Psychiatry – Page 22 – Go Retire Psychiatrist

Milestones

I got a nice, if puzzling surprise today. At a faculty meeting I was recognized for my 10-year anniversary of service at our hospital. It’s an important milestone, even if it is wrong. They scheduled this small event a couple of months ago, but I was too busy on the psychiatry consult service to break away. I also usually carry the pager for the trainees during the noon hour when the faculty meetings are held.

The 10-year anniversary recognition was very kind—except that I’ve been here for twenty odd years, not counting residency and medical school.

In all fairness, my department knows that and we shared a few jokes about it. I guess I should clarify that I have left the university for private practice a couple of times, which interrupts the years of service recognition timelines.

I was gone both times for a total of less than 12 months—just sayin’. I returned for a few reasons, although mainly because I missed teaching.

Anyway, I showed up at the faculty meeting, albeit a little guilty looking because I’m usually too busy to attend. My department chair arrived and said that she had to run back to get my “statue.”

That jarred me. Several years ago, when I had my first blog, The Practical Consultation-Liaison (C-L) Psychiatrist, I used to kid my readers that someday a statue of me would be erected in the university Quad. It would be made of Play-Doh.

And that’s why I asked her as she turned to leave, “Is it made of Play-Doh?” She looked puzzled and I didn’t really think I could explain in a way that wouldn’t make me look like I’d been smoking something illegal.

The “statue” is a handsome little sculpture of the number 10, standing for 10 years of service. It has color photos embedded in it of various aspects of academic life at the University of Iowa, many of which I’ve had the privilege of enjoying in the 30 odd years my wife, Sena, and I have been in Iowa City.

Just before the meeting, I had walked up to the 8^th floor (I always take the stairs) to the psychiatry department offices to see if I could get a copy of the recently published history of the department, Psychiatry at Iowa: The Shaping of a Discipline: A History of Service, Science, and Education, written by James Bass.

Mr. Bass interviewed many people in the department, including me. I didn’t expect that my perspective on the consultation service, the clinical track, or my race would even get mentioned. However, 2 out of 3 made it into print.

It didn’t really surprise me that my being African American was not mentioned. I think I’m probably the only African American faculty member of the department in its 100-year history, at least until very recently.

It reminded me of another book that I just acquired, Invisible Hawkeyes: African Americans at the University of Iowa during the Long Civil Rights Era, edited by Lena M. Hill and Michael D. Hill.

In a small way, I’m making the invisible visible.

Making the invisible visible

And also, because it’s great for my ego, I’m going to quote what Bass wrote about me in Chapter 5, The New Path of George Winokur, 1971-1990:

“If in Iowa’s Department of Psychiatry there is an essential example of the consultation-liaison psychiatrist, it would be Dr. James Amos. A true in-the-trenches clinician and teacher, Amos’s potential was first spotted by George Winokur and then cultivated by Winokur’s successor, Bob Robinson. Robinson initially sought a research gene in Amos, but, as Amos would be the first to state, clinical work—not research—would be Amos’s true calling. With Russell Noyes, before Noyes’ retirement in 2002, Amos ran the UIHC psychiatry consultation service and then continued on, heroically serving an 811-bed hospital. In 2010 he would edit a book with Robinson entitled Psychosomatic Medicine: An Introduction to Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry.” (Bass, J. (2019). Psychiatry at Iowa: A History of Service, Science, and Education. Iowa City, Iowa, The University of Iowa Department of Psychiatry).

In chapter 6 (Robert G. Robinson and the Widening of Basic Science, 1990-2011), he mentions my name in the context of being one of the first clinical track faculty in the department. In some ways, breaking ground as a clinical track faculty was probably harder than being the only African American faculty member in the department.

As retirement approaches this coming June, I look back at what others and I worked together to accomplish within consultation-liaison psychiatry. The challenges were best described by a former President of the Academy of Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry, Thomas Hackett (this quote I helped find for James Bass and anyone can view it on the Internet Archive):

“A distinction must be made between a consultation service and a consultation liaison service. A consultation service is a rescue squad. It responds to requests from other services for help with the diagnosis, treatment, or disposition of perplexing patients. At worst, consultation work is nothing more than a brief foray into the territory of another service, usually ending with a note written in the chart outlining a plan of action. The actual intervention is left to the consultee. Like a volunteer firefighter, a consultant puts out the blaze and then returns home. Like a volunteer fire brigade, a consultation service seldom has the time or manpower to set up fire prevention programs or to educate the citizenry about fireproofing. A consultation service is the most common type of psychiatric-medical interface found in departments of psychiatry around the United States today.

