Col. (Ret.) Elspeth Cameron Ritchie, MD, MPH

It was wonderful to see long-term friends and colleagues again in New Orleans! Warmed me from the bottom of my COVID-scarred heart.

I had trepidation and anxiety about further COVID exposure, as I am sure many of you all did. I have carefully resumed traveling, although the rules on masking continue to change and confuse us all.

But I did it. I went to the American Psychiatric Association meeting in New Orleans and am so glad I did.

There was of course a lot of discussion about the pandemic, which separated us physically for 3 years – too many virtual meetings. And quiet discussions of grief and loss, both before and during the APA.

I just learned that Joe Napoli, MD, died. He was one of the hearts of the APA Disaster Psychiatry Committee. Others were lost as well, and I am processing those losses.

I do not want this column to be just a promotion for the APA, although it has been my home organization for decades. So, let me define further the cons and pros of going to the meeting. (Yes, I am deliberately reversing the order of these words.) I warn all the readers in advance that this is a soapbox.
 

Cons

The convention center in New Orleans is ridiculously long. Our convention was in Hall G down at end of its telescoping length. Only a couple of doors were open – clearly quite a challenge for folks with disabilities, or those aging into possible disability, like myself. I helped a psychiatrist with impaired vision down the endless hall and of course, felt good about it. (My motto: “Perform acts of kindness, and you will feel better yourself.”)

Another con: Too much going on at the same time. That’s a perpetual problem.

And the noise at the parties was way too loud. We could not hear each other.
 

Pros

Seeing people I have known for 40 years – with masks, without masks. Hugs or bows (on my part, I bow I do not yet hug in COVID times).

The receptions. Great networking. Mid-level psychiatrists who I had forgotten I had mentored. The “young ones” – the psychiatry residents. They seem to be a great and ambitious group.

I did several talks, including one on female veterans, and another on clinical management of the homeless population. The audiences were large and engaged. I am wondering how to make these topics an APA priority, especially engagement with strategies to take care of the unhoused/homeless folks.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of both of those talks, as they represent some of my passions. The first on female veterans. We tend to focus on PTSD and military sexual trauma. I am also concerned about reproductive and musculoskeletal concerns. Too many female service members get pregnant, then quit the military as they cannot manage being a Service member and a mother. They think they can make it (go to school, get a job) but they cannot manage it all.

Veterans services usually focus on single older men. There are not enough rooms and services for female veterans with children. In fairness to the Department of Veterans Affairs, they are trying to remedy this lack.

Transitioning to the homeless population in general, this is an incredible problem which is not easily solved. The VA has done an incredible job here, but the whole country should be mobilized.

My focus at the talk was the importance of assessing and treating medical problems. Again, homeless women are at high risk for barriers to contraception, sexual assault, pregnancy, and the corresponding difficulties of finding housing that will accept infants and small children.

Then there are the numerous medical issues in the unhoused population. Diabetes, hypertension, ulcers on the feet leading to cellulitis and amputation. I am advocating that we psychiatrists behave as medical doctors and think of the whole person, not just of the mind.

Another pro of the APA meeting: such desire to share what we know with the world. I found a few more potential authors for book chapters, specifically Dr. Anne Hansen to write a chapter in my capacity volume. And getting recruited myself, by Maria Llorente, MD, for one on centenarians (people who aged over 100.) Not sure if I know very much now, but I will try.

But another con: I am very tired of endless “scope of practice” discussions about what psychologists and nurse practitioners should do. They are all my comrades. We have plenty of business for all, in this never-ending anxiety tide of COVID.

Another con: I tested positive for COVID after my return, as did several of my friends.

I am sure our readers have many more takes on returning to the APA. These are a few of my thoughts.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She is a member of the Clinical Psychiatry News editorial advisory board, and has no conflicts of interest.

It was wonderful to see long-term friends and colleagues again in New Orleans! Warmed me from the bottom of my COVID-scarred heart.

I had trepidation and anxiety about further COVID exposure, as I am sure many of you all did. I have carefully resumed traveling, although the rules on masking continue to change and confuse us all.

But I did it. I went to the American Psychiatric Association meeting in New Orleans and am so glad I did.

There was of course a lot of discussion about the pandemic, which separated us physically for 3 years – too many virtual meetings. And quiet discussions of grief and loss, both before and during the APA.

I just learned that Joe Napoli, MD, died. He was one of the hearts of the APA Disaster Psychiatry Committee. Others were lost as well, and I am processing those losses.

I do not want this column to be just a promotion for the APA, although it has been my home organization for decades. So, let me define further the cons and pros of going to the meeting. (Yes, I am deliberately reversing the order of these words.) I warn all the readers in advance that this is a soapbox.
 

Cons

The convention center in New Orleans is ridiculously long. Our convention was in Hall G down at end of its telescoping length. Only a couple of doors were open – clearly quite a challenge for folks with disabilities, or those aging into possible disability, like myself. I helped a psychiatrist with impaired vision down the endless hall and of course, felt good about it. (My motto: “Perform acts of kindness, and you will feel better yourself.”)

Another con: Too much going on at the same time. That’s a perpetual problem.

And the noise at the parties was way too loud. We could not hear each other.
 

Pros

Seeing people I have known for 40 years – with masks, without masks. Hugs or bows (on my part, I bow I do not yet hug in COVID times).

The receptions. Great networking. Mid-level psychiatrists who I had forgotten I had mentored. The “young ones” – the psychiatry residents. They seem to be a great and ambitious group.

I did several talks, including one on female veterans, and another on clinical management of the homeless population. The audiences were large and engaged. I am wondering how to make these topics an APA priority, especially engagement with strategies to take care of the unhoused/homeless folks.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of both of those talks, as they represent some of my passions. The first on female veterans. We tend to focus on PTSD and military sexual trauma. I am also concerned about reproductive and musculoskeletal concerns. Too many female service members get pregnant, then quit the military as they cannot manage being a Service member and a mother. They think they can make it (go to school, get a job) but they cannot manage it all.

Veterans services usually focus on single older men. There are not enough rooms and services for female veterans with children. In fairness to the Department of Veterans Affairs, they are trying to remedy this lack.

Transitioning to the homeless population in general, this is an incredible problem which is not easily solved. The VA has done an incredible job here, but the whole country should be mobilized.

My focus at the talk was the importance of assessing and treating medical problems. Again, homeless women are at high risk for barriers to contraception, sexual assault, pregnancy, and the corresponding difficulties of finding housing that will accept infants and small children.

Then there are the numerous medical issues in the unhoused population. Diabetes, hypertension, ulcers on the feet leading to cellulitis and amputation. I am advocating that we psychiatrists behave as medical doctors and think of the whole person, not just of the mind.

Another pro of the APA meeting: such desire to share what we know with the world. I found a few more potential authors for book chapters, specifically Dr. Anne Hansen to write a chapter in my capacity volume. And getting recruited myself, by Maria Llorente, MD, for one on centenarians (people who aged over 100.) Not sure if I know very much now, but I will try.

But another con: I am very tired of endless “scope of practice” discussions about what psychologists and nurse practitioners should do. They are all my comrades. We have plenty of business for all, in this never-ending anxiety tide of COVID.

Another con: I tested positive for COVID after my return, as did several of my friends.

I am sure our readers have many more takes on returning to the APA. These are a few of my thoughts.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She is a member of the Clinical Psychiatry News editorial advisory board, and has no conflicts of interest.

It was wonderful to see long-term friends and colleagues again in New Orleans! Warmed me from the bottom of my COVID-scarred heart.

I had trepidation and anxiety about further COVID exposure, as I am sure many of you all did. I have carefully resumed traveling, although the rules on masking continue to change and confuse us all.

But I did it. I went to the American Psychiatric Association meeting in New Orleans and am so glad I did.

There was of course a lot of discussion about the pandemic, which separated us physically for 3 years – too many virtual meetings. And quiet discussions of grief and loss, both before and during the APA.

I just learned that Joe Napoli, MD, died. He was one of the hearts of the APA Disaster Psychiatry Committee. Others were lost as well, and I am processing those losses.

I do not want this column to be just a promotion for the APA, although it has been my home organization for decades. So, let me define further the cons and pros of going to the meeting. (Yes, I am deliberately reversing the order of these words.) I warn all the readers in advance that this is a soapbox.
 

Cons

The convention center in New Orleans is ridiculously long. Our convention was in Hall G down at end of its telescoping length. Only a couple of doors were open – clearly quite a challenge for folks with disabilities, or those aging into possible disability, like myself. I helped a psychiatrist with impaired vision down the endless hall and of course, felt good about it. (My motto: “Perform acts of kindness, and you will feel better yourself.”)

Another con: Too much going on at the same time. That’s a perpetual problem.

And the noise at the parties was way too loud. We could not hear each other.
 

Pros

Seeing people I have known for 40 years – with masks, without masks. Hugs or bows (on my part, I bow I do not yet hug in COVID times).

The receptions. Great networking. Mid-level psychiatrists who I had forgotten I had mentored. The “young ones” – the psychiatry residents. They seem to be a great and ambitious group.

I did several talks, including one on female veterans, and another on clinical management of the homeless population. The audiences were large and engaged. I am wondering how to make these topics an APA priority, especially engagement with strategies to take care of the unhoused/homeless folks.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of both of those talks, as they represent some of my passions. The first on female veterans. We tend to focus on PTSD and military sexual trauma. I am also concerned about reproductive and musculoskeletal concerns. Too many female service members get pregnant, then quit the military as they cannot manage being a Service member and a mother. They think they can make it (go to school, get a job) but they cannot manage it all.

Veterans services usually focus on single older men. There are not enough rooms and services for female veterans with children. In fairness to the Department of Veterans Affairs, they are trying to remedy this lack.

Transitioning to the homeless population in general, this is an incredible problem which is not easily solved. The VA has done an incredible job here, but the whole country should be mobilized.

My focus at the talk was the importance of assessing and treating medical problems. Again, homeless women are at high risk for barriers to contraception, sexual assault, pregnancy, and the corresponding difficulties of finding housing that will accept infants and small children.

