Insel of NIMH Misses the Mark: Medication as Social Control

Tom Insel, director of the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH,) in his recent blog post Are Children Overmedicated? seems to suggest that perhaps more psychiatric medication is in order. Comparing mental illness in children to food allergies, he dismisses the "usual" explanations given for the increase prescribing of medication.  In his view these explanations are; blaming psychiatrists who are too busy to provide therapy, parents who are too busy to provide a stable home environment, drug companies for marketing their products, and schools for lack of recess.  Concluding that perhaps the explanation for increase in prescribing of psychiatric medication to children is a greater number of children with serious psychiatric illness,  he shows a lack of recognition of the complexity of the situation. 

When a recent New York Times article, that Insel makes reference to, reported on the rise in prescribing of psychiatric medication for toddlers diagnosed with ADHD, with a disproportionate number coming from families of poverty, one clinician remarked that if this is an attempt to medicate social and economic issues, then we have a huge problem. He was on to something.

In conversations with pediatricians (the main prescribers of these medications) and child psychiatrists on the front lines, I find many in a reactive stance. When people feel overwhelmed, they go in to survival mode, with their immediate aim just to get through the day.  They find themselves prescribing medication because they have no other options.

From many I have heard some variation of this statement:  "In light of my inability to address the family dynamics and social-economic circumstances, all I have available is medications to help with the child’s symptoms. I see patients who come from unstable environments, where parents are themselves stressed and overwhelmed. I recognized that a child's “difficult,” “impulsive,” “oppositional” behavior is most often a communication about family, social, and economic stressors that are making a child's family less competent at caring for him. However, I lack the resources or the tools to do anything about these overwhelming issues. I hate that feeling of impotence.  So I use the only tool I have, medication. When I can bear to think about it, I recognized that medication is just shutting off the child's efforts to tell me something – in effect silencing his voice- and that I have become a force for social control."

When that child is in a school setting, with a high student-teacher ratio, perhaps also with teachers who have little experience working with kids from stressed family backgrounds who are struggling with emotional regulation, the pressure to control the child’s behavior increases significantly. It is not simply that schools have reduced unstructured time (though this is a problem as well.) Medication again becomes an agent of social control. Rather than devote the resources to address the underlying issues, we can use the medication, so effective in the short term, to silence the children.

Insel also does not address contemporary research demonstrating the developmental and relational nature of emotional and behavioral problems in children, well known within the discipline of infant mental health. Referring to "biomarkers" he seems to have an idea that one day we may be able to test for mental illness in children with a blood test or a brain scan.   The importance of safe, secure primary caregiving relationships in healthy emotional development is supported by an abundance of research in neuroscience, genetics, and developmental psychology, One cannot treat emotional and behavioral problems in children by treating only the child.

As knowledge about early childhood mental health makes its way in to mainstream health care, there have been calls for universal screening. But if we are using medication as an agent of social control, we need to be very careful not to put the cart before the horse. 

If we do not first have a health care system, and an education system, that has time and space to listen, to support parents, to appreciate the complex interplay of biological vulnerability and environmental stress, to understand the meaning of a child's behavior, what may happen is that the huge numbers of children who screen positive will have no meaningful, relationship-based treatment available (and the medication/talk therapy dichotomy is another oversimplification- there are multiple evidence-based interventions that support parent-child relationships.)  This together with universal preschool has the potential, unless there is significant change, to result in massive numbers of young children silenced by psychiatric medication.

I wonder if Dr. Insel is himself feeling overwhelmed. Perhaps he realizes that the increase in children with emotional and behavioral challenges, as well as medicating of these children, is a symptom of an enormous social problem. That problem is our society's undervaluing of children and parents, our failure to devote resources to support healthy growth and development, described by Elizabeth Young Breuhl as childism, or prejudice against children. He has good reason to feel overwhelmed with this realization, as it makes his task as director of the NIMH exponentially larger. 

Legal marijuana, antidepressants, and the danger of not listening

 A popular blog post Why I Tried to Kill Myself at Penn is making its way around the college-age crowd. The author calls attention a high-stress a culture that does not value listening.

During my sophomore year at Penn, I tried to kill myself by swallowing a bottle of Wellbutrin. I spent 4 days in the hospital.
Penn’s response? – Sending some administrator to see me in the hospital (HUP). The first and only thing that she said was, “Are we going to make this an annual pattern?” because I had been hospitalized the year before. I said “No” and she gave me her business card.
After suicides, everyone laments, “Why didn’t they talk?” Often, we did. People just didn’t want to listen, because in the moment it was easier for everyone if you put on a smile and pretended to be okay.

A parent recently described calling the emergency student support services when she was worried about her son's emotional state during his first semester at college. After a five minute conversation, she was told by the person who responded to her call, " We can make an appointment with the psychiatrist to see if he needs medication."

