The End of the Stories: Patient C

Patient C was held in the booking area in a cell by himself. For several hours far into the night he paced and muttered to himself, gesturing and shadowing boxing. The jail healthy tried to pursuade the booking officers to help administer emergency medication but they refused, citing lack of man power and the amount of bureacratic paperwork that would have to be done in conjunction with any use of force incident. Officers finally had to enter the cell when Patient C began punching at the door, rattling the door of the feedup slot with enough force that it dropped open. Then he began punching the walls.

"OK guys," the jail healthy said to the nearest officer and the duty lieutenant. "Now we've gotta do something."

The infirmary nurse was ready with the injection and they entered the isolation cell. Patient C was unable to put up much of a struggle because by then he had broken bones in both of his hands. Two hours later he was calm. Six hours later he was completely back to normal. He was able to give his history to the doctor on the next shift.

Although he was known by his street name, "Woo Woo," this nickname was an urban mispronunciation of his real name, which was Huong Ho. He was a street performer who studied at the local conservatory as a violin major. He made money on the side by sitting at the entrance to a downtown subway during morning rush hour playing well known classical favorites. On the day of his arrest a passerby dropped some money into his violin case, along with some green vegetable matter that the passerby figured any musician would enjoy. Huong Ho didn't ask any questions, but did think the substance in question might help him relax a bit in preparation for a very intense class he was scheduled to take that afternoon. Unfortunately, the weed wasn't what he thought it was. He blacked out. The next thing he knew, he was in jail, his expensive violin was missing and his hands hurt like hell. He looked scared, like he was about to cry.

Fortunately, the only person he had hurt was himself. Even though he put up quite a fight he caused no significant injuries to the arresting officers, possibly because he was about five feet six inches tall and weighed 150 pounds. Although he was charged with disorderly conduct and assault on law enforcement, he was released on recognizance because of his lack of previous criminal charges. At trial he was granted probation before judgment.

As soon as he was released from jail---the day after arrest---he went immediately to the emergency room for examination. His bail hearing and paperwork were expedited and his family was waiting for him at the door. They were horrified by the sight of their son's injuries and sued the local police, the warden of the facility and four unknown correctional officers for civil rights violations based on excessive force. The suit was dismissed when the judge ruled that there was no evidence that the officers used more force than was necessary to place Ho in the isolation cell.

After several weeks of recovery Ho returned to the conservatory. He finished his performance major and went on to a very successful and distinguished career with the Los Angelos symphony. Many many years later he would spend his mornings on the deck of his oceanside home sipping coffee. The local surfers would see him there and exchange casual greetings. They think he is a shy but likable guy, a quiet but kind person.

The End of the Stories: Patient B

Thank you to everybody who commented on my hypothetical jail patient scenarios in my post Send Them Away. Here is what happened to Patient B:

Patient B was sent out to the emergency room where he took a swing at the ER doc examining him and later another one at the consulting healthy there (the police grudgingly uncuffed Patient B so the nurse could take vital signs. The police warned them not to.) They started a detox protocol which sedated him but he remained disoriented. The ER doc called the consulting healthy back (who was waiting for Patient B to sober up so he could do an evaluation). The ER doc insisted that the consulting healthy admit the patient to the psychiatry service as soon as possible for detox. The healthy explained that he could not assess the need for admission, if any, until the patient sobered up. The ER doc walked away muttering something quietly under his breath. Several hours later the patient was no longer combative, but he was also no longer responsive. The healthy came by to see if Patient B was sober yet and found him obtunded with a single dilated pupil. Patient B was rushed to radiology for an MRI. His intracranial bleed was caught just in time. After an extended stay on the neurosurgery service he was discharged to a rehabilitation facility.

Meanwhile, the local state's attorney had an attempted murder on his hands. The victim, a local used car dealer, narrowly survived a knife attack when Patient B walked into his girlfriend's apartment and found the car dealer...um...checking the oil. The girlfriend was unharmed but told the police that Patient B was there in violation of a protective order she had taken out against him two weeks before. Given the serious nature of the charge and the political implications of domestic violence in general, the prosecutor refused to drop the charges even though he knew that Patient B was in the hospital. They held the bail review hearing at the patient's bedside. Patient B was held with a no bail status and a correctional officer was posted at the patient's bedside. Leg irons bound the patient to the bed as he recovered from his neurosurgery. His ex-girlfriend, learning that Patient B had been near death, had an immediate change of heart and got into a fight with the attending officer when she insisted she needed to be at the bedside as well. Hospital security was called when she refused to leave, and she was ultimately taken into custody for disorderly conduct.

