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Health equity is one of the hottest buy cialis with free samples topics in healthcare today. Removing structural inequalities from the delivery of care and improving care outcomes among women, people of color, and LGBTQ people is a high priority for forward-looking health systems.Daryn Dodson is CEO and founder of Illumen Capital, an impact fund of funds addressing systemic inequity by reducing racial and gender bias in investing. And healthcare is one of his primary buy cialis with free samples focus areas.We interviewed Dodson to better understand bias in investing, why he focuses on healthcare, the market potential and investor growth in healthcare technology, and why diversity is important in healthcare investing.Q. Your firm addresses systemic inequity by aiming to reduce racial and gender bias in investing.

Please talk about this bias buy cialis with free samples in investing.A. At a high level, only 1.4% of $69 trillion is managed by women and people of color. Furthermore, over the last 40 years, there have been studies and data that have demonstrated how funds led by women and people of color perform at or above their white male counterparts on average.The bias in the asset management industry that Illumen Capital buy cialis with free samples examines answers the question why, after 40 years of data, there hasn't been a shift to capitalize on this tremendous opportunity of overlooked and underestimated talent. This is the thesis that we're testing with Illumen Capital right now, and the cornerstone on which we built the firm.If we could invest in leading fund managers and work with them to reduce their implicit biases, we could create a competitive advantage for funds to outperform financially and create more equitable leadership throughout the field.

Ultimately, this buy cialis with free samples would lead to a $30 trillion shift to women- and people of color-led firms.By working alongside our fund managers and investors, Illumen Capital shares our bias reduction insights and enables our partners to apply these learnings across their portfolios – ultimately influencing a more optimal rebalancing in the asset management business.Q. One of your firm's primary focuses and investment themes is the healthcare technology space. Why is this, given your goal of buy cialis with free samples reducing bias?. A.

Illumen Capital buy cialis with free samples is an impact investor. Our investments are made with the intention to generate positive, measurable social and environmental impact alongside a financial return. Naturally, one of the best prospects of making the world a better place is to improve health and wellness for customers, patients and beneficiaries across the world.Healthcare also is buy cialis with free samples a large market that is exponentially growing with both cultural and demographic trends. When we look at the effects of landmark events, such as erectile dysfunction treatment, and frankly, the killing of George Floyd, bias becomes even more pronounced across multiple investment themes and industries, but perhaps none so pronounced as the healthcare system.By examining industry verticals and associated racial disparities in healthcare outcomes across life insurance, drug development and clinical trials, we have found that well-intentioned professionals who are dedicating their lives to the betterment of humanity are still being stunted by their own biases.Therefore, one of the important commitments of Illumen Capital's investor community is to address biases in their respective portfolios, enabling them to better identify overlooked and underestimated entrepreneurs, as well as to improve society through multiple impact areas, including social determinants of health.Q.

What has been the market buy cialis with free samples potential and investor growth in healthcare technology?. A. Healthcare technology is not only a massive growth area for venture investment, but buy cialis with free samples also across all private markets. Last year, we saw PitchBook track more than 4,000 investments into health tech companies, which was more than $50 billion of capital invested across a number of different sectors such as digital health, medical devices, clinical data, analysis, home care services and aging care.Furthermore, the cialis shocked the healthcare industry in a number of ways, which opened up potential for additional innovation.

For example, clinical trials across many organizations were halted during the shutdowns when a number of elective healthcare services were reduced and mitigated.However, companies that previously had buy cialis with free samples exposure to, or that have strategies around, decentralized clinical trials and virtual clinical trials were able to keep their trials running and moving. This led to increased investor and industry appetite for decentralized clinical trial solutions.Additionally, we have seen consumers become increasingly more comfortable with virtual care, contributing to a rise in appetite from pharmaceutical companies, healthcare providers and investors to provide innovative health interactions and solutions into the mainstream.Q. Why is diversity important buy cialis with free samples in healthcare?. A.

Racial discrimination has shaped so many institutions that perhaps buy cialis with free samples it should be no surprise that healthcare is among them. Considering wellness is a human-centered field, it is essential to increase diversity and representation in order to decrease existing systemic biases.The repercussions of racial bias and lack of representation in healthcare are that people of color receive less care – and often worse care – than white Americans. This includes lower relative buy cialis with free samples rates of health coverage. Communication barriers.

Racial stereotyping buy cialis with free samples based on false beliefs. And inconsistency in patient outcomes. Right now, there is a dearth of data and information around reducing biases, which is part of the reason why Illumen Capital exists.I'd also like to reference the Congressional Task Force which was created as a result of NYU McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research's Executive Director Michael Lindsay's research that was studying the relatively high rates of buy cialis with free samples Black youth suicide. Suicide rates among Black youth were up 127% between 1991 and 2017.Although diversity in healthcare is a complicated issue today, we see just the tip of the iceberg into a system that is deeply rooted in American history.

Therefore, we partner with Impact Experience to host convenings for the funds we invest in and our investors, many of which have a healthcare focus, in Montgomery, Alabama.We take a deep dive in studying the periods of slavery, lynching and mass incarceration and how they contribute to the imbalance of the asset management buy cialis with free samples industry. In fact, we focus on the horror of the history of the Black women slaves who were experimented on by Dr. Marion Sims and honor buy cialis with free samples these women for their contributions to today's gynecological innovation.The goal of these experiences is to reduce biases and shift these systems rather than reinforcing the legacy of the past.Twitter. @SiwickiHealthITEmail the writer.

Bsiwicki@himss.orgHealthcare IT News is a HIMSS Media publication..

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10.1136/mh.27.1.2095. Treffry-Goatley, et al., Community engagement with HIV drug adherence in rural South Africa. A transdisciplinary approach.96.

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Biomedicine and the humanities. Growing pains.110. Saam Idelji-Tehrani and Muna Al-Jawad (2019).

"Exploring gendered leadership stereotypes in a shared leadership model in healthcare. A case study." Ibid. No.

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Doi. 10.1080/13557858.2011.604126112. Hume, et al., Biomedicine and the humanities.

Growing pains.113. Cole and Gallagher, Narrative and clinical neuroscience. Can phenomenologically informed approaches and empirical work cross-fertilise?.

114. Macnaughton and Carel, Breathing and breathlessness in clinic and culture. Using critical medical humanities to bridge an epistemic gap.115.

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Gilman, Illness and image. Case studies in the medical humanities.118. Cole and Gallagher, Narrative and clinical neuroscience.

Can phenomenologically informed approaches and empirical work cross-fertilise?. 119. Macnaughton and Carel, Breathing and breathlessness in clinic and culture.

Using critical medical humanities to bridge an epistemic gap.120. C Teddlie and A. Tashakkori (2009).

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Sage.121. Macnaughton and Carel, Breathing and breathlessness in clinic and culture. Using critical medical humanities to bridge an epistemic gap.122.

Gian Luca Barbieri et al. (2016). "Imagination in narrative medicine." Journal of Child Health Care no.

20 (4):419-427. Doi. 10.1177/1367493515625134123.

Treffry-Goatley, et al. Community engagement with HIV drug adherence in rural South Africa. A transdisciplinary approach.124.

WHO (2016). World Antibiotic Awareness Week. 2016 campaign toolkit.

Geneva. World Health Organization.125. Across the three villages, 67% of the workshop attendees were female and the average age of the attendees was 44 years (range.

18 to 81 years. Based on subsequently collected survey data).126. Nutcha Charoenboon et al.

(2019)127. We thank an anonymous reviewer for highlighting the potential hazards of reproducing hierarchies through methods intended to challenge them in the first place.128. The research was reviewed and approved by the University of Oxford Tropical Research Ethics Committee (Ref.

OxTREC 528-17), and it received local ethical approval in Thailand from the Mae Fah Luang University Research Ethics Committee on Human Research (Ref. REH 60099). The service evaluation of the photo exhibition involved anonymised data collection and received a waiver for ethical approval from the University of Warwick Humanities &.

Social Sciences Research Ethics Committee (HSSREC). However, all evaluation form respondents explicitly consented to the data being reported in research publications.129. Marco J Haenssgen et al.

(2018)130. National Statistical Office (2012). The 2010 population and housing census.

Changwat Chiang Rai. Bangkok. National Statistical Office.131.

Data on the individual level would entail duplication of observations should both census survey rounds be included. Step-level data were aggregated on the illness level for analysis.132. Claire Charlotte McKechnie (2014).

"Anxieties of communication. The limits of narrative in the medical humanities." Medical Humanities no. 40 (2):119-124.

Doi. 10.1136/medhum-2013-010466133. Carusi, Modelling systems biomedicine.

Intertwinement and the 'real'.134. Garden, Social studies. The humanities, narrative, and the social context of the patient-professional relationship.135.

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Integrating community roles into health systems frameworks to achieve health for all." BMJ Global Health no. 3 (Suppl. 3):e001384.

Doi. 10.1136/bmjgh-2018-001384136. Sudhinaraset, et al.

What is the role of informal healthcare providers in developing countries?. A systematic review.137. G Bloom et al.

(2015). Addressing resistance to antibiotics in pluralistic health systems. Brighton.

University of Sussex138. WHO (2007). Strengthening health systems to improve health outcomes.

WHO’s framework for action. Geneva. World Health Organization.139.

Jordanova, Medicine and the visual arts.140. Macnaughton and Carel, Breathing and breathlessness in clinic and culture. Using critical medical humanities to bridge an epistemic gap.141.

