Depression
I don’t look both ways when I cross the street / Sometimes I forget I’m alive / I take a step onto the road
I don’t look both ways when I cross the street / Sometimes I forget I’m alive / I take a step onto the road
Whenever I hear the word “burnout,” I’m reminded of the ugly, oh-so-dark side of being a medical student, the side that hides in the shadows, away from the prestige and privilege that comes with the noble profession. Maybe it seems like I’m exaggerating; I mean, it’s just me jumping to conclusions when I associate the feelings of being overworked with the days where I can’t seem to find the bright side of anything, right?
A very important topic is that of mental health in medical practitioners, notably medical students. According to a study in the Student British Medical Journal, 30% of medical students report having a mental health condition — with a majority of 80% stating the level of available support was poor or only moderately adequate. This column was born from these alarming statistics and aims to stimulate conversation on mental health in medical students, from providing suggestions on how to maintain one’s mental health to discussing the taboo and stigma surrounding conversations on mental health in practitioners and students, and how to eliminate it.
Like poker, medicine has certain rules — patterns of clinical symptoms and lab findings each correlating with a specific spectrum of prognoses that vary in likelihood, the differential diagnosis. Physicians are like seasoned card players, trained to maintain composure and incorporate numerous variables into logical, calculated decisions at what seems like a “dealer’s table” of outcomes. Sometimes, we hedge our bets that the patient will self-resolve, so we elect not to treat; other times, we act conservatively with a battery of tests and pre-emptive therapy.
A fellow student writer recently wrote that she wondered if depression were “just part of life as a medical student.” One of her professors had given a lecture on depression asking students to “think of how many people we knew with the signs of depression listed on his lecture slide” — excluding medical students of course, “because you’ve all got some of these.” There is something so terribly and inherently wrong with that statement.
I have always toyed with the idea that I may have depression. Numerous times I have looked over the various depression diagnoses and their criteria. But then I settle on the idea that my thoughts and emotions and struggle are not severe enough. Everyone experiences sadness. Everyone experiences grief.
Medical schools and hospitals across the nation proudly claim to be “starting a conversation” about mental health in medicine. I could lose the residency of my dreams for taking part in it.
It should be no surprise that when I asked my fellow medical students their suggestions for ways to de-stress, one of the first answers I heard from all of them was: “Yoga.” I should admit that I have always been a bit skeptical of yoga — I enjoyed cardio-based workouts far more. However, after doing some research, I found a study by Bansal et al. which found that medical students in India who did yoga every day for just one month showed significant improvements in both their general and mental wellbeing.
My medical school, Indiana University, is one of the largest in the country with over 300 students in each graduating class. Sadly, each year it seems we lose one of our classmates to suicide. The surprising part? These numbers might be lower than the national average. In the United States, approximately 300 to 400 physicians commit suicide each year. A 2009 study in Academic Medicine reported that 12 percent of medical students had major depression and nearly six percent experienced suicide ideation. To visualize these numbers, in my class alone, statistically, 18 students have experienced suicide ideation and approximately 36 have major depression.
Medical school is a notoriously challenging experience during which students undergo tremendous personal change and professional growth. Though the stressors that come along with this are varied and unique to each student’s context and experience, they may be categorized within a few common themes. Harvard psychiatrist Raymond Laurie has previously described the concept of “role strain” with respect to negotiating relationships with their families, friends, partners, peers, attending physicians and patients. Additionally, with regard to students’ concept of themselves, individuals who have high achievement may be challenged in new ways both intellectually and emotionally.
To me, hitting a tennis ball is a symbol of how we as medical students perceive mental health: we know very well what habits are good for us and which are not. We know that we need eight to nine hours of sleep each night, a healthy diet and regular exercise. We know to engage in positive thinking, to nurture healthy relationships while cutting out toxic ones and to take time to “take care of ourselves” even when we are at our most stressed.
There’s a lot of talk about mindfulness these days — its importance, its effectiveness, the benefits of meditation and even the structural changes in the brain that result from it. (Do you want a less reactive amygdala and increased neuronal density in the hippocampus? Meditate!) It’s one thing to read about the benefits of doing something, but as many know, it’s another thing to actually apply it and understand it. So how can medical students use stress reduction strategies “in the context of the high-stakes, high-stress and time-limited environment of medical school.”