Category: reflections

Kindness Is Still Out There

The other day, Sena and I were talking about growing up in Mason City, Iowa. As kids, both of us were the ones who lugged the groceries home. That was back in the days of paper sacks and, for me and her, food stamps. The food stamp program got started during the Great Depression. The goal was to keep people from starving and farmers from going under. In other words, it was kindness.

Food stamps were a sign of hard times and I don’t think that has changed much, except now I think you get a debit card instead of stamps.

I did grocery shopping at Fareway Store, which got its start in Boone, Iowa. Sena did hers at Grupps Food Center.

When it comes to shopping, I followed what my mother put on a list. I got the items and paid with food stamps. I can’t remember ever coming up short. I think I just gave them the cashier the stamps and they took what was needed to cover the price. I walked to Fareway and then I just walked home carrying two or three paper sacks of groceries. It was about a mile trip up and a mile back. My arms were pretty sore when I got home.

On the other hand, Sena came up short on stamps one day. It was embarrassing enough to have to pay using food stamps. But it was awkward as hell when you didn’t have enough to pay. At that time, the cashier was a guy named Bud Grupp. Bud was Carl Grupp’s son. Carl bought the store in the early 1960s.

Bud counted out the stamps and had to tell Sena that there wasn’t enough. She didn’t know what to say. People were lined up behind her and they could probably tell something was wrong. Bud just said “We’ll put you on credit,” and that was that. He sacked all of the groceries like there was nothing out of the ordinary. Sena didn’t know what was done about the balance on credit, whether it was ever settled or it became just a running bill that never got paid off.

Sena also had to walk home carrying bags of groceries. One winter day during a light snowfall, she dropped all of the bags in the snow. They got wet and all torn up. A woman saw it, came out of her house with some bags and helped Sena get the groceries sacked up again. She got home alright.

About a year ago, Sena was in line waiting to check out groceries. An elderly woman was ahead of her and came up short on money to pay for her few items. She fished in her purse and looked embarrassed and pathetic. Sena was thinking about paying for them herself but just before she could, a guy behind her handed the cashier his credit card and told her he would cover it.

Regardless of what you see in the news, kindness is still out there. Our Christmas cactus is already blooming.

Thankful for Peaceful Fall Days

The other day we took a walk in a different direction on Scott Boulevard. Sometimes the scenery is just as beautiful in the west as it is in the east.

There were three trees turning a bright red. Maybe there were maples. The birch trees are pretty any time of the year, but for some reason they’re majestic in the fall.

I don’t know what kind of birds those were soaring in the sky, but they were magical.

Autumn Walking Colors

Sena got some new pants with an autumn leaves print. It fit really well with the colors we saw on a walk down Scott Boulevard.

We always see something a little different along the way. We never noticed that the Sitting Man pedestal has a hole in it shaped like a heart. It could have been chipped into the stone intentionally.

There was a lot of golden rod but we didn’t see any ragweed—which I’m very allergic to this time of year.

The trees around the Harvest Preserve property are changing colors. The old barn across the street from it looks a little more weathered. We don’t know whether the staff will decorate it into a haunted house again for Halloween. They did that last year and it was a hoot.

The walk up the hill to the Sitting Man seemed a little steeper this year. I don’t remember exactly when I got so bow-legged. A runner easily ran up the hill and still had breath to say “Hi” on the way back down. He never missed a step, even though I personally know there are a lot of irregularities in the ground.

Get your walking pants on.

Autumn Miracles

We saw the miracles of autumn the other day, out on the Terry Trueblood Recreation Area. It was quiet, only a light breeze set the flowers and grasses swaying.

There were almost no birds out. No ducks were out on Sand Lake.

On the other hand, I guess there were birds, sort of. We greeted other walkers, an older couple who turned out to be snowbirds. They’ll be heading to Florida soon for the winter. They had no worries about the weather down there. They’ll be in the middle of the state, presumably far away from storm surges. They stay in an RV park over the winter months. It’s not far from a place called The Villages, which is a famous planned retirement community, which got a reputation for being a haven for older but wilder swingers. They have a very large Homeowners Association (HOA), which is sort of a very large and expensive Disney World for older retirees. It’s often called a golf cart community because that’s how most residents get around the place. While there are no HOA fees per se, there is a community development district fee of around $120-220 a month. Dave Barry wrote a chapter about The Villages in his book “Best State Ever: A Florida Man Defends His Homeland.” I told the couple about Dave Barry’s take on The Villages. I don’t think they ever heard of him. They’re excited about returning to the RV park soon.