I thought about these two stories when a study, a survey of 1,829 people being prescribed antidepressants, was released showing a much higher than expected rate of serious psychological side effects:

Over half of people aged 18 to 25 in the study reported suicidal feelings and in the total sample there were large percentages of people suffering from 'sexual difficulties' (62%) and 'feeling emotionally numb' (60%). Percentages for other effects included: 'feeling not like myself' (52%), 'reduction in positive feelings' (42%), 'caring less about others' (39%) and 'withdrawal effects' (55%). However, 82% reported that the drugs had helped alleviate their depression. 

Professor Read concluded: "While the biological side-effects of antidepressants, such as weight gain and nausea, are well documented, psychological and interpersonal issues have been largely ignored or denied. They appear to be alarmingly common."

Psychiatric medication side effects are a double-edged sword. The first, that receives the most, though as indicated by this study insufficient, attention is from the medication itself. But the second, and equally if not more serious, is the way prescribing of psychiatric medication becomes a replacement for listening.

What makes us human is our ability to empathize. Drawing from both Buddhism and psychoanalysis, the "presence of mind" of another person is responsible for therapeutic healing. "Being with," "bearing witness," are other phrases that describe this phenomenon. When we jump to a pill we run the risk of skipping this step. If the medication itself also has psychological side effects, it is not surprising that, in combination with feeling alone and unrecognized, a person might attempt suicide.

Psychiatric medication may be necessary when an individual is unable to function without it. Ideally such a determination is made in the setting of both psychotherapy and other self-regulating activities such as yoga or meditation. But that is not the way these medications are used. Because they can be so effective at eliminating distress in the short term, our fast-paced, quick-fix culture makes them very appealing, almost irresistible.

I decided to include the topic of legalization of marijuana in this post as a kind of cautionary tale. In California cannabis is commonly prescribed to treat anxiety. Psychiatric diagnoses and drug prescribing are often based on symptoms alone, as is well captured in this amusing though disturbing anecdote from a Psychology Today post by psychologist Jonathan Shendler:

During my first week as a psychiatry department faculty member, a fourth-year psychiatry resident—I will call her Gabrielle—staffed a case with me. She gave me some demographic information about her patient (38, White, female) and then proceeded to list the medications she was prescribing. The rest of our conversation went something like this:“What are we treating her for?” "Anxiety." "How do we understand her anxiety?"Gabrielle cocked her head to the side with a blank, non-comprehending look, as though I had spoken a foreign language. I rephrased the question.“What do you think is making your patient anxious?”She cocked her head to the other side. I rephrased again.“What is causing her anxiety?"
Gabrielle thought for a moment and then brightened. “She has Generalized Anxiety Disorder.”“Generalized anxiety disorder is not the cause of her anxiety,” I said. “That is the term we use to describe her anxiety. I am asking you to think about what is making your patient anxious.”She cocked her head again.“What is going on psychologically?”“Psychologically?”
“Yes, psychologically.”There was a pause while Gabrielle processed the question. Finally she said, “I don’t think it’s psychological, I think it’s biological.”

As we are on the cusp of general legalization of marijuana (that I do not oppose) it becomes imperative that psychiatric medications not replace listening. It is essential that we protect time and space for being present, for curiosity, for empathy. Otherwise we are simply offering another way, and one that is not without side effects itself, to devalue the role of human relationships in healing.

ADHD, bipolar disorder and the DSM: A need for uncertainty?

A recent article in the New Republic, provocatively titled “ADHD Does Not Exist,” starts out well enough. The author, a psychiatrist with “over 50 years experience” points to the fact that ADHD describes a collection of symptoms, rather than their underlying cause. Using stimulants to control these symptoms, he argues, is analogous to prescribing pain medication for cardiac chest pain rather than addressing the underlying circulatory problem.  But my antennae went up when he applied his views to a case, and concluded that his patient, a 12-year-old-boy, was misdiagnosed with ADHD, when in fact he had bipolar disorder. My level of alarm rose when he went on to describe his treatment:

In William’s case, the family agreed to try medication first without psychotherapy, to see what kind of impact the pharmaceutical treatment could have. The first medication we tried, an anti-seizure drug commonly prescribed for bipolar disorder, reduced the boy’s mood and behavioral symptoms dramatically but resulted in side effects including upset stomach and dizziness. We started William on lithium, and within two months we found a dosage that worked well for him, reducing his symptoms to very mild levels, with no significant side effects.

There is no mention of developmental history or family relationships. There is no exploration of the context in which these symptoms occur, and certainly no evidence that William’s experience being bounced from medication to medication is being considered.  Dr. Saul in essence replaces one treatment of symptoms without determining the underlying cause with another treatment of symptoms without addressing the underlying cause.

The author points to a strong family history of bipolar disorder to support his diagnosis. Statistics from the National Institute of Mental Health indicate that when a parent or sibling has bipolar disorder, a child is up to six times more likely to develop the illness.

But when it comes to an individual child and family, not only are statistics meaningless, but they may also preclude exploration of the underlying cause of the child’s symptoms. These symptoms are usually due to a complex interplay of biology and environment. Statistics do not speak to the effect of early intervention in decreasing the risk. 