A Bleakley (2014). Ibid. "Towards a 'critical medical humanities'." In, 17-26.142.

Hume, et al., Biomedicine and the humanities. Growing pains.143. Nutcha Charoenboon et al.

(2019)144. Marco Haenssgen et al. (2018)145.

WHO, World Antibiotic Awareness Week. 2016 campaign toolkit.146. The questionnaire did so by showing all survey respondents three images of common antibiotic capsules being used in Chiang Rai (green-blue.

White-blue. Azithromycin—see questionnaire page 10 in the online supplementary material). Respondents were asked to name what they saw, and all their answers were recorded (field-coded and as free text).147.

The ‘desirability’ of the responses was field coded by the survey team. Sample responses (as instructed through the survey manual) for ‘desirable’ answers included, for example, “Only if the doctor says that I should”. Sample responses for ‘undesirable’ answers included “Yes, you can buy it in the shop over there!.

€ The variable should be interpreted as ‘the fraction of respondents who uttered a ‘desirable’ response’—the inverse is the fraction of responses that could not be deemed ‘desirable’ (eg, ‘do not know’ or ‘no opinion’).148. Because recalled descriptions of medicine tend to be ambiguous, we limited our analysis to medicines where we had a high degree of certainty that they were an antibiotic. This was specifically the case if survey respondents mentioned common antibiotic descriptions such as ‘anti-inflammatory’, ‘amoxi’ or ‘colem’, if they indicated explicitly that they know what ‘anti-inflammatory medicine’ is (noting that the term describes antibiotics unambiguously in Thai), and if they subsequently mentioned any of the previously mentioned antibiotics during their description of an illness episode (conversely, we excluded cases were the medicine could not be confirmed as either antibiotic or non-antibiotic, including descriptions like ‘white powder’ or ‘green capsule’).149.

Aristotle (1954). Rhetoric. Translated by Roberts.

New York, NY. Modern Library. Original edition, 350 BC.150.

Arya Nielsen et al. (2007). "The effect of gua sha treatment on the microcirculation of surface tissue.

A pilot study in healthy subjects." EXPLORE no. 3 (5):456-466. Doi.

10.1016/j.explore.2007.06.001151. Nithima Sumpradit et al. (2012).

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Doi. 10.2471/BLT.12.105445152. C Muksong and K.

Chuengsatiansup (2020). Forthcoming. "Medicine and public health in Thai historiography.

From an elitist view to counter-hegemonic discourse." In Health, pluralism and globalisation. A modern history of medicine in South-East Asia, edited by Monnais and Cook. London.

The Wellcome Trust Centre for the History.153. L Sringernyuang (2000). Availability and use of medicines in rural Thailand.

Amsterdam. Amsterdam Institute for Social Science Research.154. Although this was not the focus of the current paper, we note for full disclosure that the workshops, too, had mixed behavioural impacts.

The poster making sessions in Chiang Rai demonstrated for instance how our conversations about drug resistance and the introduction of messages from the World Health Organization entailed at times problematic interpretations like, “You shouldn’t take medicines that you have never seen before”—the research team responded to such interpretations directly in order to avoid misunderstandings. In addition, previous behavioural analyses documented that, while workshop participants demonstrated higher levels of awareness of drug resistance, alignment of antibiotic use with global health recommendations was mixed, and in one case, a villager started selling antibiotics after the workshop. For more details on the behavioural analysis, see Nutcha Charoenboon et al.

(2019) and Marco Haenssgen et al. (2018).155. For example, Redfern, et al., Spreading the message of antimicrobial resistance.

A detailed account of a successful public engagement event.156. Antoine Boivin et al. (2018).

2018. "Patient and public engagement in research and health system decision making. A systematic review of evaluation tools (epub ahead of print)." Health Expectations.

Doi. 10.1111/hex.12804157. Staniszewska, et al.

GRIPP2 reporting checklists. Tools to improve reporting of patient and public involvement in research.158. Jerke, et al.

Smoking cessation in mental health communities. A living newspaper applied theatre project.159. Switzer, What’s in an image?.

Towards a critical and interdisciplinary reading of participatory visual methods.160. R. C Barfield and L.

Selman (2014). "Health and humanities. Spirituality and religion." In Health humanities reader, edited by Jones, Wear, Friedman and Pachucki, 376-386.

New Brunswick, NJ. Rutgers University Press.161. Abimbola, Beyond positive a priori bias.

Reframing community engagement in LMICs (epub ahead of print), 1.162. Marco J Haenssgen et al. (2019)163.

Marc Mendelson et al. (2017). "Antibiotic resistance has a language problem." Nature no.

Haak and Radyowijati, Determinants of antimicrobial use. Poorly understood, poorly researched.165. S Harbarth and D.

L. Monnet (2008). "Cultural and socioeconomic determinants of antibiotic use." In Antibiotic Policies.

Fighting Resistance, edited by Gould and van der Meer, 29-40. Boston, MA. Springer.166.

K Sirijoti, P. Havanond Hongsranagon, and W. Pannoi (2014).

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Haak and Radyowijati, Determinants of antimicrobial use. Poorly understood, poorly researched.169. Chandler, Current accounts of antimicrobial resistance.

Stabilisation, individualisation and antibiotics as infrastructure, 5.170. S Willson and K. Miller (2014).

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Schwartz (2005). "Photographs and the sociological research process." In Image-based research. A sourcebook for qualitative researchers, edited by Prosser, 101-115.

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Marco J Haenssgen (2019)183. Michael Etherton and Tim Prentki (2006). "Drama for change?.

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11 (2):139-155. Doi. 10.1080/13569780600670718184.

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Doi. 10.1177/1468794112446104IntroductionIn Australia, the USA and the UK, the number of hospital beds required for forensic mental health treatment doubled between 1996 and 2016.1 Current trends and future predictions suggest this demand will continue to grow. But, in an age where evidence-based practice is highly valued, the demand for new facilities already outpaces the availability of credible evidence to guide designers.

This article reports findings from a desktop survey of current design practice across 31 psychiatric hospitals (24 forensic, 7 non-forensic) constructed or scheduled for completion between 2006 and 2022. Desktop surveys, as a form of research, are heavily relied on in architectural practice. Photographs and architectural drawings are analysed to understand both typical and innovative approaches to designing a particular building type.

While desktop surveys are sometimes supplemented by visits to exemplar projects (which might also be termed ‘fieldwork’), time pressures and budgetary constraints often preclude this. As the result of an academic–industry partnership, the research reported herein embraced practice-based research methods in conjunction with an academic approach. The data set available for the desktop survey was rich but incomplete.

Security requirements restrict the public availability of complete floor plans and postoccupancy evaluations. To mitigate these limitations, knowledge was integrated from other disciplines, including environmental psychology, architectural history and professional practice. With regard to the latter, knowledge is specifically around the design and consultation processes that guide the construction of these facilities.

This knowledge was used to identify three contemporary hospitals that challenge accepted design practice and, we argue, in doing so have the potential to act as change-agents in the delivery of forensic mental healthcare. We define innovation as variation/s to common, or typical, architectural solutions that can positively improve patients’2 experience of these facilities in ways that directly support one, or a number, of key values underpinning forensic mental healthcare. While this article does not provide postoccupancy data to quantify the value of these innovations, we hope to encourage both designers and researchers to more closely consider these projects—particularly the way that spaces have been designed to benefit patient well-being—and the questions these designs raise for the future of forensic mental healthcare delivery.Now regarded as naïve is the 19th-century belief that architecture and landscape, if appropriately designed, can restore sanity.3 Yet contemporary research from the field of evidence-based design confirms that the built environment does play a role in the therapeutic process, even if that role does not determine therapeutic outcomes.4 Research regarding the design of forensic mental healthcare facilities remains limited.

An article by Ulrich et al recommended that to reduce aggression patients should be accommodated in single rooms. Communal areas should have movable furniture. Wards should be designed for low social densities.

And accessible gardens should be provided.5 An earlier study by Tyson et al showed that lower ward densities can also positively improve patient–staff interactions.6 Commonly, however, the studies referenced above compared older-style mental health units with their contemporary replacements.7 There is little comparative research available that examines contemporary facilities for forensic mental healthcare, with the exception of one article that provided a comparative analysis of nine Swedish facilities, designed between 1990 and 2008.8 However, this article merely described the design aspirations and physical composition of each hospital without investigating the link between design aspiration, patient well-being and the resulting physical environment.There are two further limitations to evidence-based design research. The first is the extent to which data do not provide directly applicable design tactics. Systematic literature reviews typically provide a set of design recommendations but without suggesting to designers what the corresponding physical design tactics to achieve those recommendations might actually be.9 This is consistent for general hospital design.

For example, architects have been advised to provide spaces that are ‘psychosocially supportive’ since 2000, yet it was 2016 before a spatially focused definition of this term was provided, offering designers a more tangible understanding of what they should be aiming for.10 The second limitation is the breadth of research currently available. While rigorous and valuable, evidence-based design often overlooks the fact that architects must design across scales, from the master-planning scale—deciding where to place buildings of various functions within a site, and how to manage the safe movement of staff and patients between those buildings—to the scale of a bathroom door. How do you design a bathroom door to meet antiligature and surveillance requirements, to maintain patient safety, while still communicating dignity and respect for patients?.