A liaison service requires manpower, money, and motivation. Sufficient personnel are necessary to allow the psychiatric consultant time to perform services other than simply interviewing troublesome patients in the area assigned. He must be able to attend rounds, discuss patients individually with house officers, and hold teaching sessions for nurses. Liaison work is further distinguished from consultation activity in that patients are seen at the discretion of the psychiatric consultant as well as the referring physician. Because the consultant attends social service rounds with the house officers, he is able to spot potential psychiatric problems.”— Hackett, T. P., MD (1978). Beginnings: liaison psychiatry in a general hospital. Massachusetts General Hospital: Handbook of general hospital psychiatry. T. P. Hackett, MD and N. H. Cassem, MD. St. Louis, Missouri, The C.V. Mosby Company: 1-14.

I have what seems like precious few mementos of my sojourn here in the department and, indeed, on this earth. I have a toy fireman’s helmet I found hanging in a plastic sack on my office doorknob one day. It was a gift from a Family Medicine resident who rotated on the consult service and who learned why I called it a fire brigade.

For the same reason, I have a toy fire truck, sent to me by a New York psychoanalyst who was also a blogger.

I have Bumpy the Bipolar Bear, believe or not, sent to me by psychiatrist, Dr. Igor Galynker, about whose emergency room suicide risk assessment method I had blogged about several years ago. C-L psychiatrists do a lot of suicide risk assessments in the hospital and the clinics. I still have the box with the address to me:

WordPress

Attn: James Amos

200 Hawkins Drive

Iowa City, IA 52242

I have my first homemade handbook for C-L Psychiatry and the published handbook that eventually replaced it. Thank goodness the leaders of the Academy of Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry listened to the membership and changed the name from Psychosomatic Medicine to C-L Psychiatry.

I have an award for being an excellent clinical coach.

And I have my little camp stool, which a colleague who is a surgeon and emergency medicine physician gave me and which allows me to sit with my patients anywhere in the hospital, so that I don’t have to stand over them.

It will all fit in a cardboard box on my last day—the next milestone.

The Iowa River Landing Sculpture Walk

I had so much fun with the giant chicken post on January 25, 2020 that I thought it would be nice to revisit the subject, only this time take a butt-freezing tour of the entire Iowa River Landing (IRL) Sculpture Walk.

We took the walk Tuesday, January 28, 2020. The weather was typical for Iowa in January. The temperature was in the teens and there were brief flurries. My wife, Sena, and I dressed warm and took a meandering journey through the Sculpture Walk, guided by a small map.

It was a little more challenging because snow and ice covered up many of the plaques identifying the works (and parts of the sculptures as well) although this lent even more visual interest to them. They’re three dimensional objects anyway and you really have to walk around them to fully appreciate their complexity. You have to watch out for yellow snow.

What made this adventure even more special was the Iowa Writers’ Library in the lobby of the Coralville Marriott Hotel and Conference Center. It’s maintained by the Coralville Public Library. One of the issues I had was being unfamiliar with the text of the poems and other literary works (all were connected with the Iowa Writers’ Workshop) referenced by the artists. The library was cozy, had a fireplace warming the softly lit room lined by bookshelves and a couple of ladders on wheels to help you reach the books higher up.

I have always felt comforted in libraries, ever since I was a little boy. Every day I got the chance, I would walk to my hometown library (which was about a mile trip), browse the stacks for hours, then tote home piles of books in both arms.

The hotel library had most of the books pertinent to the literary references cited by the artists for their sculptures. I even found David B. Axelrod’s book, The Man Who Fell in Love with a Chicken. It turns out that the title of Axelrod’s poem is “The Man Who Fell in Love with His Chicken.” There, I’ve said enough already about that chicken.

Of course, I couldn’t take the time to find and read every book; we would not have had time to freeze our butts off touring the sculptures.