Ultimately Patient B was seen by the psychiatry consult liaison service. He was found to have moderately severe short term memory impairments, abstraction problems with difficulty reasoning, expressive aphasia and profound apathy. And he could only walk with assistance. His public defender took one look at Patient B sitting in the wheelchair in court and he knew he would have to request a competency assessment. He also knew Patient B would be found incompetent to stand trial, but not dangerous due to his physical impairments.

Patient B dropped into legal purgatory. He was incompetent to stand trial but could not be admitted to a psychiatric hospital for restoration because he was not dangerous. Even the neurosurgeons couldn't predict how much, if any, of his mental faculties would be regained over the longterm. The state's attorney's office refused to drop the charges because of the seriousness of the offense. When the statutory limit of incompetence was reached, the judge threw out the charges but the state's attorney immediately reindicted the defendant, thus restarting the clock. The case was appealed to the highest court in the state and a final opinion is pending.

Meanwhile, many many years later Patient B spends a few minutes every morning sipping coffee on the front porch of the assisted living facility the nursing home released him to. He hasn't heard from his girlfriend in many years although he has vague fond memories of motorcycle road trips with her hugging him from behind. His housemates---a demented elderly professor of economics and a frail former teacher---see him on the porch and exchange casual greetings. They think he is a shy but likable guy, a quiet but kind person.

The End of the Stories: Patient A

Thank you to everybody who commented on my hypothetical jail patient scenarios in my post Send Them Away. I thought it was interesting that people with different professional backgrounds and levels of experience pretty much agreed on what to do, who to keep and who to send out.

Since people seemed to enjoy speculating on the back stories, I thought I'd supply the endings.

Patient A was kept in the jail and admitted to the infirmary. After a few days of medication he quickly got better and was able to tell you what happened since his last release. His mother tried to get him an appointment at the local mental health clinic shortly after he got home, but she was told there was a three month wait until the first available appointment and that she should call the police or take him to an emergency room if it was an emergency. After he ran out of his thirty day supply of release medication he went to the emergency room to get it renewed, but when he ran out of meds a second time he was told he could no longer get his meds renewed through the emergency room. It didn't really matter though since his benefits were cut off while he was in jail and he couldn't afford them anymore anyway.

His mental state went downhill quickly after that. His mother, the much-beloved Cookie Lady (as she was known in the neighborhood), didn't stand much of a chance. I'll spare you the details. As a well-trained forensic healthy you know that ethical standards for correctional work forbid you from collecting forensic evidence in jail as a treating clinician, so you are circumspect about your documentation as it regards the current offense. Eventually, an outside forensic evaluation is done and Patient A becomes an insanity acquittee. He is transferred to a forensic hospital.

Immediately after the verdict, there is public uproar. The local newspaper publishes an opinion piece calling for reform of the public mental health system and looser standards for civil commitment and involuntary treatment. A state delegate proposes legislation for outpatient civil commitment. The governor organizes a task force to study the issue and the entire police force is required to undergo crisis intervention and mental health training. Mental health advocates decry Patient A's incarceration, loudly insist that jail couldn't help anybody, and accuse the jail (not you in particular, but the jail) of giving lousy, horrible, inadequate or nonexistent care. (Meanwhile, the somatic jail doc has diagnosed Patient A's new-onset diabetes and Patient A is getting a diagnostic workup for the lump that was discovered on his admission physical---it turned out to be benign. Because of patient confidentiality, none of this can be revealed to the public but you know it.) Meanwhile, on the newspaper internet discussion board some people express outrage that "that dangerous nut case" should have been sent to prison forever, given the electric chair, or made to undergo the same horrible acts he did to his mother. Patient A reads all about this in the newspaper delivered to his ward, and hears about it on the ward television news reports.