The available literature provides much to contemplate, but in terms of credible evidence much of this research is based on a single study, typically conducted within a single hospital context and often focused on a single aspect of design. This raises the question, is there really a compelling basis for regarding evidence-based design knowledge as more credible than knowledge generated about this building type from other disciplines?. In light of the small amount of evidence available in this field, is there not a responsibility to use all the available knowledge?.

While the discipline of evidence-based design has existed for three decades,11 purpose-designed buildings for the treatment of mental illness have been constructed for over three centuries. Researchers working within the field of architectural history also understand that patient experience is partially determined—for better or worse—by the decisions that designers make, and that models of care have been used to drive design outcomes since the establishment of the York Retreat in 1796. With their focus on moral treatment, the York Retreat influenced a shift in the way asylum design was approached, from the provision of safe custody to finding architectural solutions to support the restoration of sanity.12 Architectural historians also bring evidence to bear in respect of this design challenge, specifically knowledge of how the best architectural intentions can result in unanticipated (sometimes devastating) outcomes—and of the conditions that gave rise to those outcomes.13 There is a third, rich source of knowledge available to guide designers that, broadly speaking, academic researchers have yet to tap into.

It is the knowledge produced by practitioners themselves. Architects learn through experience, across multiple projects and through practice-based forms of enquiry that include desktop surveys (also referred to as precedent studies), user group consultations and gathering (often informal) postoccupancy data from their clients. Architects have already offered a range of tangible solutions to meet particular aspirations related to patient care.

There is value in examining these existing design solutions to identify those capable of providing direct benefits to patients that might justify implementation across multiple projects. In understanding how the physical design of forensic psychiatric hospitals can best support the therapeutic journey of patients, all available knowledge should be valued and integrated.Methodology. Embracing ‘mode two’ researchThis research was conducted within the context of a master­-planning and feasibility study, commissioned by a state government department, to investigate various international design solutions to inform future planning around forensic mental health service provisions in Victoria, Australia.

The industry-led nature of this project demanded a less conventional and more inclusive methodological approach. Tight timeframes precluded employing research methods that required ethics approvals (interviewing patients was not possible), while the timeframe and budget precluded the research team from conducting fieldwork. The following obstacles further limited a conventional approach:Postoccupancy evaluations of forensic psychiatric hospital facilities are seldom conducted and/or not made publicly available.14Published floor plans that would enable researchers to derive an understanding of the functional layouts and corresponding habits of occupancy within these facilities are limited owing to the security needs surrounding forensic psychiatric hospital sites.Available literature relevant to the design of forensic psychiatric hospital facilities provides few direct architectural recommendations to offer tactics for how the built environment might support the delivery of treatment.The team had to find a way to navigate these challenges in order to address the important question of how the physical design of forensic psychiatric hospitals can best support the therapeutic journey of patients.‘Mode two’ is a methodological approach that draws on the strength of collaborations between academia and industry to produce ‘socially robust knowledge’ whose reliability extends ‘beyond the laboratory’ to real-world contexts.15 It shares commonalities with a phenomenological approach that attributes value to the prolonged, firsthand exposure of the researcher with the phenomenon in question.16 The inclusion of practising architects and academic researchers within the research team provided considerable expertise in the design, consultation and documentation of these facilities, alongside an understanding of the kinds of challenges that arise following the occupation of this building type.

Mode two, as a research approach, also recognises that, while architects reference evidence-based design literature, this will not replace the processes through which practitioners have traditionally assembled knowledge about particular building types, predominantly desktop surveys.A desktop survey was undertaken to understand contemporary design practice within this building type. Forty-four projects were identified as relevant for the period 2006–2022 (31 forensic and 13 non-forensic psychiatric hospitals). These included facilities from the UK, the USA, Canada, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, the United Arab Emirates and Ireland (online supplementary appendix 1).

Sufficient architectural information was not available for 13 of these projects and they were excluded from the study. For the remaining 31 facilities, 24 accommodated forensic patients and 7 did not. Non-forensic facilities were included to enable an awareness of any significant programmatic or functional differences in the design responses created for forensic versus non-forensic mental health patients.

Architectural drawings and photographs were analysed to identify general trends, alongside points of departure from common practice. Borrowing methods from architectural history, the desktop survey was supplemented by other available information, including a mix of hospital-authored guidebooks (as provided to patients and visitors), architects’ statements, newspaper articles and literature from the field of evidence-based design. Available data varied for each of the 31 hospitals.

Adopting a method from architectural theorist Thomas Markus, the materiality and placement of external and internal boundary lines were closely studied (assisted by Google Earth).17 When read in conjunction with the architectural drawings, boundary placement revealed information regarding patient access to adjacent landscape spaces.Supplemental materialA desktop survey has limitations. It cannot provide a conclusive understanding of how these spaces operate when occupied by patients and staff. While efforts were made to contact individual practices and healthcare providers to obtain missing details, such requests typically went unanswered.

This is likely owing to concerns of security, alongside the realities of commercial practice, concerns around intellectual property, and complex client and stakeholder arrangements that can act to prohibit the sharing of this information. To deepen the team’s understanding, a 2-day workshop was hosted to which two international architectural practices were invited to attend, one from the UK and one from the USA. Both practices had recently completed a significant forensic psychiatric hospital project.

While neither of these facilities had been occupied at the time of the workshops, the architects were able to share their experiences relative to the research, design, and client and patient consultation processes undertaken. The Australian architects who led the research team also brought extensive experience in acute mental healthcare settings, which assisted in data analysis.To further mitigate the limitations of the desktop survey, understandings developed by the team were used as a basis for advisory panel discussions with staff. Feedback was sought from five 60 min long, advisory panel sessions, each including four to six clinical/facilities staff (who attended voluntarily during work hours) from a forensic psychiatric hospital in Australia, where several participants recounted professional experience in both the Australian and British contexts.

Each advisory panel session was themed relative to various aspects of contemporary design. (1) site/hospital layout, (2) inpatient accommodation, (3) landscape design and access, (4) staff amenities, and (5) treatment hubs (referred to as ‘treatment malls’ in the American context). These sessions enabled the research team to double-check our analysis of the plans and photographs, particularly our assumptions regarding the likely use, practicality and therapeutic value of particular spaces.Model for analysisWithin general hospital design, a range of indicators are used to measure the contribution of architecture to healing, such as the optimisation of lighting to support sleep, the minimisation of patient falls, or whether the use of single patient rooms assists with control.18 In mental health, however, where the therapeutic journey is based more on psychology than physiology, what metrics should be employed to evaluate the success of one design response over another in supporting patient care?.

We suggest the first step is to acknowledge the values that underpin contemporary approaches to mental healthcare. The second step is to translate those treatment values into corresponding spatial values using a value-led spatial framework.19 This provides a checklist for relating particular spatial conditions to specific values around patient care. For example, if the design intent is to optimise privacy and dignity for patients, then the design of bathrooms, relaxation and de-esculation spaces are all important spaces in respect of that therapeutic value.

Highlighting this relationship can assist decision makers to more closely interrogate areas that matter most relative to achieving these values. To put this in context, optimising a bathroom design to prioritise a direct line of sight for staff might improve safety but also obstruct privacy and dignity for patients. While such decisions will always need to be carefully balanced, a value-led spatial framework can provide a touchstone for designers and stakeholders to revisit throughout the design process.To analyse the 31 projects examined within this project, we developed a framework (Table 1).

It recognises that a common approach to patient care can be identified across contemporary Australian, British and Canadian models:View this table:Table 1 Value-led spatial framework. Correlating treatment values with corresponding spaces within the hospital’s physical environmentThat patients be extended privacy and dignity to the broadest degree possible without impacting their personal safety or that of other patients or staff.That patients be treated within the least restrictive environment possible relative to the severity of their illness and the legal (or security) requirements attached to their care.That patients be afforded choice and independence relative to freedom of movement within the hospital campus (as appropriate to the individual), extending to a choice of social, recreational and treatment spaces.That patients’ progression through their treatment journey is reflected in the way the architecture communicates to hospital users.That opportunities for peer-led therapeutic processes and involvement of family and community-based care providers be optimised within a hospital campus. 20Table 1 assigns a range of architectural spaces and features that are relevant to each of the five treatment values listed.

Architectural decisions related to these values operate across three scales. Context, hospital and individual. Context decisions are those made in respect of a hospital’s location, including proximity to allied services, connections to public transport and distances to major metropolitan hubs.

Decisions of this type are important relative to staffing recruitment and retention, and opportunities for research relative to the psychiatric hospital’s proximity to general (teaching) hospitals or university precincts. Architectural decisions operating at the hospital scale include considerations of how secure site boundaries are provided. How buildings are laid out on a site.

And how spatial and functional links are set up between those buildings. This is important relative to the movement of patients and staff across a site, including the location and functionality of therapeutic hubs. But it can also impact patient and community psychology.

The design of external fences, in particular, can compound feelings of confinement for patients. Focus community attention on the custodial role of a facility over and above its therapeutic function. And influence perceptions of safety and security for the community immediately surrounding the hospital.

Architectural decisions operating at the ‘individual’ scale are those that more closely impact the daily experience of a hospital for patients and staff. These include the various arrangements for inpatient accommodation. Tactics for providing patients with landscape access and views.

And the question of staff spaces relative to safety, ease of communication and collaboration. Approaches to landscape, inpatient accommodation and concerns of staff supervision are closely intertwined.Findings. What we learnt from 31 contemporary psychiatric hospital projectsForensic psychiatric hospitals treat patients who require mental health treatment in addition to a history of criminal offending or who are at risk of committing a criminal offence.