I didn’t wear my heavy winter boots and had to crunch through the crusty snow nearly up to my ankles to reach certain sculptures. Sena was dressed better for the weather but we both slipped around on the ice and I began to think more and more about things like broken hips.

But we soldiered on because it was necessary to walk completely around the Made of Money sculpture by Aaron Wilson in order to see the message printed, “HOW CAN WE HELP YOU?” It’s funny because that’s what I typically ask patients in the general hospital when I sit down on my little camp stool after I introduce myself to them as a consultation-liaison psychiatrist.

The sculpture To Dorothy, by artist James Anthony Bearden, was in a difficult spot and initially we thought we’d have to either rappel down from the roof of the building it was in front of or climb up the big retaining walls to get a good look at it. We found a way out to it and ignored passersby who gawked at us. They needed to admire us for how unique we are (not how eccentric and possibly a danger to ourselves and others), which is what I think Iowa Poet Laureate Marvin Bell was getting at in his poem of the same title as Bearden’s sculpture.

The sculpture, A Thousand Acres, by artist V. Skip Willits was another piece you really have to walk around to fully appreciate, although you generally have to do that with any sculpture. The book of the same title by Jane Smiley is based on Shakespeare’s King Lear—which I have also never read—but which I got an earful about in my undergraduate days from a fellow student who thought he knew everything there was to know about King Lear. He was garrulous in the extreme and bested me in debating class mainly because he never let me open my mouth.

The sculpture by artist Victoria Ann Reed, called Convergence, was very intriguing and looked more like a human figure who had been through a wormhole than a memory.

The Tipping Point, by artist Sarah Deppe, was a convincing image of persons with holes in their heads (several holes in fact). Bureaucrats come to mind.

We nearly dismissed the sculpture called After Trillium by artist Anthony Castronovo as a broken lamppost with dysfunctional solar panels, only partly because snow and ice covered the panel describing it. On the other hand, the top part does resemble a flower called a Trillium, not to be confused with Trillian, a character in the book by Douglas Adams, The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’m glad I could clear that up for you.

The Prairie Breeze Bench by artist Bounnak Thammavong is a sculpture you could actually sit on and watch the Bald Eagles. However, it’s made of steel and the seat was covered by snow. After you wipe away the Bald Eagle droppings, you can read the poem by James Hearst, “Landscape Iowa.” You can also hear it set to music and performed by Scott Cawelti, a former University of Northern Iowa educator who taught film, writing, and literature courses. He also edited The Complete Poetry of James Hearst (University of Iowa Press, 2001).

The Alidade sculpture by Dan Perry was the one Sena and I both really liked. I know Perry says the alidade was used by astronomers but I remember it as being a part of an instrument used by land surveyors, also for measuring distance and angles in topographical surveys. I used to work for consulting engineers as a surveyor’s assistance and draftsman many years ago. Perry links it to the poem entitled “1,2,3” from James Galvin’s book of poems, X: Poems. I confess I don’t see the connection yet. The poem for the most part reminds me of spelunking although Galvin describes a hole that he and a friend rappel into as being a planet. Much of the rest seems to be about something very painful. I’m sorry I can’t do better, but that’s why he’s a poet and I’m not.

Next, we encountered Bounnak Thammavong’s second sculpture, a very recognizable fish, a “lowly river carp,” entitled From the River. It’s linked to the poem “Where Water Comes Together with Other Water” by Raymond Carver. When I was a boy, I used to fish for bullhead in my hometown river. I sometimes caught carp and thought that was the poorer catch. It didn’t matter. I always threw both back into the river. My mom would not clean fish and neither would I.

Finally, by a pretty circuitous route, we saw the last sculpture, Gilead, by artist Kristin Garnant. The snow plow had piled up a lot of snow around it. I probably won’t read Gilead, the epistolary novel by Marilynne Robinson.

In fact, I probably won’t read a lot of the literature connected with the sculptures we saw. I did read Margaret Walker’s poem “For My people.” Sorry, Jubilee is way too much for me. She was the first African-American woman to be accepted into the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, of course depending on which story you believe about when the program formally began (Invisible Hawkeyes: African Americans at the University of Iowa during the Long Civil Rights Era, in Chapter Four: Obscured Traditions: Blacks at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, 1940-1965, by Michael D. Hill, University of Iowa Press, 2016).