I was a little alarmed by a loud voice, calling out like a policeman, “Get on the ground!” I looked up ahead and didn’t see a policeman. But occasionally, we heard the barking order, “Get on the ground!” Eventually we saw a young man on a walk, apparently under someone’s supervision. This was the man who was yelling “Get on the ground!” He greeted us politely. As he passed by, every so often he blurted out, “Get on the ground!” I wondered if he might be someone with a form of Tourette’s Disorder, compelled to blurt out something every few minutes. The supervisor was walking side by side with a man who seemed uncomfortable, holding his hands up to his eyes which appeared sunken in the sockets. He made no sound at all. I wondered if, peaceful as we thought the day was, whether he found it difficult to bear what might have been a sensory storm for him. The supervisor was polite to us and paid close attention to the other two men.

Mostly we watched the breeze blowing the grasses and the flowers–and were grateful.

Thoughts on Jack Trice

I was outside doing yard work the day before yesterday and my neighbor across the street walked over to say hello. We got to talking about sports and football came up. His wife stopped watching football because it was so violent—but then switched to watching hockey. He wondered when the Iowa Hawkeye vs Penn State game was going to be on. No, I’m not going to discuss that any further.

Anyway, that led to my mentioning how brutal college football was back in 1923 when Jack Trice, Iowa State University’s first black athlete was killed on the field during a game with the University of Minnesota. My neighbor was incredulous. He’s in his 80’s and he’s never heard the story.

In fact, I had just learned about the whole Jack Trice story and commemoration event in his honor the day before that, only because Sena told me about it.

All this year long there has been a 100-year anniversary commemoration of Jack Trice, Iowa State University’s first African-American athlete. The program will culminate on October 8, 2023 with the closing ceremony.

Football was a rough game in that era—but rougher still because Trice was black. Many believe his injuries were deliberately and maliciously inflicted because of his race. It’s more than plausible. In 1997, the football stadium was renamed Jack Trice Stadium. It’s the only major college football stadium named for an African-American.

Sena and I moved to Ames in 1981 so that I could enroll in Iowa State University. I was so immersed in my studies that I never gave a thought to Jack Trice. I don’t remember the football field being named Jack Trice Field in 1984.

As I looked through the commemoration website, I wondered how it was possible for me to have ignored the story of Jack Trice while I was there.

I think it’s for the same reason I never knew anything about James Alan McPherson, the first African American to win the Pulitzer Prize for fiction and who was teaching at the Iowa Writers Workshop during the entire time I was in medical school, residency and a faculty member at The University of Iowa Hospitals & Clinics.

I was working hard. I finally found out about McPherson after reading a news item about a neighborhood park being named after him in 2021.

I should pay more attention. Anyway, Iowa State University did a tremendous job putting this commemoration event together.

Stop Me If You Heard This One Before

I saw one of my favorite X-Files episodes the other night. It’s titled “Monday.” Mulder goes through the day repetitively doing the same things, including fumbling his chance to thwart a bank robber who blows up the bank and everyone in it, including Mulder. See the Wikipedia for a full spoiler alert but I’m going to spill the beans here anyway.

A lot of people think the idea was stolen from the movie “Groundhog Day,” which I’ve never seen. Actually, it was stolen from a Twilight Zone episode called “Shadow Play,” which I have seen.

“Monday” got good reviews overall, which is saying a lot. I never got the part about how a bank robber (Bernard) who can only land a job mopping floors would be smart enough to build a bomb jacket.

That said, the scenes are mostly everybody going through the day doing the same things over and over. Mulder and Scully both meet Bernard and his girlfriend Pam, who was always waiting outside in the getaway car and is the only one who remembers what has happened each and every time, which is about 50. Pam thinks Mulder is the key to disrupting the endless cycle. She has been trying to get Mulder to change what he does every time he walks in the bank just to cash a check and interrupts Bernard in the process of robbing the bank.

Mulder never gets it right away, but does wonder aloud that he’s getting a sense of déjà vu. Déjà vu is the sense that an experience is something you had before but could not have. The medial temporal cortex triggers the false memory and, normally, the frontal lobe says, “No, this is not a memory.”

Eventually, Mulder gets the idea of repeating to himself over and over that Bernard has a bomb and changes his approach by giving his gun to Bernard and telling him he knows he has a bomb. This approach is based on the assumption Bernard will walk out without setting off the bomb because Mulder will let him go without trying to arrest him.

Then, Scully brings Pam into the bank, and Bernard almost surrenders to Mulder, until he hears police sirens—and tries to shoot Mulder but instead kills Pam because she steps into the path of the bullet. He gives up and doesn’t set off the bomb. Pam changed the ending and notices just before she dies that it never happened in any of the previous enactments.

