The Statistics Are People

Part 1 of 2 in “I Hope This Helps”

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We’ve all seen the statistics, whether we work in healthcare or not. The discussion has become so common, I fear, that we’ve become numb to its true meaning. Healthcare workers are at an increased risk of suicide compared to our non-healthcare worker peers. Eighty percent of physicians agree that there is a stigma around doctors seeking mental health care. Nearly 40% reported that either they personally or a colleague they know has been afraid to seek mental health care because that treatment would need to be disclosed on their licensure, credentialing, or insurance applications¹. Physicians, especially female physicians, are more likely than the general population to die by suicide, and U.S. physicians are more likely to die by suicide than physicians in other nations. Female nurses are 8.5 times more likely to die by suicide than the general female population².

People are dying. 

People who took a chance on helping other people, are falling apart in the process. We’ve heard the horrific stories of what happens when the process of medical training: high stress and expectations, a rigid work environment, student loans, and burnout all pile upon a person until they break. They can feel trapped in a system where it is too shameful to ask for help, fearing all their hard work will be lost if they get any. We’ve heard of lives ruined. We’ve heard of lives lost.

But what happens when we do get help?

I’m Jules. I’m a doctor. I also have severe depression. I’m certainly not alone in either. But I don’t think many people often reveal those things in the same conversation. While healthcare workers struggle under the weight of an ongoing mental health crisis, while people die in silence, we remain scared to share our struggles. But what if we did? What if our stories were not thought of as deep, dark, shameful scars to be hidden, pieces of ourselves that show weakness, that show our inability to perform our jobs. Maybe we share our stories, because they are what makes us resilient. They are what makes us better providers for patients and families, each and every day. They bridge the gap between doctor and patient. What if these stories were our strengths?

I started receiving treatment for depression in the winter of 2023. In the spring, I took a leave of absence from work to focus on treatment. I believe that I am among a small percentage of people who have a truly supportive workplace behind them, especially given that I was in the midst of medical training. I was completing my final year of pediatric critical care fellowship at the time. I was absolutely terrified of relenting to my doctor’s request of taking time off to focus on my mental health.

It felt like the end of my career, my reputation, and my ability to be trustworthy at work. 

But my program directors and my mentors didn’t just say I could take time off— they were the reason I did. And thanks to them, I am alive. 

I’ve watched them save so many lives, but I’ll never forget how they too saved mine.

By the summer of that year, I had been through rounds of treatment in a partial hospitalization program and weeks admitted to an inpatient unit, through multiple medication trials. But I was still stuck. Stuck in this state where I was just well enough to be out of the hospital, but not well enough to effectively live my life in any other way. Most concerningly, I was still strongly suicidal. Among the many things I worried about, and what I feared more than anything, was losing my identity as a doctor. Because despite needing a break from it at the time, it was what I clung to as my reason to live, and my contribution to this world. I thought about the hours and hours of work I had endured to get a glimpse of the moments of gratitude and satisfaction. A mother touching my arm and telling me she was glad I was there that day; a father telling me I had a calming way of explaining things; helping bridge the divide between other cultures and our healthcare system; helping a family face the loss of their child. 

These moments literally kept me alive during this time. 

They gave me purpose and meaning when I thought my life had none. I knew couldn’t lose that.

After a month or two, holding on to that last piece of myself became increasingly difficult. 

Around this time is when my memories become a bit hazy, because around this time is when I agreed to try ECT.

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References: 

“Burnout - Dr. Lorna Breen Heroes Foundation.” Dr. Lorna Breen Heroes Foundation, 11 Mar. 2024, drlornabreen.org/burnout/.

The Physicians Foundation. “2022 Survey of America’s Physicians.” 1 July 2022.

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