In some ways, I identify way with her, one of the reasons being obvious and skin-deep. The other is that she taught school at Jackson State, a historically black college in Jackson, Mississippi.

I wonder if the IRL Sculpture Walk could include another one for her, just to make it an even dozen?

I spent my Freshman and Sophomore college years at a historically black college. It was then called Huston-Tillotson College (now Huston-Tillotson University) in Austin, Texas. That was back in the mid-1970s. I had grown up in largely white neighborhoods and gone to predominantly white schools prior to going to H-TC. It was a culture shock and that’s probably about all I’ll say about it for now, since this post is way too long.

I can say one other thing about H-TC. I submitted a poem for the college’s annual poetry contest. Winners would have their work published in the school’s small anthology called Habari Gani (Swahili for What’s Going On?). Mine didn’t make it but years later I scoured the web looking for a way to get a copy of Habari Gani, finally succeeding only a few years ago after tracking a copy of the Spring 1975 volume down at the H-TU library. I like the short introductory poem:

“Let your hum be the dream

Of an understanding universe…

Let your hum be a perfect

Utopia of Love”

–Patricia Lloyd

An Auspicious Chair

I took the picture of the little chair one of the residents brought to the psychiatry consult office yesterday. I got a big charge out of it, especially because I’ve been using a version made of wood and leather for a few years now. I think it’s possible that it could be an auspicious chair.

The resident actually used his, too. It was a busy day; I put in about 4 miles and 40 floors on my step counter—which meant the residents did too. The chair is obviously useful to rest our feet, but I think Thomas P. Hackett summed up the best ever rationale for sitting with patients:

“As a matter of courtesy, I sit down when interviewing or visiting patients. Long accustomed to the ritual of making rounds, many physicians remain standing as a matter of course. Standing, physicians remind me of missiles about to be launched, poised to depart. Even if that is not necessarily true, they look the part. Patients sense this and it limits conversation. In addition, when standing, the physician necessarily looks down on the patient. This disparity in height is apt to encourage the attribution of arrogance. Looking down at a patient who is prone emphasizes the dependency of the position. Sitting at the bedside equalizes station. Sitting with a patient need not take longer than standing with him.”— Hackett, T. P., MD (1978). Beginnings: liaison psychiatry in a general hospital. Massachusetts General Hospital: Handbook of general hospital psychiatry. T. P. Hackett, MD and N. H. Cassem, MD. St. Louis, Missouri, The C.V. Mosby Company: 1-14.

I had a little fun with the chair in a YouTube video as well.

The chair I use now is a replacement for the first one I got as a sort of loaner from a colleague in Palliative Care Medicine. That one broke during a consultation visit with a patient and his family (circumstances disguised to protect confidentiality) in the emergency room in which we were asked to evaluate for catatonia. The patient was mute but there was little evidence otherwise for catatonia, one of the chief features of which is the inability to react to any stimulus in the environment. I was sitting on the chair explaining in detail the intravenous lorazepam challenge test for catatonia (which often interrupts the episode of muteness and immobility).

I was sitting in front of the patient but facing the family and the consult service trainees while expatiating on the topic. As I was droning on, I heard a sudden pop—and I fell unceremoniously on my rear end as the chair collapsed beneath me.

My audience exploded in loud laughter, of course, as you’d expect when a pompous ass falls on his ass. But they also pointed to the patient. When I turned to look at him, he was convulsed with apparent mirth although still unable to make a sound.

I considered this a novel test for catatonia, negative in this case. Of course, it would be impractical for regular use.

Where was I? Oh, the little chair the resident brought for consult rounds. I was honored by it. It seemed to show that I was leaving a legacy as I head for retirement in June.

Another sign of leaving a legacy was a New Year’s email message I got from a former resident, Dr. Paul Thisayakorn, MD, who has been making an auspicious beginning in the field of consultation-liaison psychiatry in Thailand. He’s working very hard and is an outstanding clinician, researcher, and teacher. He has a lovely family. He and I respect each other a great deal.

