Monday, December 25, 2023

Coackroach Catcher: Seven Minute Cure-----My favourite Chapter!


King's College, Cambridge. 

Chapter 34  Failure?



I
t is not easy to admit to failures and harder still for doctors to do so especially if they did everything right and according to protocol. 


         Doing the “right” thing is not an indication of success.  

         Hardly.
         Yes. I am coming back to Anorexia Nervosa again and I do not apologise for it. I am apologising for our failures though.

         
        
         When I took over the adolescent unit as its consultant in charge there were six Anorexia Nervosa patients in varying stages of emaciation or weight gain depending on from which side you want to look at it.  It is not always wise to have so many anorectic patients together as they do share tricks with each other and it is often more difficult to customise treatment.

         What needed my urgent attention was of course Sammy. Sammy had a very feminine name but preferred the nickname Sammy. Sammy’s Section was due to expire in less than 14 days and I had to compile a report for the Tribunal which would be sitting to decide on her fate.

         It was perhaps a sign of our failure as psychiatrists to effectively treat Anorexia Nervosa that eventually case law was established to regard food in Anorexia Nervosa as medicine.  Therefore food may be used forcibly to treat Anorexia Nervosa when the condition becomes life threatening. 

         The usual test of mental capacity no longer applies. Instead the law is used forcibly to feed a generally bright and intelligent person “over-doing” what most consider to be “good”.  They try to eat less and eat healthily by avoiding fat and the like and wham we have the law on them.

         I have to admit that I have not liked this aspect of Sectioning. Unfortunately it is used often, judging by the high numbers of tube fed patients.

         On the other hand not everybody is able to treat Anorexia Nervosa patients or, in reality, do battle with them. It requires experience, energy, time, wit, charisma and often impeccable timing. However, sometimes I do wonder if we are indeed doing a disservice when we take things out of parents’ hands by agreeing to take over.

         With hindsight and upon reflecting on a number of cases I have dealt with, I often wonder: if hospitalisation had not been an option at all, would improvement rate and, more importantly, mortality rate have been any different.

         We do not section people for smoking, drinking, or doing drugs, which all endanger life. Nor do we stop people running the Marathon or eating raw oysters when these activities regularly lead to mortalities.

         Society is coming round to do something about over-eating in children but it will take some time before they apply the Mental Health Acts. 

         To me, the moment a psychiatrist turns to the law he is admitting that he has failed. 

         At least that is my view and if I perpetuated the Compulsory Order with Sammy, I too would be part of that failure.

         There had been no weight gain in Sammy despite the tube feeding and the debate was: shall we increase the feed or shall we wait? Everybody just assumed that she would stay on as a compulsory patient.

         Despite bed rests and even more embarrassingly the use of bedpans, many Anorexia Nervosa patients managed not to gain weight whatever we pumped into them. The balanced feeds were in fact quite expensive. There was no secret that they were aware of the exercises they could perform even on bed rest and the determination not to put on weight had to be seen to be believed. If such determination was applied elsewhere I was sure these young girls could be very successful.

         I had to find an answer, an answer for Sammy and an answer for myself.

         Being forced to eat by the State remained the treatment of choice for everybody except for one stubborn consultant.

         “At least we did all we could,” my staff constantly reminded me.
         “And she is the most determined of all the Anorectics we have right now.”
         More reason to show the others that this new psychiatrist had some other means than brute force, I thought to myself. 

         Yes, I could be as determined as they were.

         The hours of family therapy only brought about accusations and counter accusations with hardly any resolution. Middle class families have certain ways of dealing with things where some branches of family therapy are not particularly good at all.

         The modern trend is certainly moving away from blaming families.  Or that is the rhetoric of most who write publicly about it.

         Whatever the official line, families cannot help feeling blamed.

         “If we are not to blame, why do we need family therapy?”

         “There are so many other families like ours.  Why do they not have the same problem?”

         We may reassure them that there are and that is the truth, but the truth is that there are also Anorexia-free families.

         Yes, it might help if they do find a gene like they did with obesity.  Yet that cannot explain why there are more extremely obese people in say the U.S. which collects gene pools from across the globe.

         So Sammy’s family had the full benefit of eight sessions of family therapy by two very experienced therapists. In the end, there was just a lot of recrimination between all parties including the therapists and all agreed it would not be the way forward. That was when tube-feeding started.

         Minuchin[3] dealt with over-involvement, over-protectiveness and conflict avoidance in these families with no special apology on whether he blamed the family or not. He used to start with a meal session with the family. His success, like many such methods, probably had more to do with his charisma than his method and is thus difficult to replicate.