Primarily, these include patients who are unfit to stand trial and those found not guilty on account of their illness.21 Accommodation is typically arranged according to low, medium or high security needs, alongside clinical need, and whether an acute, subacute, extended or translational rehabilitation setting is required. Security needs are determined based on the risk a patient presents to themselves and/or others, alongside their risk of absconding from the facility. The challenge that has proven intractable for centuries is how can architects balance privacy and dignity for patients, while maintaining supervision for their own safety, alongside that of their fellow patients, the staff providing care and, in some cases, the community beyond.22 In this section we present overall trends regarding the layout of buildings within hospital sites, including the placement of treatment hubs and the design of inpatient wards.

Access to landscape is not explicitly addressed in this section but is implicit in decisions around site layout and inpatient accommodation.Design approaches to site layoutWe identified two approaches to site layout—the ‘village’ (4 from 31 hospitals) and the ‘campus’ (27 from 31 hospitals) (figure 1). Similar in their functional arrangement, these are differentiated according to the degree of exterior circulation required to move between patient-occupied spaces. Village hospitals comprise a number of buildings sitting within the landscape, while campus hospitals have interconnected buildings with access provided by internal corridors that prevent the need to go outside.

Neither approach is new. Both follow the models first used within the 19th century. The village hospital follows the model designed by Dr Albrecht Paetz in 1878 (Alt Scherbitz, Germany), which included detached cottages accommodating patients in groups of between 24 and 100, set within gardens.23 Paetz created this design in response to his belief that upwards of 1000 patients should not be accommodated in a single building, with security measures determined in relation to those patients whose behaviour was the least predictable.24 The resulting monotony of the daily routine and restrictions on patient movement were believed to ‘cripple the intelligence and depress the spirit’.25 Paetz’s model allowed doctors to classify patients into smaller groups and unlock doors to allow patients with predictable behaviour to wander freely within the secure outer boundaries of the hospital.26 This remained the preferred approach to patient accommodation for over a century, as endorsed by the WHO in their report of 1953.27 Broadmoor Hospital (UK, 2019) provides an example of the village model.The Broadmoor Hospital (left) follows a ‘village’ arrangement and includes an ‘internal’ treatment hub.

The Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital (right) follows a ‘campus’ arrangement and includes an ‘on-edge’ treatment hub." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 1 The Broadmoor Hospital (left) follows a ‘village’ arrangement and includes an ‘internal’ treatment hub. The Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital (right) follows a ‘campus’ arrangement and includes an ‘on-edge’ treatment hub.The campus model is not dissimilar to the approach propagated by Dr Henry Thomas Kirkbride, a 19th-century psychiatrist who was active in the design of asylums and whose influence saw this planning arrangement dominate asylum constructions in the USA for many decades.28 Asylums of the ‘Kirkbride plan’ arranged patient accommodation in a series of pavilions linked by corridors. While corridors can be heavily glazed, where this action is not taken, the campus approach can compromise patient and staff connections to landscape views.

Examples of campus hospitals include the Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital (USA, 2012) and the Nixon Forensic Center (USA, under construction).Treatment hubs are a contemporary addition to forensic psychiatric hospitals. These cluster a range of shared patient spaces, including recreational, treatment and vocational training facilities, and thus drive patient movement around or through a hospital site. Two different treatment hub arrangements are in use.

€˜internal’ and ‘on-edge’. Those arranged internally typically place these functions at the heart of the campus and at a significant distance from the secure boundary line. Those arranged on-edge are placed at the far end of campus-model hospitals and, in the most extreme cases, occur adjacent to one of the site’s external boundaries (refer to Figure 1).

Both arrangements aspire to make life within the hospital resemble life beyond the hospital as closely as possible, as the daily practice of walking from an accommodation area to a treatment hub mimics the practice of travelling from home to a place of work or study.With evidence mounting regarding the psychological benefits to patients of landscape access, it should not be assumed that the current preference for campus hospitals over the village model indicates ‘best practice’. A campus arrangement offers security benefits for the movement of patients across a hospital site, while avoiding the associated risks of contraband concealed within landscaped spaces. However, the existence of village hospitals for forensic cohorts suggests it is possible to successfully manage these challenges.

Why then do we see such a strong persistence of the campus hospital?. This preference may be driven by cultural expectations. From 24 forensic psychiatric hospitals surveyed, 10 were located within the USA and all employed the campus model.

Yet nine of those hospitals occupied rural sites where the village model could have been used, suggesting the influence of the Kirkbride plan prevails. The four village hospitals within the broader sample of 31, spanning forensic and non-forensic settings, all occurred within the UK3 and Ireland1. Paetz’s villa model had been the preferred approach to new constructions in these countries since its introduction at close of the 19th century.29 However, a look at UK hospitals in isolation revealed a more even spread of village and campus arrangements, with two of the four UK-based campus hospitals occupying constrained urban sites that required multi-story solutions.

The village model would be inappropriate for achieving this as it does not lend well to urban locations where land availability is scarce.Design approaches to inpatient accommodationThree approaches to inpatient accommodation were identified. €˜peninsula’, ‘race-track’ and ‘courtyard’ (Figure 2). The peninsula model is characterised by rows of inpatient wings, along a single-loaded or double-loaded corridor that stretches into the surrounding landscape.

This typically enables an exterior view from all patient bedrooms and is not dissimilar to the traditional ‘pavilion’ model that emerged within 19th-century hospital design.30 In the racetrack model bedrooms are arranged around a cluster of staff-only (or service) spaces, still enabling exterior views from all patient bedrooms. The courtyard model is similar to the racetrack but includes a central landscape space. Information on the design of inpatient room layouts was available for 24 of the 31 projects analysed (15 of these 24 were forensic).Common inpatient accommodation configurations.

(1) Peninsula. Single-loaded version shown (patient rooms on one side only. Double-loaded versions have patient rooms on two sides of the corridor).

(2) racetrack and (3) courtyard (landscaped). Staff-occupied spaces and support spaces (social space and so on) shown in grey." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 2 Common inpatient accommodation configurations. (1) Peninsula.

Single-loaded version shown (patient rooms on one side only. Double-loaded versions have patient rooms on two sides of the corridor). (2) racetrack and (3) courtyard (landscaped).

Staff-occupied spaces and support spaces (social space and so on) shown in grey.Ten forensic hospitals employed a peninsula plan and five employed a courtyard plan. Of the non-forensic psychiatric hospitals five employed the courtyard, three the racetrack and only one the peninsula plan. While the sample size is too small to generalise, the peninsula plan appears to be favoured for a forensic cohort.

However, cultural trends again emerge. Of the 10 peninsula plan hospitals, 6 were located within the USA, and among the broader sample of 24 (including the non-forensic facilities) none of the courtyard hospitals were located there. Courtyard layouts for forensic patients occurred within the UK, Ireland, Denmark and Sweden.

However, within these countries, a mix of courtyard and peninsula plans were used, suggesting no clear preference for one plan over the other.Each plan type has advantages and disadvantages (Table 2). Courtyard accommodation provides the following benefits. Greater opportunity for patient access to landscape since these are easier for staff to maintain surveillance over.

Additional safety for staff owing to continuous circulation (staff cannot get caught in ‘dead-ends’. However, the presence of corners which are difficult to see around is a drawback). Natural light is more easily available.

And ‘swing bedrooms’ can be supported (this is the ability to reconfigure the number of observable bedrooms on a nursing ward by opening and closing doors at different points within a corridor). However, courtyard accommodation requires a larger site area so is better suited to rural locations than urban and is not well suited to multi-story facilities. Peninsula accommodation enables geographical separation, giving medical teams greater opportunity to manage which patients are housed together (‘cohorting’).

Blind corners can be avoided to assist safety and surveillance. Travel distances can be minimised. Finally, the absence of continuous circulation provides greater flexibility for creating social spaces for patients with graduated degrees of (semi-)privacy.View this table:Table 2 Advantages and disadvantages of peninsula versus courtyard accommodationAnother important consideration related to inpatient accommodation is ward size.

The number of bedrooms clustered together, alongside the amount of dedicated living space associated with these bedrooms. Ward size can influence patient agitation and aggression, alongside ease of supervision, staff anxiety and safety.31 The most common ward sizes were 24 or 32 beds, further subdivided into subclusters of 8 beds. Typically, each ward was provided with one large living space that all 24 or 32 patients used together.

More advanced approaches gave patients a choice of living spaces. For example, at Coalinga Hospital, patients could occupy a small living space available to only 8 patients, or a larger space that all 24 patients had access to. We describe this approach as more advanced since both 19th-century understandings alongside recent research by Ulrich et al confirm that social density (the number of persons per room) is ‘the most consistently important variable for predicting crowding stress and aggressive behaviour’.32 Only six hospitals had plans detailed enough to calculate the square-metre provision of living space per patient, and this varied between 5 and 8 square metres.Limitations of the desktop surveyData from a desktop survey are insufficient to obtain a comprehensive understanding of how design contributes to patient experience.

To overcome this limitation, the following sections combine knowledge about how people use space from environmental psychology, knowledge about the design and consultation processes that guide the construction of these facilities, and understandings from architectural history. History suggests that seemingly small changes to typical design practice can effect significant change in the delivery of mental healthcare, the daily experience of hospitalised patients and more broadly public perceptions of mental illness. This integrated approach is used to identify three forensic psychiatric hospitals that challenge accepted design practice to varying degrees and, in doing so, have the potential to act as change-agents in the delivery of forensic mental healthcare.

