In follow up to the previous post on physician suicide, Dr. Pamela Wible, moved by the fact that most physicians have lost a colleague to suicide or have considered suicide themselves, asked med students, residents and doctors about their own mental health and why they thought doctors turned to suicide.
The letters and comments she received were both moving and powerful, and most importantly they serve as a chilling reminder that we need to give more attention to the physical and emotional well-being of medical students and doctors, in addition to providing better supports and mental health services for those in the medical profession.
While all the letters can be found at KevinMD.com, below is just one example to think about ...
“I am a third-year medical student. I have done very well in both my coursework and national boards. I have publications, research. On paper, I am successful. Yet I find myself thinking about killing myself frequently. Walking into traffic, jumping through the window, just dying in the course of a normal day. Miserable thoughts. I went to the school psychologist to be fixed; I was referred to the school psychiatrist, who looked just as broken as I felt. He offered me antidepressants, if I ‘wanted to take them.’ It doesn’t make sense. I never felt this way before medical school. I loved, I thought, I reflected. I enjoyed being creative, yet now I’m chained by procedure, bureaucracy, and paperwork. There are no creative solutions to problems, there is no effective effort to improve the system except from big top-down initiatives of whatever hierarchy you’re subject to. It’s maddening. I used to watch the stars and smile. I volunteered. I ate well and exercised. I enjoyed playing with children. Now I’m finding a sort of perverse pleasure in patients’ pain; I recognize this as sadistic. I’m shocked. I’m revolted at how far my soul has degraded. It’s insane. I’m chronically sleep deprived. I can’t think or learn when I don’t sleep. I can’t smile without ulterior motive. I’ve confided in my family, who don’t understand the demands or the situation and have told me that ‘it’s my decision to feel sad.’ The [professors] don’t teach; half of them treat us as annoyances. Learning and healing both got lost somewhere. The good teachers leave or are ground down. I’m full of hate and sadness. I’m not sure why I’m still here, but I am. I feel like an echo of myself.”
The letters and comments she received were both moving and powerful, and most importantly they serve as a chilling reminder that we need to give more attention to the physical and emotional well-being of medical students and doctors, in addition to providing better supports and mental health services for those in the medical profession.
While all the letters can be found at KevinMD.com, below is just one example to think about ...
“I am a third-year medical student. I have done very well in both my coursework and national boards. I have publications, research. On paper, I am successful. Yet I find myself thinking about killing myself frequently. Walking into traffic, jumping through the window, just dying in the course of a normal day. Miserable thoughts. I went to the school psychologist to be fixed; I was referred to the school psychiatrist, who looked just as broken as I felt. He offered me antidepressants, if I ‘wanted to take them.’ It doesn’t make sense. I never felt this way before medical school. I loved, I thought, I reflected. I enjoyed being creative, yet now I’m chained by procedure, bureaucracy, and paperwork. There are no creative solutions to problems, there is no effective effort to improve the system except from big top-down initiatives of whatever hierarchy you’re subject to. It’s maddening. I used to watch the stars and smile. I volunteered. I ate well and exercised. I enjoyed playing with children. Now I’m finding a sort of perverse pleasure in patients’ pain; I recognize this as sadistic. I’m shocked. I’m revolted at how far my soul has degraded. It’s insane. I’m chronically sleep deprived. I can’t think or learn when I don’t sleep. I can’t smile without ulterior motive. I’ve confided in my family, who don’t understand the demands or the situation and have told me that ‘it’s my decision to feel sad.’ The [professors] don’t teach; half of them treat us as annoyances. Learning and healing both got lost somewhere. The good teachers leave or are ground down. I’m full of hate and sadness. I’m not sure why I’m still here, but I am. I feel like an echo of myself.”
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