Speaking of auspicious, when Paul graduated from our psychiatry residency and before leaving for his Consultation-Liaison fellowship program, he gave me a necktie with white elephants printed on it. I still have it. I may not have the symbolic meaning of the white elephant exactly right, but I think the white elephant in Thai culture is called “chang samkhan,” or maybe “chang phueak” which means “auspicious elephant.” In general, I think the idea is they symbolize success or at least the promise of success. Paul’s gift showed his gratitude and respect for me because I was one of his teachers. I am still honored to have been a part of his education and his life. I will always treasure his gift of gratitude.

Paul is very hard-working and very successful. And if the residents now start to use the little camp stools to sit with their patients, I would treasure that legacy as well.

Whatever Happened to the Janus Head Logo for ACLP?

I got an email from Don R. Lipsitt, MD yesterday which reminded me of the Janus Head logo for the Academy of Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry (ACLP). It was changed to another sort of nondescript logo several years ago for reasons I didn’t understand.

Dr. Lipsitt is a luminary in C-L Psychiatry and recently published a definitive history of the field, Foundations of C-L Psychiatry: The Bumpy Road to Specialization (2016).

I posted a blog or two about Don and his book in a previous blog, The Practical C-L Psychiatrist. We’ve never formally met. A few years ago, he noticed that I had written about him and his book. I had sent him an email message about it at around the same time the APM was considering the name change for the organization, telling him that I had plugged his book and asking him what he thought of the name change. Incidentally, he thought both of our books made a great package, so I guess I’m allowed to plug mine, strangely titled Psychosomatic Medicine: An Introduction to C-L Psychiatry, editors James Amos and Robert Robinson (2010).

Don expressed his opinion about the name change:

“I feel I have dealt with that at some length in my book. I still feel C-L is most fitting and that the Board made a big mistake naming it PM. Who were they? Any C-L psychiatrists among them? Any Psychosomaticists? Why are not the “complex medically ill” a special population? And why is APA now offering courses on “integrated” care (which is what C-L psychiatry has always been about? The notion that C-L was not declared a specialty because it was considered a skill of ALL psychiatrists (with minimal training), then how do geriatric or child psychiatry become specialties (that all psychiatrists also have training in)? Don’t get me started.”

He considered his book, in large part, a “polemic” against the name “Psychosomatic Medicine.”

Anyway, the ACLP was formerly the Academy of Psychosomatic Medicine (APM) until a couple of years ago when the organization responded robustly to the membership (of which I was one at the time) to abandon the term “Psychosomatic Medicine” and adopt what rank and file practitioners preferred—Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry.

It was a kind of rebranding and it was not the first time the academy had considered a name change. I and a lot of other C-L Psychiatrists cringed at the term “psychosomatic,” not so much because of the word itself in terms of its true denotation, but because of the unfortunate negative connotations it had acquired.

Another luminary of C-L Psychiatry, Dr. Thomas Hackett, MD, wrote about the term “psychosomatic” in the Massachusetts General Hospital: Handbook of general hospital psychiatry: edited by Hackett and Ned Cassem (1978):

“The term ‘psychosomatic service’ has had a variable history. The term generally leaves a bad taste in the mouths of physicians. It reminds them of the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, when various psychosomatic schools espoused doctrines linking specific psychological conflicts or unique personality profiles with diseases designated as psychosomatic. Compounding this misunderstanding has been the term’s abuse by the general public, who regard anything psychosomatic as either imaginary or nervous in origin. As a consequence, most people believe that a psychosomatic disease is not to be taken seriously.”

Well, anyway, because of my anecdotage, I’ve strayed a little from my original story about the Janus head logo.

I already mentioned that the logo was abandoned in favor of something that looks like waves and could lead to seasickness. I inquired about the history of the use of the Janus head logo.

In addition to my curiosity about why the logo was changed, I also wondered why it was chosen in the first place and when. According to Don, it was part of the organization’s journal, Psychosomatics, in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. What was interesting is that it was already in use by the Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry when the Psychosomatics editors started using it. However, a conflicting view was that it was not introduced to the cover until 2010. Hmmmm.