But first it is important to understand the context in which architectural innovation is able, or unable, to emerge relative to forensic mental healthcare.Accepting the challenge. Using history to help us see beyond the roadblocks to innovationArchitects tasked with designing forensic mental health facilities respond to what is called a ‘functional brief’. This documents the specific performance requirements of the hospital in question.

Much consultation goes into formulating and refining a functional brief through the initial and developed design stages. Consultation is typically undertaken with a variety of different user groups, and in a sequential fashion that includes a greater cross-section of users as the design progresses, including patients, families, and clinical and security staff. Despite the focus on patient experience within contemporary models of care, functional briefs tend to prioritise safety and security, making them the basis on which most major architectural decisions are made.33 In large part this is simply the reality of accommodating a patient cohort who pose a risk of harm towards themselves and/or others.

A comment from Tom Brooks-Pilling, a member of the design team for the Nixon Forensic Center (Fulton, Missouri), provides insight into this approach and the concerns that drive it. He explained that borrowing a ‘spoked wheel’ arrangement from prison design eliminated blind spots and hiding places to enable a centrally located staff member to:see everything that’s going on in that unit…[they are] basically watching the other staff’s back [sic] to make sure that they can focus on treatment and not worry about who might be sneaking up on them or what activities might be going on behind their backs.34Advisory panel feedback confirmed that when the architectural design of a facility heightens staff anxiety this has direct ramifications for the therapeutic process. For example, in spaces where staff could become isolated from one another, and where clear lines of sight were obstructed, such as ill-designed elevators or stairwells, this can lead to movement being reduced across the patient cohort to avoid putting staff in those spaces where they feel unsafe.The architects consulted during the course of this research, including those who were part of the research team, articulated how the necessary prioritisation of safety, in turn, leads to compromises in the attainment of an ideal environment to support treatment.

In the various forensic and acute psychiatric hospital projects they had been involved with, all observed a sincere commitment on the part of those engaged in project briefing to upholding ideals around privacy, dignity, autonomy and freedom of movement for patients. They reported, however, that the commitment to these ideals was increasingly obstructed as the design process progressed by the more pressing concerns of safety. Examples of the kinds of architectural implications of this prioritisation are things like spatially separated nursing stations (enclosed, often fully glazed), when a desire for less-hierarchical interactions between patients and staff had been expressed at the beginning of the briefing process.

Or the substitution of harder-wearing materials, with a more ‘institutional’ feel when a ‘home-like’ atmosphere had been prioritised initially. There is nothing surprising or unusual about this process since design is, by its nature, a process of seeking improvements on accepted practice while systematically checking the suitability of proposed solutions against a set of performance requirements. In the context of forensic psychiatric hospitals, safety is the performance requirement that most often frustrates the implementation of innovative design.

Thus, amid the complexities of design and procurement relative to forensic psychiatric hospitals, innovation, however humble, and particularly where it can be seen to contribute positively to the patient experience, is worth a closer look.In the historical development of the psychiatric hospital as a building type, two significant departures from accepted design practice facilitated positive change in the treatment of mental illness. The first was Paetz’s development of the village hospital which sought to replace high fences, locked doors and barred windows with ‘humane but stringent supervision’.35 While this planning approach may not have significantly altered models of care, it was regarded as ‘an essential, vital development’, providing architectural support to the prevailing approach to treatment of the time—that of moral treatment—which aimed to extend kindness and respect to patients, in an environment that was as unrestrictive as possible. The York Retreat is worthy of acknowledgement here as a leading proponent of moral treatment whose influence shifted approaches to asylum design, from focusing on the provision of safe custody to supporting the restoration of sanity.

Architecturally, however, the differences in the York Retreat’s approach were mainly focused on interior details that encouraged patients to maintain civil habits. Dining rooms had white tablecloths and flower vases adorned mantelpieces, door locks were custom-made to close quietly, and window bars fashioned to look like domestic window frames.36 The York Retreat was originally a small institution, in line with Samuel Tuke’s preference for a maximum asylum size of 30 patients. History confirms the extent to which this approach was not scalable and thus unable to be replicated widely for asylum construction.

For these reasons, it has not been considered here as a significant departure from accepted design practice.The second significant departure from accepted design practice was the development of acute treatment hospitals, located within cities, adjacent to general hospitals and medical research facilities. The first hospital of this type was the Maudsley Hospital, led by doctors Henry Maudsley and Frederick Mott, in London. The design intent for this hospital was announced in 1908 but it was not opened until 1923.37 In proposing this hospital, Maudsley and Mott were motivated to bring psychiatry ‘into line with the other branches of medical science’.38 This 100-bed facility, located directly across the road from the King’s College (Teaching) Hospital, emulated the general hospital typology in offering both outpatient and short-duration inpatient care, specifically targeted at patients with recent-onset illnesses.

The aspirations were threefold. To avoid the stigma associated with large public asylums. To advance the medical understanding of mental illness through research collaborations with general hospitals and medical schools and via improved teaching programmes.

And to both enable and encourage patients to access early, voluntary treatment on an outpatient basis.38 Today the Maudsley appears unremarkable, an unassuming three-storied building on a busy London street. But the significance of what this building communicated at the time it was constructed, and the extent to which it challenged accepted practice, should not be underestimated. The Maudsley sent a clear message to the public that mental illness was no longer to be regarded as different from any other illness treated within a general hospital setting.

That it was no longer okay to isolate those suffering from mental illness from their families or the neighbourhoods in which they lived.39 Following the announcement of the Maudsley, the ‘psychopathic hospital’ rose to prominence within the USA with Johns Hopkins University Hospital opening the Phipps Psychiatric Clinic, in Baltimore, in 1913. The psychopathic hospital similarly promoted urban locations and closer connections to teaching and research. The Maudsley can be seen to have played a significant role in the shift to treating acute mental illness within general hospital settings.In any discussion of the history of institutional care, there is a responsibility to acknowledge that the aspiration to provide buildings that support care and recovery have not always manifested in ways that improved daily life for patients.

The five treatment values that underpinned the analysis framework for this project are not new values. The extension of privacy and dignity to patients and the delivery of care within the least restrictive environment possible were both firmly embedded in the 19th-century approach of moral treatment. Yet the rapid growth of asylum care frustrated the delivery of those values to patients.40 Choice and independence for patients, the desire for a patient’s recovery progress to be reflected in their environment, and opportunities for peer support and family involvement have been present in approaches to mental health treatment since the formal endorsement of the ‘therapeutic community’ approach to hospital construction and administration in the WHO’s report of 1953.41 History reminds us, therefore, that differences can arise between the stated values on which an institution is designed and those which it is constructed and operated.

The three hospitals discussed in the following section include innovative solutions that hold the promise of positive benefits for patients. Yet we acknowledge this a theoretical analysis. For concrete evidence of a positive relationship between these design outcomes and patient well-being, postoccupancy evaluations are required.Three hospitals contributing to positive change in forensic mental healthcareBroadmoor Hospital.

Optimising the value of the village model for patientsNineteenth-century beliefs and contemporary research are in accord regarding the importance of greenspace in reducing agitation within forensic psychiatric hospital environments and in promoting positive patterns of socialisation.42 It is surprising, therefore, that enshrining daily landscape access for patients is not widespread within current design practice. The Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital and the State Hospital at Carstairs (Scotland) both follow the model of the village hospital, but only in that they comprise a number of accommodation buildings set within the landscape, enclosed by an external boundary fence. At the Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital, the scale of the landscape—the distance between buildings and the lack of intermediate boundaries within the landscape—suggests it is highly unlikely that patients are allowed to navigate this landscape on a regular basis.

By comparison, the architectural response developed for Broadmoor Hospital (2019) shows an exemplary commitment to patient views and access to landscape (Figure 3).Likely extent of landscape occupation by patients as indicated by the position of inner and outer secure boundary lines. (1) Broadmoor Hospital (rural site, UK), (2) Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital (rural site) and (3) Roseberry Hospital (suburban site, UK)." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 3 Likely extent of landscape occupation by patients as indicated by the position of inner and outer secure boundary lines. (1) Broadmoor Hospital (rural site, UK), (2) Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital (rural site) and (3) Roseberry Hospital (suburban site, UK).Five contemporary hospitals follow the logic of a traditional villa hospital, yet Broadmoor is the only one that optimises the benefits offered by this spatial configuration.

Comprising a gateway building and a central treatment hub, with a series of patient accommodation buildings positioned around it, the landscape becomes the only available circulation route for patients travelling off-ward to the shared therapy, recreation and vocational training spaces. Most patients will thus engage with the outdoors at least twice daily on their way to and return from these shared spaces. But in addition to accessing this central landscape, landscape views from patient rooms have been prioritised, and each ward is allocated its own large greenspace.

Multiple, internal boundary fences enable patient access to the adjacent landscape to the greatest possible degree (refer to Figure 3). This approach provides patients with a diversity of landscape experiences. This is important given the patterns of landscape use between forensic and non-forensic hospitals.

In non-forensic facilities, patients are likely to have the choice of accessing multiple landscape spaces, whereas in forensic facilities access to a particular space is often restricted to one cohort, for example, a single ward group. This highlights a limitation of the courtyard model for forensic patients. Roseberry Park Hospital (2012) provides an example of how a high degree of landscape access can be similarly achieved for patients on constrained urban site, using a courtyard layout (refer to Figure 3).Providing patients with daily landscape access provides challenges to maintaining safety and security.