Then there are the numerous medical issues in the unhoused population. Diabetes, hypertension, ulcers on the feet leading to cellulitis and amputation. I am advocating that we psychiatrists behave as medical doctors and think of the whole person, not just of the mind.

Another pro of the APA meeting: such desire to share what we know with the world. I found a few more potential authors for book chapters, specifically Dr. Anne Hansen to write a chapter in my capacity volume. And getting recruited myself, by Maria Llorente, MD, for one on centenarians (people who aged over 100.) Not sure if I know very much now, but I will try.

But another con: I am very tired of endless “scope of practice” discussions about what psychologists and nurse practitioners should do. They are all my comrades. We have plenty of business for all, in this never-ending anxiety tide of COVID.

Another con: I tested positive for COVID after my return, as did several of my friends.

I am sure our readers have many more takes on returning to the APA. These are a few of my thoughts.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She is a member of the Clinical Psychiatry News editorial advisory board, and has no conflicts of interest.

In a recent article published in JAMA Psychiatry, Joshua E. J. Buckman and coauthors described the results of a large research study which concludes that depression is harder to treat in those who are homeless or unemployed.

It is always good to get more data and this article adds to the literature about the social determinants of depression. A frustrating aspect is that this is no surprise at all, not least for anyone in the mental health field. We have known that intuitively for decades.

Again, data is always good to bolster intuition with science. But what are the actionable items to take from the paper?

Homelessness and unemployment are things very hard to fix and the millions of homeless in one of the richest countries of the world illustrate the many complexities. However, there are a few policy and clinical points I would like to make, reflecting some of the chapters in a recently published book – edited by me and my colleague Maria D. Llorente – “Clinical Management of the Homeless Patient: Social Medical and Psychiatric Issues” (New York: Springer, May 2021).

The first is, if you really tackle homelessness, with a combination of federal, state, and local resources, you can make a difference. The Department of Veterans Affairs, under the leadership of former VA Secretary Eric Shinseki and others, has been markedly successful. Note, for instance, the Health Care for Homeless Veterans program , which conducts outreach to vulnerable veterans not currently receiving services and engages them in treatment and rehabilitative programs.

Secondly, there is a marked absence of shelters that can care for the homeless with medical problems. This leads to extended and extensive hospital stays. This is especially frustrating during the COVID era, when hospital beds are in such short supply. Having a safe place to discharge patients who still need wound or diabetes care would save money for the overall health care system and be best for the patient.

Third, it may be best to modify discharge regimens for those patients who are unhoused. For example, metformin, taken by mouth once a day, is more practical for unhoused patients with diabetes than insulin, which needs to be refrigerated and injected multiple times a day. While one can argue whether care for the homeless should differ from those who are housed, in practical terms, simplifying regimens is more likely to promote compliance.

My last take-home point is check the Feet. So many of our homeless patients who end up on hospital wards have been wearing ill-fitting or no shoes while they are out on the street. Their toenails may be long and thick. They may have cellulitis or ulcers. Or gangrene. Unfortunately, these medical issues can also cause surgical amputations of the lower extremities.

Back to the article by Buckman and colleagues. The data they provide is good to have. But we need more action to provide appropriate and compassionate care for those who are unhoused and ill – care that is good for them, good for the nation’s finances, and good for our moral standing in the world.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She is a member of the Clinical Psychiatry News editorial advisory board, and has no conflicts of interest.

In a recent article published in JAMA Psychiatry, Joshua E. J. Buckman and coauthors described the results of a large research study which concludes that depression is harder to treat in those who are homeless or unemployed.

It is always good to get more data and this article adds to the literature about the social determinants of depression. A frustrating aspect is that this is no surprise at all, not least for anyone in the mental health field. We have known that intuitively for decades.

Again, data is always good to bolster intuition with science. But what are the actionable items to take from the paper?

Homelessness and unemployment are things very hard to fix and the millions of homeless in one of the richest countries of the world illustrate the many complexities. However, there are a few policy and clinical points I would like to make, reflecting some of the chapters in a recently published book – edited by me and my colleague Maria D. Llorente – “Clinical Management of the Homeless Patient: Social Medical and Psychiatric Issues” (New York: Springer, May 2021).

The first is, if you really tackle homelessness, with a combination of federal, state, and local resources, you can make a difference. The Department of Veterans Affairs, under the leadership of former VA Secretary Eric Shinseki and others, has been markedly successful. Note, for instance, the Health Care for Homeless Veterans program , which conducts outreach to vulnerable veterans not currently receiving services and engages them in treatment and rehabilitative programs.

Secondly, there is a marked absence of shelters that can care for the homeless with medical problems. This leads to extended and extensive hospital stays. This is especially frustrating during the COVID era, when hospital beds are in such short supply. Having a safe place to discharge patients who still need wound or diabetes care would save money for the overall health care system and be best for the patient.

Third, it may be best to modify discharge regimens for those patients who are unhoused. For example, metformin, taken by mouth once a day, is more practical for unhoused patients with diabetes than insulin, which needs to be refrigerated and injected multiple times a day. While one can argue whether care for the homeless should differ from those who are housed, in practical terms, simplifying regimens is more likely to promote compliance.

My last take-home point is check the Feet. So many of our homeless patients who end up on hospital wards have been wearing ill-fitting or no shoes while they are out on the street. Their toenails may be long and thick. They may have cellulitis or ulcers. Or gangrene. Unfortunately, these medical issues can also cause surgical amputations of the lower extremities.

Back to the article by Buckman and colleagues. The data they provide is good to have. But we need more action to provide appropriate and compassionate care for those who are unhoused and ill – care that is good for them, good for the nation’s finances, and good for our moral standing in the world.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She is a member of the Clinical Psychiatry News editorial advisory board, and has no conflicts of interest.

In a recent article published in JAMA Psychiatry, Joshua E. J. Buckman and coauthors described the results of a large research study which concludes that depression is harder to treat in those who are homeless or unemployed.

It is always good to get more data and this article adds to the literature about the social determinants of depression. A frustrating aspect is that this is no surprise at all, not least for anyone in the mental health field. We have known that intuitively for decades.

Again, data is always good to bolster intuition with science. But what are the actionable items to take from the paper?

Homelessness and unemployment are things very hard to fix and the millions of homeless in one of the richest countries of the world illustrate the many complexities. However, there are a few policy and clinical points I would like to make, reflecting some of the chapters in a recently published book – edited by me and my colleague Maria D. Llorente – “Clinical Management of the Homeless Patient: Social Medical and Psychiatric Issues” (New York: Springer, May 2021).

The first is, if you really tackle homelessness, with a combination of federal, state, and local resources, you can make a difference. The Department of Veterans Affairs, under the leadership of former VA Secretary Eric Shinseki and others, has been markedly successful. Note, for instance, the Health Care for Homeless Veterans program , which conducts outreach to vulnerable veterans not currently receiving services and engages them in treatment and rehabilitative programs.

Secondly, there is a marked absence of shelters that can care for the homeless with medical problems. This leads to extended and extensive hospital stays. This is especially frustrating during the COVID era, when hospital beds are in such short supply. Having a safe place to discharge patients who still need wound or diabetes care would save money for the overall health care system and be best for the patient.

Third, it may be best to modify discharge regimens for those patients who are unhoused. For example, metformin, taken by mouth once a day, is more practical for unhoused patients with diabetes than insulin, which needs to be refrigerated and injected multiple times a day. While one can argue whether care for the homeless should differ from those who are housed, in practical terms, simplifying regimens is more likely to promote compliance.

My last take-home point is check the Feet. So many of our homeless patients who end up on hospital wards have been wearing ill-fitting or no shoes while they are out on the street. Their toenails may be long and thick. They may have cellulitis or ulcers. Or gangrene. Unfortunately, these medical issues can also cause surgical amputations of the lower extremities.

Back to the article by Buckman and colleagues. The data they provide is good to have. But we need more action to provide appropriate and compassionate care for those who are unhoused and ill – care that is good for them, good for the nation’s finances, and good for our moral standing in the world.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She is a member of the Clinical Psychiatry News editorial advisory board, and has no conflicts of interest.

Like so many of you, I have weathered COVID-19 for the last almost 2 years. We’ve dealt with anxiety in our patients and ourselves, ever conflicting directives over masks, and uncertainty and hope over vaccinations.

In the beginning, it seemed elsewhere. Wuhan, China, the state of Washington, New York City.

In the beginning, I awoke with rising anxiety every morning at 4 a.m.

Now, it is part of life. We know how to do this.

I work in a D.C. hospital that takes care of COVID-19 patients. I don’t intubate or come into direct contact with patients’ secretions.

I felt lucky.

Last summer, I felt relief, after being fully vaccinated. We thought we were almost over it. But the numbers abroad and in the United States keep rising.

We have developed protocols. We test every patient for COVID-19 before admitting them to psychiatry, which is now routine. COVID-19–positive patients with suicidal ideation go to our medicine-psychiatric unit. We are single-room occupancy. No visitors.

Now, it feels like COVID is closing in. Lots of my patients on consultation-liaison psychiatry had COVID-19 or do now. The number of patients with long COVID is increasing. My elderly mother-in-law picked it up from a hospital. My young, healthy adult son got it but is now doing relatively OK. We will see if his ADHD worsens.

I received contact tracing recently for going into a patient room with contact precautions. I had put on the gown and gloves, but did I wear my goggles? I keep them on my forehead but could not remember if I had slipped them over my eyes.

I get tested weekly. My nose runs inside my mask. I sneeze. Is this COVID?

Of course, I am vaccinated with a booster shot. But breakthrough infections occur.

I am lucky, I keep reminding myself. I have a job and income and good PPE.

So, we are learning how to manage this disease. But it still closes in. My brain screams: “I do not want to catch this disease. I do not want to get sick. I do not want to get long COVID.”