I saw the 2012 issue of the APM Newsletter had a pretty funny picture of Drs. Shuster and Rosenstein posing as Janus and the statement “Thank you, Janus. You served us well for over 50 years.” That might put the origin of the logo, at least, around 1962 although my understanding is that APM was started in 1953 (TN Wise, A Tale of Two Societies, Psychosomatics 1995).

Time to say “Hello, again, Janus?”

It’s just my opinion, but because Janus is the ancient god of beginnings and transitions, gates, doorways, endings and time, and typically depicted as two-faced because he looks to the future and the past, I think the symbol is a better image for what C-L Psychiatry has been through over the years.

Anyone for re-rebranding and go retro back to the Janus head logo?

Back in the Saddle

Well, I’m pretty tapped out, so it’ll be a short post today. I’m back in the saddle, running around the hospital on the psychiatry consult service. This is my last year of phased retirement and in 11 months—I’ll be fully retired.

I put 36 floors and 3 miles on the step counter. I’m feeling every one of those. Sena bought me some banded collar shirts and I’m wearing those instead of a shirt with a necktie. I don’t need a tie bar.

And I don’t worry about a delirious, violent patient strangling me with my necktie.

We had a small scare tonight. We were looking at my total compensation statement (the last one) and got the Sharp Elsi Mate EL-505 vintage calculator out to crunch some figures. The calculator went dead.

I put some new batteries in it, hopeful. It still didn’t work. We’ve had this calculator for over 30 years and it ran more than a decade on the first set of AA batteries.

I tried another pair of batteries. It worked! The vintage calculator lasted longer than the batteries. It’s nice to know that just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s useless.

That’s all I got.

Informal Bedside Tests for Delirium

Most of this post is an updated redux from years ago about an informal bedside test for delirium called the oral trails test. I learned about it from my senior resident when I was a junior psychiatry resident in training at the VA Medical Center.

There was an elderly patient admitted to the psychiatry unit who was thought to be psychiatrically ill but who actually seemed confused to me and the senior resident. We consulted medicine in order to get him transferred to the general medicine unit but it was tough going. I think the medicine resident disagreed with our clinical impression that he was confused and didn’t think medical transfer was necessary.

Anyway, my senior resident showed me her version of the oral version of the mixed Trails A and B Test for executive function. There is a written form which is part of the Repeatable Battery for the Assessment of Neuropsychological Status (RBANS). First, she asked him to count from 1 to 7; then she asked him to recite the letters of the alphabet from A to J. She then asked him to try reciting those letters in alternating sequence. Of course, he failed miserably and was eventually transferred to internal medicine. The Trails actually is a paper and pencil test and it looks like a dot to dot game, like the example below:

My senior resident told me she learned the oral Trails test from her senior resident and couldn’t remember anything else about it. I used the test for years but a neuropsychologist criticized the practice, questioning the test’s validity, and rightly so.

Of course, I’d been doing it wrong. You’re supposed to have the patient count to 25, then recite the letters of the alphabet, then recite the numbers and letters in alternating sequence from 1 to 13 and A to M. More than two errors in pairings indicate cognitive impairment.

There are limitations to the verbal Trails and caution is advised in more recent literature, indicating that there are moderate education effects in older patients and that it may be wiser to use both paper and pencil and oral versions together.

Still the search goes on for quick and dirty ways to screen for cognitive impairment in the elderly because this and advanced age are two main risk factors for delirium.

Nowadays, I do the Mini-Cog (shown in the video below) or the Single Question in Delirium (SQiD) test, which just involves asking a family member if the patient seems confused lately.

References:

Mrazik, M., Millis, S., & Drane, D. L. (2010). The oral trail making test: effects of age and concurrent validity. Archives of clinical neuropsychology: the official journal of the National Academy of Neuropsychologists, 25(3), 236–243. doi:10.1093/arclin/acq006

Ricker, J. H., & Axelrod, B. N. (1994). Analysis of an Oral Paradigm for the Trail Making Test. Assessment, 1(1), 47–51. https://doi.org/10.1177/1073191194001001007

Sands, M., Dantoc, B., Hartshorn, A., Ryan, C., & Lujic, S. (2010). Single Question in Delirium (SQiD): testing its efficacy against psychiatrist interview, the Confusion Assessment Method and the Memorial Delirium Assessment Scale. Palliative Medicine, 24(6), 561–565. https://doi.org/10.1177/0269216310371556

Quiz Show versus Grand Rounds for Delirium Education Redux

Here’s a redux of one of my blog posts from years ago. There’s not been much change in the data or clinical practice regarding delirium, except we’re even less enthusiastic about using any kind of psychotropic medication to treat delirium, even hypoactive delirium. Try the puzzle.