There’s the brain-based definition of déjà vu and then there’s a more mundane definition, both of which are in the Merriam-Webster dictionary on the web. The mundane definition is “something overly or unpleasantly familiar,” mainly about situations that happen repeatedly (“here we go again”).

We all recognize the second definition. We sometimes say or do something which we would not if we just recognized that it’ll trigger a pattern of events we would like to avoid. Something has to change in order to interrupt the pattern.

Psychiatrists and psychotherapists are usually experts in helping people change repetitive, maladaptive patterns of thought and behavior.

Medications can be helpful, for example in the repetitious thoughts and behaviors of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Some cases of that may respond better to a combination of psychotherapy and medication.

One of the challenges is that there are not enough helpers to help those who need it. Another challenge is that the ones who need help often don’t recognize they need it. That’s called lack of insight.

The cycle of lack of insight and unpleasantly familiar, repetitive patterns sometimes resulting in explosive consequences is ubiquitous in our society.

Can somebody please bring Pam into the consulting room?

This is National Suicide Prevention Week

Thanks to Dr. H. Steven Moffic for his Psychiatric Times article, “A Psychological Autopsy on My Only Patient Who Died by Suicide.” In it he describes his own experience with a patient who committed suicide. He also reminded us that this is National Suicide Prevention Week. It’s also National Suicide Prevention Month.

The quote I’m familiar with about psychiatrists and patients who die by suicide Moffit is by forensic psychiatrist, Robert Simon:

“There are two kinds of psychiatrists—those who have had a patient die by suicide and those who will.”

I have been through that experience. It led me to focus on my role as an educator to psychiatry residents and other trainees to learn as much as I could about the process of suicide risk assessment.

On the other hand, my first experience with someone who died by suicide happened long before I became a psychiatrist. It was in the early 1970s and I was working for a consulting engineer company. I was just a kid, learning on the job to be a drafter and surveyor’s assistant.

One of my teachers was a man I would come to respect a great deal. Lyle was a land survey crew chief and part time photographer. He was gruff, but kind and had a great sense of humor. We all liked him.

He was so tough that, while perched high in a tree and trimming a large branch to enable a line of sight for the instrument man running a theodolite (used to measure vertical and horizontal angles)—he accidentally cut a significant gash in his hand. We on the ground were aghast because blood was dripping from his hand.

He just laughed and said, “I don’t sweat the small stuff.”

One day, he told me and another survey crew member that his girlfriend left him, saying she was tired of picking up after him. He was crying. We felt sorry for him and didn’t know what to say. We never saw him cry before. This image was strikingly different from the tough guy persona he usually had.

As I look back on it, I wondered why he didn’t think the breakup was just more “small stuff.”

The next day, one of the leaders of the company made a short announcement, saying that Lyle had “passed away,” the night before, by suicide. A little later, the rest of the story gradually emerged. Lyle had shot himself in the chest. One of the guys said that it took a long time for him to die, that somebody found him early the next morning, and all Lyle could say was “It hurts.” At first, I thought he meant physical pain. Later, I wondered if he meant physical and emotional pain.

About a week later, one of the survey crew members was planning to pick me up and drive us to Lyle’s funeral. He never showed up.

Of course, I could not have foreseen Lyle’s suicide based on his being so upset about a breakup with his girlfriend. I was just a kid.

When I became a psychiatrist, I saw this quite a lot. I learned, a few times the hard way, how to make the best judgments I could about what might happen to a patient describing physical and emotional pain.

22nd Anniversary Commemoration of 9/11 Attacks

The 22nd Anniversary Commemoration of the 9/11 attacks and the 1993 World Trade Center will be observed today.

I remember where I was on September 9, 2001. I was climbing the stairs at the hospital on my way back to my office. I was on duty on the psychiatry consultation service. I happened to glance at the television in the lobby from the landing. A news story was showing one of the Twin Towers on fire.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. The rest of the day there was talk of the attack on America.

We visited New York City in 2017 and viewed the Memorial & Museum Plaza. We saw the Survivor Tree, the Callery Pear.

It seems like there is almost nothing else to remember about the date except the disaster and the tragedy.

But one of the local fire stations not far from our house has a Flag of Honor on the wall. It honors those killed in the terrorist attacks on 9/11.

Even if we can’t go to the Memorial in New York City, we can remember it and honor the brave.

Should Doctors Be Funny?

I ran across an interesting Medscape article, “Should Doctors Be Funnier? These MDs Are Real Comedians.” I don’t know if they should be funny, but it probably wouldn’t hurt.