“Calm down, Cam,” I tell myself. “You can do this!” I have learned how to do all the PPE, including tying the plastic ties along the backs of the plastic gowns.

All psychiatry meetings are virtual now. I cannot do virtual with enthusiasm. I say I will, but then do not log on. I miss the camaraderie.

All appointments are mainly telehealth. That has its pros and cons.

So bottom line – I will keep keeping on.

But I really want others to get vaccinated and wear masks. More than that, how can we as a psychiatric community get us through this pandemic? How can we support each other and our patients?

Here are a few suggestions, some of which I have made before:

• Focus on what we can control, especially exercise and sleep. Walk during times when the sun is shining. Rake the gorgeous autumn yellow and orange leaves.
• Give small (or large) gifts of kindness to others. Give to food banks, provide large tips to those who bring you takeout, help out at an animal shelter.
• Talk through established media about self-care and therapy for anxiety and depression.
• Clean out your closets. Give clothes to Afghan refugees.
• Read good books about trying times – such as World War II and the long wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.
• Take care of veterans and the elderly and homeless.
• Take care of yourself and your family.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center. She has no conflicts of interest.

Like so many of you, I have weathered COVID-19 for the last almost 2 years. We’ve dealt with anxiety in our patients and ourselves, ever conflicting directives over masks, and uncertainty and hope over vaccinations.

In the beginning, it seemed elsewhere. Wuhan, China, the state of Washington, New York City.

In the beginning, I awoke with rising anxiety every morning at 4 a.m.

Now, it is part of life. We know how to do this.

I work in a D.C. hospital that takes care of COVID-19 patients. I don’t intubate or come into direct contact with patients’ secretions.

I felt lucky.

Last summer, I felt relief, after being fully vaccinated. We thought we were almost over it. But the numbers abroad and in the United States keep rising.

We have developed protocols. We test every patient for COVID-19 before admitting them to psychiatry, which is now routine. COVID-19–positive patients with suicidal ideation go to our medicine-psychiatric unit. We are single-room occupancy. No visitors.

Now, it feels like COVID is closing in. Lots of my patients on consultation-liaison psychiatry had COVID-19 or do now. The number of patients with long COVID is increasing. My elderly mother-in-law picked it up from a hospital. My young, healthy adult son got it but is now doing relatively OK. We will see if his ADHD worsens.

I received contact tracing recently for going into a patient room with contact precautions. I had put on the gown and gloves, but did I wear my goggles? I keep them on my forehead but could not remember if I had slipped them over my eyes.

I get tested weekly. My nose runs inside my mask. I sneeze. Is this COVID?

Of course, I am vaccinated with a booster shot. But breakthrough infections occur.

I am lucky, I keep reminding myself. I have a job and income and good PPE.

So, we are learning how to manage this disease. But it still closes in. My brain screams: “I do not want to catch this disease. I do not want to get sick. I do not want to get long COVID.”

“Calm down, Cam,” I tell myself. “You can do this!” I have learned how to do all the PPE, including tying the plastic ties along the backs of the plastic gowns.

All psychiatry meetings are virtual now. I cannot do virtual with enthusiasm. I say I will, but then do not log on. I miss the camaraderie.

All appointments are mainly telehealth. That has its pros and cons.

So bottom line – I will keep keeping on.

But I really want others to get vaccinated and wear masks. More than that, how can we as a psychiatric community get us through this pandemic? How can we support each other and our patients?

Here are a few suggestions, some of which I have made before:

• Focus on what we can control, especially exercise and sleep. Walk during times when the sun is shining. Rake the gorgeous autumn yellow and orange leaves.
• Give small (or large) gifts of kindness to others. Give to food banks, provide large tips to those who bring you takeout, help out at an animal shelter.
• Talk through established media about self-care and therapy for anxiety and depression.
• Clean out your closets. Give clothes to Afghan refugees.
• Read good books about trying times – such as World War II and the long wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.
• Take care of veterans and the elderly and homeless.
• Take care of yourself and your family.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center. She has no conflicts of interest.

Like so many of you, I have weathered COVID-19 for the last almost 2 years. We’ve dealt with anxiety in our patients and ourselves, ever conflicting directives over masks, and uncertainty and hope over vaccinations.

In the beginning, it seemed elsewhere. Wuhan, China, the state of Washington, New York City.

In the beginning, I awoke with rising anxiety every morning at 4 a.m.

Now, it is part of life. We know how to do this.

I work in a D.C. hospital that takes care of COVID-19 patients. I don’t intubate or come into direct contact with patients’ secretions.

I felt lucky.

Last summer, I felt relief, after being fully vaccinated. We thought we were almost over it. But the numbers abroad and in the United States keep rising.

We have developed protocols. We test every patient for COVID-19 before admitting them to psychiatry, which is now routine. COVID-19–positive patients with suicidal ideation go to our medicine-psychiatric unit. We are single-room occupancy. No visitors.

Now, it feels like COVID is closing in. Lots of my patients on consultation-liaison psychiatry had COVID-19 or do now. The number of patients with long COVID is increasing. My elderly mother-in-law picked it up from a hospital. My young, healthy adult son got it but is now doing relatively OK. We will see if his ADHD worsens.

I received contact tracing recently for going into a patient room with contact precautions. I had put on the gown and gloves, but did I wear my goggles? I keep them on my forehead but could not remember if I had slipped them over my eyes.

I get tested weekly. My nose runs inside my mask. I sneeze. Is this COVID?

Of course, I am vaccinated with a booster shot. But breakthrough infections occur.

I am lucky, I keep reminding myself. I have a job and income and good PPE.

So, we are learning how to manage this disease. But it still closes in. My brain screams: “I do not want to catch this disease. I do not want to get sick. I do not want to get long COVID.”

“Calm down, Cam,” I tell myself. “You can do this!” I have learned how to do all the PPE, including tying the plastic ties along the backs of the plastic gowns.

All psychiatry meetings are virtual now. I cannot do virtual with enthusiasm. I say I will, but then do not log on. I miss the camaraderie.

All appointments are mainly telehealth. That has its pros and cons.

So bottom line – I will keep keeping on.

But I really want others to get vaccinated and wear masks. More than that, how can we as a psychiatric community get us through this pandemic? How can we support each other and our patients?

Here are a few suggestions, some of which I have made before:

• Focus on what we can control, especially exercise and sleep. Walk during times when the sun is shining. Rake the gorgeous autumn yellow and orange leaves.
• Give small (or large) gifts of kindness to others. Give to food banks, provide large tips to those who bring you takeout, help out at an animal shelter.
• Talk through established media about self-care and therapy for anxiety and depression.
• Clean out your closets. Give clothes to Afghan refugees.
• Read good books about trying times – such as World War II and the long wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.
• Take care of veterans and the elderly and homeless.
• Take care of yourself and your family.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center. She has no conflicts of interest.

After Sept. 11, 2001, and the subsequent long war in Iraq and Afghanistan, both mental health providers and the general public focused on posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). However, after almost 20 years of war and the COVID-19 epidemic, attention waned away from military service members and PTSD.

COVID-19–related PTSD and the hearings on the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol have reignited interest in PTSD diagnosis and treatment. Testimony from police officers at the House select committee hearing about their experiences during the assault and PTSD was harrowing. One of the police officers had also served in Iraq, perhaps leading to “layered PTSD” – symptoms from war abroad and at home.

Thus, I thought a brief review of updates about diagnosis and treatment would be useful. Note: These are my opinions based on my extensive experience and do not represent the official opinion of my employer (MedStar Health).

PTSD was first classified as a disorder in 1980, based mainly on the experiences of military service members in Vietnam, as well as sexual assault victims and disaster survivors. Readers may look elsewhere for a fuller history of the disorder.

However, in brief, we have evolved from strict reliance on a variety of symptoms in the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) to a more global determination of the experience of trauma and related symptoms of distress. We still rely for diagnosis on trauma-related anxiety and depression symptoms, such as nightmare, flashbacks, numbness, and disassociation.

Treatment has evolved. Patients may benefit from treatment even if they do not meet all the PTSD criteria. As many of my colleagues who treat patients have said, “if it smells like PTSD, treat it like PTSD.”

What is the most effective treatment? The literature declares that evidence-based treatments include two selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (Zoloft and Paxil) and several psychotherapies. The psychotherapies include cognitive-behavioral therapies, exposure therapy, and EMDR (eye movement desensitization reprocessing).

The problem is that many patients cannot tolerate these therapies. SSRIs do have side effects, the most distressing being sexual dysfunction. Many service members do not enter the psychotherapies, or they drop out of trials, because they cannot tolerate the reimagining of their trauma.

I now counsel patients about the “three buckets” of treatment. The first bucket is medication, which as a psychiatrist is what I focus on. The second bucket is psychotherapy as discussed above. The third bucket is “everything else.”

“Everything else” includes a variety of methods the patients can use to reduce symptoms of anxiety, depression, and PTSD symptoms: exercising; deep breathing through the nose; doing yoga; doing meditation; playing or working with animals; gardening; and engaging in other activities that “self sooth.” I also recommend always doing “small acts of kindness” for others. I myself contribute to food banks and bring cookies or watermelons to the staff at my hospital.

Why is this approach useful? A menu of options gives control back to the patient. It provides activities that can reduce anxiety. Thinking about caring for others helps patients get out of their own “swamp of distress.”

We do live in very difficult times. We’re coping with COVID-19 Delta variant, attacks on the Capitol, and gun violence. I have not yet mentioned climate change, which is extremely frightening to many of us. So all providers need to be aware of all the strategies at our disposal to treat anxiety, depression, and PTSD.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She has no conflicts of interest.

After Sept. 11, 2001, and the subsequent long war in Iraq and Afghanistan, both mental health providers and the general public focused on posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). However, after almost 20 years of war and the COVID-19 epidemic, attention waned away from military service members and PTSD.

COVID-19–related PTSD and the hearings on the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol have reignited interest in PTSD diagnosis and treatment. Testimony from police officers at the House select committee hearing about their experiences during the assault and PTSD was harrowing. One of the police officers had also served in Iraq, perhaps leading to “layered PTSD” – symptoms from war abroad and at home.

