a school shooting or a [military] firefight,” Dr. Butala said.

In addition, he noted a reluctance to generalizing results from a study in which participants were recruited via social media as opposed to research methods involving more rigorous selection protocols.

Although Dr. Hendrickson acknowledged the study’s limitations, she said her team nonetheless found strong correlations between COVID-19-related stressors and self-reported struggles in completing work-related tasks, as well as increasing thoughts of leaving one’s current field. They adjusted for previous lifetime trauma exposure, age, gender, and a personal history of contracting COVID-19.

The underlying premise of the study could be confirmed with repeated surveys over time, Dr. Butala said, as the COVID-19 pandemic evolves and the vaccination effort unfolds.

Follow-up surveys are being sent to participants every 2 weeks and every 3 months to gauge their mood, for a total follow-up period of 9 months per individual. New participants are still welcome. “We will continue to enroll as long as it seems relevant,” Dr. Hendrickson said.

Carol S. North, MD, MPE, who has added to the growing research on the pandemic’s toll on mental health, noted that because symptom scales do not provide psychiatric diagnoses, it is difficult to attribute the prevalence of psychiatric disorders to the pandemic. Dr. North is chair and professor of crisis psychiatry at UT Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, and director of the program in trauma and disaster at VA North Texas Health Care System.

The DSM-5 criteria exclude naturally occurring illness, such as a virus (even during a pandemic) as a qualifying trauma for the diagnosis of PTSD. According to current criteria by the American Psychiatric Association, COVID-19 and the pandemic are not defined as trauma, Dr. North said, while noting that “just because it’s not trauma or PTSD does not mean that the pandemic should be discounted as not stressful; people are finding it very stressful.”

Identifying the exact source of distress would still be difficult, Dr. North said, as the pandemic has produced severe economic consequences and prolonged social isolation, as well as occurring alongside nationwide protests over racial and ethnic divisions. Studies to date haven’t effectively separated out for these stressors, making it impossible to weigh their relative impact.

Furthermore, “most of us face many other stressors in our daily lives, such as grief, losses, broken relationships, and personal failures,” she said. “All of these may contribute to psychological distress, and research is needed to determine how much was a product of the virus, other aspects of the pandemic, or unrelated life stressors.”
 

A rallying cry for new interventions

Despite such doubts, a growing number of studies are reporting that health care workers and first responders are experiencing intensified PTSD, depression, anxiety, and insomnia as a result of the pandemic, said Hrayr Pierre Attarian, MD, professor of neurology at Northwestern University, Chicago. These results should act as a rallying cry for implementing more policies tailored to prevent burnout, he said.

“What we are seeing during this terrible pandemic is burnout on steroids,” said Dr. Attarian, medical director of Northwestern’s Center for Sleep Disorders. There are already high burnout rates, “so this should be doubly important.”

Rooting out this problem starts at the institutional level, but merely advising providers to “be well” wouldn’t make inroads. “There needs to be fluid dialogue between health care workers and the leadership,” he said.

Among his proposed remedies: Access to confidential and free mental health resources, increased administrative support, flexible hours, respect for work-life balance, and forgiveness for occasional errors that don’t result in harm.

“Sometimes even the perception that a mistake has been made is taken as proof of guilt,” Dr. Attarian said. “It is not conducive to wellness. Extra income does not replace a nurturing work environment.”

Furthermore, “as a profession, we must stop glorifying ‘overwork.’ We must stop wearing ‘lack of sleep’ as badge of honor,” he said. “Sleep is a biological imperative like self-preservation, hunger, and thirst. When we don’t sleep anxiety, pain, and depression get amplified. Our perception of distress is off, as is our judgment.”

The Federation of State Physician Health Programs provides a directory that physicians can use for referrals to confidential consultation or treatment.

Christopher Bundy, MD, MPH, executive medical director of Washington Physicians Health Program in Seattle, has been following Dr. Hendrickson’s longitudinal study with keen interest. As president of the Federation of State Physician Health Programs, he hopes to translate the findings into practice.

“Obviously, the COVID-19 pandemic has been a ‘black swan’ in terms of workforce sustainability issues,” Dr. Bundy said, citing “high rates of burnout, disillusionment, and dissatisfaction.” He sees some similarities with his former role in treating war veterans.

“The invisible wounds of combat, the psychological scars don’t really become apparent until after you’re out of the war zone,” said Dr. Bundy, clinical associate professor of psychiatry at the University of Washington.

Likewise, he expects the “emotional chickens will come home to roost as the pandemic subsides.” Until then, “people are just focused on survival, and in doing their jobs and protecting their patients.” Eventually, “their own wounds inside the pandemic will take hold.”
 

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

When the COVID-19 pandemic engulfed the nation well over a year ago, Rebecca Hendrickson, MD, PhD, immersed herself in the shell-shocking revelations that clinicians began posting on social media. The accounts offered just a snapshot of the pandemic’s heavy psychological toll, and Dr. Hendrickson, a psychiatrist at the University of Washington in Seattle and an expert in posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), wanted to know more.

xavierarnau/Getty Images

She and her colleagues devised a survey to assess the impact of several pandemic-related factors, including increased work hours, social distancing restrictions, and lack of adequate personal protective equipment.

What began as a survey of health care workers soon expanded in scope. Of the more than 600 survey respondents to date, health care workers account for about 60%, while the rest are first responders – police officers, firefighters, paramedics, and emergency medical technicians – and nonclinical personnel, such as security guards and office staff, in health care settings. The respondents range in age from 19 to 72, and hail from all regions of the country.

“Our findings were really striking,” Dr. Hendrickson said, “including very high rates of thoughts of suicide and thoughts of leaving one’s current field, which were both strongly linked to COVID-19–related occupational stress exposure.”

The distress stemmed from a multitude of factors. Among the most demoralizing: witnessing patients die in isolation and being stretched thin to provide optimal care for all patients amid an unrelenting onslaught of COVID-19 cases, she said. For some health care workers, living in the garage or basement – to avoid infecting family members with the virus – also wore on their psyches.

Of all health care workers in the study, more than three-quarters reported symptoms that fell within the clinical range for depression (76%) and anxiety (78%). More than 25% noted that they had lost a family member or close colleague to the virus.

Dr. Hendrickson, who works with military veterans at the VA Puget Sound Hospital System’s Mental Illness Research, Education, and Clinical Center and its PTSD outpatient clinic, hadn’t expected the experience of loss to be so pervasive. She said the sheer number of people who “crossed the threshold” into despair concerned her deeply.
 

Signs and symptoms of PTSD

PTSD’s prevalence among health care workers has always been variable, said Jessica Gold, MD, assistant professor and director of wellness, engagement, and outreach in the department of psychiatry at Washington University in St. Louis.

As a psychiatrist who sees health care workers in her clinical practice, Dr. Gold has noted poor baseline mental health, including depression and trauma. Significant data have pointed to a relatively higher suicide rate among physicians than among the general population. These problems have been compounded by COVID-19.

“It has been an unrelenting series of new stressors,” she said, citing lack of resources; a feeling of being unable to help; and the high frequency of risk of death to patients, family and friends, and the caregivers themselves as just as few examples. “It is very likely going to increase our baseline trauma, and honestly, I don’t know that we can predict how. To me, trauma has no real timeline and can show up months or even years after the pandemic.”

PTSD can manifest itself in health care workers in several different ways. A few commonalities Dr. Gold has observed are sleep disruption (including insomnia and nightmares), work avoidance by taking disability or quitting, irritability or other changes in mood, trouble concentrating, and hypervigilance.

She said she has seen physical manifestations of trauma – such as body pain, stomachaches, and teeth grinding, which “you might not realize are at all related to trauma but ultimately are.” Sometimes, she added, “people have panic attacks on the way to work or right when they get to work, or are thinking about work.”

Dr. Gold noted that different types of treatment, such as cognitive-behavioral therapy and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), can be effective for PTSD. Medication is often necessary because of comorbid anxiety, depression, or eating disorders, said Dr. Gold, who is conducting a study on the pandemic’s effects on medical students.
 

The difficulties in isolating COVID-19 as a contributor

Not all researchers are convinced that a causal relationship has been established between the pandemic and worsening mental health among those in the health care sector.

With provider burnout being a long-standing concern in medicine, Ankur A. Butala, MD, assistant professor of neurology, psychiatry, and behavioral sciences at the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, said he remains a bit skeptical that acute stressors during the pandemic amounted to a uniquely potent driving force that can be extrapolated and quantified in a study.

“It’s hard to interpret a chronic, rolling, ongoing trauma like COVID-19 against tools or scales developed to investigate symptoms from a singular and acute trauma, like a school shooting or a [military] firefight,” Dr. Butala said.

In addition, he noted a reluctance to generalizing results from a study in which participants were recruited via social media as opposed to research methods involving more rigorous selection protocols.

Although Dr. Hendrickson acknowledged the study’s limitations, she said her team nonetheless found strong correlations between COVID-19-related stressors and self-reported struggles in completing work-related tasks, as well as increasing thoughts of leaving one’s current field. They adjusted for previous lifetime trauma exposure, age, gender, and a personal history of contracting COVID-19.

The underlying premise of the study could be confirmed with repeated surveys over time, Dr. Butala said, as the COVID-19 pandemic evolves and the vaccination effort unfolds.

Follow-up surveys are being sent to participants every 2 weeks and every 3 months to gauge their mood, for a total follow-up period of 9 months per individual. New participants are still welcome. “We will continue to enroll as long as it seems relevant,” Dr. Hendrickson said.

Carol S. North, MD, MPE, who has added to the growing research on the pandemic’s toll on mental health, noted that because symptom scales do not provide psychiatric diagnoses, it is difficult to attribute the prevalence of psychiatric disorders to the pandemic. Dr. North is chair and professor of crisis psychiatry at UT Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, and director of the program in trauma and disaster at VA North Texas Health Care System.

The DSM-5 criteria exclude naturally occurring illness, such as a virus (even during a pandemic) as a qualifying trauma for the diagnosis of PTSD. According to current criteria by the American Psychiatric Association, COVID-19 and the pandemic are not defined as trauma, Dr. North said, while noting that “just because it’s not trauma or PTSD does not mean that the pandemic should be discounted as not stressful; people are finding it very stressful.”

Identifying the exact source of distress would still be difficult, Dr. North said, as the pandemic has produced severe economic consequences and prolonged social isolation, as well as occurring alongside nationwide protests over racial and ethnic divisions. Studies to date haven’t effectively separated out for these stressors, making it impossible to weigh their relative impact.

Furthermore, “most of us face many other stressors in our daily lives, such as grief, losses, broken relationships, and personal failures,” she said. “All of these may contribute to psychological distress, and research is needed to determine how much was a product of the virus, other aspects of the pandemic, or unrelated life stressors.”
 

A rallying cry for new interventions

Despite such doubts, a growing number of studies are reporting that health care workers and first responders are experiencing intensified PTSD, depression, anxiety, and insomnia as a result of the pandemic, said Hrayr Pierre Attarian, MD, professor of neurology at Northwestern University, Chicago. These results should act as a rallying cry for implementing more policies tailored to prevent burnout, he said.

“What we are seeing during this terrible pandemic is burnout on steroids,” said Dr. Attarian, medical director of Northwestern’s Center for Sleep Disorders. There are already high burnout rates, “so this should be doubly important.”

Rooting out this problem starts at the institutional level, but merely advising providers to “be well” wouldn’t make inroads. “There needs to be fluid dialogue between health care workers and the leadership,” he said.

Among his proposed remedies: Access to confidential and free mental health resources, increased administrative support, flexible hours, respect for work-life balance, and forgiveness for occasional errors that don’t result in harm.

“Sometimes even the perception that a mistake has been made is taken as proof of guilt,” Dr. Attarian said. “It is not conducive to wellness. Extra income does not replace a nurturing work environment.”