         For Sammy and her family the message was simple and clear enough, no matter how hard we lied.

         The family had failed and the hospital had to take over.

         That was the blunt truth. 

         But the hospital had failed too and we had to resort to the Mental Health Act on one of society’s most sensible and decent and safest citizens. 

         I decided enough was enough. I could no longer perpetuate the no-blame approach. I could no longer continue to hide behind the power conferred onto me by the law. 

         In short, I had to reverse just about everything that had gone on before, and more.

         Just two weeks before the tribunal sat we had the big review meeting. To most at the unit, the review was fairly routine as there was hardly any choice – a full Section for Hospital Treatment primarily intended for difficult to treat Schizophrenics and difficult to control Bipolars in the acute manic phase. Sammy would be “detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure”, and classed with the likes of the few psychotics who had committed the most heinous murders. To save Sammy’s life, it would be natural to continue with the Mental Health Act.

         Yes there would be weeks of tube feeding and bed rest, but the State had to take over the complete care of this bright young thing for her own sake.

         I could not see any other way either.

         Unless …….I could reverse everything that had gone on before.  

         If our work is to be therapeutic then a sort of therapeutic alliance is important, even if tentative.  Some people do not realise that you can fight with your patient and still have a sort of therapeutic alliance.

         I had a plan.

         These meetings were attended by just about everybody who had anything to do with the patient.  They were held at school times so that most of the teaching staff could be present as well. These meetings also had a tendency to drag on as everybody seemed to have a lot to say about very little, a trait not just limited to psychiatrists but also seen in social workers, therapists, nurses, junior grade doctors, teachers and visiting professionals. People always seemed to have a lot to say on cases where there was the least progress. 

         My personal view is that this was a sure sign of anarchy which had unfortunately drifted into our Health Service, encouraged in part by the numerous re-organisations that had gradually eroded the authority of the doctor. 

         Saul Wurman[4], an architect by training but also an author of business and tour books, famously wrote that meetings really do not always need to be an hour long. Why can it not be ten or twenty minutes?

         Could I achieve that?

         After briefly explaining to all the purpose of the meeting, I turned to Sammy, who still had the nasal feeding tube “Micropore’d[5]” securely and said, “What do you think?”

         “It is so unfair.  Now I shall not be able to go to Harvard.”

         It is generally perceived as a given that a U.K. citizen who has been Sectioned will not be able to use the Visa Waiver to visit the U.S. If that person then has to apply for a Visa, having been detained under the Mental Health Act must be a major hindrance, although I have never seen this applied in practice. One of my patients did have to cancel a horse trial trip to Kentucky because she was sectioned at the height of a manic episode.

         I did not know she had aspirations to get to Harvard but I was not surprised given what I already knew about mother.

         “Before I say anything else, can I ask you a few things?”
         “What? Sure!”
         “Do you smoke, drink, take Ecstasy or go out clubbing?”
         “No.  Why?”
         “Do you have piercings and tattoos on you?”
         “Tattoos—yuk!  Yes, I having my ears pierced. That is all.”
         “Do you like Pop music?”
         “No way. I play the violin and I like Bach and Bartok!”
         Everybody was attentive now.
         “Do you shoot heroin or smoke Cannabis?”
         “No way!”
         She was getting annoyed.
         “What about boys and sex?” I felt bad even to ask especially in front of her mother, who I thought would faint if we knew something she did not.
         “How can you even ask and in front of my parents? You know I don’t do things like that!”

         I can remember my own adolescence. I did not do any of those things either and I did not even have pierced ears.

         I then turned to the parents.  Mother was a history teacher at a famous private school in one of England’s most middle class town. She also spent a year at Harvard, hence Sammy’s ambition to follow her. Father was a prominent city lawyer.

         “You have always provided well for her, a good education, European and U.S. holidays, a comfortable home and expensive music lessons.”

         “We are fortunate enough to be able to do that. She is our only child.” Mother replied in a tone implying, “what’s wrong with that?”

         “And she has always been a bright child, strong willed and single minded. She passed her Grade 8 violin with distinction at 14 and could have become a musician. But she wanted to do International Studies.” Mother added.