I think a sense of humor is a good thing for anyone to have and it’s probably not that hard to develop. There’s even a Wikihow article on how to develop a sense of humor.

I usually look for the funny edge in most things that happen to me. I was always very nervous about presenting Grand Rounds when I was on staff at the hospital. I would try to come up with a good case example illustrating both medical and psychiatric features. It was pretty challenging.

I often used humor to help me get through my stage fright. I didn’t tell jokes, but I did clown around a bit. One day, I arrived too early for the Psychiatry Dept. Grand Rounds and accidentally walked in on another scheduled event in the conference room that was obviously not for psychiatrists—only not immediately obvious to me. I got a few chuckles from the audience just from having to back out. Later, during the real Grand Rounds I clowned about my mistake as a sort of opener to my presentation.

Unfortunately, I then had to stumble through my PowerPoint slides (every presenter’s worst nightmare) because I evidently had not organized them correctly. I survived by joking about it. That resulted in a digital award from the residents for being “Improviser of the Year.”

Humor can get you through some pretty sticky situations.

Another Blast from the Past

Today is Labor Day, and I was looking at some of my old blog posts from my previous blog The Practical Psychosomaticist. I found one that I think I haven’t reposted on my current blog called “Going from Plan to Dirt.”

It’s a funny post, at least I think so. It draws a comparison between blue collar and white collar work, similar to what I did the other day (“Why Can’t I Wear Blue After Labor Day?”).

I wrote it in 2011, when I was on a hospital committee to improve detection and prevention of delirium in the general hospital.

“Our work on the Delirium Early Detection and Prevention Project reminds me of my early formative experiences working as a draftsman and land survey technician starting in 1971 with an engineering company, Wallace Holland Kastler Schmitz & Co. (WHKS & Co.) in Mason City, Iowa. I remember being amazed at how a drawing on paper could be turned into a city street, highway, bridge, or airport runway. They have a website now. I can now find written there what was modeled for me then:

“WHKS & Co. is committed to the continuous improvement of the quality of service provided to our clients.”

Then and now WHKS & Co. worked hard to create the infrastructure that we depend on and then put it into the world in a “safe, functional, and sustainable” way. Out in the field we sometimes joked about how a designer’s drawing was flawed if we couldn’t go from plan to dirt.

It’s common to believe that engineers and land surveyors deal with complex mathematical formulas, structural materials, things instead of people—an applied science in which the emotions and motivations of people play a small role. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I was 16 years old when WHKS & Co. hired me. I had no idea what engineers and land surveyors did, had no experience, and I was at a crossroads in my life. They didn’t hire me because I had any talent or asset they needed. They hired me because they were as committed to the people in the community, not just to things.

And if you think land surveying doesn’t have anything to do with people’s emotions, consider property line disputes. The survey crew I was attached to had been sent out to find the property corners of two neighbors. This involves locating iron pins that mark the corners of the lots that houses sit on. Little maps or “plats” are used as guides and let me tell you, often enough we found the map is not the territory.

Anyway, while we were out there in the back yard of one of the neighbors, they both came outside. One of them was a diminutive elderly lady and the other was a tall, big-boned elderly man. They started arguing about the boundaries of their lots and it got pretty heated. Pretty soon they were yelling in each other’s faces and the lady reached down in the garden in which we were all standing. She picked up the biggest, juiciest rotten tomato she could find and it was clear to us what she planned to do with it. They were both pretty old and neither one of them could move very fast. My crew chief, sensing that something violent was about to happen, moved in between them (a decision I still can’t fathom to this day).

What followed seemed to happen in slow motion, in part because the combatants were so old. The man could see the lady was about to hurl the rotten tomato at him. Ducking must have been beyond his power, probably because of a stiff back. He bent his knees and leaned forward. She cocked the tomato as far back as she could and let fly, screeching, “You’re nothing but an old Norwegian!” My crew chief probably caught a seed or two. Amazingly, the tomato only grazed the top of the man’s head.

I think the altercation took a lot of both of them. They both went back in their houses after that.

It’s not hard for me to see the connection between my past and the present. WHKS & Co. was and still is committed to continuous improvement. And they were and still are all about finding a practical way to do it. If we’re going to improve the quality of care we provide patients and we propose to do it by preventing delirium, we’re going to have to use the same principles that my first employer used. And we’re going to have to be just as practical about how to go from plan to dirt.

We’re still trying to refine the charter for our delirium detection and prevention project, which is a kind of map, really. And even though the map is not the territory, it’s still a necessary guide to remind us of the goal.”