In my mail yesterday was an invitation to an upcoming 6-hour seminar on the topic of “Trauma, Addiction, and Grief.” The course description included topics such as “models of addiction and trauma/information processing” and using these models to plan treatment; recognizing “masked grief reactions” and manifestations of trauma in clients; and applying several psychotherapeutic techniques to help a patient through addiction and trauma recovery.
Sound relevant? To any psychiatrist dealing with issues of addiction, trauma, grief, anxiety, and mood—which is pretty much all of us—and interested in integrative treatments for the above, this would seem to be an entirely valid topic to learn. And, I was pleased to learn that the program offers “continuing education” credit, too.
But upon reading the fine print, credit is not available for psychiatrists. Instead, you can get credit if you’re one the following mental health workers: counselor, social worker, MFT, psychologist, addiction counselor, alcoholism & drug abuse counselor, chaplain/clergy, nurse, nurse practitioner, nurse specialist, or someone seeking “certification in thanatology” (whatever that is). But not a psychiatrist. In other words, psychiatrists need not apply.
Well, okay, that’s not entirely correct, psychiatrists can certainly attend, and–particularly if the program is a good one—my guess is that they would clearly benefit from it. They just won’t get credit for it.
It’s not the first time I’ve encountered this. Why do I think this is a big deal? Well, in all of medicine, “continuing medical education” credit, or CME, is a rough guide to what’s important in one’s specialty. In psychiatry, the vast majority of available CME credit is in psychopharmacology. (As it turns out, in the same batch of mail, I received two “throwaway” journals which contained offers of free CME credits for reading articles about treating metabolic syndrome in patients on antipsychotics, and managing sexual side effects of antidepressants.) Some of the most popular upcoming CME events are the Harvard Psychopharmacology Master Class and the annual Nevada Psychopharmacology Update. And, of course, the NEI Global Congress in October is a can’t-miss event. Far more psychiatrists will attend these conferences than a day-long seminar on “trauma, addiction, and grief.” But which will have the most beneficial impact on patients?
To me, a more important question is, which will have the most beneficial impact on the future of the psychiatrist? H. Steven Moffic, MD, recently wrote an editorial in Psychiatric Times in which he complained openly that the classical “territory” of the psychiatrist—diagnosis of mental disorder, psychotherapy, and psychopharmacology—have been increasingly ceded to others. Well, this is a perfect example. A seminar whose content is probably entirely applicable to most psychiatric patients, being marketed primarily to non-psychiatrists.
I’ve always maintained—on this blog and in my professional life—that psychiatrists should be just as (if not more) concerned about the psychological, cultural, and social aspects of their patients and their experience as in their proper psychopharmacological management. It’s also just good common sense, especially when viewed from the patient’s perspective. But if psychiatrists (and our leadership) don’t advocate for the importance of this type of experience, then of course others will do this work, instead of us. We’re making ourselves irrelevant.
I’m currently experiencing this irony in my own personal life. I’m studying for the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology certification exam (the “psychiatry boards”), while looking for a new job at the same time. On the one hand, while studying for the test I’m being forced to refresh my knowledge of human development, the history of psychiatry, the theory and practice of psychotherapy, the cognitive and psychological foundations of axis I disorders, theories of personality, and many other topics. That’s the “core” subject matter of psychiatry, which is (appropriately) what I’ll be tested on. Simultaneously, however, the majority of the jobs I’m finding require none of that. I feel like I’m being hired instead for my prescription pad.
Psychiatry, as the study of human experience and the treatment of a vast range of human suffering, can still be a fascinating field, and one that can offer so much more to patients. To be a psychiatrist in this classic sense of the word, it seems more and more like one has to blaze an independent trail: obtain one’s own specialized training, recruit patients outside of the conventional means, and—unless one wishes to live on a relatively miserly income—charge cash. And because no one seriously promotes this version of psychiatry, this individual is rapidly becoming an endangered species.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and my profession’s leadership will advocate more for psychiatrists to be better trained in (and better paid for) psychotherapy, or, at the very least, encourage educators and continuing education providers to emphasize this aspect of our training as equally relevant. But as long as rank-and-file psychiatrists sit back and accept that our primary responsibility is to diagnose and medicate, and rabidly defend that turf at the expense of all else, then perhaps we deserve the fate that we’re creating for ourselves.