Thus, I thought a brief review of updates about diagnosis and treatment would be useful. Note: These are my opinions based on my extensive experience and do not represent the official opinion of my employer (MedStar Health).

PTSD was first classified as a disorder in 1980, based mainly on the experiences of military service members in Vietnam, as well as sexual assault victims and disaster survivors. Readers may look elsewhere for a fuller history of the disorder.

However, in brief, we have evolved from strict reliance on a variety of symptoms in the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) to a more global determination of the experience of trauma and related symptoms of distress. We still rely for diagnosis on trauma-related anxiety and depression symptoms, such as nightmare, flashbacks, numbness, and disassociation.

Treatment has evolved. Patients may benefit from treatment even if they do not meet all the PTSD criteria. As many of my colleagues who treat patients have said, “if it smells like PTSD, treat it like PTSD.”

What is the most effective treatment? The literature declares that evidence-based treatments include two selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (Zoloft and Paxil) and several psychotherapies. The psychotherapies include cognitive-behavioral therapies, exposure therapy, and EMDR (eye movement desensitization reprocessing).

The problem is that many patients cannot tolerate these therapies. SSRIs do have side effects, the most distressing being sexual dysfunction. Many service members do not enter the psychotherapies, or they drop out of trials, because they cannot tolerate the reimagining of their trauma.

I now counsel patients about the “three buckets” of treatment. The first bucket is medication, which as a psychiatrist is what I focus on. The second bucket is psychotherapy as discussed above. The third bucket is “everything else.”

“Everything else” includes a variety of methods the patients can use to reduce symptoms of anxiety, depression, and PTSD symptoms: exercising; deep breathing through the nose; doing yoga; doing meditation; playing or working with animals; gardening; and engaging in other activities that “self sooth.” I also recommend always doing “small acts of kindness” for others. I myself contribute to food banks and bring cookies or watermelons to the staff at my hospital.

Why is this approach useful? A menu of options gives control back to the patient. It provides activities that can reduce anxiety. Thinking about caring for others helps patients get out of their own “swamp of distress.”

We do live in very difficult times. We’re coping with COVID-19 Delta variant, attacks on the Capitol, and gun violence. I have not yet mentioned climate change, which is extremely frightening to many of us. So all providers need to be aware of all the strategies at our disposal to treat anxiety, depression, and PTSD.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She has no conflicts of interest.

After Sept. 11, 2001, and the subsequent long war in Iraq and Afghanistan, both mental health providers and the general public focused on posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). However, after almost 20 years of war and the COVID-19 epidemic, attention waned away from military service members and PTSD.

COVID-19–related PTSD and the hearings on the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol have reignited interest in PTSD diagnosis and treatment. Testimony from police officers at the House select committee hearing about their experiences during the assault and PTSD was harrowing. One of the police officers had also served in Iraq, perhaps leading to “layered PTSD” – symptoms from war abroad and at home.

Thus, I thought a brief review of updates about diagnosis and treatment would be useful. Note: These are my opinions based on my extensive experience and do not represent the official opinion of my employer (MedStar Health).

PTSD was first classified as a disorder in 1980, based mainly on the experiences of military service members in Vietnam, as well as sexual assault victims and disaster survivors. Readers may look elsewhere for a fuller history of the disorder.

However, in brief, we have evolved from strict reliance on a variety of symptoms in the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) to a more global determination of the experience of trauma and related symptoms of distress. We still rely for diagnosis on trauma-related anxiety and depression symptoms, such as nightmare, flashbacks, numbness, and disassociation.

Treatment has evolved. Patients may benefit from treatment even if they do not meet all the PTSD criteria. As many of my colleagues who treat patients have said, “if it smells like PTSD, treat it like PTSD.”

What is the most effective treatment? The literature declares that evidence-based treatments include two selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (Zoloft and Paxil) and several psychotherapies. The psychotherapies include cognitive-behavioral therapies, exposure therapy, and EMDR (eye movement desensitization reprocessing).

The problem is that many patients cannot tolerate these therapies. SSRIs do have side effects, the most distressing being sexual dysfunction. Many service members do not enter the psychotherapies, or they drop out of trials, because they cannot tolerate the reimagining of their trauma.

I now counsel patients about the “three buckets” of treatment. The first bucket is medication, which as a psychiatrist is what I focus on. The second bucket is psychotherapy as discussed above. The third bucket is “everything else.”

“Everything else” includes a variety of methods the patients can use to reduce symptoms of anxiety, depression, and PTSD symptoms: exercising; deep breathing through the nose; doing yoga; doing meditation; playing or working with animals; gardening; and engaging in other activities that “self sooth.” I also recommend always doing “small acts of kindness” for others. I myself contribute to food banks and bring cookies or watermelons to the staff at my hospital.

Why is this approach useful? A menu of options gives control back to the patient. It provides activities that can reduce anxiety. Thinking about caring for others helps patients get out of their own “swamp of distress.”

We do live in very difficult times. We’re coping with COVID-19 Delta variant, attacks on the Capitol, and gun violence. I have not yet mentioned climate change, which is extremely frightening to many of us. So all providers need to be aware of all the strategies at our disposal to treat anxiety, depression, and PTSD.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington (D.C.) Hospital Center. She has no conflicts of interest.

COVID has changed our world very rapidly. There are good changes, such as cleaner air and the ability to use telehealth widely. But there are devastating changes. As we are all aware, we have lost more than 400,000 people in America, and that number is climbing.

How can we mitigate some of the psychological effects of the pandemic? It is time to bring lessons learned on the battlefield to civilian psychiatrists and health care systems.

Despite having participated in mass casualty drills, no health system was trained or psychologically prepared for this once-in-a-century event.

The military dictum, “train like you fight; fight like you train” falls short considering the speed of viral replication, the serious flaws and disparities in our health care system revealed by COVID-19, and the public’s disturbingly variable adherence to preventive measures.

Like combat troops, health care workers put the needs of others ahead of their own. They suck up strain and step back from their own needs in favor of the mission.

Whether in combat or pandemic, leaders have valuable opportunities to promote the effectiveness of those on the front lines by caring for them. Those in charge may, themselves, be profoundly affected. While other team members focus on defined roles, leaders are forced to deal with many unknowns. They must often act without adequate information or resources.

Some of us have worked at hospitals treating many COVID patients and have been on “the front lines” for almost a year. We are asked a lot of questions, to which we often answer, "I don't know" or "there are no good choices."

All leaders work hard to model strength, but a difficult lesson that the military has had to learn is that leaders may strengthen cohesion by showing their grief, modeling self-care, drawing attention to even small successes in the face of overwhelming loss, and, when necessary, finding words for those losses.

Peer support is particularly important in high-stress situations. Mental health providers are uniquely qualified to share information, pick up on signs of severe stress, and provide support at the point of need.

Military combat stress control doctrine does, however, provide best practices that can be implemented across civilian health care systems. Its key elements are:

• Confidence in leadership at all levels – requiring visibility (“battlespace circulation”) of leaders who listen and share timely, accurate information.
• Realistic training – especially for those who, because of staff shortages, assume unfamiliar duties.
• Self-care – including regular meals, adequate sleep, and ongoing contact with family and friends. Here of course, the contact should be virtual as much as possible.
• Belief in the Mission – compassion satisfaction is a buffer against burnout.
• Esprit de corps – cohesive teams suffer significantly fewer combat stress casualties.

It is true that these principles have more often been tested in short-term crisis rather than the long slog that is COVID-19. This pandemic is more like an ongoing civil war than a distant battlefield because your home and those close to you share the risk.

There is no easy path ahead for America’s civilian health care system. These military principles, tested under fire, offer valuable opportunities in the ongoing battle against COVID-19.

Dr. Ritchie practices psychiatry in Washington. She has no disclosures.

Dr. Kudler is associate consulting professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Duke University in Durham. N.C., and recently retired from his post as chief consultant for mental health, at the Department of Veterans Affairs. He has no relevant financial relationships.

Dr. Yehuda is professor of psychiatry and neuroscience and director of the traumatic stress studies division at the Mount Sinai School of Medicine, New York. She also serves as director of mental health at the James J. Peters Veterans Affairs Medical Center, also in New York. Dr. Yehuda has no disclosures.

Dr. Koffman is the senior consultant for Integrative Medicine & Behavioral Health at the National Intrepid Center of Excellence, Bethesda, Md. He has no disclosures.

COVID has changed our world very rapidly. There are good changes, such as cleaner air and the ability to use telehealth widely. But there are devastating changes. As we are all aware, we have lost more than 400,000 people in America, and that number is climbing.

How can we mitigate some of the psychological effects of the pandemic? It is time to bring lessons learned on the battlefield to civilian psychiatrists and health care systems.

Despite having participated in mass casualty drills, no health system was trained or psychologically prepared for this once-in-a-century event.

The military dictum, “train like you fight; fight like you train” falls short considering the speed of viral replication, the serious flaws and disparities in our health care system revealed by COVID-19, and the public’s disturbingly variable adherence to preventive measures.

Like combat troops, health care workers put the needs of others ahead of their own. They suck up strain and step back from their own needs in favor of the mission.

Whether in combat or pandemic, leaders have valuable opportunities to promote the effectiveness of those on the front lines by caring for them. Those in charge may, themselves, be profoundly affected. While other team members focus on defined roles, leaders are forced to deal with many unknowns. They must often act without adequate information or resources.

Some of us have worked at hospitals treating many COVID patients and have been on “the front lines” for almost a year. We are asked a lot of questions, to which we often answer, "I don't know" or "there are no good choices."

All leaders work hard to model strength, but a difficult lesson that the military has had to learn is that leaders may strengthen cohesion by showing their grief, modeling self-care, drawing attention to even small successes in the face of overwhelming loss, and, when necessary, finding words for those losses.