Trees with low branches can be used as weapons, while tall branches can be used for self-harm, and ground cover landscaping increases opportunities to conceal contraband. At the Australian hospital where advisory panel sessions were conducted (constructed in 2000), the landscape is occupied in a similar way and staff conveyed the constant effort required to ensure safe patient access to this greenspace. Significant costs are incurred annually by facilities staff in keeping the greenspace free from contraband and from several varieties of wild mushroom that grow seasonally on the site.

Despite this cost, staff reported that both they and the patients value the opportunity to circulate through the landscaped grounds (even in inclement weather). Hence, the benefits to well-being are perceived as significant enough to justify this cost. These examples make evident that placing a hospital within a landscape is not enough to ensure patients are extended the well-being benefits of ongoing access.

Instead this requires that hospitals factor in the additional supervisory and maintenance requirements to maintain landscape access for patients.Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital. Spaces to support choice and a sense of controlResearch in environmental psychology, conducted within residential and hospital settings, confirms that the ability to regulate social contact can have a dramatic impact on well-being. The physical layout of spaces has been linked to both the likelihood of developing socially supportive relationships and impeding this development, with direct implications for communication, concentration, aggression and a person’s resilience to irritation.43 These problems can be more pronounced in a forensic psychiatric hospital as there is an over-representation of patients who have suffered trauma.

Architects working in forensic psychiatric hospital design acknowledge that patients need space to withdraw from the busy hospital environment, spaces where they can ‘observe everything that is going on around them until they feel ready to join in’.44 It is surprising, therefore, that many contemporary forensic psychiatric hospitals still continue to provide a single social space for all 24 or 32 patients occupying a ward. The Worcester Recovery Center, by comparison, provides patients with a choice of social spaces that are designed to enable graduated degrees of social engagement. This can support a sense of control to limit socially induced stress.Worcester is conceptualised as three distinct zones designed to resemble life beyond the hospital.

The ‘house’, ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘downtown’ (Figure 4). The house zones include patient accommodation, employing a peninsula model. Each comprises 26 patient rooms, clustered into groups of 6 or 10 single bedrooms that face a collection of shared spaces dedicated to that cluster, including sitting areas, lounges and therapeutic spaces.

A shared kitchen and dining room is provided for each house. Three houses feed into a neighbourhood zone that includes shared spaces for therapy and vocational training, while the downtown zone serves a total of 14 houses. The downtown zone can be accessed by patients based on a merit system and includes a café, bank and retail spaces, music room, health club, chapel, green house, library and art rooms, alongside large interior public spaces.

This array of amenities does not seem distinctly different from other contemporary facilities, where therapy and vocational training happen in a mix of on-ward and off-ward (often within a central treatment hub). The difference lies in the sensitivity of how these spaces are articulated.Details of the social spaces provided on each ward at the Worcester Recovery Center and the proximity of the ‘house’ (or ward) to the ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘downtown’." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 4 Details of the social spaces provided on each ward at the Worcester Recovery Center and the proximity of the ‘house’ (or ward) to the ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘downtown’.The generosity of providing separate living spaces for every 6–10 patients and locating these directly across the corridor from the patient rooms supports a sense of control and choice for patients. Frank Pitts, an architect who worked on the Worcester project, has written that this was done to enable patients to ‘decide whether they are ready to step out and socialise or return to the privacy of their room’.45 This approach filters throughout the facility, providing a slow graduation of social engagement opportunities for patients, from opportunities to socialise with their cluster of 6–10 individuals, to their house of 26, to their neighbourhood of 78 people, to the full downtown experience.

According to the architects, the neighbourhood thus provides an intermediary zone between the quiet house and the active downtown, which can be overwhelming for some patients.46 Importantly the scale of the architecture responds to this transition from personal to public space, providing visual indicators to reflect patients’ movement through their treatment journey. Spaces become larger as they move further from the ward. This occurs because instead of providing a single, large shared living space, patients are provided a choice of smaller spaces to occupy—these are not much bigger than a patient bedroom.

Dining spaces are slightly larger, while downtown spaces have a civic quality. These are double-height, providing a greater sense of light and airiness. These are arranged in a semicircle, opening onto a large veranda and greenspace.

The sensitive articulation of these spaces, with regard to both their graduated physical scale and the proximity of the social spaces to the patient bedrooms, provides spatial support to these social transitions while empowering patients to control their own level of social interaction.Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare. Creating opportunities for greater public engagement and supporting readjustment to the world beyond the hospitalOne of the most significant barriers to mental health treatment is the stigma associated with admission to a psychiatric hospital. We know that discrimination poses an obstacle to recovery and that the media fuels public fears related to forensic mental health patients.47 Two further challenges to mental health delivery include the disconnection patients can experience from the community, including from family and educational opportunities, and the risk of readmission in the period immediately following discharge.48 If architecture is capable of acting as a change-agent in the delivery of mental healthcare, then it needs to show leadership, not only in the provision of a better experience for patients but more broadly in taking steps to help shift public perceptions around mental illness.

The Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare (MCJC) (Canada) displays several similarities with the approach taken to the Maudsley Hospital. Its appearance communicates a modern, cutting-edge healthcare facility. It does not hide on a rural site or behind walls.

At five stories, and extensively glazed, MCJC communicates a strong civic presence. Its proximity to McMaster University (6 km) and to neighbouring general hospitals, including Juravinski Hospital (4 km) and Hamilton General Hospital (4 km), positions it well for research collaborations to occur, while its proximity to the Mohawk Community College, across the road, can enable patients with leave privileges to access vocational training. More importantly, it employs three innovative design tactics to target the challenges of contemporary forensic mental healthcare, providing an example for how architecture might broker positive change.The first innovative design strategy is the co-location of support services for outpatient mental healthcare.

The risk of readmission is highest immediately following discharge. A lack of collaboration between outpatient support services can result in fragmented care when patients are most vulnerable to the stresses associated with readjustment to the world beyond.49 MCJC includes outpatient facilities allowing patients to use the hospital as a stable base, or touchstone, in adjusting to life after discharge. Bringing these services onto the same physical site can also improve opportunities for coordination between inpatient and outpatient support services which can support continuity of care.

The second design strategy is the co-location of a medical ambulatory care centre which includes diagnostic imaging, educational and research facilities. This creates reasons for the general public to visit this facility, setting up the opportunity for greater public interaction. This could potentially advance understandings of the role of this facility and the patients it treats.The third innovative design strategy was to optimise the on-edge treatment hub for public engagement.

While adopted across a number of hospitals, including Hawaii State Hospital, Helix Forensic Psychiatry Clinic (Sweden) and the Worcester Recovery Center, the on-edge treatment hubs at these hospitals are buried deep inside the secure outer boundary. At MCJC, the treatment hub is placed adjacent to the public zones of the hospital—although on the second floor—and this can be viewed as extension of the public realm and enables the potential for the public to be brought right up to the secure boundary line (which occurs within the building). MCJC is divided into four zones.

The public zone, the galleria (the name given to the treatment hub), the clinical corridor and inpatient accommodation (Figure 5). The galleria functions similarly to the downtown at the Worcester Recovery Center. Patients are given graduated access to a series of spaces that support their recovery journey.

These include a gym, wellness centre, spiritual centre, library, café, beauty salon, and retail and financial services, alongside patient and family support services. While the galleria was initially intended to be accessible by the general public, this was not immediately implemented on the facilities’ opening and it is unclear whether this has now occurred.50 Nonetheless, the potential for movement of patients outwards, and families inwards, has been built into the physical fabric of this building, meaning opportunities for social interaction and fostering greater public understanding are possible. If understanding is the antidote to discrimination, then exposing the public to the role of this facility and the patients it treats is an important step in the right direction.Zoning configuration at the Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare.

The galleria zone is on the second floor (shown in black). The arrows indicate main access points to the galleria. Lifts (L) and stairwell (S) positions are indicated." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 5 Zoning configuration at the Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare.

The galleria zone is on the second floor (shown in black). The arrows indicate main access points to the galleria. Lifts (L) and stairwell (S) positions are indicated.ConclusionThe question of how architecture can support the therapeutic journey of forensic mental health patients is a critical one.

Yet the availability of evidence-based design literature to guide designers cannot keep pace with growing global demand for new forensic psychiatric hospital facilities, while limitations remain relative to the breadth and usability of this research. A narrow view of what constitutes credible evidence can overlook the value of knowledge embedded in architectural practice, alongside that held by architectural historians and lessons from environmental psychology. In respect of such a pressing and important problem, there is a responsibility to integrate knowledge from across these disciplines.

Accepting the limitations of a theoretical analysis and of the desktop survey method, we also argue for its value. Architects learn through experience, across multiple projects. This gives weight to the value of examining existing, contemporary design solutions to identify architectural innovations capable of providing benefits to patients and thus perhaps worthy of implementation across multiple projects.

History gives us reason to believe that small changes to typical design practice can improve the delivery of mental healthcare, the daily experience of hospitalised patients and more broadly public perceptions of mental illness. Architecture has the capacity to contribute to positive change.Here, we have provided a nuanced way for architects and decision makers to think about the relationship between architectural space and treatment values. An institution’s model of care and the therapeutic values that underpin that model of care should be placed at the centre of architectural decision making.