Furthermore, “as a profession, we must stop glorifying ‘overwork.’ We must stop wearing ‘lack of sleep’ as badge of honor,” he said. “Sleep is a biological imperative like self-preservation, hunger, and thirst. When we don’t sleep anxiety, pain, and depression get amplified. Our perception of distress is off, as is our judgment.”

The Federation of State Physician Health Programs provides a directory that physicians can use for referrals to confidential consultation or treatment.

Christopher Bundy, MD, MPH, executive medical director of Washington Physicians Health Program in Seattle, has been following Dr. Hendrickson’s longitudinal study with keen interest. As president of the Federation of State Physician Health Programs, he hopes to translate the findings into practice.

“Obviously, the COVID-19 pandemic has been a ‘black swan’ in terms of workforce sustainability issues,” Dr. Bundy said, citing “high rates of burnout, disillusionment, and dissatisfaction.” He sees some similarities with his former role in treating war veterans.

“The invisible wounds of combat, the psychological scars don’t really become apparent until after you’re out of the war zone,” said Dr. Bundy, clinical associate professor of psychiatry at the University of Washington.

Likewise, he expects the “emotional chickens will come home to roost as the pandemic subsides.” Until then, “people are just focused on survival, and in doing their jobs and protecting their patients.” Eventually, “their own wounds inside the pandemic will take hold.”
 

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

When the COVID-19 pandemic engulfed the nation well over a year ago, Rebecca Hendrickson, MD, PhD, immersed herself in the shell-shocking revelations that clinicians began posting on social media. The accounts offered just a snapshot of the pandemic’s heavy psychological toll, and Dr. Hendrickson, a psychiatrist at the University of Washington in Seattle and an expert in posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), wanted to know more.

xavierarnau/Getty Images

She and her colleagues devised a survey to assess the impact of several pandemic-related factors, including increased work hours, social distancing restrictions, and lack of adequate personal protective equipment.

What began as a survey of health care workers soon expanded in scope. Of the more than 600 survey respondents to date, health care workers account for about 60%, while the rest are first responders – police officers, firefighters, paramedics, and emergency medical technicians – and nonclinical personnel, such as security guards and office staff, in health care settings. The respondents range in age from 19 to 72, and hail from all regions of the country.

“Our findings were really striking,” Dr. Hendrickson said, “including very high rates of thoughts of suicide and thoughts of leaving one’s current field, which were both strongly linked to COVID-19–related occupational stress exposure.”

The distress stemmed from a multitude of factors. Among the most demoralizing: witnessing patients die in isolation and being stretched thin to provide optimal care for all patients amid an unrelenting onslaught of COVID-19 cases, she said. For some health care workers, living in the garage or basement – to avoid infecting family members with the virus – also wore on their psyches.

Of all health care workers in the study, more than three-quarters reported symptoms that fell within the clinical range for depression (76%) and anxiety (78%). More than 25% noted that they had lost a family member or close colleague to the virus.

Dr. Hendrickson, who works with military veterans at the VA Puget Sound Hospital System’s Mental Illness Research, Education, and Clinical Center and its PTSD outpatient clinic, hadn’t expected the experience of loss to be so pervasive. She said the sheer number of people who “crossed the threshold” into despair concerned her deeply.
 

Signs and symptoms of PTSD

PTSD’s prevalence among health care workers has always been variable, said Jessica Gold, MD, assistant professor and director of wellness, engagement, and outreach in the department of psychiatry at Washington University in St. Louis.

As a psychiatrist who sees health care workers in her clinical practice, Dr. Gold has noted poor baseline mental health, including depression and trauma. Significant data have pointed to a relatively higher suicide rate among physicians than among the general population. These problems have been compounded by COVID-19.

“It has been an unrelenting series of new stressors,” she said, citing lack of resources; a feeling of being unable to help; and the high frequency of risk of death to patients, family and friends, and the caregivers themselves as just as few examples. “It is very likely going to increase our baseline trauma, and honestly, I don’t know that we can predict how. To me, trauma has no real timeline and can show up months or even years after the pandemic.”

PTSD can manifest itself in health care workers in several different ways. A few commonalities Dr. Gold has observed are sleep disruption (including insomnia and nightmares), work avoidance by taking disability or quitting, irritability or other changes in mood, trouble concentrating, and hypervigilance.

She said she has seen physical manifestations of trauma – such as body pain, stomachaches, and teeth grinding, which “you might not realize are at all related to trauma but ultimately are.” Sometimes, she added, “people have panic attacks on the way to work or right when they get to work, or are thinking about work.”

Dr. Gold noted that different types of treatment, such as cognitive-behavioral therapy and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), can be effective for PTSD. Medication is often necessary because of comorbid anxiety, depression, or eating disorders, said Dr. Gold, who is conducting a study on the pandemic’s effects on medical students.
 

The difficulties in isolating COVID-19 as a contributor

Not all researchers are convinced that a causal relationship has been established between the pandemic and worsening mental health among those in the health care sector.

With provider burnout being a long-standing concern in medicine, Ankur A. Butala, MD, assistant professor of neurology, psychiatry, and behavioral sciences at the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, said he remains a bit skeptical that acute stressors during the pandemic amounted to a uniquely potent driving force that can be extrapolated and quantified in a study.

“It’s hard to interpret a chronic, rolling, ongoing trauma like COVID-19 against tools or scales developed to investigate symptoms from a singular and acute trauma, like a school shooting or a [military] firefight,” Dr. Butala said.

In addition, he noted a reluctance to generalizing results from a study in which participants were recruited via social media as opposed to research methods involving more rigorous selection protocols.

Although Dr. Hendrickson acknowledged the study’s limitations, she said her team nonetheless found strong correlations between COVID-19-related stressors and self-reported struggles in completing work-related tasks, as well as increasing thoughts of leaving one’s current field. They adjusted for previous lifetime trauma exposure, age, gender, and a personal history of contracting COVID-19.

The underlying premise of the study could be confirmed with repeated surveys over time, Dr. Butala said, as the COVID-19 pandemic evolves and the vaccination effort unfolds.

Follow-up surveys are being sent to participants every 2 weeks and every 3 months to gauge their mood, for a total follow-up period of 9 months per individual. New participants are still welcome. “We will continue to enroll as long as it seems relevant,” Dr. Hendrickson said.

Carol S. North, MD, MPE, who has added to the growing research on the pandemic’s toll on mental health, noted that because symptom scales do not provide psychiatric diagnoses, it is difficult to attribute the prevalence of psychiatric disorders to the pandemic. Dr. North is chair and professor of crisis psychiatry at UT Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, and director of the program in trauma and disaster at VA North Texas Health Care System.

The DSM-5 criteria exclude naturally occurring illness, such as a virus (even during a pandemic) as a qualifying trauma for the diagnosis of PTSD. According to current criteria by the American Psychiatric Association, COVID-19 and the pandemic are not defined as trauma, Dr. North said, while noting that “just because it’s not trauma or PTSD does not mean that the pandemic should be discounted as not stressful; people are finding it very stressful.”

Identifying the exact source of distress would still be difficult, Dr. North said, as the pandemic has produced severe economic consequences and prolonged social isolation, as well as occurring alongside nationwide protests over racial and ethnic divisions. Studies to date haven’t effectively separated out for these stressors, making it impossible to weigh their relative impact.

Furthermore, “most of us face many other stressors in our daily lives, such as grief, losses, broken relationships, and personal failures,” she said. “All of these may contribute to psychological distress, and research is needed to determine how much was a product of the virus, other aspects of the pandemic, or unrelated life stressors.”
 

A rallying cry for new interventions

Despite such doubts, a growing number of studies are reporting that health care workers and first responders are experiencing intensified PTSD, depression, anxiety, and insomnia as a result of the pandemic, said Hrayr Pierre Attarian, MD, professor of neurology at Northwestern University, Chicago. These results should act as a rallying cry for implementing more policies tailored to prevent burnout, he said.

“What we are seeing during this terrible pandemic is burnout on steroids,” said Dr. Attarian, medical director of Northwestern’s Center for Sleep Disorders. There are already high burnout rates, “so this should be doubly important.”

Rooting out this problem starts at the institutional level, but merely advising providers to “be well” wouldn’t make inroads. “There needs to be fluid dialogue between health care workers and the leadership,” he said.

Among his proposed remedies: Access to confidential and free mental health resources, increased administrative support, flexible hours, respect for work-life balance, and forgiveness for occasional errors that don’t result in harm.

“Sometimes even the perception that a mistake has been made is taken as proof of guilt,” Dr. Attarian said. “It is not conducive to wellness. Extra income does not replace a nurturing work environment.”

Furthermore, “as a profession, we must stop glorifying ‘overwork.’ We must stop wearing ‘lack of sleep’ as badge of honor,” he said. “Sleep is a biological imperative like self-preservation, hunger, and thirst. When we don’t sleep anxiety, pain, and depression get amplified. Our perception of distress is off, as is our judgment.”

The Federation of State Physician Health Programs provides a directory that physicians can use for referrals to confidential consultation or treatment.

Christopher Bundy, MD, MPH, executive medical director of Washington Physicians Health Program in Seattle, has been following Dr. Hendrickson’s longitudinal study with keen interest. As president of the Federation of State Physician Health Programs, he hopes to translate the findings into practice.

“Obviously, the COVID-19 pandemic has been a ‘black swan’ in terms of workforce sustainability issues,” Dr. Bundy said, citing “high rates of burnout, disillusionment, and dissatisfaction.” He sees some similarities with his former role in treating war veterans.

“The invisible wounds of combat, the psychological scars don’t really become apparent until after you’re out of the war zone,” said Dr. Bundy, clinical associate professor of psychiatry at the University of Washington.

Likewise, he expects the “emotional chickens will come home to roost as the pandemic subsides.” Until then, “people are just focused on survival, and in doing their jobs and protecting their patients.” Eventually, “their own wounds inside the pandemic will take hold.”
 

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Expanding suicide risk screening in primary care to identify patients at highest risk may help boost prevention efforts and make better use of health care resources, according to a new study.

Craig J. Bryan, PsyD, ABPP, with the department of psychiatry and behavioral health at Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center, Columbus, led the study, published online on Nov. 8, 2021, in Annals of Family Medicine.

The authors cited the urgency highlighted by statistics showing that, from 1999 to 2017, the U.S. suicide rate increased by more than 33% and was particularly high among military personnel and veterans.

Primary care offices are seen as a prime target for prevention efforts as nearly one-half of people who die by suicide in the United States visit a primary care office in the months before their deaths.

A common approach to screening for suicide risk has been to use the Patient Health Questionnaire–9 (PHQ-9). The first two questions assess the frequency of depressed mood and anhedonia in the past 2 weeks. If patients screen positive on those two questions, they are given the remaining seven questions.

A single item – question 9 – asks about how often a patient has “thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in some way” during the past 2 weeks.

Yet, more that 95% of patients who screen positive on the PHQ-9 suicide risk question do not attempt or die by suicide, the authors noted.
 

Two methods tested for improving screening

Dr. Bryan and colleagues wanted to assess whether suicide risk screening could be improved in primary care and evaluated two methods.

One was to see whether using any of the other PHQ-9 items could be better than just using item 9 alone to identify the patients who were most likely to attempt suicide in the near future. Researchers found that method was not significantly beneficial. The second was to evaluate the performance of the 16 items on the Suicide Cognitions Scale (SCS), a questionnaire that asks patients to rate the extent to which they agree or disagree with statements that are commonly endorsed by suicidal people.

Patients who were eligible for medical treatment from the Department of Defense medical system were recruited from six large and small military primary care clinics across the United States from July 2015 to August 2018.