Peer support is particularly important in high-stress situations. Mental health providers are uniquely qualified to share information, pick up on signs of severe stress, and provide support at the point of need.

Military combat stress control doctrine does, however, provide best practices that can be implemented across civilian health care systems. Its key elements are:

• Confidence in leadership at all levels – requiring visibility (“battlespace circulation”) of leaders who listen and share timely, accurate information.
• Realistic training – especially for those who, because of staff shortages, assume unfamiliar duties.
• Self-care – including regular meals, adequate sleep, and ongoing contact with family and friends. Here of course, the contact should be virtual as much as possible.
• Belief in the Mission – compassion satisfaction is a buffer against burnout.
• Esprit de corps – cohesive teams suffer significantly fewer combat stress casualties.

It is true that these principles have more often been tested in short-term crisis rather than the long slog that is COVID-19. This pandemic is more like an ongoing civil war than a distant battlefield because your home and those close to you share the risk.

There is no easy path ahead for America’s civilian health care system. These military principles, tested under fire, offer valuable opportunities in the ongoing battle against COVID-19.

Dr. Ritchie practices psychiatry in Washington. She has no disclosures.

Dr. Kudler is associate consulting professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Duke University in Durham. N.C., and recently retired from his post as chief consultant for mental health, at the Department of Veterans Affairs. He has no relevant financial relationships.

Dr. Yehuda is professor of psychiatry and neuroscience and director of the traumatic stress studies division at the Mount Sinai School of Medicine, New York. She also serves as director of mental health at the James J. Peters Veterans Affairs Medical Center, also in New York. Dr. Yehuda has no disclosures.

Dr. Koffman is the senior consultant for Integrative Medicine & Behavioral Health at the National Intrepid Center of Excellence, Bethesda, Md. He has no disclosures.

COVID has changed our world very rapidly. There are good changes, such as cleaner air and the ability to use telehealth widely. But there are devastating changes. As we are all aware, we have lost more than 400,000 people in America, and that number is climbing.

How can we mitigate some of the psychological effects of the pandemic? It is time to bring lessons learned on the battlefield to civilian psychiatrists and health care systems.

Despite having participated in mass casualty drills, no health system was trained or psychologically prepared for this once-in-a-century event.

The military dictum, “train like you fight; fight like you train” falls short considering the speed of viral replication, the serious flaws and disparities in our health care system revealed by COVID-19, and the public’s disturbingly variable adherence to preventive measures.

Like combat troops, health care workers put the needs of others ahead of their own. They suck up strain and step back from their own needs in favor of the mission.

Whether in combat or pandemic, leaders have valuable opportunities to promote the effectiveness of those on the front lines by caring for them. Those in charge may, themselves, be profoundly affected. While other team members focus on defined roles, leaders are forced to deal with many unknowns. They must often act without adequate information or resources.

Some of us have worked at hospitals treating many COVID patients and have been on “the front lines” for almost a year. We are asked a lot of questions, to which we often answer, "I don't know" or "there are no good choices."

All leaders work hard to model strength, but a difficult lesson that the military has had to learn is that leaders may strengthen cohesion by showing their grief, modeling self-care, drawing attention to even small successes in the face of overwhelming loss, and, when necessary, finding words for those losses.

Peer support is particularly important in high-stress situations. Mental health providers are uniquely qualified to share information, pick up on signs of severe stress, and provide support at the point of need.

Military combat stress control doctrine does, however, provide best practices that can be implemented across civilian health care systems. Its key elements are:

• Confidence in leadership at all levels – requiring visibility (“battlespace circulation”) of leaders who listen and share timely, accurate information.
• Realistic training – especially for those who, because of staff shortages, assume unfamiliar duties.
• Self-care – including regular meals, adequate sleep, and ongoing contact with family and friends. Here of course, the contact should be virtual as much as possible.
• Belief in the Mission – compassion satisfaction is a buffer against burnout.
• Esprit de corps – cohesive teams suffer significantly fewer combat stress casualties.

It is true that these principles have more often been tested in short-term crisis rather than the long slog that is COVID-19. This pandemic is more like an ongoing civil war than a distant battlefield because your home and those close to you share the risk.

There is no easy path ahead for America’s civilian health care system. These military principles, tested under fire, offer valuable opportunities in the ongoing battle against COVID-19.

Dr. Ritchie practices psychiatry in Washington. She has no disclosures.

Dr. Kudler is associate consulting professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Duke University in Durham. N.C., and recently retired from his post as chief consultant for mental health, at the Department of Veterans Affairs. He has no relevant financial relationships.

Dr. Yehuda is professor of psychiatry and neuroscience and director of the traumatic stress studies division at the Mount Sinai School of Medicine, New York. She also serves as director of mental health at the James J. Peters Veterans Affairs Medical Center, also in New York. Dr. Yehuda has no disclosures.

Dr. Koffman is the senior consultant for Integrative Medicine & Behavioral Health at the National Intrepid Center of Excellence, Bethesda, Md. He has no disclosures.

A few months ago, I published a short thought piece on the use of “sitters” with patients who were COVID-19 positive, or patients under investigation. In it, I recommended the use of telesitters for those who normally would warrant a human sitter, to decrease the discomfort of sitting in full personal protective equipment (PPE) (gown, mask, gloves, etc.) while monitoring a suicidal patient.

I received several queries, which I want to address here. In addition, I want to draw from my Army days in terms of the claustrophobia often experienced with PPE.

The first of the questions was about evidence-based practices. The second was about the discomfort of having sitters sit for many hours in the full gear.

I do not know of any evidence-based practices, but I hope we will develop them.

I agree that spending many hours in full PPE can be discomforting, which is why I wrote the essay.

As far as lessons learned from the Army time, I briefly learned how to wear a “gas mask” or Mission-Oriented Protective Posture (MOPP gear) while at Fort Bragg. We were run through the “gas chamber,” where sergeants released tear gas while we had the mask on. We were then asked to lift it up, and then tearing and sputtering, we could leave the small wooden building.

We wore the mask as part of our Army gear, usually on the right leg. After that, I mainly used the protective mask in its bag as a pillow when I was in the field.

Fast forward to August 1990. I arrived at Camp Casey, near the Korean demilitarized zone. Four days later, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. The gas mask moved from a pillow to something we had to wear while doing 12-mile road marches in “full ruck.” In full ruck, you have your uniform on, with TA-50, knapsack, and weapon. No, I do not remember any more what TA-50 stands for, but essentially it is the webbing that holds your bullets and bandages.

Many could not tolerate it. They developed claustrophobia – sweating, air hunger, and panic. If stationed in the Gulf for Operation Desert Storm, they were evacuated home.

I wrote a couple of short articles on treatment of gas mask phobia.^1,2 I basically advised desensitization. Start by watching TV in it for 5 minutes. Graduate to ironing your uniform in the mask. Go then to shorter runs. Work up to the 12-mile road march.

In my second tour in Korea, we had exercises where we simulated being hit by nerve agents and had to operate the hospital for days at a time in partial or full PPE. It was tough but we did it, and felt more confident about surviving attacks from North Korea.

So back to the pandemic present. I have gotten more used to my constant wearing of a surgical mask. I get anxious when I see others with masks below their noses. I almost panic when others do not wear their masks at all, such as the lady today who was brushing her teeth in the shared ladies’ restroom.

The pandemic is not going away anytime soon, in my opinion. Furthermore, there are other viruses that are worse, such as Ebola. It is only a matter of time.

So, let us train with our PPE. If health care workers cannot tolerate them, use desensitization- and anxiety-reducing techniques to help them.

There are no easy answers here, in the time of the COVID pandemic. However, we owe it to ourselves, our patients, and society to do the best we can.

References

1. Ritchie EC. Milit Med. 1992 Feb;157(2):104-6.

2. Ritchie EC. Milit Med. 2001 Dec;166. Suppl. 2(1)83-4.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures and can be reached at [email protected].

A few months ago, I published a short thought piece on the use of “sitters” with patients who were COVID-19 positive, or patients under investigation. In it, I recommended the use of telesitters for those who normally would warrant a human sitter, to decrease the discomfort of sitting in full personal protective equipment (PPE) (gown, mask, gloves, etc.) while monitoring a suicidal patient.

I received several queries, which I want to address here. In addition, I want to draw from my Army days in terms of the claustrophobia often experienced with PPE.

The first of the questions was about evidence-based practices. The second was about the discomfort of having sitters sit for many hours in the full gear.

I do not know of any evidence-based practices, but I hope we will develop them.

I agree that spending many hours in full PPE can be discomforting, which is why I wrote the essay.

As far as lessons learned from the Army time, I briefly learned how to wear a “gas mask” or Mission-Oriented Protective Posture (MOPP gear) while at Fort Bragg. We were run through the “gas chamber,” where sergeants released tear gas while we had the mask on. We were then asked to lift it up, and then tearing and sputtering, we could leave the small wooden building.

We wore the mask as part of our Army gear, usually on the right leg. After that, I mainly used the protective mask in its bag as a pillow when I was in the field.

Fast forward to August 1990. I arrived at Camp Casey, near the Korean demilitarized zone. Four days later, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. The gas mask moved from a pillow to something we had to wear while doing 12-mile road marches in “full ruck.” In full ruck, you have your uniform on, with TA-50, knapsack, and weapon. No, I do not remember any more what TA-50 stands for, but essentially it is the webbing that holds your bullets and bandages.

Many could not tolerate it. They developed claustrophobia – sweating, air hunger, and panic. If stationed in the Gulf for Operation Desert Storm, they were evacuated home.

I wrote a couple of short articles on treatment of gas mask phobia.^1,2 I basically advised desensitization. Start by watching TV in it for 5 minutes. Graduate to ironing your uniform in the mask. Go then to shorter runs. Work up to the 12-mile road march.

In my second tour in Korea, we had exercises where we simulated being hit by nerve agents and had to operate the hospital for days at a time in partial or full PPE. It was tough but we did it, and felt more confident about surviving attacks from North Korea.