Consider Jacob, a five-year-old boy I saw recently in my behavioral pediatrics practice. He was adopted, and two biological relatives had bipolar disorder. A pediatrician, his adoptive parents and a neurologist suspected that he too had the disorder. But with space and time to hear the story, the following emerged.

Jacob had been an easy baby. Then when he was about two, he experienced a number of significant losses. A foster child with whom he was very close was removed from the home because of behavior problems. Just weeks after his adoptive mother, Alice, learned she was pregnant, her sister died suddenly of a cerebral hemorrhage. Jacob’s maternal grandmother, in the face of the loss of her own daughter, threw herself in to caring for Jacob’s baby sister. 

Jacob’s mother wept in my office as she spoke of her own loss, not only of her sister, but also of her mother who withdrew in the face of her grief. Shortly after these events, Jacob’s behavior problems began in earnest. He became alternatively clingy and aggressive. When I saw the family, no one had slept through the night for a long time.

Jacob might very well have a biological vulnerability to emotional dysregulation inherited from his parents who carried the bipolar label. But multiple losses, subsequent disruptions in attachment relationships, sleep disruption, and other factors had significant roles to play in development of his symptoms. Had he, like William, been prescribed medication for his symptoms, this story, and the meaning of his behavior, would not have been heard. For every child I see in my practice, there is a story, often equally complex, behind the symptoms. 

Rather than offer time and space for the nuances, complexities and uncertainties of human behavior and relationships, the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) paradigm, with its diagnoses of disorders based on symptoms, often followed by prescribing of medication, creates an aura of certainty, as in “you have X and the treatment is Y.” But there is virtually no evidence of any known biological processes corresponding to either ADHD or bipolar disorder (or any other DSM diagnoses, for that matter.) This certainty implied in the giving of a diagnosis and prescribing of medication has a kind of comfort, but also a real danger. There is no room for curiosity, for wonder, for not knowing.  Jacob’s behavior was a form of communication. Giving medication to control his behavior is in effect a silencing of that communication.

A recent New York Times article, “The Dangers of Certainty,” addresses this issue in a very different context. The author describes how he was profoundly influenced by the 1973 BBC documentary series, “The Ascent of Man,” hosted by Dr. Jacob Bronowski. The article describes an episode in which Bronowski discusses Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle.  

Dr. Bronowski’s 11th essay took him to the ancient university city of Göttingen in Germany, to explain the genesis of Werner Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle in the hugely creative milieu that surrounded the physicist Max Born in the 1920s. Dr. Bronowski insisted that the principle of uncertainty was a misnomer, because it gives the impression that in science (and outside of it) we are always uncertain. But this is wrong. Knowledge is precise, but that precision is confined within a certain toleration of uncertainty….Dr. Bronowski thought that the uncertainty principle should therefore be called the principle of tolerance. Pursuing knowledge means accepting uncertainty. ..In the everyday world, we do not just accept a lack of ultimate exactitude with a melancholic shrug, but we constantly employ such inexactitude in our relations with other people. Our relations with others also require a principle of tolerance. We encounter other people across a gray area of negotiation and approximation. Such is the business of listening and the back and forth of conversation and social interaction. 

As he eloquently put it, “Human knowledge is personal and responsible, an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty.”The relationship between humans and nature and humans and other humans can take place only within a certain play of tolerance. Insisting on certainty, by contrast, leads ineluctably to arrogance and dogma based on ignorance.

The episode takes a dark turn when the scene shifts to Auschwitz, where many members of Bonowski’s family were murdered. The article’s author, a professor of philosophy at the New School, offers this interpretation:

The pursuit of scientific knowledge is as personal an act as lifting a paintbrush or writing a poem, and they are both profoundly human. If the human condition is defined by limitedness, then this is a glorious fact because it is a moral limitedness rooted in a faith in the power of the imagination, our sense of responsibility and our acceptance of our fallibility. We always have to acknowledge that we might be mistaken. When we forget that, then we forget ourselves and the worst can happen. 

I can already hear the shouts of outrage that I dare to compare mental health care with Nazism. Having grandparents who survived a concentration camp, I know well that this is a highly fraught subject. But of course that is not what I am doing. I am simply pointing to this article as a beautiful articulation of the value of uncertainty, especially in the context of understanding human behavior.

ADHD: The Role of Curiosity

3-year-old Cara smiles impishly in to the camera.” You see she’s standing on the kitchen table,” her proud yet concerned grandmother, my dental hygienist, Anne, says to me. She explains that Cara was standing on the table because she never listens, and runs away when her mother tries to take her picture.

She knows that I am a pediatrician and “expert” in behavior problems, so, after showing me the picture, as she cleans my teeth she shares with me that her granddaughter might have ADHD. “She won’t sit in the circle with the other kids for the whole story time. They’ve started an evaluation.”