         “So she always had her way.”
         “She has always got on with everything, studying and practising the violin. And she keeps a tidy bedroom!”
         A tidy bedroom! My goodness, everything was falling into place.
         “Sammy……”
         “Yes……”

         “You know what? You are the first adolescent I know that keeps a tidy bedroom, do not do drugs, do not drink, do not smoke and you do not do a load of other things I asked you about. You are by modern standards a FAILED adolescent!”
         Then I turned to the parents.
         “And you, FAILED parents!”
         “And we FAILED you. We failed you because we had to hide behind the law and force fed you.”
         Sammy said, “I can’t do all those things even if you make me.”
         Ah, the turning point.
         “No, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want you to either.”
         I then told her that I would like to take the tube off her despite lack of progress, or because of it.
         It simply had not worked.
         I wanted her to take over, do what she needed to do and I would decide in about ten days if I had to extend the Treatment Order.
         Forty five minutes. The meeting took forty five minutes as people had to present summaries of different reports, the details of which were irrelevant here.
         The battle was over. Sammy looked relaxed. Nobody was fighting her now. She was back in control.
         I took her off the Section as she started to put on weight and before long she was discharged. 

         We forget how easy it is to entrench. To entrench is a sure way to perpetuate a problem.

P.S. She got into King's College, Cambridge.






2 Comments from an earlier post!

1 – 2 of 2
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Did she get to Harvard/do something else she wanted to do? Do you get to find out what your patients do after you've sorted them/fattened them up or do you just have to imagine what happens to them afterwards?

I've had a whole series of psychiatrists over a space of half a century and most mean little or nothing to me, but there's one I'd love to track down and tell how much he helped me and how I'm getting on now, except that it might look a bit like obsessiveness or stalking or something so I don't.

June 21, 2012 at 1:40 PM

Blogger Cockroach Catcher said...

I have with my cases felt that my patients should not be fighting with me if they are fighting. A good therapeutic alliance could be formed in a number of ways and I am sure you will agree with me that Anorectics have much stronger will powers than most psychiatrists. Fattening was indeed not my aim but society is very strange in not sectioning people that over eat, or smoke or run the Marathon etc. etc.

I suppose it is not revealing too much to say she went to one of the two top Universities this side of the Atlantic.

I am very fond of my patients and I think they, me.

Thanks for writing.

June 21, 2012 at 5:48 PM

Wednesday, November 29, 2023

Cockroach Catcher: Seven Minute Cure: Who is the real patient?

 



       Catherine, aged fourteen, had not attended school for some time and all attempts by the school authority and educational psychologist failed to get her back to school. This was a pity as Catherine was really university material.

       She had eleven older brothers and sisters. Two older sisters were married.  One of them had a little baby of ten months. The other had two children at school. The youngest of the brothers attended a public school (i.e. an English private school) on a scholarship, and with financial assistance from the older siblings.

       After an initial visit by the social worker, the team decided to approach the case in a family therapy sort of way – big family therapy in every sense of the word.

       At that time, family therapy was a relatively new development and had probably grown out of some group therapy principles. One of the first courses was established at the Group Therapy Institute in London when I was still at the Tavistock. Little did I know then that it was history in the making. Of the people I was with then, either teachers or co-trainees, many have become prominent practitioners in the field.

       Even the rather adventurous social worker was feeling a bit dubious.  “Do you belong to the school that insists on everybody in the family attending?”  She asked, hoping I would be a bit eclectic about it.

       “Let’s try and get everybody at least for the first session.”

       “I will do my best,” she promised.

       Good old Miss Kimble. She always got things done.

       As some of the family were working, the session had to be organised for the evening.   There is so much mystique attached to our kind of work that families often oblige without asking too many questions, at least at the early stage.

       One of the older unmarried sisters took it upon herself to organise the meeting. The main one that caused some problem was the oldest brother who was a long distance lorry driver going all over Europe.  The meeting needed to be on one of those nights when he was back from his delivery tour. The brother at the public school had a cricket match and he was apparently one of their best bowlers. One of the other brothers agreed to go to the match and bring him to the meeting as soon as the match was over.  The sister with the baby would have to bring the little one but the older children would look after her at the meeting.

       I told them that they could all join in.

       Luckily with so many children the family had a reasonable sized council house and the family room was fairly long.  They moved the dining chairs through to provide seating for everybody.

       The scene was set. We just had to deliver the goods.

       “We have come this far.  We just have to do it,” I told Miss Kimble.  She probably had more faith in me than I had in myself.

       Father looked after the parks and gardens for the council and had been with them since leaving school. Mother had not worked outside of home since the first child was born. She used to work in the Council Offices and that was where she met her husband.

       All the unmarried children who had left school had jobs except for the one who organised the meeting. She was in fact the eldest sister. All hope was on the boy and Catherine, except now Catherine was not going to school and had not been for nearly a year.  Two of the sisters worked in an insurance company, which was a very important local employer. Three boys worked for the Parks and Gardens department. One girl was a life guard at the local public Sports Complex that just opened and one boy looked after the gymnasium. The parents had done well and you could see that it was a very close knit and caring family.