So back to the pandemic present. I have gotten more used to my constant wearing of a surgical mask. I get anxious when I see others with masks below their noses. I almost panic when others do not wear their masks at all, such as the lady today who was brushing her teeth in the shared ladies’ restroom.

The pandemic is not going away anytime soon, in my opinion. Furthermore, there are other viruses that are worse, such as Ebola. It is only a matter of time.

So, let us train with our PPE. If health care workers cannot tolerate them, use desensitization- and anxiety-reducing techniques to help them.

There are no easy answers here, in the time of the COVID pandemic. However, we owe it to ourselves, our patients, and society to do the best we can.

References

1. Ritchie EC. Milit Med. 1992 Feb;157(2):104-6.

2. Ritchie EC. Milit Med. 2001 Dec;166. Suppl. 2(1)83-4.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures and can be reached at [email protected].

A few months ago, I published a short thought piece on the use of “sitters” with patients who were COVID-19 positive, or patients under investigation. In it, I recommended the use of telesitters for those who normally would warrant a human sitter, to decrease the discomfort of sitting in full personal protective equipment (PPE) (gown, mask, gloves, etc.) while monitoring a suicidal patient.

I received several queries, which I want to address here. In addition, I want to draw from my Army days in terms of the claustrophobia often experienced with PPE.

The first of the questions was about evidence-based practices. The second was about the discomfort of having sitters sit for many hours in the full gear.

I do not know of any evidence-based practices, but I hope we will develop them.

I agree that spending many hours in full PPE can be discomforting, which is why I wrote the essay.

As far as lessons learned from the Army time, I briefly learned how to wear a “gas mask” or Mission-Oriented Protective Posture (MOPP gear) while at Fort Bragg. We were run through the “gas chamber,” where sergeants released tear gas while we had the mask on. We were then asked to lift it up, and then tearing and sputtering, we could leave the small wooden building.

We wore the mask as part of our Army gear, usually on the right leg. After that, I mainly used the protective mask in its bag as a pillow when I was in the field.

Fast forward to August 1990. I arrived at Camp Casey, near the Korean demilitarized zone. Four days later, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. The gas mask moved from a pillow to something we had to wear while doing 12-mile road marches in “full ruck.” In full ruck, you have your uniform on, with TA-50, knapsack, and weapon. No, I do not remember any more what TA-50 stands for, but essentially it is the webbing that holds your bullets and bandages.

Many could not tolerate it. They developed claustrophobia – sweating, air hunger, and panic. If stationed in the Gulf for Operation Desert Storm, they were evacuated home.

I wrote a couple of short articles on treatment of gas mask phobia.^1,2 I basically advised desensitization. Start by watching TV in it for 5 minutes. Graduate to ironing your uniform in the mask. Go then to shorter runs. Work up to the 12-mile road march.

In my second tour in Korea, we had exercises where we simulated being hit by nerve agents and had to operate the hospital for days at a time in partial or full PPE. It was tough but we did it, and felt more confident about surviving attacks from North Korea.

So back to the pandemic present. I have gotten more used to my constant wearing of a surgical mask. I get anxious when I see others with masks below their noses. I almost panic when others do not wear their masks at all, such as the lady today who was brushing her teeth in the shared ladies’ restroom.

The pandemic is not going away anytime soon, in my opinion. Furthermore, there are other viruses that are worse, such as Ebola. It is only a matter of time.

So, let us train with our PPE. If health care workers cannot tolerate them, use desensitization- and anxiety-reducing techniques to help them.

There are no easy answers here, in the time of the COVID pandemic. However, we owe it to ourselves, our patients, and society to do the best we can.

References

1. Ritchie EC. Milit Med. 1992 Feb;157(2):104-6.

2. Ritchie EC. Milit Med. 2001 Dec;166. Suppl. 2(1)83-4.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures and can be reached at [email protected].

I am writing this commentary to bring to readers’ attention a medical and ethical complexity related to human sitters for presumably suicidal, COVID-19–positive hospitalized patients.

To shape and bundle the ethics issues addressed here into a single question, I offer the following: Should policies and practices requiring that patients in presumed need of a sitter because of assessed suicidality change when the patient is COVID-19–positive? Although the analysis might be similar when a sitter is monitoring a Patient Under Investigation (PUI), here I focus only on COVID-19–positive patients. Similarly, there are other reasons for sitters, of course, such as to prevent elopement, or, if a patient is in restraints, to prevent the patient from pulling out lines or tubes. Again, discussion of some of these ethical complications is beyond the scope of this piece. Just considering the matter of potential suicidality and sitters is complex enough. And so, to start, I sought out existing sources for guidance.

In looking for such sources, I first turned to the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services before COVID-19. CMS has required that there be a sitter for a patient who is suicidal and that the sitter remain in the room so that the sitter can intervene expeditiously if the patient tries to hurt himself or herself. There has been no change in this guidance since the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. To the best of my knowledge, there is no substantive guidance for protecting sitters from contagion other than PPE. Given this, it begs the question: Shouldn’t the CMS guidance be changed to allow for hospitals to study different approaches to contagion reduction for sitters?

In my hospital, I already have begun discussing the potential risks of harm and potential benefits to our suicidal patients of having a sitter directly outside the patient’s room. I also have considered whether to have one sitter watching several room cameras at once, commonly referred to as “telehealth strategies.”

To be sure, sitting for hours in the room of a COVID-19–positive patient is onerous. The sitter is required to be in full PPE (N-95 mask, gown, and gloves), which is hot and uncomfortable. Current practice is resource intensive in other ways. It requires changing out the sitter every 2 hours, which uses substantial amounts of PPE and multiple sitters.

Regardless, however, there are really no data upon which to base any sound ethics judgment about what should or should not be tried. We just have no information on how to attempt to balance potential risks and prospects for the benefit of whom and when. And, given that good clinical ethics always begin with the facts, I write this piece to see whether readers have thought about these issues before – and whether any of clinicians have started collecting the valuable data needed to begin making sound ethical judgments about how to care for our presumably suicidal COVID-19–positive patients and the sitters who watch over them.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures and can be reached at [email protected].

This column is an outcome of a discussion that occurred during Psych/Ethics rounds on June 5, and does not represent any official statements of Medstar Washington Hospital Center or any entity of the MedStar Corp. Dr. Ritchie would like to thank Evan G. DeRenzo, PhD, of the John J. Lynch Center for Ethics, for her thoughtful review of a previous draft of this commentary.

I am writing this commentary to bring to readers’ attention a medical and ethical complexity related to human sitters for presumably suicidal, COVID-19–positive hospitalized patients.

To shape and bundle the ethics issues addressed here into a single question, I offer the following: Should policies and practices requiring that patients in presumed need of a sitter because of assessed suicidality change when the patient is COVID-19–positive? Although the analysis might be similar when a sitter is monitoring a Patient Under Investigation (PUI), here I focus only on COVID-19–positive patients. Similarly, there are other reasons for sitters, of course, such as to prevent elopement, or, if a patient is in restraints, to prevent the patient from pulling out lines or tubes. Again, discussion of some of these ethical complications is beyond the scope of this piece. Just considering the matter of potential suicidality and sitters is complex enough. And so, to start, I sought out existing sources for guidance.

In looking for such sources, I first turned to the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services before COVID-19. CMS has required that there be a sitter for a patient who is suicidal and that the sitter remain in the room so that the sitter can intervene expeditiously if the patient tries to hurt himself or herself. There has been no change in this guidance since the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. To the best of my knowledge, there is no substantive guidance for protecting sitters from contagion other than PPE. Given this, it begs the question: Shouldn’t the CMS guidance be changed to allow for hospitals to study different approaches to contagion reduction for sitters?

In my hospital, I already have begun discussing the potential risks of harm and potential benefits to our suicidal patients of having a sitter directly outside the patient’s room. I also have considered whether to have one sitter watching several room cameras at once, commonly referred to as “telehealth strategies.”

To be sure, sitting for hours in the room of a COVID-19–positive patient is onerous. The sitter is required to be in full PPE (N-95 mask, gown, and gloves), which is hot and uncomfortable. Current practice is resource intensive in other ways. It requires changing out the sitter every 2 hours, which uses substantial amounts of PPE and multiple sitters.

Regardless, however, there are really no data upon which to base any sound ethics judgment about what should or should not be tried. We just have no information on how to attempt to balance potential risks and prospects for the benefit of whom and when. And, given that good clinical ethics always begin with the facts, I write this piece to see whether readers have thought about these issues before – and whether any of clinicians have started collecting the valuable data needed to begin making sound ethical judgments about how to care for our presumably suicidal COVID-19–positive patients and the sitters who watch over them.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures and can be reached at [email protected].

This column is an outcome of a discussion that occurred during Psych/Ethics rounds on June 5, and does not represent any official statements of Medstar Washington Hospital Center or any entity of the MedStar Corp. Dr. Ritchie would like to thank Evan G. DeRenzo, PhD, of the John J. Lynch Center for Ethics, for her thoughtful review of a previous draft of this commentary.

I am writing this commentary to bring to readers’ attention a medical and ethical complexity related to human sitters for presumably suicidal, COVID-19–positive hospitalized patients.

To shape and bundle the ethics issues addressed here into a single question, I offer the following: Should policies and practices requiring that patients in presumed need of a sitter because of assessed suicidality change when the patient is COVID-19–positive? Although the analysis might be similar when a sitter is monitoring a Patient Under Investigation (PUI), here I focus only on COVID-19–positive patients. Similarly, there are other reasons for sitters, of course, such as to prevent elopement, or, if a patient is in restraints, to prevent the patient from pulling out lines or tubes. Again, discussion of some of these ethical complications is beyond the scope of this piece. Just considering the matter of potential suicidality and sitters is complex enough. And so, to start, I sought out existing sources for guidance.