I nod in shared concern while she works on my teeth, and she goes on. She’s known me for many years, so the conversation flows easily. “It’s hard,” she says, “because Mindy (her daughter) just broke up with her boyfriend. “So she’s a single Mom, “ I say after a rinse. “Yes, and she works nights and lets Cara stay up til 11 so she can be with her.” At the next pause I comment, “So Cara must be tired in school. That can lead to problems of attention.” As Cara’s grandmother resumes her work on my mouth, she agrees. Then she goes on to explain that Cara is the youngest in her class of mostly 4-year-olds.  She begins to wonder if all of these things she is telling me might be related to the problems Cara is having in school. Her tone shifts.

“She’s just so engaged and curious,” Anne explains. “Maybe we need to channel that energy and help her to find ways to use it in a positive way.” Then she reflects, “Actually Mindy was like that as a child. She was so smart that she got bored in class and sometimes got in to trouble. But after some struggles during those years she found her way.” She tells me that Mindy is passionate about her work as a neonatal nurse.

During my visit I feel a shift in Anne’s thinking. Simply by talking with me, a captive audience with whom she has a longstanding relationship, she goes from describing her granddaughter in terms of “disorders” and “evaluations” to a stance of curiosity.

As we both stand to schedule our next appointment, Anne again looks at the impish face of her granddaughter, trapped on the kitchen table. She sees the picture, cute as it is, as a kind of sign that things may feel out-of-control for Cara. She even begins to wonder if her daughter is too stressed, and perhaps needs more help from her. Maybe, she says, if Mindy had a bit of time to herself, she could be more patient with Cara. She decides to offer her daughter a day of babysitting.

Recent statistics indicate that diagnosis of ADHD has increased 42% in the past 8 years. 3-year-old Cara might be on her way to joining that statistic. I am hopeful that the system of care will offer space and time to listen to the whole story. When her grandmother was able to wonder about the meaning of that photo, Cara’s communication, in the form of behavior, was understood. Being heard and recognized in this way gives Cara the opportunity to become not another statistic, but instead to develop in to her own true self.

Childhood Anxiety: Treating the "What" Rather Than the "Why"

     

Recently, while studying for my recertification exam as required by the American Board of Pediatrics, using the PREP course offered by the American Academy of Pediatrics, I came across this question:

     A 7-year-old girl is having difficulty establishing relationships with other children despite repeated opportunities to do so. The girl prefers to stay near her mother or her teacher and will avoid other children. She sometimes cries and can be difficult to calm down after being dropped off at school, so her mother frequently remains in the classroom for a few minutes before quietly leaving. On days when morning transitions to school are significantly difficult, her mother will allow her to stay home. Her mother reports that, in preschool, things were worse in that she usually "couldn't" leave her daughter in the classroom. The girl typically speaks little when in public, but she speaks normally when home alone with her mother. She is an only child and the parents are divorced. When the girl spends the weekend at her father’s house, she often expresses worry that something bad is going to happen to her mother. Her mother frequently allows the girl to sleep with her to avoid temper tantrums or nightmares about sleeping alone. Of the following, the BEST next step in this child’s care is  

       A.   Initiate treatment with an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor)
B.   Reassure her mother that her daughter’s problems should resolve without intervention
C.   Refer for neuropsychological evaluation to assess for cognitive impairments
D.   Refer her to a cognitive behavior therapist to work on skills for managing her distress
E.    Refer her to a play therapist to assist the child in recognizing the cause of her distress 

The “correct” answer is D- refer her to a mental health specialist to initiate cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Medication is suggested as a second line of intervention if CBT is not effective. In other words change her behavior, but do not offer opportunity to discover the cause. Play therapy, the only alternative form of therapy suggested, leaves it up to the child and therapist to discover the cause.

What might be the cause of her anxiety? Is her mother depressed? Her father? Is there substance abuse in either parent? Did she observe conflict, perhaps even violence, between her parents in the years preceding their divorce? Is there a family history suggesting a genetic vulnerability for anxiety? Does she have sensory processing challenges that cause her to be overwhelmed in the stimulating classroom? Some combination of all of these?

One child I saw with such symptoms had a mother who lay in bed all day in the wake of a pregnancy loss. This child was terrified that something would happen to her mother while she was in school. 

Perhaps this child’s mother had similar struggles with anxiety as a child. But rather than being met with understanding, she received a slap across the face. She may be terrified that her daughter will suffer as she did. If she is flooded with stress in the face of her daughter’s behavior, she might, without thinking, lash out. Or more likely, as her maternal instinct to protect her child overrides a rage response, she might shut down emotionally. Either way, her child will be alone with these difficult feelings. 

I took care of one child who had been diagnosed with anxiety disorder by her previous pediatrician and came to me to get her prescription refilled. After several hour long visits, some with her alone and some with her mother, I learned that every weekend her father drank heavily, leaving her at the age of eight to care for her two younger brothers.  

Where in the treatment plan recommended by the AAP is there opportunity to uncover such a story? Parents may experience terrible shame about their own behavior. Taking a history, in one visit, that reveals "no psychosocial stressors" is inadequate. Parents share this kind of information when they feel safe. Safety comes in the setting of time and space for nonjudgmental listening.  