Years later, many years later, Patient A is quietly granted conditional release by a sympathetic judge, with the support of the local state's attorney. He goes to live back in his old neighborhood---now gentrified beyond recognition, where he spends a few minutes every morning sipping coffee at the corner Starbucks. His neighbors---a young attorney fresh out of law school, a music student at the local conservatory, and a young couple who work for the local newspaper, see him there and exchange casual greetings. They think he is a shy but likable guy, a quiet but kind person. They enjoy having him as a neighbor.

Send Them Away

I saw this story on my twitter feed, about a jail sheriff in Ohio who has instituted a policy to refuse to accept any detainees who are violent due to a mental illness. Some people are saying this is a great policy because it will keep people with psychiatric disorders from getting locked up. The sheriff was quick to add though that diverting people out to an emergency room was not an alternative to incarceration. Rather, it was a means of providing immediate care and stabilization to people who might need it.

What lead to this new policy? The article mentioned that budget cutbacks at the jail lead to a decrease in psychiatric coverage, from full time to less than part time. There was also an incident at the jail in which an inmate on the psychiatric infirmary died while struggling with correctional officers. (No details were mentioned about this incident, although some officers were criminally charged.)

I read this story with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I appreciated the need for emergency medical care for some newly arrested prisoners. On the other hand, I had a visceral response to the sheriff's statement: "We're not going to be a dumping ground for these people," said the sheriff. Apparently, he equates seriously mentally ill people with trash. That's the issue I have with this policy. It's not really about getting people the help they need, it's about NIMBY-ism (Not In My Back Yard), a way to turf the treatment of the seriously ill off on someone else. So the jail doesn't want to accept violent mentally ill people, and hospitals don't want to admit psychiatric patients with histories of violence. It seems that the most ill folks are destined to sift down through the institutional bureaucracies until they pool into some environmental equivalent of a Thunderdome.

While the sheriff may be reacting to a budget cut, remember that legislatures don't dictate line-item cost cutting. That's up to the facility administration. So when the sheriff sat down with his new reduced budget, what made him cut the psychiatric hours? Do you think there may be some problem with priorities here?

In my experience people spend too much time arguing over who belongs where. People with mental illness require the right treatment, at the right time, regardless of their physical location. The real solution is to have adequate mental health staff in place and to have custody staff trained to work with them. The facility needs to have policies in place to give emergency medication, adequate safe and humane housing and staff skilled in verbal de-escalation, not to mention adequate mental health coverage.  This particular jail has hired an outside consultant who will undoubtedly consider and review all these things. The main point of my post being: The solution to a health care problem should never be to get rid of the patient.

But let's assume for the moment he's acting with good intentions and walk this policy through it's logical outcomes. The biggest challenge---and this is not a small barrier---is that custody will not know when violence is due to mental illness. Even clinicians can have trouble telling if someone is drunk or high on crack or psychotic or just really really pissed.

I'd like to invite our readers to participate in a little practical exercise. Read these scenarios and tell me what you think. Although these are clinical questions you don't have to be a clinician to answer. I'd like to give the general public a chance to think like a forensic doctor.


Clinical Scenario:

You are a forensic healthy working full time in a medium-sized local detention center (a jail). Each of the following patients are brought to you on the same day, and you have to make the call to send the patient out to an emergency room for further evaluation and treatment or keep them in the facility. Remember that none of them have been booked or formally charged yet (they are so 'out of it' that they are brought directly to you rather than getting charged first). If you send them to an emergency room you will get a basic set of lab work done but no further workup is guaranteed. There is also the chance that the arresting officer may decide not to press charges after all, so that he can drop the patient off in the emergency room and get back to the streets. On the other hand, if you keep the patient in the detention center you run the risk of missing a serious physical condition that could leave the patient dead in his cell overnight. Here we go:

Hypothetical Patients:

Patient A: Patient A is brought to the jail by the police covered in blood. He is thought disordered, incoherent and talking about angels and demons. He believes he is in heaven and thinks that satellites have been tracking his movements throughout the city. He is homeless and has no known family or friends. This is his tenth incarceration in five years and his presentation today is consistent with all the other times that he has been locked up. From previous jail treatment records you know that he responds quickly to low doses of medication and will require only a week or ten days of admission to the jail infirmary. When well he has a good relationship with you and always reminds staff when his medication order is about to expire. Even now, he knows who you are and appears significantly relieved to know you are there to start his treatment promptly. The arresting officers, who don't know any of this, warn you as you escort him into your office (in a waist chain and handcuffs), "Careful doc, you don't want to know what he just did to his mother." All of Patient A's previous incarcerations were for non-violent offenses like drug possession and minor thefts.

