Editor’s note • This article discusses suicide. If you or people you know are at risk of self-harm, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline for 24-hour support.
On March 1, I received the call every parent dreads. It wasn’t a car accident, and it wasn’t a medical emergency. It was suicide. My son, William Ballantyne West Jr., died by suicide. His death was preventable, and I need to speak out.
William was 33, in his third year of surgical ophthalmology residency at George Washington University. He was not only talented and hardworking, he was deeply compassionate. Even amid the relentless stress and often harsh culture of his residency, William patiently gave his best to those under his care. His kindness and thoughtfulness left an indelible mark on everyone he worked with. Despite the dedication he poured into his training, he found himself trapped in a toxic system that has taken a toll on far too many medical residents.
This is the 21st century. This is the United States of America. And yet, a very real caste system operates in graduate medical education. Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Isabel Wilkerson describes caste as an invisible operating system, silently guiding attitudes and upholding a status quo that normalizes injustice. In graduate medical education, this system is starkly visible: Residents are at the mercy of a rigid hierarchy where they face grueling workloads, mistreatment and minimal support while those above them protect the structure. In this harsh environment, both caregivers and patients ultimately suffer as resident wellbeing is compromised.
The statistics on depression and burnout among medical residents are alarming, and the numbers for suicide are staggering. Physicians face suicide rates significantly higher than those of the general population, and suicide is the leading cause of death among male residents. Tragically, it’s estimated that one doctor dies by suicide every day in this country. Something must be done, and our son felt so, too.
William had experienced depression and other challenges in his life, but he always cared deeply for those around him. That compassion for others was reflected in his final thoughts. He wrote: “I hope that an effort can be made to understand, support, and mentor the residents rather than simply to assess and drive them toward their highest potential as doctors.”
Twice, he warned that other residents are at real risk.
It’s too late for our William, but we know that people can recover from suicidal ideation. There is hope, and some of us have come out on the other side of this.
I want to honor his wishes by pushing for change — not only for another son and his wife currently studying medicine at the University of Utah but for countless others entering residency programs. This issue is especially relevant to our community, with the recent announcement of a new medical school here in Utah.
To this end, I support the Dr. Lorna Breen Heroes’ Foundation and the reauthorization of the Dr. Lorna Breen Healthcare Provider Protection Act. For the past three years, this law has led to several initiatives, including a suicide prevention guide by the American Hospital Association and the Impact Wellbeing campaign by the CDC. It also provides grants to health systems nationwide, including at the University of Utah, where William graduated from medical school. This act needs to be reauthorized and refunded now.
We are grateful to Sen.-Elect John Curtis for taking the time to meet with us and pledge his support of this legislation and to the staff of Sen. Mike Lee, who were gracious with their time learning about William’s story. We call upon all of the Utah delegation to bring attention to and support this crucial bill. This is about protecting the future of healthcare. We need our doctors to be whole. We need healthy doctors to help keep us healthy.
There are no words to truly convey the feeling of losing a child to suicide. But there are symptoms. My eyes are often sore and swollen from crying, yet I can no longer turn to my ophthalmologist son for advice. Sometimes, my cheeks are sore from biting them just to stop myself from crying again in public. Sleepless nights leave me forgetting even the basics, like how to operate the windshield wipers in a car I’ve driven for over a decade. The physical pain of grief is overwhelming, but the worst pain comes when I think of the suffering my son must have endured to reach that point — and to know there are others fighting a similar battle.
Losing William has left a hole in our family that will never be filled. But by pushing for change, we can ensure that his life sparks a transformation that saves others. We owe it to those who care for us to make sure they’re cared for, too.
Please join us in urging representatives to support the reauthorization of the Dr. Lorna Breen Healthcare Provider Protection Act. Encourage your friends and family across the country to do the same. Together, we can create a healthcare system that values its caregivers and ultimately saves lives.
(Lisa West) Lisa West, pictured with her family, is a dedicated mother of six and a passionate advocate for mental health and well-being.
Lisa West is a dedicated mother of six and a passionate advocate for mental health and well-being. She is pursuing a master’s degree in social work at the University of Utah, where she also serves as an intern at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. As an ambassador for the Lorna Breen Heroes’ Foundation, Lisa is committed to improving mental health support for healthcare professionals, including reducing burnout and eliminating the stigma surrounding help-seeking in the medical field.
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