“So, you want to put on a game show contest to educate clinicians about delirium? Contact David Meagher, a psychiatrist in (where else?) Limerick, Ireland. He reported on this innovative educational workshop in the November 2010 Vol. 3 issue of the Annals of Delirium, the newsletter for the European Delirium Association (EDA). He also published the study which describes the contest in International Psychogeriatrics [1].

The workshop focused on clinician attitudes toward drug therapy for distressed delirious patients. It explored pre-existing attitudes and practice toward the use of medications to manage delirium and exposed participants to a very interactive educational event modeled after a popular TV quiz show. There were two teams (skeptics versus neuroleptics) furnished with a list of statements about delirium pharmacotherapy. The participants later completed a post-workshop questionnaire that explored changes in attitudes as a result of the workshop.

The participants were all experts on the subject and there was a good deal of variability in attitudes and practice. Some of the questions put to the teams involved using antipsychotics prophylactically to prevent delirium, the mechanism of action of antipsychotics, and what role benzodiazepines play in the treatment of non-alcohol withdrawal delirium.

One of the more puzzling findings was that the frequency of antipsychotic use was inversely proportional to the perception of the strength of supporting evidence. In other words, the less they knew about antipsychotics, the more often they used them. Most participants seemed to believe that the principal mechanism of action of antipsychotics is sedation, despite the lack of supporting evidence.

Some clinicians used antipsychotics to relieve the stress of caregivers rather than that of delirious patients, an example of patients getting the right treatment for the wrong reasons as observed by Meagher—and many of us in the field.

The workshop also highlighted the tendency of clinicians to focus on risk management rather than effective therapeutic intervention in the management of delirious patients with disruptive behavior and severe distress. This mainly relates to focus on the potential adverse effects of antipsychotics such as extrapyramidal side effects, metabolic, and cerebrovascular effects.

The quiz show activity was fun and challenging. The device of dividing the participants into two small teams with larger audience participation cut down on the anxiety that could be provoked by giving the “wrong answer”. The questions were true/false and didn’t always have clear right or wrong answers. It was highly interactive, a component of continuing medical educational (CME) activities that is increasingly encouraged because it’s more likely to lead to changes in clinician attitude and practice. The one time Grand Rounds CME “seat time” is going the way of the dinosaur.

So a couple of findings from the quiz show post-activity questionnaire were that clinicians were more likely to use antipsychotics prophylactically and to use antipsychotics to manage hypoactive delirium.

Our delirium intervention project group members are not quite as enthusiastic yet about these two interventions. We’re a bit more inclined at least initially to focus on non-pharmacologic multicomponent strategies such as the example below:

Minimize the use of immobilizing catheters, intravenous lines, and physical restraints
Avoid immobility, early mobilization
Monitor nutrition
Provide visual and hearing aids
Monitor closely for dehydration
Control pain
Monitor fluid-electrolyte balance
Monitor bowel and bladder functioning
Review medications
Reorient communications with the patient
Place an orientation board, clock, or familiar objects (i.e., family photographs) in patient rooms
Encourage cognitively stimulating activities such as word puzzles
Facilitate sleep hygiene measures, including relaxation music or tapes at bedtime, warm drinks, and gentle massage
Minimize noise and interventions at bedtime, e.g., by rescheduling medication times

But I’m just as enthusiastic about interactive educational methods to engage learners in order to build a culture more likely to produce champions who will lead the delirium prevention effort—try the delirium multicomponent crisscross puzzle below. The clues are contained in the list of multicomponent tactics above.”

Meagher, D.J., Impact of an educational workshop upon attitudes towards pharmacotherapy for delirium. Int Psychogeriatr, 2010. 22(6): p. 938-46.