Patients answered questions on the PHQ-9 and 16 items from the SCS during routine primary care visits. Evaluators, who were blind to screening results, assessed postbaseline suicide attempts, interrupted attempts and aborted attempts by interviewing patients.

The study included 2,744 primary care patients, ranging from 18 to 89 years of age, with an average age of 40.
 

Adding at least one question may help

Researchers found that the accuracy of suicide risk screening using the PHQ-9 can be significantly improved by adding one or more questions from the SCS. Three items from SCS contributed most to meaningful improvements in identifying patients who went on to exhibit suicidal behaviors within 30-90 days of screening.

One question was item 16: “I don’t deserve to live another moment.”

Two SCS items improved specificity and positive predictive value without reducing sensitivity, the authors wrote. They are: “It is unbearable when I get this upset” (item 8) and “I can’t imagine anyone being able to withstand this kind of pain” (item 13).

“For example,” the authors wrote, “only 4.1% of patients who screened positive on the PHQ-9 suicide risk item 9 engaged in suicidal behavior within the next 30 days, but when the PHQ-9 suicide risk item 9 was combined with SCS item 13 (the best-performing SCS item), this percentage nearly doubled, to 7.6% of patients.”

Adding one of these SCS items to the PHQ-9 “could provide a simple, accessible, and low-cost method for more accurately identifying primary care patients who require more immediate clinical intervention,” the authors wrote.
 

Outside expert perspective

Meredith Williamson, PhD, a mental health diagnosis and psychotherapy expert and clinical assistant professor at Texas A&M University, Bryan, said that, though the SCS questions are valuable, neither they nor the PHQ-9 question get to the direct question of whether the person is likely to act on their thoughts and attempt or complete suicide.

“Someone with depression may have thought of wishing they were dead or wishing they weren’t here but that doesn’t always mean they necessarily want to kill themselves,” she said in an interview. “It’s our responsibility as providers to really clarify the meaning of that item.”

Dr. Williamson noted the PHQ-9 is a very accessible method to screen for depression in primary care settings and is a way to catch large numbers of people screening positive, but its shortcomings are well known and additional information is needed.

She said that, in her practice, if a patient screens positive on PHQ-9, clinicians ask more about their intentions, how frequently they occur and whether patients have developed a plan for killing themselves.

The challenge is that “we have yet to predict who is and who is not going to kill themselves.”

Dr. Williamson said she finds the Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale a valuable tool used in research settings that looks at prior attempts and current desire to engage in an attempt in more detail.

“It doesn’t stop people from killing themselves, but helps to better understand their suicidal behavior,” she explained.

This project was supported by the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Health Affairs through the Defense Medical Research and Development Program. Dr. Williamson has no relevant financial disclosures. Dr. Bryan is a paid consultant to Oui Therapeutics and Neurostat Analytical Solutions. He is a principal of Anduril, which conducts training workshops and provides mental health consultation focused on suicide prevention and PTSD.

Expanding suicide risk screening in primary care to identify patients at highest risk may help boost prevention efforts and make better use of health care resources, according to a new study.

Craig J. Bryan, PsyD, ABPP, with the department of psychiatry and behavioral health at Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center, Columbus, led the study, published online on Nov. 8, 2021, in Annals of Family Medicine.

The authors cited the urgency highlighted by statistics showing that, from 1999 to 2017, the U.S. suicide rate increased by more than 33% and was particularly high among military personnel and veterans.

Primary care offices are seen as a prime target for prevention efforts as nearly one-half of people who die by suicide in the United States visit a primary care office in the months before their deaths.

A common approach to screening for suicide risk has been to use the Patient Health Questionnaire–9 (PHQ-9). The first two questions assess the frequency of depressed mood and anhedonia in the past 2 weeks. If patients screen positive on those two questions, they are given the remaining seven questions.

A single item – question 9 – asks about how often a patient has “thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in some way” during the past 2 weeks.

Yet, more that 95% of patients who screen positive on the PHQ-9 suicide risk question do not attempt or die by suicide, the authors noted.
 

Two methods tested for improving screening

Dr. Bryan and colleagues wanted to assess whether suicide risk screening could be improved in primary care and evaluated two methods.

One was to see whether using any of the other PHQ-9 items could be better than just using item 9 alone to identify the patients who were most likely to attempt suicide in the near future. Researchers found that method was not significantly beneficial. The second was to evaluate the performance of the 16 items on the Suicide Cognitions Scale (SCS), a questionnaire that asks patients to rate the extent to which they agree or disagree with statements that are commonly endorsed by suicidal people.

Patients who were eligible for medical treatment from the Department of Defense medical system were recruited from six large and small military primary care clinics across the United States from July 2015 to August 2018.

Patients answered questions on the PHQ-9 and 16 items from the SCS during routine primary care visits. Evaluators, who were blind to screening results, assessed postbaseline suicide attempts, interrupted attempts and aborted attempts by interviewing patients.

The study included 2,744 primary care patients, ranging from 18 to 89 years of age, with an average age of 40.
 

Adding at least one question may help

Researchers found that the accuracy of suicide risk screening using the PHQ-9 can be significantly improved by adding one or more questions from the SCS. Three items from SCS contributed most to meaningful improvements in identifying patients who went on to exhibit suicidal behaviors within 30-90 days of screening.

One question was item 16: “I don’t deserve to live another moment.”

Two SCS items improved specificity and positive predictive value without reducing sensitivity, the authors wrote. They are: “It is unbearable when I get this upset” (item 8) and “I can’t imagine anyone being able to withstand this kind of pain” (item 13).

“For example,” the authors wrote, “only 4.1% of patients who screened positive on the PHQ-9 suicide risk item 9 engaged in suicidal behavior within the next 30 days, but when the PHQ-9 suicide risk item 9 was combined with SCS item 13 (the best-performing SCS item), this percentage nearly doubled, to 7.6% of patients.”

Adding one of these SCS items to the PHQ-9 “could provide a simple, accessible, and low-cost method for more accurately identifying primary care patients who require more immediate clinical intervention,” the authors wrote.
 

Outside expert perspective

Meredith Williamson, PhD, a mental health diagnosis and psychotherapy expert and clinical assistant professor at Texas A&M University, Bryan, said that, though the SCS questions are valuable, neither they nor the PHQ-9 question get to the direct question of whether the person is likely to act on their thoughts and attempt or complete suicide.

“Someone with depression may have thought of wishing they were dead or wishing they weren’t here but that doesn’t always mean they necessarily want to kill themselves,” she said in an interview. “It’s our responsibility as providers to really clarify the meaning of that item.”

Dr. Williamson noted the PHQ-9 is a very accessible method to screen for depression in primary care settings and is a way to catch large numbers of people screening positive, but its shortcomings are well known and additional information is needed.

She said that, in her practice, if a patient screens positive on PHQ-9, clinicians ask more about their intentions, how frequently they occur and whether patients have developed a plan for killing themselves.

The challenge is that “we have yet to predict who is and who is not going to kill themselves.”

Dr. Williamson said she finds the Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale a valuable tool used in research settings that looks at prior attempts and current desire to engage in an attempt in more detail.

“It doesn’t stop people from killing themselves, but helps to better understand their suicidal behavior,” she explained.

This project was supported by the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Health Affairs through the Defense Medical Research and Development Program. Dr. Williamson has no relevant financial disclosures. Dr. Bryan is a paid consultant to Oui Therapeutics and Neurostat Analytical Solutions. He is a principal of Anduril, which conducts training workshops and provides mental health consultation focused on suicide prevention and PTSD.

Expanding suicide risk screening in primary care to identify patients at highest risk may help boost prevention efforts and make better use of health care resources, according to a new study.

Craig J. Bryan, PsyD, ABPP, with the department of psychiatry and behavioral health at Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center, Columbus, led the study, published online on Nov. 8, 2021, in Annals of Family Medicine.

The authors cited the urgency highlighted by statistics showing that, from 1999 to 2017, the U.S. suicide rate increased by more than 33% and was particularly high among military personnel and veterans.

Primary care offices are seen as a prime target for prevention efforts as nearly one-half of people who die by suicide in the United States visit a primary care office in the months before their deaths.

A common approach to screening for suicide risk has been to use the Patient Health Questionnaire–9 (PHQ-9). The first two questions assess the frequency of depressed mood and anhedonia in the past 2 weeks. If patients screen positive on those two questions, they are given the remaining seven questions.

A single item – question 9 – asks about how often a patient has “thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in some way” during the past 2 weeks.

Yet, more that 95% of patients who screen positive on the PHQ-9 suicide risk question do not attempt or die by suicide, the authors noted.
 

Two methods tested for improving screening

Dr. Bryan and colleagues wanted to assess whether suicide risk screening could be improved in primary care and evaluated two methods.

One was to see whether using any of the other PHQ-9 items could be better than just using item 9 alone to identify the patients who were most likely to attempt suicide in the near future. Researchers found that method was not significantly beneficial. The second was to evaluate the performance of the 16 items on the Suicide Cognitions Scale (SCS), a questionnaire that asks patients to rate the extent to which they agree or disagree with statements that are commonly endorsed by suicidal people.

Patients who were eligible for medical treatment from the Department of Defense medical system were recruited from six large and small military primary care clinics across the United States from July 2015 to August 2018.

Patients answered questions on the PHQ-9 and 16 items from the SCS during routine primary care visits. Evaluators, who were blind to screening results, assessed postbaseline suicide attempts, interrupted attempts and aborted attempts by interviewing patients.

The study included 2,744 primary care patients, ranging from 18 to 89 years of age, with an average age of 40.
 

Adding at least one question may help

Researchers found that the accuracy of suicide risk screening using the PHQ-9 can be significantly improved by adding one or more questions from the SCS. Three items from SCS contributed most to meaningful improvements in identifying patients who went on to exhibit suicidal behaviors within 30-90 days of screening.

One question was item 16: “I don’t deserve to live another moment.”

Two SCS items improved specificity and positive predictive value without reducing sensitivity, the authors wrote. They are: “It is unbearable when I get this upset” (item 8) and “I can’t imagine anyone being able to withstand this kind of pain” (item 13).

“For example,” the authors wrote, “only 4.1% of patients who screened positive on the PHQ-9 suicide risk item 9 engaged in suicidal behavior within the next 30 days, but when the PHQ-9 suicide risk item 9 was combined with SCS item 13 (the best-performing SCS item), this percentage nearly doubled, to 7.6% of patients.”

Adding one of these SCS items to the PHQ-9 “could provide a simple, accessible, and low-cost method for more accurately identifying primary care patients who require more immediate clinical intervention,” the authors wrote.
 

Outside expert perspective

Meredith Williamson, PhD, a mental health diagnosis and psychotherapy expert and clinical assistant professor at Texas A&M University, Bryan, said that, though the SCS questions are valuable, neither they nor the PHQ-9 question get to the direct question of whether the person is likely to act on their thoughts and attempt or complete suicide.

“Someone with depression may have thought of wishing they were dead or wishing they weren’t here but that doesn’t always mean they necessarily want to kill themselves,” she said in an interview. “It’s our responsibility as providers to really clarify the meaning of that item.”

Dr. Williamson noted the PHQ-9 is a very accessible method to screen for depression in primary care settings and is a way to catch large numbers of people screening positive, but its shortcomings are well known and additional information is needed.

She said that, in her practice, if a patient screens positive on PHQ-9, clinicians ask more about their intentions, how frequently they occur and whether patients have developed a plan for killing themselves.

The challenge is that “we have yet to predict who is and who is not going to kill themselves.”

Dr. Williamson said she finds the Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale a valuable tool used in research settings that looks at prior attempts and current desire to engage in an attempt in more detail.

“It doesn’t stop people from killing themselves, but helps to better understand their suicidal behavior,” she explained.