One much-cited study compared CBT, SSRI, the two in combination, or placebo. No treatment arm existed for listening to the parent, for discovering the meaning of the behavior.

This child’s behavior is a form of communication. Behavior management, and the close second of medication, serves to silence that communication. When we teach a child skills to manage behavior, the story may be buried, emerging years later, sometimes in the form of serious mental illness. 

When parents can make sense of a child's behavior,  they are in an ideal position to support that child in managing his or her unique vulnerabilities. In a way, parents are best suited to provide a kind of cognitive behavioral therapy. They can help a child to name feelings,  identify provocative situations and develop strategies to manage these experiences.

By bringing in to awareness the way a child's behavior may provoke their own difficult feelings, and in a sense moving these feelings out of the way, parents can be fully emotionally present with a child in a way that supports healthy emotional development.

When a child is young, there is opportunity to offer support for parents and children together and so alter a child’s developmental path. But when, rather than supporting parent-child relationships, we treat the problem as residing exclusively in the child,  such opportunities are missed.

The Time-Out Wars: A Case for Curiosity

Dan Siegel's new book No-Drama Discipline is calling attention to our innate need for connection. In his Time magazine piece provocatively titled Time-Outs Are Hurting Your Child he writes:

The problem is, children have a profound need for connection. Decades of research in attachment demonstrate that particularly in times of distress, we need to be near and be soothed by the people who care for us. But when children lose emotional control, parents often put them in their room or by themselves in the “naughty chair,” meaning that in this moment of emotional distress they have to suffer alone. 

Not surprisingly, his views are causing significant backlash from the pediatric community. This is from the Journal of Developmental and Behavioral Pediatrics

TIME magazine recently highlighted an editorial by Drs. Daniel J. Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson in their parenting section. In it, the authors claim that the time-honored tradition of time-out for discipline may actually be harming our children as a form of traumatizing experience. This has caused a wave of black lash from the behavioral health community, who retort that Drs. Siegel and Payne Bryson's claims are not only unsupported by research, but show a lack of understanding of proper use of time-out.

Extreme views generate publicity and lots of “hits” A more nuanced view is less popular in social media, as evidenced by this wise blog post on Psychology Today that got a meager 25 tweets:

To me, “time-ins” don’t solve it. But the concept does expose a nuance of giving time-outs that we don’t talk about enough. Namely, there’s a massive difference between giving your child a time out in anger and giving your child a time out in a loving, calm way. Too often we apply the technique, but not the spirit of technique. Time-outs are meant to deescalate a volatile situation and to help our children regain control, as much as they are to provide a consequence for unruly behavior.

The essence of Dan Siegel’s point is not to leave a child alone with out-of-control feelings. It is not the time out per se but rather the sense of abandonment that is potentially harmful. I articulate this point in a previous post entitled Never Leave a Child Alone During a Meltdown.

When a child is repeatedly abandoned both physically and emotionally in the middle of a meltdown, that experience in itself may be traumatic. In such a situation frequency and intensity of meltdowns often worsens.

A recent American Academy of Pediatrics document Bringing Out the Best in Your Child makes the important distinction between discipline, which means to teach, and punishment, which is rarely effective in changing behavior in a positive way. For young children, a matter-of-fact time out in the face of biting or hitting can help to teach them that this behavior is unacceptable. The shortcoming of this document is that it is very focused on the behavior, rather than the meaning of the behavior.

Taking time to listen to our child, and to take care of ourselves, is key. Rather than an either-or approach, a stance of wondering, of curiosity, will lead to the answer of “what to do.” We might ask the question, why is my child feeling out-of-control? Is he stressed from fatigue or hunger? Is he responding to tension in the home from marital conflict, a new sibling, or a parent’s new job with long hours? And what about my child’s behavior is provoking such anger, anxiety or some other intense response in me? Is it my fear that he will suffer as I did as a child with similar challenges? Is it my embarrassment, or even worse, shame, that I am not a good parent? Am I feeling alone and abandoned myself, by a spouse or parent, and so unable to tolerate my child’s need for me? When parents feel recognized and understood, they are better able to listen to their child. They are better able to connect with their natural intuition. They know "what to do."

Our ability to find meaning in behavior is essential to our humanity. Listening, being present in a way that supports connection, leads to healthy development. It is not so much about “what to do” as “how to be.” We are a culture of advice and quick fixes. Dr. Siegel's book is rich with important information and ideas. However, perhaps rather than spending precious free time reading another "how-to" parenting guide, taking a walk with a friend or going to a yoga class might be a better use of parents' all-too-limited time for themselves.

ADHD, the aggressive child and the elephant in the room

(Three recent news items lead me to republish a post that predated my Boston.com days. The first is a new study showing that antipsychotics and stimulants can be used together in treatment of aggression associated with ADHD. The second is a recent New York Times article, The Selling of Attention Deficit Disorder, the third an article from today's New York Times: ADHD Experts Re-evaluate Study's Zeal for Drugs. I am hopeful that 2014 will be  a year of radical rethinking about what we now call "ADHD.")