A survey of contemporary architectural solutions confirms that, generally speaking, innovation is lacking in this field. There will always be real obstacles to innovation, and the argument presented here does not suggest it is necessarily practical to prioritise therapeutic values at the cost of patient, staff and community safety. Instead, it challenges architects and decision makers to properly interrogate any architectural decision that compromises an initial commitment to supporting a patient’s treatment journey—to be more idealistic in the pursuit of positive change.Tangible examples exist of architectural innovations capable of positively improving patient experience by supporting key values that underpin contemporary treatment approaches.

The Broadmoor Hospital optimises the value of the village model for patients, prioritising patient needs for frequent landscape engagement to support their therapeutic journey. The Worcester Recovery Center provides a generous choice and graduation of social spaces to support the social reintegration of patients at their own pace. MCJC co-located facilities to support a patient’s readjustment to daily life postdischarge, while creating opportunities for public engagement that has the potential to foster greater public understanding of the role of these institutions and the patients they treat.

In identifying these three innovative design approaches, we provide architects with tangible design tactics, while encouraging researchers to look more closely at these examples with targeted, postoccupancy studies. These projects provide hope that with a shared vision and commitment, innovation is possible in forensic psychiatric hospital design, with tangible benefits for patients.Data availability statementAll data relevant to the study are included in the article or uploaded as supplementary information. The primary method undertaken for this research relied on data publicly available on the internet.Ethics statementsPatient consent for publicationNot required.AcknowledgmentsThe opportunity to conduct this project arose out of a multidisciplinary master-planning and feasibility study, commissioned by the Victorian Health and Human Services Building Authority, to investigate various international solutions to inform future planning and design around forensic mental health service provision.

The following people contributed their time and expertise in shaping the research process that enabled this article. Neel Charitra, Stefano Scalzo, Les Potter, Margaret Grigg, Lousie Bawden, Matthew Balaam, Martin Gilbert, John MacAllister, Crystal James, Jo Ryan, Julie Anderson, Jo Wasley, Sophie Patitsas, Meagan Thompson, Judith Hemsworth, James Watson, Viviana Lazzarini, Krysti Henderson, Nadia Jaworski, Jack Kerlin and Jan Merchant.Notes1. Jamie O'Donahoo and Janette Graetz Simmonds (2016), “Forensic Patients and Forensic Mental Health in Victoria.

Legal Context, Clinical Pathways, and Practice Challenges,” Australian Social Work 69, no. 2. 169–80.2.

The challenge of which terminology to select when writing about psychiatric hospital design remains difficult relative to the stigmas that surround this field. The term ‘patient’ has been used throughout, instead of ‘consumer’, as this article spans both historical and contemporary developments. In the context of this timespan, consumer is a relatively recent term, introduced around 1985.3.

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375–86. Clare Hickman (2009), “Cheerful Prospects and Tranquil Restoration. The Visual Experience of Landscape as Part of the Therapeutic Regime of the British Asylum, 1800-60,” History of Psychiatry 20, no.

4 Pt 4. 425–41. Rebecca McLaughlan, 2012), “Post-Rationalisation and Misunderstanding.

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Roger S Ulrich et al. (2008), “A Review of the Research Literature on Evidence-Based Healthcare Design,” HERD 1, no. 3.

61–125. Jill Maben et al. (2015), “Evaluating a Major Innovation in Hospital Design.

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Ulrich et al. (2018), “Psychiatric Ward Design Can Reduce Aggressive Behavior,” Journal of Environmental Psychology 57. 53–66.6.

Graham A Tyson, Gordon Lambert, and Lyn Beattie (2002), “The Impact of Ward Design on the Behaviour, Occupational Satisfaction and Well-Being of Psychiatric Nurses,” International Journal of Mental Health Nursing 11, no. 2. 94–102.7.

For further examples of this see Jon E. Eggert et al. (2014), “Person-Environment Interaction in a New Secure Forensic State Psychiatric Hospital,” Behavioral Sciences &.

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Visions and Outcomes,” Facilities 31, no 1/2. 24–88.9. For examples see Kathleen Connellan et al.

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20–4. Rebecca McLaughlan (2018), “Psychosocially Supportive Design. The Case for Greater Attention to Social Space within the Pediatric Hospital," HERD 11, no.

2. 151–62.11. Rebecca McLaughlan (2017), “Learning From Evidence-Based Medicine.

Exclusions and Opportunities within Health Care Environments Research,” Design for Health 1. 210–28.12. B Edginton (1997), “Moral Architecture.

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91–9. Jeremy Taylor (1991), Hospital and Asylum Architecture in England 1849–1914. Building for Health Care (London.

Mansell Publishing Limited). Anne Digby (1985), Madness, Morality and Medicine. A Study of the York Retreat 1796–1914 (New York.

Cambridge University Press).13. Digby, Madness, Morality and Medicine. Erving Goffman (1961), Asylums.

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Blakiston Division, McGraw-Hill). Andrew Scull (1979), Museums of Madness. The Social Organization of Insanity in 19th Century England (London.

Allen Lane). Leonard Smith (1999), Cure, Comfort and Safe Custody. Public Lunatic Asylums in Early Nineteenth-Century England (London.

Leicester University Press). Rebecca McLaughlan (2014), “One Dose of Architecture, Taken Daily. Building for Mental Health in New Zealand” (PhD diss., Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand).14.

Although not fitting a strict definition of postoccupancy evaluation, the following articles were notable exceptions to this finding. Eggert et al., “Person-Environment Interaction,” 527–38. Roger S.

Ulrich et al. (2018), “Psychiatric Ward Design Can Reduce Aggressive Behavior,” 53–66. Catherine Clark Ahern et al.

(2016), “A Recovery-Oriented Care Approach. Weighing the Pros and Cons of a Newly Built Mental Health Facility,” Journal of Psychosocial Nursing and Mental Health Services 54, no. 2.

39–48.15. M Gibbons (2000), “Mode 2 Society and the Emergence of Context-Sensitive Science,” Science and Public Policy 27. 161.16.

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Mainstream Publishing Company).18. Ulrich et al., “A Review of the Research Literature,” 61–125.19. This was first created by first author for use for historical analysis during her PhD and is applied here to a contemporary setting.

Refer to McLaughlan, “One Dose of Architecture, Taken Daily.”20. The following documents were referenced in compiling this list. Joint Commission Panel for Mental Health, NHS, UK (2013), “Guidance for Commissioners of Forensic Mental Health Services,” May, https://www.jcpmh.info/resource/guidance-for-commissioners-of-forensic-mental-health-services/.

Cannon Design (2014), “St Joseph’s Integrated Healthcare Hamilton, Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare,” Healthcare Design Showcase, September. Health Nexus Group, 2017, “Forensicare Model of Care Report,” April, Australia (access provided by the Victorian Health and Human Services Building Authority). Donald Cant Watts Corke (2014), “Service Plan for Forensic Mental Health Services,” July, Australia (access provided by the Victorian Health and Human Services Building Authority).21.

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Can phenomenologically informed approaches and empirical work cross-fertilise?. 119. Macnaughton and Carel, Breathing and breathlessness in clinic and culture.

Using critical medical humanities to bridge an epistemic gap.120. C Teddlie and A. Tashakkori (2009).

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20 (4):419-427. Doi. 10.1177/1367493515625134123.

Treffry-Goatley, et al. Community engagement with HIV drug adherence in rural South Africa. A transdisciplinary approach.124.

WHO (2016). World Antibiotic Awareness Week. 2016 campaign toolkit.

Geneva. World Health Organization.125. Across the three villages, 67% of the workshop attendees were female and the average age of the attendees was 44 years (range.

18 to 81 years. Based on subsequently collected survey data).126. Nutcha Charoenboon et al.

(2019)127. We thank an anonymous reviewer for highlighting the potential hazards of reproducing hierarchies through methods intended to challenge them in the first place.128. The research was reviewed and approved by the University of Oxford Tropical Research Ethics Committee (Ref.

OxTREC 528-17), and it received local ethical approval in Thailand from the Mae Fah Luang University Research Ethics Committee on Human Research (Ref. REH 60099). The service evaluation of the photo exhibition involved anonymised data collection and received a waiver for ethical approval from the University of Warwick Humanities &.

Social Sciences Research Ethics Committee (HSSREC). However, all evaluation form respondents explicitly consented to the data being reported in research publications.129. Marco J Haenssgen et al.

(2018)130. National Statistical Office (2012). The 2010 population and housing census.

Changwat Chiang Rai. Bangkok. National Statistical Office.131.

Data on the individual level would entail duplication of observations should both census survey rounds be included. Step-level data were aggregated on the illness level for analysis.132. Claire Charlotte McKechnie (2014).

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Doi. 10.1136/medhum-2013-010466133. Carusi, Modelling systems biomedicine.

Intertwinement and the 'real'.134. Garden, Social studies. The humanities, narrative, and the social context of the patient-professional relationship.135.

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Integrating community roles into health systems frameworks to achieve health for all." BMJ Global Health no. 3 (Suppl. 3):e001384.

Doi. 10.1136/bmjgh-2018-001384136. Sudhinaraset, et al.

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(2015). Addressing resistance to antibiotics in pluralistic health systems. Brighton.

University of Sussex138. WHO (2007). Strengthening health systems to improve health outcomes.

WHO’s framework for action. Geneva. World Health Organization.139.

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A Bleakley (2014). Ibid. "Towards a 'critical medical humanities'." In, 17-26.142.