This project was supported by the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Health Affairs through the Defense Medical Research and Development Program. Dr. Williamson has no relevant financial disclosures. Dr. Bryan is a paid consultant to Oui Therapeutics and Neurostat Analytical Solutions. He is a principal of Anduril, which conducts training workshops and provides mental health consultation focused on suicide prevention and PTSD.

At Wayne State University’s Stress, Trauma, and Anxiety Research Clinic (STARC) in Michigan, researchers are developing novel interventions for treating some very ancient phobias hardwired into the human brain. By using augmented reality as means of conducting exposure therapy, STARC researchers – including Shantanu Madaboosi, Rakesh Ramaswamy, and Lana Grasser – and STARC director Arash Javanbakht, MD, have produced compelling evidence that they can free patients of their often debilitating fears of spiders, dogs, and snakes. Yet their work doesn’t stop there, and research into treating anxiety and posttraumatic stress disorder among first responders and others with high-stress occupations is ongoing.

This news organization spoke with Dr. Javanbakht, a psychiatrist, about the technological advances that have made this work possible; the future of remote-based psychiatry; and his tarantula colleague, Tony.
 

Augmenting exposure therapy

How did you begin using artificial intelligence as a way of delivering exposure therapy?

Exposure therapy is a very effective treatment for phobias, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and PTSD. But the problem we had is that, if someone comes to me and says they’re afraid of dogs, snakes, or spiders, I don’t have those in my office. Or, if its social phobia, I can’t create those scenarios. So, despite being such an effective treatment, it’s not utilized as much as it should be.

Several years ago, I saw a TED talk by the CEO of an augmented reality company who happened to be a neuroscientist. I thought the concept was amazing, because it offered a way to overcome those limitations.

Mixed augmented reality allows us to bring all those feared objects to the clinic. I can bring my Labrador to the office for someone who’s afraid of dogs, and they can get the exposure to that one dog. But we know good exposure therapy needs to be generalizable, with as many different breeds of dogs as possible, and is context dependent. If the patient sees a dog in their neighborhood, their fear response may come back. Doing it in a real-life context, and offering as many contexts as possible, makes it more effective.

Augmented reality allows all of these options because you can have as many different types of virtual objects as you want, and the difference between augmented reality and virtual reality is that augmented reality happens in a real-life context. You wear the goggles and you can walk around the environment and track the object, so the context is more realistic.
 

When did you begin researching augmented reality as a clinical tool?

I became a faculty member here in 2015, right out of my residency training, and I think it was around 2016 or 2017 that we began this work.

I’m very much involved in exposure therapy, utilize it myself, train others, and research how it works and changes the brain. I knew the ins and outs and what would make a better exposure therapy, based on my knowledge of neuroscience.

We spend time thinking about how we can apply these neuroscientific principles in software that can also be easily used by a not very technologically savvy therapist. Because that has been a big barrier when it comes to technology and human use in medicine.

Initially, we had a company create the software for us, but we’ve since brought all the programming inside.

The cool thing about these augmented reality devices is that they have excellent surface mapping. As soon as the person wears the goggles, it automatically maps the surfaces and provides a 3D view of the patient’s environment on the therapist’s computer. Say you’re treating a patient with a fear of spiders. Through drop-down menus, the therapist can choose what type of spider, its color and size, where it should be placed, and the motion. I can choose to move the spider from 6 feet away on the floor to the walls to the ceiling.
 

Virtual phobias, real fear

A big question for a lot of people was if the spiders are virtual, will they be scary, because it has to be realistic enough to create a fear response for the therapy to work. We use a couple of wires that you can put on a person’s finger and hook them up to a tablet or a cell phone. This provides an online measure of a person’s autonomic sympathetic response.

Like a lie detector test?

Exactly. We put that on their fingers and exposed them to a real-life tarantula and to our virtual tarantulas, and the fear response was no different. That means these do create an objective fear reaction in the body.

We also had people who said, “I know this is not real. I won’t be scared.” And when we started the therapy, it was with a tiny spider 5 meters away from them, and they’d lift their legs off the floor.

With the treatment, we’d come to one room and start with a very little spider, far from them. Then gradually we move them up to bigger, more diverse types of spiders, which are moving around. The patient comes near and tries to touch them.

Then at some point, I’d put a spiderweb on the door, put a few spiders on that, open the door, and have the patient walk through it. They kept walking through this spiderweb.

When they were desensitized to these spiders in this context – and as I said, context is important – we’d go to another room. This was darker, more like a basement, and we’d continue the same thing. That would actually take much less time because they already had desensitized a lot.

In our field, sense of control is very important, especially for when a patient goes home. So at the end, I’d leave the room and talk to the patient via a baby monitor. The patient was surrounded by 20 tarantulas, without the prompt moving around the environment.

Now that they’re desensitized to my virtual spiders, the question is, how would that apply to a real spider? So, we had a real live tarantula, whose name was Tony Stark, because we’re the STARC lab. We’d put Tony at the end of a long hallway before the treatment and see how close the patients could get to him.

Everybody who got the treatment was able to touch the tank containing the tarantula. It was only one treatment session; nobody’s was longer than 1 hour, and the average treatment time was 38 minutes.
 

That’s pretty effective.

It’s pretty good, compared with other studies. And I believe this is because of all the components I mentioned: being able to use your real environment; combining it with the real tarantula; the variety of the types of the feared objects; and, of course, giving the patient a sense of autonomy at the end.

Then we had to see how prolonged the effects are. We had them come in 1 week and 1 month after the treatment. I’d remind them of the principles of good exposure therapy and ask them to keep practicing at home between the sessions, looking at pictures and videos. But we never tested who did or did not do it.

After 1 week and 1 month, the effects were either the same or better. A larger number of people at 1 month were able to touch the tarantula than right after treatment.
 

Treating PTSD in first responders

Did you start with spiders and dogs because those are common fears?

We started with spiders because that worked with the initial goal of creating a prototype. Spiders’ behavior is simple enough for the programming, which takes a lot of time. Another reason for choosing spiders was that we had a lot of other studies of real and virtual reality exposure therapy to compare against.

I think another reason for our success is that, when you do real exposure therapy, you have just one scared tarantula in the corner of their tank, and they don’t listen to you. But my spiders listen to me and do exactly what I tell them.

After our initial success, we obtained more funds to expand it to other phobias. The cool thing is that we don’t need separate software for different phobias. You can choose dogs or snakes, add it to the person’s environment, and decide their behaviors.

We just started a clinical trial using dogs, and another group in Turkey is running a clinical trial with dogs. Eastern Michigan University is working with spiders. And a clinic at the University of Nebraska Medical Center is going to start using them in real-world clinics, not for research.

We have another project whose goal is helping reduce the impact of trauma and also treating PTSD in first responders, who are exposed to a lot of horrible things. Rates of PTSD are around 20%-30% among cops, firefighters, and EMS personnel.

They commonly find it very painful being in crowds because the fight-or-flight instinct in the brain is constantly screening for any sign of threat in their environment. We’re working on them walking into an empty room wearing the goggles, and then their therapist can scale the stimulus up and down.

There’ll be two people in front of you talking to each other, and then another group comes in, and people get louder. People can look at you and talk to you. There’s kids running, Fourth of July fireworks, and other things that might bother someone who’s been involved in gun- or explosion-related traumas. You gradually scale up when the person is next to their therapist.

Another thing we’re doing is related to cardiopulmonary resuscitation. If a young person dies in a CPR situation, that is really painful and traumatic. So, for exposure therapy to that, we’re creating a difficult CPR scenario when that person may die. The responder wears the goggles and basically watches a group of people doing CPR while standing next to a therapist who can help them navigate it and then scale it off.

Another goal is combining this with telemedicine, where the person can do it in their real-life environment. Imagine a person with military trauma. You can put them back in the barracks, connected with their psychiatrists via telemedicine. Then we would put humans in military fatigues near them and have them interact with them to feel comfortable with that situation.
 

What else is next for you and your group?

The next biggest challenge that we’re tackling is PTSD, because of course creating human-encounter scenarios is much more complicated than spiders and dogs. We’re in the midst of developing this so we can basically bring it to people’s homes.

We’ve been working with some military personnel to see if we can basically give a device to a veteran with PTSD, so they can go home and practice on their own.

There’s another possibility for training. Let’s take the example of a police force, which can have a lot of difficulties and mistakes because of lack of exposure and training. They can wear these goggles, get fully geared up, and be placed in encounters with people of different backgrounds, of different severity, with people who could be severely mentally ill or present different challenges for the officers.

Those situations can teach them a lot. I’m the creator of this thing, but even I’m often surprised by how realistic this technology can be. I find myself interacting with avatars the same way I would if they were real humans. I actually had one of my colleagues, when we started launching the programming with the dogs, immediately jump back. It’s just like the animal brain reacts to them.
 

Last question: Do you actually interact with Tony, the tarantula?

Oh, Tony is my friend. Unfortunately, he’s not with our lab at this moment. He’s on a sabbatical at Eastern Michigan University for their clinical trials. But yes, I’ve held him. He’s very friendly.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

At Wayne State University’s Stress, Trauma, and Anxiety Research Clinic (STARC) in Michigan, researchers are developing novel interventions for treating some very ancient phobias hardwired into the human brain. By using augmented reality as means of conducting exposure therapy, STARC researchers – including Shantanu Madaboosi, Rakesh Ramaswamy, and Lana Grasser – and STARC director Arash Javanbakht, MD, have produced compelling evidence that they can free patients of their often debilitating fears of spiders, dogs, and snakes. Yet their work doesn’t stop there, and research into treating anxiety and posttraumatic stress disorder among first responders and others with high-stress occupations is ongoing.

This news organization spoke with Dr. Javanbakht, a psychiatrist, about the technological advances that have made this work possible; the future of remote-based psychiatry; and his tarantula colleague, Tony.
 

Augmenting exposure therapy

How did you begin using artificial intelligence as a way of delivering exposure therapy?

Exposure therapy is a very effective treatment for phobias, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and PTSD. But the problem we had is that, if someone comes to me and says they’re afraid of dogs, snakes, or spiders, I don’t have those in my office. Or, if its social phobia, I can’t create those scenarios. So, despite being such an effective treatment, it’s not utilized as much as it should be.

Several years ago, I saw a TED talk by the CEO of an augmented reality company who happened to be a neuroscientist. I thought the concept was amazing, because it offered a way to overcome those limitations.

Mixed augmented reality allows us to bring all those feared objects to the clinic. I can bring my Labrador to the office for someone who’s afraid of dogs, and they can get the exposure to that one dog. But we know good exposure therapy needs to be generalizable, with as many different breeds of dogs as possible, and is context dependent. If the patient sees a dog in their neighborhood, their fear response may come back. Doing it in a real-life context, and offering as many contexts as possible, makes it more effective.

Augmented reality allows all of these options because you can have as many different types of virtual objects as you want, and the difference between augmented reality and virtual reality is that augmented reality happens in a real-life context. You wear the goggles and you can walk around the environment and track the object, so the context is more realistic.
 

When did you begin researching augmented reality as a clinical tool?

I became a faculty member here in 2015, right out of my residency training, and I think it was around 2016 or 2017 that we began this work.

I’m very much involved in exposure therapy, utilize it myself, train others, and research how it works and changes the brain. I knew the ins and outs and what would make a better exposure therapy, based on my knowledge of neuroscience.

We spend time thinking about how we can apply these neuroscientific principles in software that can also be easily used by a not very technologically savvy therapist. Because that has been a big barrier when it comes to technology and human use in medicine.

Initially, we had a company create the software for us, but we’ve since brought all the programming inside.

The cool thing about these augmented reality devices is that they have excellent surface mapping. As soon as the person wears the goggles, it automatically maps the surfaces and provides a 3D view of the patient’s environment on the therapist’s computer. Say you’re treating a patient with a fear of spiders. Through drop-down menus, the therapist can choose what type of spider, its color and size, where it should be placed, and the motion. I can choose to move the spider from 6 feet away on the floor to the walls to the ceiling.
 