In the Tony award winning play God of Carnage two couples meet in an elegant living room for an ostensibly civilized conversation about the aggressive act of one couple’s child against the other’s. The meeting soon degenerates to reveal the underbelly of conflict in the two marriages. Husband and wife hurl insults, precious items and even themselves with escalating rage. We see, as they attempt in vain to focus on the children’s behavior, the proverbial “elephant in the room.” 

It brought to mind another depiction of the nature of the elephant, presented by the pharmaceutical industry. A recent issue of The Journal of Developmental and Behavioral Pediatrics features prominently a two page ad from Shire, makers of drugs commonly used for treatment of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). A mother and her son sit at the desk of a doctor in a white coat. Behind them is a large elephant draped in a red blanket on which is printed the words, “resentful, defiant, angry.” The ad recommends that these symptoms, in addition to the more common symptoms of inattention and hyperactivity, should be addressed. This is the message: doctors should be treating these symptoms with medication.

From my vantage point of over 20 years of practicing pediatrics, where I sit on the floor, not in a white coat, and play with children, I believe that the play’s depiction of the nature of the elephant is much more accurate and meaningful than that of the pharmaceutical industry. In the play the elephant is the environment of rage and conflict in which the aggression occurs, while in the ad the elephant is the child’s symptom. Consider these two stories from my pediatric practice (with details changed to protect privacy.)

Everything was a battle with six year old Mark. Though I asked both parents to come to the visit, Mom came alone. She was furious.”Tell me what to do to make him listen.” We had a full hour visit, and as she began to relax, she shared a story of constant vicious fighting between herself and her husband. Mark, who had been playing calmly and quietly, took a marker and slowly and deliberately made a black smudge on the yellow wall. His mother was too distracted by her own distress to stop him. I said, “You cannot draw on the wall, but maybe you are upset about what we are talking about.” He came and sat on his mother’s lap. She reluctantly revealed her suspicion that his angry behavior was a reflection of the rage he experienced at home. She agreed to get help for her marriage, and Mark’s behavior gradually began to improve.

Jane’s parents became alarmed when her aggressive behavior began to spill over into school. Her third grade teacher told them that not only was she distracted and fidgety, but she seemed increasingly angry. At our second visit, Dad became tearful as he described his cruel and abusive father. He acknowledged being overwhelmed with rage at Jane when she didn’t listen. He yelled at her and threatened her. He longed for a positive role model to learn how to discipline her in a different way. He realized he needed help to address the traumas of his own childhood in order to be a more effective parent for Jane. 

If the elephant in the room is the child’s symptoms, as the drug companies would have us believe, then medication may be the solution. Children taking medication for ADHD often tell me that it makes them feel calm. The full responsibility for the problem then falls squarely on the child’s shoulders. 

For Mark and Jane, and countless children like them, the elephant in the room, however, is not the child’s symptoms. It is the environment of conflict in which the symptoms occur. If the family environment is the elephant, the treatment of the problem is not as simple as prescribing a pill. Families must acknowledge and address seemingly overwhelming problems. The parents’ relationship with each other, and each parent’s relationship with his or her own family of origin, often contributes significantly to this environment. 

In the supportive setting of my office, Mark and Jane’s parents were freed to think about their child’s perspective and experience. Rather than focusing on “what to do” they understood what their children might be feeling growing up in an environment of conflict and rage. This ability for parents to think about their child’s feelings has been shown, in extensive research at the intersection of developmental psychology, genetics and neuroscience, to facilitate a child’s development of the capacity to manage strong emotions and adapt in social situations. 

In another interesting link between this ad and God of Carnage, one of the fathers is an attorney representing a drug company. He speaks loudly on his cell phone, seemingly oblivious to the effect of his behavior on the other people in the room. His conversation reveals the profit motive of the drug company taking precedence over the well being of the patient. 

God of Carnage was written by Yasmina Reza, a French playwright. While the play itself is hugely entertaining as a witty farce about family life, an important message was in a brief scene at the very end. The telephone rings. The mother answers. It is her daughter, all upset about the loss of her pet hamster, which the father had “set free” one night because he was annoyed by the animal’s habits. Suddenly the mood of the play, which was lively with scintillating dialogue throughout, becomes serene as the mother speaks lovingly to her distraught daughter. Perhaps most of the audience was barely aware of the sudden mood change. Yet it lifted this delightful play into universal significance. Freeing herself from the preceding chaos, she calmly gives her full attention to her daughter’s experience.

The popularity of the play gives me hope that people are hungry for a different way to think about children and families than that offered by the pharmaceutical industry, which, with the money to place an attention getting ad, has a very loud voice. It is joined by the equally loud voice of the private health insurance industry, which supports the quick fix of medication over more time intensive interventions. In contrast, Mark, with his black smudge on my yellow wall, has a very small voice. His voice says “Please think about my feelings, not just my behavior.”