In looking for such sources, I first turned to the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services before COVID-19. CMS has required that there be a sitter for a patient who is suicidal and that the sitter remain in the room so that the sitter can intervene expeditiously if the patient tries to hurt himself or herself. There has been no change in this guidance since the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. To the best of my knowledge, there is no substantive guidance for protecting sitters from contagion other than PPE. Given this, it begs the question: Shouldn’t the CMS guidance be changed to allow for hospitals to study different approaches to contagion reduction for sitters?

In my hospital, I already have begun discussing the potential risks of harm and potential benefits to our suicidal patients of having a sitter directly outside the patient’s room. I also have considered whether to have one sitter watching several room cameras at once, commonly referred to as “telehealth strategies.”

To be sure, sitting for hours in the room of a COVID-19–positive patient is onerous. The sitter is required to be in full PPE (N-95 mask, gown, and gloves), which is hot and uncomfortable. Current practice is resource intensive in other ways. It requires changing out the sitter every 2 hours, which uses substantial amounts of PPE and multiple sitters.

Regardless, however, there are really no data upon which to base any sound ethics judgment about what should or should not be tried. We just have no information on how to attempt to balance potential risks and prospects for the benefit of whom and when. And, given that good clinical ethics always begin with the facts, I write this piece to see whether readers have thought about these issues before – and whether any of clinicians have started collecting the valuable data needed to begin making sound ethical judgments about how to care for our presumably suicidal COVID-19–positive patients and the sitters who watch over them.
 

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures and can be reached at [email protected].

This column is an outcome of a discussion that occurred during Psych/Ethics rounds on June 5, and does not represent any official statements of Medstar Washington Hospital Center or any entity of the MedStar Corp. Dr. Ritchie would like to thank Evan G. DeRenzo, PhD, of the John J. Lynch Center for Ethics, for her thoughtful review of a previous draft of this commentary.

What can psychiatric clinicians do to keep their patients healthy in this coronavirus time?

In the 3 days between starting this column and finishing it, the world has gone into a tailspin. Perhaps what I write is no longer relevant. But hopefully it is.

Below are some of the issues we have been grappling with in my psychiatry department. I have no right or wrong answers here but thoughts about factors to consider.

• On inpatient psychiatry wards, the emphasis is on communal living. On our ward, bedrooms and bathrooms are shared. Patients eat together. There are numerous group therapies.
• We have decided to restrict visitors out of the concern that one may infect a ward of patients and staff. We are hoping to do video visitation, but that may take a while to implement.
• An open question is how we are going to provide our involuntary patients with access to the public defense attorneys. Public defenders still have the ability to come onto the inpatient ward, but we will start screening them first.

• In terms of sanitation, wall sanitizers are forbidden, since sanitizers may be drank or made into a firebomb. So we are incessantly wiping down the shared phones and game board pieces.
• Looking at the outpatient arena, we have moved our chairs around, so that there are 3 feet between chairs. We have opened up another waiting room to provide more distance.
• We are trying to decide whether to cancel groups. We did cancel our senior group, and I think I will cancel the rest of them shortly.
• We are seriously looking at telepsychiatry.
• Schools are closed. Many of my clinicians have young children, so they may be out. We are expecting many patients to cancel and will see how that plays out. Others of us have elderly parents. My mother’s assisted-living facility is on lockdown. So, having been locked out after a visit, she is with me tonight.

• Psychiatrists are expected to keep up their relative value unit count. Can they meet their targets? Probably not. Will it matter?
• And what about all our homeless patients, who cannot disinfect their tents or shelters?
• Conferences no longer seem so important. I am less worried about coverage for the American Psychiatric Association meeting, since the 2020 conference has been canceled.

On the rosy side, maybe this will be a wake-up call about climate change. So we live in interesting times.

Take care of your patients and each other.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures.

What can psychiatric clinicians do to keep their patients healthy in this coronavirus time?

In the 3 days between starting this column and finishing it, the world has gone into a tailspin. Perhaps what I write is no longer relevant. But hopefully it is.

Below are some of the issues we have been grappling with in my psychiatry department. I have no right or wrong answers here but thoughts about factors to consider.

• On inpatient psychiatry wards, the emphasis is on communal living. On our ward, bedrooms and bathrooms are shared. Patients eat together. There are numerous group therapies.
• We have decided to restrict visitors out of the concern that one may infect a ward of patients and staff. We are hoping to do video visitation, but that may take a while to implement.
• An open question is how we are going to provide our involuntary patients with access to the public defense attorneys. Public defenders still have the ability to come onto the inpatient ward, but we will start screening them first.

• In terms of sanitation, wall sanitizers are forbidden, since sanitizers may be drank or made into a firebomb. So we are incessantly wiping down the shared phones and game board pieces.
• Looking at the outpatient arena, we have moved our chairs around, so that there are 3 feet between chairs. We have opened up another waiting room to provide more distance.
• We are trying to decide whether to cancel groups. We did cancel our senior group, and I think I will cancel the rest of them shortly.
• We are seriously looking at telepsychiatry.
• Schools are closed. Many of my clinicians have young children, so they may be out. We are expecting many patients to cancel and will see how that plays out. Others of us have elderly parents. My mother’s assisted-living facility is on lockdown. So, having been locked out after a visit, she is with me tonight.

• Psychiatrists are expected to keep up their relative value unit count. Can they meet their targets? Probably not. Will it matter?
• And what about all our homeless patients, who cannot disinfect their tents or shelters?
• Conferences no longer seem so important. I am less worried about coverage for the American Psychiatric Association meeting, since the 2020 conference has been canceled.

On the rosy side, maybe this will be a wake-up call about climate change. So we live in interesting times.

Take care of your patients and each other.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures.

What can psychiatric clinicians do to keep their patients healthy in this coronavirus time?

In the 3 days between starting this column and finishing it, the world has gone into a tailspin. Perhaps what I write is no longer relevant. But hopefully it is.

Below are some of the issues we have been grappling with in my psychiatry department. I have no right or wrong answers here but thoughts about factors to consider.

• On inpatient psychiatry wards, the emphasis is on communal living. On our ward, bedrooms and bathrooms are shared. Patients eat together. There are numerous group therapies.
• We have decided to restrict visitors out of the concern that one may infect a ward of patients and staff. We are hoping to do video visitation, but that may take a while to implement.
• An open question is how we are going to provide our involuntary patients with access to the public defense attorneys. Public defenders still have the ability to come onto the inpatient ward, but we will start screening them first.

• In terms of sanitation, wall sanitizers are forbidden, since sanitizers may be drank or made into a firebomb. So we are incessantly wiping down the shared phones and game board pieces.
• Looking at the outpatient arena, we have moved our chairs around, so that there are 3 feet between chairs. We have opened up another waiting room to provide more distance.
• We are trying to decide whether to cancel groups. We did cancel our senior group, and I think I will cancel the rest of them shortly.
• We are seriously looking at telepsychiatry.
• Schools are closed. Many of my clinicians have young children, so they may be out. We are expecting many patients to cancel and will see how that plays out. Others of us have elderly parents. My mother’s assisted-living facility is on lockdown. So, having been locked out after a visit, she is with me tonight.

• Psychiatrists are expected to keep up their relative value unit count. Can they meet their targets? Probably not. Will it matter?
• And what about all our homeless patients, who cannot disinfect their tents or shelters?
• Conferences no longer seem so important. I am less worried about coverage for the American Psychiatric Association meeting, since the 2020 conference has been canceled.

On the rosy side, maybe this will be a wake-up call about climate change. So we live in interesting times.

Take care of your patients and each other.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington. She has no disclosures.

Coronavirus fever is gripping the world. What I hope to do here is open a discussion of what psychiatrists and other clinicians can do to mitigate the psychological consequences of COVID-19. I am focusing on the right now.

The psychological consequences are fear of the disease, effects of possible quarantine, and the potential effects of the economic slowdown on the world economy.

Fear of the disease is gripping the nation. With invisible diseases, that is not irrational. If you do not know whether you are exposed and/or spreading it to coworkers, children, or aged parents, then the fear of contagion is logical. So I would not “poo-poo” the “worried well.” If you do not know whether you are exposed or contagious, anxiety is a legitimate concern – especially if you have parents in nursing homes.

The quarantine issue is harder. I have long thought that quarantine would be harder to implement in the United States than in nations like China. But self or home quarantine is currently the de facto solution for those who have been exposed. What are some remedies?

For everybody, having an adequate supply of basic supplies at home is essential. As in preparing for a snowstorm or hurricane, adequate food, water, and yes, toilet paper, is important to relieve anxiety.

Psychiatrists can encourage patients to have an adequate supply of their medications. That may mean that we prescribe more pills. If the patient has suicidal tendencies, we can ask other family members to safeguard those medications.

A salient question is how likely people who are addicted to alcohol or opiates are to stay in place if they are withdrawing. In previous presentations, delivered some 20 years ago, I have (facetiously) suggested horse-drawn wagons of beer to avoid people breaking quarantine in search of the substances they are physically dependent on.

For people in methadone clinics who require daily visits that kind of approach may be harder. I do not have a solution, other than to plan for the eventuality of large-scale withdrawal and the behavioral consequences, which, unfortunately, often involve crime. Telemedicine may be a solution, but we are not yet equipped for it.

The longer-term psychological impacts of a major economic slowdown are not yet known. Based on past epidemics and other disasters, they might include unemployment and the related consequences of domestic violence and suicide.

COVID-19 is spreading fast. As clinicians, we must take steps to protect ourselves and our patients. Because this is a new virus, we have a lot to learn about it. We must be agile, because our actions will need to change over time.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington.

Coronavirus fever is gripping the world. What I hope to do here is open a discussion of what psychiatrists and other clinicians can do to mitigate the psychological consequences of COVID-19. I am focusing on the right now.

The psychological consequences are fear of the disease, effects of possible quarantine, and the potential effects of the economic slowdown on the world economy.

Fear of the disease is gripping the nation. With invisible diseases, that is not irrational. If you do not know whether you are exposed and/or spreading it to coworkers, children, or aged parents, then the fear of contagion is logical. So I would not “poo-poo” the “worried well.” If you do not know whether you are exposed or contagious, anxiety is a legitimate concern – especially if you have parents in nursing homes.