Virtual phobias, real fear

A big question for a lot of people was if the spiders are virtual, will they be scary, because it has to be realistic enough to create a fear response for the therapy to work. We use a couple of wires that you can put on a person’s finger and hook them up to a tablet or a cell phone. This provides an online measure of a person’s autonomic sympathetic response.

Like a lie detector test?

Exactly. We put that on their fingers and exposed them to a real-life tarantula and to our virtual tarantulas, and the fear response was no different. That means these do create an objective fear reaction in the body.

We also had people who said, “I know this is not real. I won’t be scared.” And when we started the therapy, it was with a tiny spider 5 meters away from them, and they’d lift their legs off the floor.

With the treatment, we’d come to one room and start with a very little spider, far from them. Then gradually we move them up to bigger, more diverse types of spiders, which are moving around. The patient comes near and tries to touch them.

Then at some point, I’d put a spiderweb on the door, put a few spiders on that, open the door, and have the patient walk through it. They kept walking through this spiderweb.

When they were desensitized to these spiders in this context – and as I said, context is important – we’d go to another room. This was darker, more like a basement, and we’d continue the same thing. That would actually take much less time because they already had desensitized a lot.

In our field, sense of control is very important, especially for when a patient goes home. So at the end, I’d leave the room and talk to the patient via a baby monitor. The patient was surrounded by 20 tarantulas, without the prompt moving around the environment.

Now that they’re desensitized to my virtual spiders, the question is, how would that apply to a real spider? So, we had a real live tarantula, whose name was Tony Stark, because we’re the STARC lab. We’d put Tony at the end of a long hallway before the treatment and see how close the patients could get to him.

Everybody who got the treatment was able to touch the tank containing the tarantula. It was only one treatment session; nobody’s was longer than 1 hour, and the average treatment time was 38 minutes.
 

That’s pretty effective.

It’s pretty good, compared with other studies. And I believe this is because of all the components I mentioned: being able to use your real environment; combining it with the real tarantula; the variety of the types of the feared objects; and, of course, giving the patient a sense of autonomy at the end.

Then we had to see how prolonged the effects are. We had them come in 1 week and 1 month after the treatment. I’d remind them of the principles of good exposure therapy and ask them to keep practicing at home between the sessions, looking at pictures and videos. But we never tested who did or did not do it.

After 1 week and 1 month, the effects were either the same or better. A larger number of people at 1 month were able to touch the tarantula than right after treatment.
 

Treating PTSD in first responders

Did you start with spiders and dogs because those are common fears?

We started with spiders because that worked with the initial goal of creating a prototype. Spiders’ behavior is simple enough for the programming, which takes a lot of time. Another reason for choosing spiders was that we had a lot of other studies of real and virtual reality exposure therapy to compare against.

I think another reason for our success is that, when you do real exposure therapy, you have just one scared tarantula in the corner of their tank, and they don’t listen to you. But my spiders listen to me and do exactly what I tell them.

After our initial success, we obtained more funds to expand it to other phobias. The cool thing is that we don’t need separate software for different phobias. You can choose dogs or snakes, add it to the person’s environment, and decide their behaviors.

We just started a clinical trial using dogs, and another group in Turkey is running a clinical trial with dogs. Eastern Michigan University is working with spiders. And a clinic at the University of Nebraska Medical Center is going to start using them in real-world clinics, not for research.

We have another project whose goal is helping reduce the impact of trauma and also treating PTSD in first responders, who are exposed to a lot of horrible things. Rates of PTSD are around 20%-30% among cops, firefighters, and EMS personnel.

They commonly find it very painful being in crowds because the fight-or-flight instinct in the brain is constantly screening for any sign of threat in their environment. We’re working on them walking into an empty room wearing the goggles, and then their therapist can scale the stimulus up and down.

There’ll be two people in front of you talking to each other, and then another group comes in, and people get louder. People can look at you and talk to you. There’s kids running, Fourth of July fireworks, and other things that might bother someone who’s been involved in gun- or explosion-related traumas. You gradually scale up when the person is next to their therapist.

Another thing we’re doing is related to cardiopulmonary resuscitation. If a young person dies in a CPR situation, that is really painful and traumatic. So, for exposure therapy to that, we’re creating a difficult CPR scenario when that person may die. The responder wears the goggles and basically watches a group of people doing CPR while standing next to a therapist who can help them navigate it and then scale it off.

Another goal is combining this with telemedicine, where the person can do it in their real-life environment. Imagine a person with military trauma. You can put them back in the barracks, connected with their psychiatrists via telemedicine. Then we would put humans in military fatigues near them and have them interact with them to feel comfortable with that situation.
 

What else is next for you and your group?

The next biggest challenge that we’re tackling is PTSD, because of course creating human-encounter scenarios is much more complicated than spiders and dogs. We’re in the midst of developing this so we can basically bring it to people’s homes.

We’ve been working with some military personnel to see if we can basically give a device to a veteran with PTSD, so they can go home and practice on their own.

There’s another possibility for training. Let’s take the example of a police force, which can have a lot of difficulties and mistakes because of lack of exposure and training. They can wear these goggles, get fully geared up, and be placed in encounters with people of different backgrounds, of different severity, with people who could be severely mentally ill or present different challenges for the officers.

Those situations can teach them a lot. I’m the creator of this thing, but even I’m often surprised by how realistic this technology can be. I find myself interacting with avatars the same way I would if they were real humans. I actually had one of my colleagues, when we started launching the programming with the dogs, immediately jump back. It’s just like the animal brain reacts to them.
 

Last question: Do you actually interact with Tony, the tarantula?

Oh, Tony is my friend. Unfortunately, he’s not with our lab at this moment. He’s on a sabbatical at Eastern Michigan University for their clinical trials. But yes, I’ve held him. He’s very friendly.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

At Wayne State University’s Stress, Trauma, and Anxiety Research Clinic (STARC) in Michigan, researchers are developing novel interventions for treating some very ancient phobias hardwired into the human brain. By using augmented reality as means of conducting exposure therapy, STARC researchers – including Shantanu Madaboosi, Rakesh Ramaswamy, and Lana Grasser – and STARC director Arash Javanbakht, MD, have produced compelling evidence that they can free patients of their often debilitating fears of spiders, dogs, and snakes. Yet their work doesn’t stop there, and research into treating anxiety and posttraumatic stress disorder among first responders and others with high-stress occupations is ongoing.

This news organization spoke with Dr. Javanbakht, a psychiatrist, about the technological advances that have made this work possible; the future of remote-based psychiatry; and his tarantula colleague, Tony.
 

Augmenting exposure therapy

How did you begin using artificial intelligence as a way of delivering exposure therapy?

Exposure therapy is a very effective treatment for phobias, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and PTSD. But the problem we had is that, if someone comes to me and says they’re afraid of dogs, snakes, or spiders, I don’t have those in my office. Or, if its social phobia, I can’t create those scenarios. So, despite being such an effective treatment, it’s not utilized as much as it should be.

Several years ago, I saw a TED talk by the CEO of an augmented reality company who happened to be a neuroscientist. I thought the concept was amazing, because it offered a way to overcome those limitations.

Mixed augmented reality allows us to bring all those feared objects to the clinic. I can bring my Labrador to the office for someone who’s afraid of dogs, and they can get the exposure to that one dog. But we know good exposure therapy needs to be generalizable, with as many different breeds of dogs as possible, and is context dependent. If the patient sees a dog in their neighborhood, their fear response may come back. Doing it in a real-life context, and offering as many contexts as possible, makes it more effective.

Augmented reality allows all of these options because you can have as many different types of virtual objects as you want, and the difference between augmented reality and virtual reality is that augmented reality happens in a real-life context. You wear the goggles and you can walk around the environment and track the object, so the context is more realistic.
 

When did you begin researching augmented reality as a clinical tool?

I became a faculty member here in 2015, right out of my residency training, and I think it was around 2016 or 2017 that we began this work.

I’m very much involved in exposure therapy, utilize it myself, train others, and research how it works and changes the brain. I knew the ins and outs and what would make a better exposure therapy, based on my knowledge of neuroscience.

We spend time thinking about how we can apply these neuroscientific principles in software that can also be easily used by a not very technologically savvy therapist. Because that has been a big barrier when it comes to technology and human use in medicine.

Initially, we had a company create the software for us, but we’ve since brought all the programming inside.

The cool thing about these augmented reality devices is that they have excellent surface mapping. As soon as the person wears the goggles, it automatically maps the surfaces and provides a 3D view of the patient’s environment on the therapist’s computer. Say you’re treating a patient with a fear of spiders. Through drop-down menus, the therapist can choose what type of spider, its color and size, where it should be placed, and the motion. I can choose to move the spider from 6 feet away on the floor to the walls to the ceiling.
 

Virtual phobias, real fear

A big question for a lot of people was if the spiders are virtual, will they be scary, because it has to be realistic enough to create a fear response for the therapy to work. We use a couple of wires that you can put on a person’s finger and hook them up to a tablet or a cell phone. This provides an online measure of a person’s autonomic sympathetic response.

Like a lie detector test?

Exactly. We put that on their fingers and exposed them to a real-life tarantula and to our virtual tarantulas, and the fear response was no different. That means these do create an objective fear reaction in the body.

We also had people who said, “I know this is not real. I won’t be scared.” And when we started the therapy, it was with a tiny spider 5 meters away from them, and they’d lift their legs off the floor.

With the treatment, we’d come to one room and start with a very little spider, far from them. Then gradually we move them up to bigger, more diverse types of spiders, which are moving around. The patient comes near and tries to touch them.

Then at some point, I’d put a spiderweb on the door, put a few spiders on that, open the door, and have the patient walk through it. They kept walking through this spiderweb.

When they were desensitized to these spiders in this context – and as I said, context is important – we’d go to another room. This was darker, more like a basement, and we’d continue the same thing. That would actually take much less time because they already had desensitized a lot.

In our field, sense of control is very important, especially for when a patient goes home. So at the end, I’d leave the room and talk to the patient via a baby monitor. The patient was surrounded by 20 tarantulas, without the prompt moving around the environment.

Now that they’re desensitized to my virtual spiders, the question is, how would that apply to a real spider? So, we had a real live tarantula, whose name was Tony Stark, because we’re the STARC lab. We’d put Tony at the end of a long hallway before the treatment and see how close the patients could get to him.

Everybody who got the treatment was able to touch the tank containing the tarantula. It was only one treatment session; nobody’s was longer than 1 hour, and the average treatment time was 38 minutes.
 

That’s pretty effective.

It’s pretty good, compared with other studies. And I believe this is because of all the components I mentioned: being able to use your real environment; combining it with the real tarantula; the variety of the types of the feared objects; and, of course, giving the patient a sense of autonomy at the end.

Then we had to see how prolonged the effects are. We had them come in 1 week and 1 month after the treatment. I’d remind them of the principles of good exposure therapy and ask them to keep practicing at home between the sessions, looking at pictures and videos. But we never tested who did or did not do it.

After 1 week and 1 month, the effects were either the same or better. A larger number of people at 1 month were able to touch the tarantula than right after treatment.
 

Treating PTSD in first responders

Did you start with spiders and dogs because those are common fears?

We started with spiders because that worked with the initial goal of creating a prototype. Spiders’ behavior is simple enough for the programming, which takes a lot of time. Another reason for choosing spiders was that we had a lot of other studies of real and virtual reality exposure therapy to compare against.

I think another reason for our success is that, when you do real exposure therapy, you have just one scared tarantula in the corner of their tank, and they don’t listen to you. But my spiders listen to me and do exactly what I tell them.