His voice is particularly critical now, as our country strives to create social policy and a health care system that values prevention and primary care. Parents, if they are supported and nurtured, know what is best for their children. We as a culture must demonstrate that we respect both the difficulty and the critical importance of being an effective parent. In this way we will be able to help children, not only by treating their symptoms, but giving an opportunity for deeply rewarding changes in the important relationships in their lives.

Days of Awe and the Certainty of Neuroscience

Just like the digital codes of replicating life held within DNA, the brain's fundamental secret will be laid open one day. But even when it has, the wonder will remain, that mere wet stuff can make this bright inward cinema of thought, of sight and sound and touch bound into a vivid illusion of instantaneous present, with a self, another brightly wrought illusion, hovering like a ghost at its centre. Could it ever be explained, how matter becomes conscious?

The actual words written by Ian McEwan, in his novel Saturday about a day in the life of a neurosurgeon, are worthy of awe of the human mind. In a recent blog post I referred to a piece by psychologist Gary Marcus in which he calls attention to "the trouble with brain science." Perhaps inspired by this very piece of writing, he refers to the lack of a bridge between neuroscience and psychology comparable to the bridge between genetics and living beings that discovery of the double helix provided.

I describe how absence of this bridge is the problem inherent in the oft-used comparison between depression, or ADHD, and diabetes. NIMH director Thomas Insel has called for a study of the neuroscience of mental illness in the same way we study cancer, food allergies, and diabetes.

Diabetes is a disorder of insulin metabolism. Insulin is produced in the pancreas. For the pancreas, there is no corresponding mind in the realm of thoughts and feelings. The pancreas does not love, does not grieve, does not produce great literature.

This wish to compare psychological experience to physical illness ostensibly comes from a wish to destigmatize emotional suffering. But in fact it may have the opposite effect, as it devalues the  human relationships. It is an effort to apply certainty to situations ripe with uncertainty.

There is a dark side to the certainty of neuroscience. Years ago I treated a young girl, Charlotte, who had been diagnosed with ADHD by a previous doctor.  I took over her care, following the standard practice in pediatrics for visits every 3 months for review of "symptoms" of hyperactivity and inattention and adjustment of medications. When she continued to struggle, her parents paid a large sum of money to have a brain scan done by a doctor who claimed to identify the exact location of her problem. Despite the alleged certainty of these results, her "symptoms" continued. I referred the family to a therapist, but lost touch with them when I left that practice.

Recently I learned from her mother, Jennifer, when I ran in to her on the street, that she was doing much better. "I know why," she told me. She had hidden from me, and from herself, that all along Charlotte's stepfather had been physically and emotionally abusing her. Only now, with this story brought to light, could she begin to heal.

Missing from treatment of this girl was not knowledge of brain science, but time for listening.  In 30-minute visits every three months, with Charlotte and Jennifer together in the room, neither she nor her mother felt safe enough to share what was really going on.

The week between Rosh Hashannah, the days of Awe, and Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement, seems an appropriate occasion for contemplating these issues. It offers an opportunity for awe at the wonder of the human mind. It might also offer opportunity to atone for not listening to children like Charlotte. When we make diagnoses, and use brain scans to verify them, we may miss the complexity of human experience. The essence of being human is the ability to find meaning in behavior. I hope that going forward, we can protect space and time to listen, to discover that meaning. We are not likely to find it on a brain scan.

Examining the Antidepressant:Suicide Link Ten Years After FDA Warning

When I hear debate over the association between SSRI’s (selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors, a class of antidepressant medication) and suicidal behavior in children and adolescents, I am immediately brought back to a night in the early 2000's.  As the covering pediatrician I was called to the emergency room to see a young man, a patient of a pediatrician in a neighboring town, who had attempted suicide by taking a nearly lethal overdose. 

That night, as I watched over him in the intensive care unit, I learned that he was a high achieving student and athlete who, struggling under the pressures of the college application process, had been prescribed an SSRI by his pediatrician.  His parents described a transformation in his personality over the months preceding the suicide attempt that was so dramatic that I ordered a CT scan to see if he had a brain tumor. It was normal. When, in the coming years the data emerged about increasing suicidal behavior following use of SSRI's, I recognized in retrospect that his change in behavior was a result of the medication. But at the time I knew nothing of these serious side effects.

At that time, coinciding with pharmaceutical industry's aggressive marketing campaign directed at the public as well as a professional audience, these drugs were becoming increasingly popular with pediatricians.

As the possible serious side effects of these medications came increasingly in to awareness, the FDA issued the controversial "black box warning" that the drugs carried an increased risk of suicidal behavior. Following the black box warning, pediatricians, myself included, became reluctant to prescribe these medications. We did not have the time or experience to provide the recommended increased monitoring and close follow-up.

Recently the Boston Globe published an article reviewing the data addressing the concern that the warning, by discouraging prescribing, led to increased suicidal behavior. It includes this key finding.

Studies also found no increase in other treatments for depression, such as psychotherapy; leading to what Fritz called “a net decrease in the amount of treatment."