       Only the truck driver was absent. We chatted and waited. The baby in the meantime was crawling in the middle with the two older children fussing over her. Catherine sat close to mother and now and again would hold her hand. I was not too sure who was comforting whom but then family therapy was about observing the family interactions.

       Cricket boy was busy devouring a plate of food mum left for him as he missed his school dinner.

       Others were exchanging various gossips about boyfriends and girlfriends.

       I thought that this was fun but there was also a lot to take in. The traditional approach would have allowed one to be more focused but it would probably have taken a long time to get to where we wanted to get to quickly.

       When I heard air brakes, I knew that big brother had arrived. Everybody else knew as well. Swiftly Catherine let go of mum’s hand and went to the door.  One of the other sisters had the plate that had been kept warm in the oven set in a tray complete with a big can of beer.  I declined the offer of beer as I was working.

       Big brother was quite a big fellow but was friendly enough as he shook hands with me. After a few bites and some gulps of beer he turned to me and said, “We are all here now. What is this about?”

       To this challenge, I explained in a very simple fashion why I wanted to see the whole family. I went on to use what I had since described to my juniors as a journalistic approach to history taking, as distinct from the traditional topic-by-topic approach. With the journalistic mantra – Who?  What?  When? Where?  Why? How? – the patient or the family would just enter the conversation barely aware that you were taking a history. To keep focused, you do need to have clearly in your own mind the information you are seeking.

       If you are not experienced, you can follow a printed questionnaire and take three hours of history but you will just end up with loads of seemingly unrelated information.

       With my favoured journalistic approach you follow leads.  The whole session becomes more integrated and it is easier for patients and families as you are not likely to appear to be jumping from one thing to another. It also comes across as more professional.

       One thing led to another and my break came when one of the boys let slip that he remembered mother going into hospital after Catherine was born and big sister gave up a good job at the insurance company to stay home to look after the rest of them.

       Mother was in the local mental hospital a



nd had electrical shock treatment.

       Mother started crying and big brother was rather upset and asked me what relevance this had except to upset mum.

       At this point, the little baby who had been crawling around stopped in her track and crawled to Grandma and started touching one of her slippers. She started crying too.

       I have my own theory that even before acquiring language, babies are able to retain emotional memory of early experiences. Later on in life it becomes difficult to grasp the source of the upset as there are no words to describe such emotional experiences. Traumas in early life have diffused effects; those happening later on in life are more focused and perhaps easier to deal with.

       One famous psychiatrist once talked about his own experience of his mother’s depression. He talked about having images of a wooden arm and it was through years of psychoanalysis that he reconstructed the whole image of his very depressed mother who had a rather catatonic posture in the deepest depth of her depression. He could remember himself as a toddler running into the house after play to be met with the wooden arm, sharply quietening down and then backing off. It was a rather moving seminar he gave at one of the conferences and a rare occasion when a British psychiatrist talked about psychoanalysis.

       Back with the big family – all went rather quiet. A couple of the girls were sobbing. Catherine tried to comfort mum who said she knew it was all her fault. The eldest brother thanked me for making things clear for him.

       All were relieved to hear that I would not be forcing Catherine back to school and that mother would not be prosecuted.

       All agreed that Catherine would be wasting her brains if she did not have some form of education and I explained that I would be looking into alternatives.

       Miss Kimble told me later that I was lucky to have that break and that it was a good job the baby was there.

       It was uncanny that in my thirty plus years of experience, over half of the children who had problems attending school in a big way had mothers who had serious puerperal (post-natal) depression.  Was the school refusal a clinical manifestation of genetically transmitted depression, or was it the psychological effect of living with a depressed mother? I really do not know.

       Catherine never managed to return to “proper” school but with a fair bit of individual therapy we managed to get her to attend a tutorial unit. This we achieved by getting mother to find some part time work. Big sister too started working part time.

       It was daunting for me to think that a single family session brought about so much change, but then I was reminded that the strength was with the family – we just tried to tap it.

       Catherine had good exam results on the limited subjects she could sit but was immediately offered a trainee post at the insurance company.

       Years later I bumped into one of the older sisters at the Sports Centre.  She thanked me again for what I did for the family and told me that everybody was fine.

       I told her I was scared by the lot of them especially her big brother. She told me I did all right. Catherine was his favourite sister.

       I cannot remember seeing another big family since and with the disintegration of families it became increasingly difficult to do that type of family work.

The Cockroach Catcher II: Attempted Living


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Cockroach Catcher-Seven Minute Cure