After our initial success, we obtained more funds to expand it to other phobias. The cool thing is that we don’t need separate software for different phobias. You can choose dogs or snakes, add it to the person’s environment, and decide their behaviors.

We just started a clinical trial using dogs, and another group in Turkey is running a clinical trial with dogs. Eastern Michigan University is working with spiders. And a clinic at the University of Nebraska Medical Center is going to start using them in real-world clinics, not for research.

We have another project whose goal is helping reduce the impact of trauma and also treating PTSD in first responders, who are exposed to a lot of horrible things. Rates of PTSD are around 20%-30% among cops, firefighters, and EMS personnel.

They commonly find it very painful being in crowds because the fight-or-flight instinct in the brain is constantly screening for any sign of threat in their environment. We’re working on them walking into an empty room wearing the goggles, and then their therapist can scale the stimulus up and down.

There’ll be two people in front of you talking to each other, and then another group comes in, and people get louder. People can look at you and talk to you. There’s kids running, Fourth of July fireworks, and other things that might bother someone who’s been involved in gun- or explosion-related traumas. You gradually scale up when the person is next to their therapist.

Another thing we’re doing is related to cardiopulmonary resuscitation. If a young person dies in a CPR situation, that is really painful and traumatic. So, for exposure therapy to that, we’re creating a difficult CPR scenario when that person may die. The responder wears the goggles and basically watches a group of people doing CPR while standing next to a therapist who can help them navigate it and then scale it off.

Another goal is combining this with telemedicine, where the person can do it in their real-life environment. Imagine a person with military trauma. You can put them back in the barracks, connected with their psychiatrists via telemedicine. Then we would put humans in military fatigues near them and have them interact with them to feel comfortable with that situation.
 

What else is next for you and your group?

The next biggest challenge that we’re tackling is PTSD, because of course creating human-encounter scenarios is much more complicated than spiders and dogs. We’re in the midst of developing this so we can basically bring it to people’s homes.

We’ve been working with some military personnel to see if we can basically give a device to a veteran with PTSD, so they can go home and practice on their own.

There’s another possibility for training. Let’s take the example of a police force, which can have a lot of difficulties and mistakes because of lack of exposure and training. They can wear these goggles, get fully geared up, and be placed in encounters with people of different backgrounds, of different severity, with people who could be severely mentally ill or present different challenges for the officers.

Those situations can teach them a lot. I’m the creator of this thing, but even I’m often surprised by how realistic this technology can be. I find myself interacting with avatars the same way I would if they were real humans. I actually had one of my colleagues, when we started launching the programming with the dogs, immediately jump back. It’s just like the animal brain reacts to them.
 

Last question: Do you actually interact with Tony, the tarantula?

Oh, Tony is my friend. Unfortunately, he’s not with our lab at this moment. He’s on a sabbatical at Eastern Michigan University for their clinical trials. But yes, I’ve held him. He’s very friendly.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Marijuana use is now a legal activity in many parts of the United States, but those managing patients with psychiatric disorders are in the difficult position of determining whether this use is helpful, harmful, or irrelevant to the underlying illness on the basis of limited and largely incomplete data, according to an overview of this issue presented at the virtual Psychopharmacology Update presented by Current Psychiatry and the American Academy of Clinical Psychiatrists.

HighGradeRoots/iStock/Getty Images

While there is clear evidence that cannabis use relative to the general population “is more prevalent among patients with psychiatric disorders,” it is less certain how often this use is risky, said Diana M. Martinez, MD, professor of psychiatry at Columbia University in New York.

Independent of euphoric effects, cannabis can be perceived by individuals with psychiatric diagnosis as self-medication for feelings of stress, social anxiety, and insomnia, among other symptoms. These are the same reasons why many individuals without psychiatric conditions use cannabis-containing products.

The perception that cannabis use is generally benign presumably explains the successful efforts at legalization, but there are risks for those with or without psychiatric illnesses, Dr. Martinez pointed out at the meeting, sponsored by Medscape Live. Not least, about 20% of regular users of cannabis develop cannabis use disorder (CUD), a condition defined in the DSM-5 as the continued use of cannabis despite adverse consequences, such as dependence.
 

Impact of severe CUD ‘incapacitating’

“Of those who meet criteria for CUD, 23% have severe CUD, which is an incapacitating form,” reported Dr. Martinez, citing work led by Deborah Hasin, PhD, professor of clinical epidemiology at Columbia University.

However, relative to otherwise healthy individuals, those with a psychiatric diagnosis might face greater benefits or greater risks from cannabis use, according to Dr. Martinez, who cited a 2017 report from the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine (NASEM).

This report evaluated the potential risks and benefits on the basis of published studies.

There is limited evidence that regular cannabis increases rather than modifies symptoms of mania and hypomania in patients with bipolar disorder, according to the report. The report also cited limited evidence that cannabis use increases severity of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). There was limited evidence of adverse effects on symptoms of anxiety, although this appeared to depend on daily or nearly daily use.

The report found no data of acceptable quality to draw conclusions about the effect of cannabis use on symptoms of depression.

In patients with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), “a recent study showed that daily but not occasional use of cannabis increased impulsivity but not inattention, working memory, or verbal intelligence,” said Dr. Martinez, citing a study published this year.

Some evidence also suggests that patients with a psychiatric disorder might benefit from cannabis use, but, again, this evidence is limited. For one example, it includes a potential reduction in symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, Dr. Martinez said.
 

More support for cannabis in medical disease

Relative to the quality of evidence supporting benefit from cannabis in psychiatric disease, the data appear to be stronger for patients with medical illnesses, such as cancer. For example, Dr. Martinez cited evidence that tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), a major active ingredient in cannabis, improves sleep in the context of a medical illnesses. There is also evidence for anxiolytic effects in patients with a medical illness, although that is weaker.

In patients with or without a psychiatric disorder, marijuana does pose a risk of substance abuse disorder, and it shares the risks of intoxicants, such as inattention leading to increased risk of accidents, including motor vehicle accidents. This pertains to those with or without a psychiatric or medical condition, Dr. Martinez said.

While intermittent light use of cannabis appears to pose no risk or a very low risk of long-term adverse effects on cognition, at least in patients without psychiatric disorders, Dr. Martinez indicated that the risk-benefit ratio for any individual is use dependent. The risk of CUD, for example, increases with the frequency of exposure and the potency of the cannabis. Dr. Martinez indicated that a conservative approach is prudent with the limited evidence available for patients with psychiatric disorders.
 

Empirical evidence for therapeutic role

In published studies, other researchers have expressed interest in a potential therapeutic role of cannabis for psychiatric disorders, but there appears to be a general consensus that the supportive data remain weak. One expert who has written on this topic, Jerome Sarris, PhD, professor of integrative mental health, NICM Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University, Westmead, Australia, said that empirical evidence does support a benefit in selected patients.

“Of course, high THC forms are strongly discouraged in people with schizophrenia or high risk of developing psychotic disorder, or in youths,” Dr. Sarris explained. “However, there is a potential role for use in people with sleep and pain issues, and many find it beneficial to also assist with affective disorder symptoms.”

In a systematic review he led that was published last year, the evidence to support cannabis for psychiatric disorders was characterized as “embryonic.” However, small studies and case reports appear to support benefit for such indications as ADHD if precautions are taken.

“I certainly would not discourage use of prescribed standardized medicinal cannabis therapeutics for all people with psychiatric disorders,” Dr. Sarris said. He suggested that attention should be made to the THC potency and terpene composition of the products that patients with psychiatric disorders are taking.

Marijuana use is now a legal activity in many parts of the United States, but those managing patients with psychiatric disorders are in the difficult position of determining whether this use is helpful, harmful, or irrelevant to the underlying illness on the basis of limited and largely incomplete data, according to an overview of this issue presented at the virtual Psychopharmacology Update presented by Current Psychiatry and the American Academy of Clinical Psychiatrists.

HighGradeRoots/iStock/Getty Images

While there is clear evidence that cannabis use relative to the general population “is more prevalent among patients with psychiatric disorders,” it is less certain how often this use is risky, said Diana M. Martinez, MD, professor of psychiatry at Columbia University in New York.

Independent of euphoric effects, cannabis can be perceived by individuals with psychiatric diagnosis as self-medication for feelings of stress, social anxiety, and insomnia, among other symptoms. These are the same reasons why many individuals without psychiatric conditions use cannabis-containing products.

The perception that cannabis use is generally benign presumably explains the successful efforts at legalization, but there are risks for those with or without psychiatric illnesses, Dr. Martinez pointed out at the meeting, sponsored by Medscape Live. Not least, about 20% of regular users of cannabis develop cannabis use disorder (CUD), a condition defined in the DSM-5 as the continued use of cannabis despite adverse consequences, such as dependence.
 

Impact of severe CUD ‘incapacitating’

“Of those who meet criteria for CUD, 23% have severe CUD, which is an incapacitating form,” reported Dr. Martinez, citing work led by Deborah Hasin, PhD, professor of clinical epidemiology at Columbia University.

However, relative to otherwise healthy individuals, those with a psychiatric diagnosis might face greater benefits or greater risks from cannabis use, according to Dr. Martinez, who cited a 2017 report from the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine (NASEM).

This report evaluated the potential risks and benefits on the basis of published studies.

There is limited evidence that regular cannabis increases rather than modifies symptoms of mania and hypomania in patients with bipolar disorder, according to the report. The report also cited limited evidence that cannabis use increases severity of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). There was limited evidence of adverse effects on symptoms of anxiety, although this appeared to depend on daily or nearly daily use.

The report found no data of acceptable quality to draw conclusions about the effect of cannabis use on symptoms of depression.

In patients with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), “a recent study showed that daily but not occasional use of cannabis increased impulsivity but not inattention, working memory, or verbal intelligence,” said Dr. Martinez, citing a study published this year.

Some evidence also suggests that patients with a psychiatric disorder might benefit from cannabis use, but, again, this evidence is limited. For one example, it includes a potential reduction in symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, Dr. Martinez said.
 

More support for cannabis in medical disease

Relative to the quality of evidence supporting benefit from cannabis in psychiatric disease, the data appear to be stronger for patients with medical illnesses, such as cancer. For example, Dr. Martinez cited evidence that tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), a major active ingredient in cannabis, improves sleep in the context of a medical illnesses. There is also evidence for anxiolytic effects in patients with a medical illness, although that is weaker.

In patients with or without a psychiatric disorder, marijuana does pose a risk of substance abuse disorder, and it shares the risks of intoxicants, such as inattention leading to increased risk of accidents, including motor vehicle accidents. This pertains to those with or without a psychiatric or medical condition, Dr. Martinez said.

While intermittent light use of cannabis appears to pose no risk or a very low risk of long-term adverse effects on cognition, at least in patients without psychiatric disorders, Dr. Martinez indicated that the risk-benefit ratio for any individual is use dependent. The risk of CUD, for example, increases with the frequency of exposure and the potency of the cannabis. Dr. Martinez indicated that a conservative approach is prudent with the limited evidence available for patients with psychiatric disorders.
 

Empirical evidence for therapeutic role

In published studies, other researchers have expressed interest in a potential therapeutic role of cannabis for psychiatric disorders, but there appears to be a general consensus that the supportive data remain weak. One expert who has written on this topic, Jerome Sarris, PhD, professor of integrative mental health, NICM Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University, Westmead, Australia, said that empirical evidence does support a benefit in selected patients.

“Of course, high THC forms are strongly discouraged in people with schizophrenia or high risk of developing psychotic disorder, or in youths,” Dr. Sarris explained. “However, there is a potential role for use in people with sleep and pain issues, and many find it beneficial to also assist with affective disorder symptoms.”

