Come with me back into the dim ages of time, yes, that time when little Bucky, then known to the world as Denny, attended high school. In that bygone age, I enjoyed the services of what every student hopes for but few are blessed with, a special teacher that makes a subject stick in the mind. Our school of somewhat less than thousands of students used teachers to the fullest, and so a senior taking the Advanced Chemistry, Advanced Biology, and Glassblowing courses that year saw the same teacher three times in each school day. Add in Photography, and half a student's day could be spent in the company of that one hard-working teacher. However, this was not a disadvantage in the case of Mr. Meyer. I am old enough that my teachers all had one of three first names in common, Mister, Missus, or Miss. We, as young and simple students were not permitted to know them as Frank or Joe, Martha or Abby, as student in school today know their teachers. Mr. Meyer taught us that most obscure of languages in Advanced Biology, medical terminology, and it was all Greek (or Latin) to us.
The amazing thing is not that our little school taught such a thing, but that 20, or 30, or so years later, I can still recall most of it. What I thought today is how great it would be to have a PTSD teacher of that caliber. You know the feeling I'm sure. We would like a mentor of such surpassing skill in the teaching arts that methods and knowledge of how to deal with this thing of ours would flow into our minds to stay. A teacher skillful enough that in the moment of a panic attack, I can recall a method or means to concentrate my mind, slow the breathing, and calm the heart rate before that awful feeling of adrenaline sickness overwhelms me once more. Where do I find one of those teachers?
One obstacle to overcome is time. How often do you see a therapist for PTSD? Once or twice each week, bi-weekly, perhaps once per month? Remember that great line from The King's Speech? "I shall see you every day!" That teacher from long ago saw us five days each week for nine months. He stood a far better chance of inculcating lasting knowledge than therapists do with a one-hour session each week. However, that brings up the second time problem, who among us can afford an $80 tab for an hour of each day? At just over minimum wage, that is a 10-hour work day at eight bucks an hour, leaving nothing for food, clothing, rent, and other such niceties. That hourly rate is of course several years out of date. Some of you, or your insurance company, probably pay a lot more per hour for your therapy. In the treatment of mental health conditions, time is money, and it can add up to a lot of money.
Even if the treatment is paid for by the taxpayers, such as in the case of returning warriors in a DoD hospital after service in Iraq or Afghanistan, a third time problem arises, that of the dearth of doctors or therapists to perform the treatment. Like a college course of one hour, each therapy session requires hours more behind-the-scenes kinds of work. Review of notes, research into similar cases, consultation with psychologists and psychiatric nurses or other therapists all require additional time. Group sessions and professional study account for more of the therapist's time, and then there is the late-night or early-morning phone calls from patients in crisis. Oh, and the therapist might like to enjoy a little family time or hobby activities or other things we call 'a life'. So, once we discover Supertherapist, unless he or she is some kind of time traveler, we are going to run into this obstacle as well.
I didn't use Superpsychiatrist because it would be to hard to say, much less spell correctly. One slip up and the poor doctor would be forever known as Superquack, and we don't even want to go there! Imagine the horror as hundreds or thousands of PTSD patients laughed themselves to death. Superquack, for Pete's sake, I must be losing it.
Bucky
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