The quarantine issue is harder. I have long thought that quarantine would be harder to implement in the United States than in nations like China. But self or home quarantine is currently the de facto solution for those who have been exposed. What are some remedies?

For everybody, having an adequate supply of basic supplies at home is essential. As in preparing for a snowstorm or hurricane, adequate food, water, and yes, toilet paper, is important to relieve anxiety.

Psychiatrists can encourage patients to have an adequate supply of their medications. That may mean that we prescribe more pills. If the patient has suicidal tendencies, we can ask other family members to safeguard those medications.

A salient question is how likely people who are addicted to alcohol or opiates are to stay in place if they are withdrawing. In previous presentations, delivered some 20 years ago, I have (facetiously) suggested horse-drawn wagons of beer to avoid people breaking quarantine in search of the substances they are physically dependent on.

For people in methadone clinics who require daily visits that kind of approach may be harder. I do not have a solution, other than to plan for the eventuality of large-scale withdrawal and the behavioral consequences, which, unfortunately, often involve crime. Telemedicine may be a solution, but we are not yet equipped for it.

The longer-term psychological impacts of a major economic slowdown are not yet known. Based on past epidemics and other disasters, they might include unemployment and the related consequences of domestic violence and suicide.

COVID-19 is spreading fast. As clinicians, we must take steps to protect ourselves and our patients. Because this is a new virus, we have a lot to learn about it. We must be agile, because our actions will need to change over time.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington.

Coronavirus fever is gripping the world. What I hope to do here is open a discussion of what psychiatrists and other clinicians can do to mitigate the psychological consequences of COVID-19. I am focusing on the right now.

The psychological consequences are fear of the disease, effects of possible quarantine, and the potential effects of the economic slowdown on the world economy.

Fear of the disease is gripping the nation. With invisible diseases, that is not irrational. If you do not know whether you are exposed and/or spreading it to coworkers, children, or aged parents, then the fear of contagion is logical. So I would not “poo-poo” the “worried well.” If you do not know whether you are exposed or contagious, anxiety is a legitimate concern – especially if you have parents in nursing homes.

The quarantine issue is harder. I have long thought that quarantine would be harder to implement in the United States than in nations like China. But self or home quarantine is currently the de facto solution for those who have been exposed. What are some remedies?

For everybody, having an adequate supply of basic supplies at home is essential. As in preparing for a snowstorm or hurricane, adequate food, water, and yes, toilet paper, is important to relieve anxiety.

Psychiatrists can encourage patients to have an adequate supply of their medications. That may mean that we prescribe more pills. If the patient has suicidal tendencies, we can ask other family members to safeguard those medications.

A salient question is how likely people who are addicted to alcohol or opiates are to stay in place if they are withdrawing. In previous presentations, delivered some 20 years ago, I have (facetiously) suggested horse-drawn wagons of beer to avoid people breaking quarantine in search of the substances they are physically dependent on.

For people in methadone clinics who require daily visits that kind of approach may be harder. I do not have a solution, other than to plan for the eventuality of large-scale withdrawal and the behavioral consequences, which, unfortunately, often involve crime. Telemedicine may be a solution, but we are not yet equipped for it.

The longer-term psychological impacts of a major economic slowdown are not yet known. Based on past epidemics and other disasters, they might include unemployment and the related consequences of domestic violence and suicide.

COVID-19 is spreading fast. As clinicians, we must take steps to protect ourselves and our patients. Because this is a new virus, we have a lot to learn about it. We must be agile, because our actions will need to change over time.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington.

It with sadness that I read the new Department of Defense report documenting an increasing number of suicides in the military. And also, cynicism about the proposed remedies.

According the DoD report, the rate of suicide among active-duty military increased from 18.5 per 100,000 service members in 2013 to 24.8 suicides per service members in 2018.

For context, I was in the Army for a career and at the office of the Army surgeon general from 2005 to 2010. That was when the suicide rate began to rise from the normal 10 per 100,000 soldiers per year to almost double that rate.

I led conferences within the Army Medical Command aimed at reducing suicides. Later, when the problem escalated, I participated in a variety of efforts to lower it. I went to Iraq to consult.

There was a Department of the Army task force on suicide prevention. Later, a DoD task force.

Numerous recommendations were made. If I remember right, the Army task force had almost 200 recommendations. They ranged from tightening accession standards, to providing more mental health care. The issues of shaming and blaming commanders also were a key topic of discussion.

Resiliency training was big. At some point, there were more than 200 resilience programs in the DoD. There were no data (to my knowledge) showing that they work.

An emphasis was the message: “It is a sign of strength to ask for help.”

For a while, the suicide rate flattened among active-duty soldiers, although the rate continued to climb among National Guard and reservists.

The solutions were similar to those proposed in this article. The leaders in the Army and DoD were not shy about asking for help. The Army Study to Assess Risk and Resilience in Servicemembers (STARRS) program was created to examine risk factors for suicide.

The STARRS program had data to show us what we already knew. The majority of suicides are in young, enlisted men with access to firearms. Often, but not always, they had a history of suicide ideation or attempts.

The trigger was usually, but not always, precipitated by a humiliating event, such as breaking up with a partner, driving while intoxicated, or getting in trouble at work.

Now, almost 10 years into retirement from the military, I feel sorry for my former colleagues. They have tried everything they can think of.

One solution, which is out of the control of military mental health workers, is to limit access to guns. Consistently, about two-thirds of suicides in the military are by gunshot.

So, as we continue to look for ways to bring an end to these losses, we must not blame the military. After all, they have tried all they can think of. However, I can think of one factor we can blame: the all-too-easy access to firearms.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington.

It with sadness that I read the new Department of Defense report documenting an increasing number of suicides in the military. And also, cynicism about the proposed remedies.

According the DoD report, the rate of suicide among active-duty military increased from 18.5 per 100,000 service members in 2013 to 24.8 suicides per service members in 2018.

For context, I was in the Army for a career and at the office of the Army surgeon general from 2005 to 2010. That was when the suicide rate began to rise from the normal 10 per 100,000 soldiers per year to almost double that rate.

I led conferences within the Army Medical Command aimed at reducing suicides. Later, when the problem escalated, I participated in a variety of efforts to lower it. I went to Iraq to consult.

There was a Department of the Army task force on suicide prevention. Later, a DoD task force.

Numerous recommendations were made. If I remember right, the Army task force had almost 200 recommendations. They ranged from tightening accession standards, to providing more mental health care. The issues of shaming and blaming commanders also were a key topic of discussion.

Resiliency training was big. At some point, there were more than 200 resilience programs in the DoD. There were no data (to my knowledge) showing that they work.

An emphasis was the message: “It is a sign of strength to ask for help.”

For a while, the suicide rate flattened among active-duty soldiers, although the rate continued to climb among National Guard and reservists.

The solutions were similar to those proposed in this article. The leaders in the Army and DoD were not shy about asking for help. The Army Study to Assess Risk and Resilience in Servicemembers (STARRS) program was created to examine risk factors for suicide.

The STARRS program had data to show us what we already knew. The majority of suicides are in young, enlisted men with access to firearms. Often, but not always, they had a history of suicide ideation or attempts.

The trigger was usually, but not always, precipitated by a humiliating event, such as breaking up with a partner, driving while intoxicated, or getting in trouble at work.

Now, almost 10 years into retirement from the military, I feel sorry for my former colleagues. They have tried everything they can think of.

One solution, which is out of the control of military mental health workers, is to limit access to guns. Consistently, about two-thirds of suicides in the military are by gunshot.

So, as we continue to look for ways to bring an end to these losses, we must not blame the military. After all, they have tried all they can think of. However, I can think of one factor we can blame: the all-too-easy access to firearms.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington.

It with sadness that I read the new Department of Defense report documenting an increasing number of suicides in the military. And also, cynicism about the proposed remedies.

According the DoD report, the rate of suicide among active-duty military increased from 18.5 per 100,000 service members in 2013 to 24.8 suicides per service members in 2018.

For context, I was in the Army for a career and at the office of the Army surgeon general from 2005 to 2010. That was when the suicide rate began to rise from the normal 10 per 100,000 soldiers per year to almost double that rate.

I led conferences within the Army Medical Command aimed at reducing suicides. Later, when the problem escalated, I participated in a variety of efforts to lower it. I went to Iraq to consult.

There was a Department of the Army task force on suicide prevention. Later, a DoD task force.

Numerous recommendations were made. If I remember right, the Army task force had almost 200 recommendations. They ranged from tightening accession standards, to providing more mental health care. The issues of shaming and blaming commanders also were a key topic of discussion.

Resiliency training was big. At some point, there were more than 200 resilience programs in the DoD. There were no data (to my knowledge) showing that they work.

An emphasis was the message: “It is a sign of strength to ask for help.”

For a while, the suicide rate flattened among active-duty soldiers, although the rate continued to climb among National Guard and reservists.

The solutions were similar to those proposed in this article. The leaders in the Army and DoD were not shy about asking for help. The Army Study to Assess Risk and Resilience in Servicemembers (STARRS) program was created to examine risk factors for suicide.

The STARRS program had data to show us what we already knew. The majority of suicides are in young, enlisted men with access to firearms. Often, but not always, they had a history of suicide ideation or attempts.

The trigger was usually, but not always, precipitated by a humiliating event, such as breaking up with a partner, driving while intoxicated, or getting in trouble at work.

Now, almost 10 years into retirement from the military, I feel sorry for my former colleagues. They have tried everything they can think of.

One solution, which is out of the control of military mental health workers, is to limit access to guns. Consistently, about two-thirds of suicides in the military are by gunshot.

So, as we continue to look for ways to bring an end to these losses, we must not blame the military. After all, they have tried all they can think of. However, I can think of one factor we can blame: the all-too-easy access to firearms.

Dr. Ritchie is chair of psychiatry at Medstar Washington Hospital Center and professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University, Washington.