In a systematic review he led that was published last year, the evidence to support cannabis for psychiatric disorders was characterized as “embryonic.” However, small studies and case reports appear to support benefit for such indications as ADHD if precautions are taken.

“I certainly would not discourage use of prescribed standardized medicinal cannabis therapeutics for all people with psychiatric disorders,” Dr. Sarris said. He suggested that attention should be made to the THC potency and terpene composition of the products that patients with psychiatric disorders are taking.

Marijuana use is now a legal activity in many parts of the United States, but those managing patients with psychiatric disorders are in the difficult position of determining whether this use is helpful, harmful, or irrelevant to the underlying illness on the basis of limited and largely incomplete data, according to an overview of this issue presented at the virtual Psychopharmacology Update presented by Current Psychiatry and the American Academy of Clinical Psychiatrists.

HighGradeRoots/iStock/Getty Images

While there is clear evidence that cannabis use relative to the general population “is more prevalent among patients with psychiatric disorders,” it is less certain how often this use is risky, said Diana M. Martinez, MD, professor of psychiatry at Columbia University in New York.

Independent of euphoric effects, cannabis can be perceived by individuals with psychiatric diagnosis as self-medication for feelings of stress, social anxiety, and insomnia, among other symptoms. These are the same reasons why many individuals without psychiatric conditions use cannabis-containing products.

The perception that cannabis use is generally benign presumably explains the successful efforts at legalization, but there are risks for those with or without psychiatric illnesses, Dr. Martinez pointed out at the meeting, sponsored by Medscape Live. Not least, about 20% of regular users of cannabis develop cannabis use disorder (CUD), a condition defined in the DSM-5 as the continued use of cannabis despite adverse consequences, such as dependence.
 

Impact of severe CUD ‘incapacitating’

“Of those who meet criteria for CUD, 23% have severe CUD, which is an incapacitating form,” reported Dr. Martinez, citing work led by Deborah Hasin, PhD, professor of clinical epidemiology at Columbia University.

However, relative to otherwise healthy individuals, those with a psychiatric diagnosis might face greater benefits or greater risks from cannabis use, according to Dr. Martinez, who cited a 2017 report from the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine (NASEM).

This report evaluated the potential risks and benefits on the basis of published studies.

There is limited evidence that regular cannabis increases rather than modifies symptoms of mania and hypomania in patients with bipolar disorder, according to the report. The report also cited limited evidence that cannabis use increases severity of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). There was limited evidence of adverse effects on symptoms of anxiety, although this appeared to depend on daily or nearly daily use.

The report found no data of acceptable quality to draw conclusions about the effect of cannabis use on symptoms of depression.

In patients with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), “a recent study showed that daily but not occasional use of cannabis increased impulsivity but not inattention, working memory, or verbal intelligence,” said Dr. Martinez, citing a study published this year.

Some evidence also suggests that patients with a psychiatric disorder might benefit from cannabis use, but, again, this evidence is limited. For one example, it includes a potential reduction in symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, Dr. Martinez said.
 

More support for cannabis in medical disease

Relative to the quality of evidence supporting benefit from cannabis in psychiatric disease, the data appear to be stronger for patients with medical illnesses, such as cancer. For example, Dr. Martinez cited evidence that tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), a major active ingredient in cannabis, improves sleep in the context of a medical illnesses. There is also evidence for anxiolytic effects in patients with a medical illness, although that is weaker.

In patients with or without a psychiatric disorder, marijuana does pose a risk of substance abuse disorder, and it shares the risks of intoxicants, such as inattention leading to increased risk of accidents, including motor vehicle accidents. This pertains to those with or without a psychiatric or medical condition, Dr. Martinez said.

While intermittent light use of cannabis appears to pose no risk or a very low risk of long-term adverse effects on cognition, at least in patients without psychiatric disorders, Dr. Martinez indicated that the risk-benefit ratio for any individual is use dependent. The risk of CUD, for example, increases with the frequency of exposure and the potency of the cannabis. Dr. Martinez indicated that a conservative approach is prudent with the limited evidence available for patients with psychiatric disorders.
 

Empirical evidence for therapeutic role

In published studies, other researchers have expressed interest in a potential therapeutic role of cannabis for psychiatric disorders, but there appears to be a general consensus that the supportive data remain weak. One expert who has written on this topic, Jerome Sarris, PhD, professor of integrative mental health, NICM Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University, Westmead, Australia, said that empirical evidence does support a benefit in selected patients.

“Of course, high THC forms are strongly discouraged in people with schizophrenia or high risk of developing psychotic disorder, or in youths,” Dr. Sarris explained. “However, there is a potential role for use in people with sleep and pain issues, and many find it beneficial to also assist with affective disorder symptoms.”

In a systematic review he led that was published last year, the evidence to support cannabis for psychiatric disorders was characterized as “embryonic.” However, small studies and case reports appear to support benefit for such indications as ADHD if precautions are taken.

“I certainly would not discourage use of prescribed standardized medicinal cannabis therapeutics for all people with psychiatric disorders,” Dr. Sarris said. He suggested that attention should be made to the THC potency and terpene composition of the products that patients with psychiatric disorders are taking.

How did toilet paper become the unofficial symbol of anxiety during the pandemic? Empty store shelves are a stark reminder of how COVID-19 has taken a toll on people.

gmcoop/E+

At the beginning of the pandemic, stay-at-home orders drove people to buy large amounts of household goods, especially toilet paper. Demand grew to unforeseen heights in March 2020, with $1.45 billion in toilet paper sales in the 4-week period ending March 29, up 112% from the year before, according to IRI, a Chicago-based market research firm.

As the Delta variant drove a COVID-19 resurgence this summer, market research suggests that almost one in two Americans started stockpiling toilet paper again over fears that supply would run out. The higher demand causes ripples through the retail chain, and a growing number of stores are again facing challenges in stocking toilet paper.

Yet there is plenty for everyone if people don’t stockpile too much, according to paper industry market analyst Ronalds Gonzalez, PhD, an associate professor of conversion economics and sustainability at North Carolina State University, Raleigh.

“As long as people buy what they actually need and don’t get into a panic, there won’t be any issue with the supply of hygienic tissue,” he says, adding that “too much” would equate to stockpiling 6-8 months’ worth of toilet paper, as some people did early in the pandemic.

But retailers are worried that history will repeat itself. In late September 2021, warehouse retail giant Costco told Wall Street analysts that it decided to limit customer purchases of essential items like toilet paper and water. Another retailer, Sam’s Club, began limiting customer purchases of supplies like toilet paper at the end of July.

“We are wired to run with the herd,” says Bradley Klontz, PsyD, an associate professor of practice at Creighton University Heider College of Business, Omaha, N.E., who specializes in financial psychology.

“Quite literally, the last person to get to Costco doesn’t get the toilet paper, so when the herd is running in a certain direction, we feel a biological imperative to not be that last person. That fear of scarcity actually creates the experience of scarcity,” he explains.
 

The science behind the stockpile

People are collectively alerted by photos shared on social media showing store shelves stripped of toilet paper. Those images triggered consumers to rush out and buy bathroom tissue, even if they didn’t need it – and that herd behavior created toilet paper shortages.

Now, a year and half into the pandemic, people are hypervigilant to danger. Any hint of a possible toilet paper shortage can provoke anxiety and the desire to stockpile.

“It’s an adaptive response to having just gone through the experience” of seeing empty store shelves, says Dr. Klontz. He advises people to take a deep breath before buying extra toilet paper and then assess whether it is truly needed.

Deep in our brains is the limbic system, a group of structures that rules over emotions, motivation, reward, learning, memory, and the fight-or-flight response to stress and danger. When a person senses danger, the brain activates hormones to raise blood pressure and heart rate, increase blood flow, and boost the breath rate, making the body ready to fight or flee under threat.

Once everything settles, the body activates chemicals like dopamine that bring on positive feelings of well-being, rewarding that flight-or-fight response. In this way, the brain powerfully reinforces a key survival instinct.

This sequence of experiences and the brain chemistry behind them may explain why people panic-buy toilet paper.

“With toilet paper, my limbic system starts thinking about a perceived threat to safety,” says Julie Pike, PhD, a psychologist in Chapel Hill, N.C., who specializes in anxiety, hoarding, and posttraumatic stress disorder.

She notes that, in stockpiling toilet paper, “we avoid a perceived threat and then we are chemically rewarded” with dopamine. A storage closet full of toilet paper after a perceived threat of scarcity – no matter how unfounded – brings on that satisfied feeling.
 

When the market shifted

Paper producers make hygiene paper for two markets: the commercial (think: those big rolls of thin paper used in offices, schools, and restaurants) and the consumer (the soft paper you likely use at home). In the spring of 2020, the commercial market plummeted, and the consumer market skyrocketed.

Generally, the consumer toilet paper market is steady. The average American uses about 57 toilet sheets a day and about 50 pounds annually. Grocery stores and other retailers keep just enough toilet paper on hand to meet this steady demand, meaning panic buying at the start of the pandemic quickly depleted stocks. Paper makers had to change production to meet higher consumer demand and fewer commercial buyers.

By the end of the summer of 2020, toilet paper makers had adjusted for the market shift and caught up with demand, as consumers worked through their stockpiles of paper. But retail inventories remain lean because toilet paper doesn’t carry huge profit margins. For this reason, even healthy stocks remain sensitive to sudden shifts in consumer demand, Dr. Gonzalez says.

“If people buy more than they should, then they are just buying from other people,” creating an unnecessary scarcity of toilet paper, he says.
 

The supply chain

It is true that the supply chain is under unprecedented strain, leading to higher prices for many goods, says Katie Denis, vice president of research and industry narrative at the Consumer Brands Association, Washington, which represents toilet paper makers Georgia-Pacific and Procter & Gamble. Consumers should expect toilet paper to be available, but there may be fewer options for product sizes, she says.

Still, Dr. Gonzalez says consumers should not worry too much about the global supply chain affecting the domestic toilet paper supply. The raw material for toilet paper production is available domestically, and more than 97% of the supply on U.S. retailer shelves is made in the United States, he says.

In modern society, toilet paper is a primary link to civilization, health, and hygiene. While there is no easy substitute, alternatives do exist A bidet, for example, is a device that can spray water on the genital area. Other options are reusable cloths, sponges, baby wipes, napkins, towels, and washcloths.
 

Human health and hygiene

“Compared to many other items, toilet paper can’t really be replaced,” says Frank H. Farley, PhD, a professor of psychological studies in education at Temple University, who studies human motivation. “It is a unique consumer item that is perceived to be extremely necessary. In that way, it plays into that survivor mentality, that having it is necessary for survival.”

Being without it can truly seem like an existential threat.

New York City emergency planner Ira Tannenbaum advises families to assess their usage of essential household supplies like toilet paper (you can do so through this toilet paper calculator) and keep at least a 1-week supply on hand in case of emergency. New York City has posted recommendations to families for emergency planning, including the guidance to “avoid panic buying.”

Dr. Pike says she would stockpile a bit more, something that could be done gradually, before there’s a panic. She says that if people are tempted to buy more out of anxiety, they should remind themselves that shortages arise because of panicky purchasing.

“Leave some for other families – other people have children and partners and siblings just like us,” she says.

A version of this article first appeared on WebMD.com.

How did toilet paper become the unofficial symbol of anxiety during the pandemic? Empty store shelves are a stark reminder of how COVID-19 has taken a toll on people.

gmcoop/E+

At the beginning of the pandemic, stay-at-home orders drove people to buy large amounts of household goods, especially toilet paper. Demand grew to unforeseen heights in March 2020, with $1.45 billion in toilet paper sales in the 4-week period ending March 29, up 112% from the year before, according to IRI, a Chicago-based market research firm.

As the Delta variant drove a COVID-19 resurgence this summer, market research suggests that almost one in two Americans started stockpiling toilet paper again over fears that supply would run out. The higher demand causes ripples through the retail chain, and a growing number of stores are again facing challenges in stocking toilet paper.