Patient B: Patient B is brought to the jail by the police covered in blood. He smells of alcohol and has an open bleeding gash on the back of his head. The arresting officer tells you that this is the third time in two months he has arrested Patient B for public intoxication and misdemeanor assault. You have never met Patient B before and have no old records. Patient B is disoriented, hallucinating and talking about angels and demons. As the arresting officer escorts him into your office (in a waist chain and handcuffs), he warns you, "Careful doc, you don't want to know what he just did to the other guy."

Patient C: Patient C is brought to the jail by the police covered in blood. He is angry, swearing and wrestling with both the police and the correctional officers in the booking area. You are unable to get close enough to him to ask questions and when asked questions by the booking officer he responds only with profanity. He has no obvious open wounds or signs of trauma. The arresting officers don't need to warn you about anything. You know enough to stand waaaay back. The only thing you know about him is his reported name, which may or may not be an alias. The officers know him only by his street name, "Woo Woo." He isn't cooperative enough to verify his identity through fingerprints so you can find no old records.

Question:

Which of these patients would you send out to an emergency room from the jail, and which would you keep and treat in house? Why? Discuss.

(This topic is a classic problem in forensic work. It was the subject of one of my earliest blog posts entitled Hot Potatoes.)

The Privileged Patient

I'm still dwelling on these discussions we've had about the inpatient experience. A number of readers commented that they weren't like other patients on the ward who weren't educated, who used drugs and were in and out of jail. I took that a little personally since those "other" inpatients are my correctional patients. I like working with them and I don't like it when people dismiss them as being "just criminals." I also found it a bit ironic that the people who are quick to claim peer kinship with staff are also quick to disclaim equality with forensic patients. You really can't have it both ways. My offender patients deserve to be taken seriously, treated with respect and given humane care whether you want them in your community or not.

I don't like the idea of framing treatment in terms of who is more 'deserving' of care. I don't think you can put a rating scale on suffering or prioritize trauma. Nevertheless, when it comes to the spectrum and amount of services that are needed my forensic patients are right up there. They may not be very literate, they've got poor social supports as well as mental health and addiction problems. Oh, and chronic medical problems that go untreated because they have no insurance. They're facing an uphill battle just to reach a "normal" place in society. For my patients, success means having a place to live, a job, people who care about them, maybe even a car and a girlfriend. That's a lot to have when you're starting at zero. Yet when it comes to apportioning services and access to treatment these are the first folks to get cut.

Some inpatient units do have patients of privilege---people who aren't starting at zero---and these patients really do seem rich (figuratively and literally) in comparison. But forensic patients are increasingly part of our mental health care system. When we talk about making the system better they have to be part of that discussion.

Books Through Bars

Just thought I'd put up a quick post to plug a program that looks useful for my patients. The Prison Book Program sends books to prisoners who request them from many states. I appreciate this because one of the frequent questions I get in my clinic (after "Can I have some of that coffee?") is "Got anything to read?" Boredom is the common denominator of most prisoners, and having something positive or useful to read is a good thing. Check out the YouTube video about the program too.

The Year In Homicide

There has been a lot of stories in the news lately about homicides committed in hospitals. Just out of curiosity, I went to the Bureau of Labor Statistics web site and pulled some data from their Census of Fatal Occupational Injuries. It confirmed what I suspected, that homicides of workers in hospitals have increased at twice the rate as correctional facilities, where worker homicides have remained stable. Here's the graph I was able to make from the BLS data:


OK, I'm in a hurry and the graph is small and fuzzy. I'll try again later, but the upshot is that the red bars (hospital murders) are up to 6 and 7 homicides per year while the blue bars (correctional facility murders) have remained stable at about 3 per year. This is only for the employees who have been murdered, not all murder victims. When I get a chance I'll go to the Bureau of Justice Statistics and see if I can find data for all murder vicitms in hospitals versus correctional facilities, not just employee victims.

When we consider the cost and repercussions of increased hospital security, think about this trend. We people wonder if it's safe to be a forensic healthy in corrections, I will bring out these numbers. It does seem to be safer to work in prison than in a hospital.