This finding offers evidence for more insidious and perhaps more dangerous side effect of antidepressant use in children. The fact that we as a society condone use of these medications in children in the absence of relationship based treatments- - CDC report from December 2013 indicated that 50% of adolescents who are on psychiatric medication have not seen a mental health professional - itself changes the landscape of mental health care.

When medications can be used alone, the professions who offer opportunity for listening and human connection are devalued, both culturally and monetarily.

This kind of devaluing sends qualified professionals away. Pediatricians, whose longstanding relationships with children and families makes them ideally suited for preventive interventions, are discouraged from using their time to listen. Social workers, psychologists and others who offer relationship based treatment in which feelings can be recognized and understood, when paid less and less while being required to jump through increasing number of hoops, are less likely to accept insurance.  The drug itself becomes inextricably linked with the shortage of quality mental health care.

A recent study, a survey of close to 2,000 people being prescribed antidepressants, showed a much higher than expected rate of serious psychological side effects. Almost half described, “feeling emotionally numb” and “caring less about others.” These findings occur in the context of a social acceptance of medicating away feelings, and in doing so, devaluing the “being with” that is necessary for growth and healing. The absence of opportunity for meaningful human connection where feelings are recognized and understood, in combination with these psychological side effects, may be what leads to increased risk of suicidal behavior.

I wonder if before we can change what we do, we need to change how we think. Prescribing psychiatric medication to a child without simultaneously offering time and space to listen to him and his family is unacceptable. A change in perspective and attitude is needed before we can to begin to repair our broken mental health care system.

Andrew Solomon, in his sweeping tome about depression, The Noonday Demon, respects the role of medication in treatment. But, recognizing that medication alone it is not sufficient, he writes, "Rebuilding the self in and after depression requires love, insight, work, and most of all, time."

Rethinking the Meaning and Use of the Word "Autism"

In the course of working on my new book about listening to parents and children, I have had the pleasure of immersing myself in the writing of D.W.Winnicott, pediatrician turned psychoanalyst.  Winnicott's professional life included both caring for countless young children and families as a pediatrician, and psychoanalytic practice, where his adult patients "regressed to dependence," giving him an opportunity to interact with their infantile qualities, but with adult capacities for communication. This combination of experiences gave him a unique vantage point from which to make his many brilliant observations about children and the nature of the parent-child relationship.

A recent New York Times Magazine article on autism prompted me to share his words of wisdom on the subject, which, though written in 1966, still have relevance today.  The following is from a collection of papers, Thinking About Children:

From my point of view the invention of the term autism was a mixed blessing...I would like to say that once this term has been invented and applied, the stage was set for something which is slightly false, i.e. the discovery of a disease…Pediatricians and physically minded doctors as a whole like to think in terms of diseases which gives a tidy look to the textbooks…The unfortunate thing is that in matters psychological things are not like that. 

Winnicott implores the reader to instead understand the child in relational and developmental context. He writes:

The subject quickly becomes one not of autism and not of the early roots of a disorder that might develop in to autism, but rather one of the whole story of human emotional development and the relationship of the maturational process in the individual child to the environmental provision which may or may not in any one particular case facilitate the maturational process.

In my behavioral pediatrics practice, parents of a young child may wish for a diagnosis to relieve them of the feeling that they are "bad parents;" that their child's challenging behavior is their "fault." Yet when I give parents space and time to make sense of their child's behavior, and in doing so help him learn to manage his unique vulnerabilities- essentially doing what Winnicott suggests-I find that most parents prefer not to have their child diagnosed with a disorder.

A recent book on the subject, Autism Spectrum Disorder: Perspectives From Psychoanalysis and Neuroscience, while still referring to a "disorder," captures the tenor of Winnicott's approach. My blurb on the book's cover reads:

This book, with its central focus on the parent-child relationship, offers a unique and very important contribution. Parents struggle terribly in their efforts to make sense of the behavior of a child with a wide range of neuro-developmental challenges that currently fall under the heading of Autism Spectrum Disorders. Drawing on extensive evidence from the fields of genetics and neuroscience as well as in-depth clinical material, the authors show how a clinician can set these children on healthy developmental paths by supporting parents’ efforts to find meaning in their children’s behavior.

Many adults with autism now advocate for the idea that autism is not a disorder. But they come from a very different perspective, arguing that their unique way of interacting with the world is simply different, not abnormal. Certainly for an adult this is a valid perspective. However, when I work with parents and young children where the diagnosis is being entertained, the whole family is struggling terribly. It feels to me a great disservice to a young child to think of calling this situation "normal." 

An approach like that of Winnicott, Sherkow and Harrison may be fraught in the context of the history of "refrigerator mothers." While this theory has been widely discounted, any attempt to consider the child's relational and developmental context may be interpreted as "blaming the parent." That is why I love Winnnicott's approach. Rather than asking, "Is it or is it not autism?" we might be wise to discard the term completely.  Instead, if we offer space and time to learn, "the whole story of human emotional development," the very act of listening to the story becomes the cornerstone of treatment.