Yet there is plenty for everyone if people don’t stockpile too much, according to paper industry market analyst Ronalds Gonzalez, PhD, an associate professor of conversion economics and sustainability at North Carolina State University, Raleigh.

“As long as people buy what they actually need and don’t get into a panic, there won’t be any issue with the supply of hygienic tissue,” he says, adding that “too much” would equate to stockpiling 6-8 months’ worth of toilet paper, as some people did early in the pandemic.

But retailers are worried that history will repeat itself. In late September 2021, warehouse retail giant Costco told Wall Street analysts that it decided to limit customer purchases of essential items like toilet paper and water. Another retailer, Sam’s Club, began limiting customer purchases of supplies like toilet paper at the end of July.

“We are wired to run with the herd,” says Bradley Klontz, PsyD, an associate professor of practice at Creighton University Heider College of Business, Omaha, N.E., who specializes in financial psychology.

“Quite literally, the last person to get to Costco doesn’t get the toilet paper, so when the herd is running in a certain direction, we feel a biological imperative to not be that last person. That fear of scarcity actually creates the experience of scarcity,” he explains.
 

The science behind the stockpile

People are collectively alerted by photos shared on social media showing store shelves stripped of toilet paper. Those images triggered consumers to rush out and buy bathroom tissue, even if they didn’t need it – and that herd behavior created toilet paper shortages.

Now, a year and half into the pandemic, people are hypervigilant to danger. Any hint of a possible toilet paper shortage can provoke anxiety and the desire to stockpile.

“It’s an adaptive response to having just gone through the experience” of seeing empty store shelves, says Dr. Klontz. He advises people to take a deep breath before buying extra toilet paper and then assess whether it is truly needed.

Deep in our brains is the limbic system, a group of structures that rules over emotions, motivation, reward, learning, memory, and the fight-or-flight response to stress and danger. When a person senses danger, the brain activates hormones to raise blood pressure and heart rate, increase blood flow, and boost the breath rate, making the body ready to fight or flee under threat.

Once everything settles, the body activates chemicals like dopamine that bring on positive feelings of well-being, rewarding that flight-or-fight response. In this way, the brain powerfully reinforces a key survival instinct.

This sequence of experiences and the brain chemistry behind them may explain why people panic-buy toilet paper.

“With toilet paper, my limbic system starts thinking about a perceived threat to safety,” says Julie Pike, PhD, a psychologist in Chapel Hill, N.C., who specializes in anxiety, hoarding, and posttraumatic stress disorder.

She notes that, in stockpiling toilet paper, “we avoid a perceived threat and then we are chemically rewarded” with dopamine. A storage closet full of toilet paper after a perceived threat of scarcity – no matter how unfounded – brings on that satisfied feeling.
 

When the market shifted

Paper producers make hygiene paper for two markets: the commercial (think: those big rolls of thin paper used in offices, schools, and restaurants) and the consumer (the soft paper you likely use at home). In the spring of 2020, the commercial market plummeted, and the consumer market skyrocketed.

Generally, the consumer toilet paper market is steady. The average American uses about 57 toilet sheets a day and about 50 pounds annually. Grocery stores and other retailers keep just enough toilet paper on hand to meet this steady demand, meaning panic buying at the start of the pandemic quickly depleted stocks. Paper makers had to change production to meet higher consumer demand and fewer commercial buyers.

By the end of the summer of 2020, toilet paper makers had adjusted for the market shift and caught up with demand, as consumers worked through their stockpiles of paper. But retail inventories remain lean because toilet paper doesn’t carry huge profit margins. For this reason, even healthy stocks remain sensitive to sudden shifts in consumer demand, Dr. Gonzalez says.

“If people buy more than they should, then they are just buying from other people,” creating an unnecessary scarcity of toilet paper, he says.
 

The supply chain

It is true that the supply chain is under unprecedented strain, leading to higher prices for many goods, says Katie Denis, vice president of research and industry narrative at the Consumer Brands Association, Washington, which represents toilet paper makers Georgia-Pacific and Procter & Gamble. Consumers should expect toilet paper to be available, but there may be fewer options for product sizes, she says.

Still, Dr. Gonzalez says consumers should not worry too much about the global supply chain affecting the domestic toilet paper supply. The raw material for toilet paper production is available domestically, and more than 97% of the supply on U.S. retailer shelves is made in the United States, he says.

In modern society, toilet paper is a primary link to civilization, health, and hygiene. While there is no easy substitute, alternatives do exist A bidet, for example, is a device that can spray water on the genital area. Other options are reusable cloths, sponges, baby wipes, napkins, towels, and washcloths.
 

Human health and hygiene

“Compared to many other items, toilet paper can’t really be replaced,” says Frank H. Farley, PhD, a professor of psychological studies in education at Temple University, who studies human motivation. “It is a unique consumer item that is perceived to be extremely necessary. In that way, it plays into that survivor mentality, that having it is necessary for survival.”

Being without it can truly seem like an existential threat.

New York City emergency planner Ira Tannenbaum advises families to assess their usage of essential household supplies like toilet paper (you can do so through this toilet paper calculator) and keep at least a 1-week supply on hand in case of emergency. New York City has posted recommendations to families for emergency planning, including the guidance to “avoid panic buying.”

Dr. Pike says she would stockpile a bit more, something that could be done gradually, before there’s a panic. She says that if people are tempted to buy more out of anxiety, they should remind themselves that shortages arise because of panicky purchasing.

“Leave some for other families – other people have children and partners and siblings just like us,” she says.

A version of this article first appeared on WebMD.com.

How did toilet paper become the unofficial symbol of anxiety during the pandemic? Empty store shelves are a stark reminder of how COVID-19 has taken a toll on people.

gmcoop/E+

At the beginning of the pandemic, stay-at-home orders drove people to buy large amounts of household goods, especially toilet paper. Demand grew to unforeseen heights in March 2020, with $1.45 billion in toilet paper sales in the 4-week period ending March 29, up 112% from the year before, according to IRI, a Chicago-based market research firm.

As the Delta variant drove a COVID-19 resurgence this summer, market research suggests that almost one in two Americans started stockpiling toilet paper again over fears that supply would run out. The higher demand causes ripples through the retail chain, and a growing number of stores are again facing challenges in stocking toilet paper.

Yet there is plenty for everyone if people don’t stockpile too much, according to paper industry market analyst Ronalds Gonzalez, PhD, an associate professor of conversion economics and sustainability at North Carolina State University, Raleigh.

“As long as people buy what they actually need and don’t get into a panic, there won’t be any issue with the supply of hygienic tissue,” he says, adding that “too much” would equate to stockpiling 6-8 months’ worth of toilet paper, as some people did early in the pandemic.

But retailers are worried that history will repeat itself. In late September 2021, warehouse retail giant Costco told Wall Street analysts that it decided to limit customer purchases of essential items like toilet paper and water. Another retailer, Sam’s Club, began limiting customer purchases of supplies like toilet paper at the end of July.

“We are wired to run with the herd,” says Bradley Klontz, PsyD, an associate professor of practice at Creighton University Heider College of Business, Omaha, N.E., who specializes in financial psychology.

“Quite literally, the last person to get to Costco doesn’t get the toilet paper, so when the herd is running in a certain direction, we feel a biological imperative to not be that last person. That fear of scarcity actually creates the experience of scarcity,” he explains.
 

The science behind the stockpile

People are collectively alerted by photos shared on social media showing store shelves stripped of toilet paper. Those images triggered consumers to rush out and buy bathroom tissue, even if they didn’t need it – and that herd behavior created toilet paper shortages.

Now, a year and half into the pandemic, people are hypervigilant to danger. Any hint of a possible toilet paper shortage can provoke anxiety and the desire to stockpile.

“It’s an adaptive response to having just gone through the experience” of seeing empty store shelves, says Dr. Klontz. He advises people to take a deep breath before buying extra toilet paper and then assess whether it is truly needed.

Deep in our brains is the limbic system, a group of structures that rules over emotions, motivation, reward, learning, memory, and the fight-or-flight response to stress and danger. When a person senses danger, the brain activates hormones to raise blood pressure and heart rate, increase blood flow, and boost the breath rate, making the body ready to fight or flee under threat.

Once everything settles, the body activates chemicals like dopamine that bring on positive feelings of well-being, rewarding that flight-or-fight response. In this way, the brain powerfully reinforces a key survival instinct.

This sequence of experiences and the brain chemistry behind them may explain why people panic-buy toilet paper.

“With toilet paper, my limbic system starts thinking about a perceived threat to safety,” says Julie Pike, PhD, a psychologist in Chapel Hill, N.C., who specializes in anxiety, hoarding, and posttraumatic stress disorder.

She notes that, in stockpiling toilet paper, “we avoid a perceived threat and then we are chemically rewarded” with dopamine. A storage closet full of toilet paper after a perceived threat of scarcity – no matter how unfounded – brings on that satisfied feeling.
 

When the market shifted

Paper producers make hygiene paper for two markets: the commercial (think: those big rolls of thin paper used in offices, schools, and restaurants) and the consumer (the soft paper you likely use at home). In the spring of 2020, the commercial market plummeted, and the consumer market skyrocketed.

Generally, the consumer toilet paper market is steady. The average American uses about 57 toilet sheets a day and about 50 pounds annually. Grocery stores and other retailers keep just enough toilet paper on hand to meet this steady demand, meaning panic buying at the start of the pandemic quickly depleted stocks. Paper makers had to change production to meet higher consumer demand and fewer commercial buyers.

By the end of the summer of 2020, toilet paper makers had adjusted for the market shift and caught up with demand, as consumers worked through their stockpiles of paper. But retail inventories remain lean because toilet paper doesn’t carry huge profit margins. For this reason, even healthy stocks remain sensitive to sudden shifts in consumer demand, Dr. Gonzalez says.

“If people buy more than they should, then they are just buying from other people,” creating an unnecessary scarcity of toilet paper, he says.
 

The supply chain

It is true that the supply chain is under unprecedented strain, leading to higher prices for many goods, says Katie Denis, vice president of research and industry narrative at the Consumer Brands Association, Washington, which represents toilet paper makers Georgia-Pacific and Procter & Gamble. Consumers should expect toilet paper to be available, but there may be fewer options for product sizes, she says.

Still, Dr. Gonzalez says consumers should not worry too much about the global supply chain affecting the domestic toilet paper supply. The raw material for toilet paper production is available domestically, and more than 97% of the supply on U.S. retailer shelves is made in the United States, he says.

In modern society, toilet paper is a primary link to civilization, health, and hygiene. While there is no easy substitute, alternatives do exist A bidet, for example, is a device that can spray water on the genital area. Other options are reusable cloths, sponges, baby wipes, napkins, towels, and washcloths.
 

Human health and hygiene

“Compared to many other items, toilet paper can’t really be replaced,” says Frank H. Farley, PhD, a professor of psychological studies in education at Temple University, who studies human motivation. “It is a unique consumer item that is perceived to be extremely necessary. In that way, it plays into that survivor mentality, that having it is necessary for survival.”

Being without it can truly seem like an existential threat.

New York City emergency planner Ira Tannenbaum advises families to assess their usage of essential household supplies like toilet paper (you can do so through this toilet paper calculator) and keep at least a 1-week supply on hand in case of emergency. New York City has posted recommendations to families for emergency planning, including the guidance to “avoid panic buying.”

Dr. Pike says she would stockpile a bit more, something that could be done gradually, before there’s a panic. She says that if people are tempted to buy more out of anxiety, they should remind themselves that shortages arise because of panicky purchasing.

“Leave some for other families – other people have children and partners and siblings just like us,” she says.

A version of this article first appeared on WebMD.com.