SQiD vs CAM Redux

This was a blog post I wrote back in 2011 on another blog, The Practical C-L Psychiatrist. SQiD is short for Single Question in Delirium and it’s a very short and effective screen for delirium, if you have a reliable informant. I also mention the Edinburgh Delirium Test Box (EDTB). It has been further developed into a smartphone app.

“The November Vol. 3 issue of the Annals of Delirium published a summary of an interesting study of a Single Question in delirium (SQiD) as a screen for delirium compared to the Confusion Assessment Method (CAM), the Memorial Delirium Assessment Scale (MDAS) and a psychiatrist interview[1].

The question “Do you think (name of patient) has been more confused lately?” was put to a friend or relative of 21 patients. Compared with psychiatric interview, the SQiD achieved a sensitivity and specificity of 80% (95% CI 28.3-99.49%) and 71% (41.90-91.61%) respectively. The CAM demonstrated a negative predictive value (NPV) of 80% (51.91-95.67%) and the SQiD showed an NPV of 91% (58.72-99.77%). The CAM in the study had only a 40% sensitivity used by minimally trained clinical users.

The negative predictive value of a test tells you how likely it is that you actually don’t have the condition or disease. It’s defined as the number of true negatives (people who test negative who are not affected) divided by the total number of patients who test negative and it varies with test sensitivity, test specificity, and disorder prevalence. The sensitivity of a test is how accurately it detects patients who are positive for the disorder (in this case delirium). If 100 patients are positive for the disorder, then a test that is 80% sensitive will detect 80 of those cases and miss 20 actual cases of the disorder. Specificity is defined as how accurately a test detects patients who do not have the disorder. In our delirium example, if 100 patients are free of the disorder, then a test that is 71% specific will correctly tell 71 of those people that they are not affected and will incorrectly tell 29 that they have the disorder when they don’t.

This seems to suggest that a single question screening question packs a fair punch compared to screening instruments and psychiatric interview for identifying delirium. The CAM takes a few minutes to complete and requires training to achieve optimal identification rates.

The authors suggest the SQiD deserves further study and their results seem to support the conclusion. The study is limited by small sample size, but intuitively the premise is appealing. This is one of the quickest tests for delirium applicable and can be applied by almost anyone.

Single question screening exams for depression are not unheard of so there is precedence for the SQiD. You just have to be careful about what you say in front of patients and families. “Go ahead and run the squid on Mr. Jones” could raise a few eyebrows.

This is possibly a low tech solution in a pinch when the CAM forms file is empty or the battery is low on the Edinburgh Delirium Test Box (EDTB)[2]. The EDTB is a more high-tech solution to testing for what neuropsychologists believe what one of the main abnormalities is in delirium—lack of sustained attention. It’s a computerized neuropsychological testing device.

And that face-off would be called SQiD versus Box.”

References:

1. Sands, M., et al., Single Question in Delirium (SQiD): testing its efficacy against psychiatrist interview, the Confusion Assessment Method and the Memorial Delirium Assessment Scale. Palliative Medicine, 2010. 24(6): p. 561-565.

2. Brown, L.J.E., et al., Detecting deficits of sustained visual attention in delirium. Journal of Neurology, Neurosurgery & Psychiatry.

Coach’s Corner: Somatoform Illness

This is a short Coach’s Corner video on somatoform and related abnormal illness behaviors which prompt physicians to request psychiatric consultation. Medically unexplained physical symptoms are not rare in the hospital and in medical clinics.

The general idea is to remember Stephen Covey’s caution about effectiveness and efficiency, which is that you have a lot better chance being effective rather than efficient with people.

“With people, slow is fast and fast is slow.”
Stephen Covey

The point is that it’s very important to listen for understanding and to validate pain and suffering. That means sitting with patients and taking time to hear what they tell you.

There is an excellent presentation on conversion disorder (also known as functional neurological disorder) on the National Neuroscience Curriculum Initiative (NNCI) web site. It’s very helpful for clinicians and patients.

Coach’s Corner On Delirium

I’m anticipating a busy time next month on the psychiatry consultation service. I suspect delirium will be the main event, as it is most of the time.

So I made a very short YouTube video on delirium. It’s cast in the style of a coach’s corner because I was one of the many clinicians who won the Excellence in Clinical Coaching Award this year.

I’m honored to be in such distinguished company and congratulate all the winners.