Hume, et al., Biomedicine and the humanities. Growing pains.143. Nutcha Charoenboon et al.

(2019)144. Marco Haenssgen et al. (2018)145.

WHO, World Antibiotic Awareness Week. 2016 campaign toolkit.146. The questionnaire did so by showing all survey respondents three images of common antibiotic capsules being used in Chiang Rai (green-blue.

White-blue. Azithromycin—see questionnaire page 10 in the online supplementary material). Respondents were asked to name what they saw, and all their answers were recorded (field-coded and as free text).147.

The ‘desirability’ of the responses was field coded by the survey team. Sample responses (as instructed through the survey manual) for ‘desirable’ answers included, for example, “Only if the doctor says that I should”. Sample responses for ‘undesirable’ answers included “Yes, you can buy it in the shop over there!.

€ The variable should be interpreted as ‘the fraction of respondents who uttered a ‘desirable’ response’—the inverse is the fraction of responses that could not be deemed ‘desirable’ (eg, ‘do not know’ or ‘no opinion’).148. Because recalled descriptions of medicine tend to be ambiguous, we limited our analysis to medicines where we had a high degree of certainty that they were an antibiotic. This was specifically the case if survey respondents mentioned common antibiotic descriptions such as ‘anti-inflammatory’, ‘amoxi’ or ‘colem’, if they indicated explicitly that they know what ‘anti-inflammatory medicine’ is (noting that the term describes antibiotics unambiguously in Thai), and if they subsequently mentioned any of the previously mentioned antibiotics during their description of an illness episode (conversely, we excluded cases were the medicine could not be confirmed as either antibiotic or non-antibiotic, including descriptions like ‘white powder’ or ‘green capsule’).149.

Aristotle (1954). Rhetoric. Translated by Roberts.

New York, NY. Modern Library. Original edition, 350 BC.150.

Arya Nielsen et al. (2007). "The effect of gua sha treatment on the microcirculation of surface tissue.

A pilot study in healthy subjects." EXPLORE no. 3 (5):456-466. Doi.

10.1016/j.explore.2007.06.001151. Nithima Sumpradit et al. (2012).

"Antibiotics Smart Use. A workable model for promoting the rational use of medicines in Thailand." Bulletin of the World Health Organization no. 90 (12):905-913.

Doi. 10.2471/BLT.12.105445152. C Muksong and K.

Chuengsatiansup (2020). Forthcoming. "Medicine and public health in Thai historiography.

From an elitist view to counter-hegemonic discourse." In Health, pluralism and globalisation. A modern history of medicine in South-East Asia, edited by Monnais and Cook. London.

The Wellcome Trust Centre for the History.153. L Sringernyuang (2000). Availability and use of medicines in rural Thailand.

Amsterdam. Amsterdam Institute for Social Science Research.154. Although this was not the focus of the current paper, we note for full disclosure that the workshops, too, had mixed behavioural impacts.

The poster making sessions in Chiang Rai demonstrated for instance how our conversations about drug resistance and the introduction of messages from the World Health Organization entailed at times problematic interpretations like, “You shouldn’t take medicines that you have never seen before”—the research team responded to such interpretations directly in order to avoid misunderstandings. In addition, previous behavioural analyses documented that, while workshop participants demonstrated higher levels of awareness of drug resistance, alignment of antibiotic use with global health recommendations was mixed, and in one case, a villager started selling antibiotics after the workshop. For more details on the behavioural analysis, see Nutcha Charoenboon et al.

(2019) and Marco Haenssgen et al. (2018).155. For example, Redfern, et al., Spreading the message of antimicrobial resistance.

A detailed account of a successful public engagement event.156. Antoine Boivin et al. (2018).

2018. "Patient and public engagement in research and health system decision making. A systematic review of evaluation tools (epub ahead of print)." Health Expectations.

Doi. 10.1111/hex.12804157. Staniszewska, et al.

GRIPP2 reporting checklists. Tools to improve reporting of patient and public involvement in research.158. Jerke, et al.

Smoking cessation in mental health communities. A living newspaper applied theatre project.159. Switzer, What’s in an image?.

Towards a critical and interdisciplinary reading of participatory visual methods.160. R. C Barfield and L.

Selman (2014). "Health and humanities. Spirituality and religion." In Health humanities reader, edited by Jones, Wear, Friedman and Pachucki, 376-386.

New Brunswick, NJ. Rutgers University Press.161. Abimbola, Beyond positive a priori bias.

Reframing community engagement in LMICs (epub ahead of print), 1.162. Marco J Haenssgen et al. (2019)163.

Marc Mendelson et al. (2017). "Antibiotic resistance has a language problem." Nature no.

Haak and Radyowijati, Determinants of antimicrobial use. Poorly understood, poorly researched.165. S Harbarth and D.

L. Monnet (2008). "Cultural and socioeconomic determinants of antibiotic use." In Antibiotic Policies.

Fighting Resistance, edited by Gould and van der Meer, 29-40. Boston, MA. Springer.166.

K Sirijoti, P. Havanond Hongsranagon, and W. Pannoi (2014).

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16 (4):394-411. Doi. 10.1111/j.1365-3156.2010.02718.x168.

Haak and Radyowijati, Determinants of antimicrobial use. Poorly understood, poorly researched.169. Chandler, Current accounts of antimicrobial resistance.

Stabilisation, individualisation and antibiotics as infrastructure, 5.170. S Willson and K. Miller (2014).

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Wiley.171. See Linda Mayoux and Robert Chambers (2005). "Reversing the paradigm.

Quantification, participatory methods and pro-poor impact assessment." Journal of International Development no. 17 (2):271-298. Doi.

10.1002/jid.1214172. Howard S. Becker (1995).

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Schwartz (2005). "Photographs and the sociological research process." In Image-based research. A sourcebook for qualitative researchers, edited by Prosser, 101-115.

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Growing pains.177. Jordanova, Medicine and the visual arts, 60.178. Bleakley, Towards a 'critical medical humanities'.179.

Nutcha Charoenboon et al. (2019)180. Hume, et al.

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Marco J Haenssgen (2019)183. Michael Etherton and Tim Prentki (2006). "Drama for change?.

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11 (2):139-155. Doi. 10.1080/13569780600670718184.

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Doi. 10.1177/1468794112446104IntroductionIn Australia, the USA and the UK, the number of hospital beds required for forensic mental health treatment doubled between 1996 and 2016.1 Current trends and future predictions suggest this demand will continue to grow. But, in an age where evidence-based practice is highly valued, the demand for new facilities already outpaces the availability of credible evidence to guide designers.

This article reports findings from a desktop survey of current design practice across 31 psychiatric hospitals (24 forensic, 7 non-forensic) constructed or scheduled for completion between 2006 and 2022. Desktop surveys, as a form of research, are heavily relied on in architectural practice. Photographs and architectural drawings are analysed to understand both typical and innovative approaches to designing a particular building type.

While desktop surveys are sometimes supplemented by visits to exemplar projects (which might also be termed ‘fieldwork’), time pressures and budgetary constraints often preclude this. As the result of an academic–industry partnership, the research reported herein embraced practice-based research methods in conjunction with an academic approach. The data set available for the desktop survey was rich but incomplete.

Security requirements restrict the public availability of complete floor plans and postoccupancy evaluations. To mitigate these limitations, knowledge was integrated from other disciplines, including environmental psychology, architectural history and professional practice. With regard to the latter, knowledge is specifically around the design and consultation processes that guide the construction of these facilities.

This knowledge was used to identify three contemporary hospitals that challenge accepted design practice and, we argue, in doing so have the potential to act as change-agents in the delivery of forensic mental healthcare. We define innovation as variation/s to common, or typical, architectural solutions that can positively improve patients’2 experience of these facilities in ways that directly support one, or a number, of key values underpinning forensic mental healthcare. While this article does not provide postoccupancy data to quantify the value of these innovations, we hope to encourage both designers and researchers to more closely consider these projects—particularly the way that spaces have been designed to benefit patient well-being—and the questions these designs raise for the future of forensic mental healthcare delivery.Now regarded as naïve is the 19th-century belief that architecture and landscape, if appropriately designed, can restore sanity.3 Yet contemporary research from the field of evidence-based design confirms that the built environment does play a role in the therapeutic process, even if that role does not determine therapeutic outcomes.4 Research regarding the design of forensic mental healthcare facilities remains limited.

An article by Ulrich et al recommended that to reduce aggression patients should be accommodated in single rooms. Communal areas should have movable furniture. Wards should be designed for low social densities.

And accessible gardens should be provided.5 An earlier study by Tyson et al showed that lower ward densities can also positively improve patient–staff interactions.6 Commonly, however, the studies referenced above compared older-style mental health units with their contemporary replacements.7 There is little comparative research available that examines contemporary facilities for forensic mental healthcare, with the exception of one article that provided a comparative analysis of nine Swedish facilities, designed between 1990 and 2008.8 However, this article merely described the design aspirations and physical composition of each hospital without investigating the link between design aspiration, patient well-being and the resulting physical environment.There are two further limitations to evidence-based design research. The first is the extent to which data do not provide directly applicable design tactics. Systematic literature reviews typically provide a set of design recommendations but without suggesting to designers what the corresponding physical design tactics to achieve those recommendations might actually be.9 This is consistent for general hospital design.

For example, architects have been advised to provide spaces that are ‘psychosocially supportive’ since 2000, yet it was 2016 before a spatially focused definition of this term was provided, offering designers a more tangible understanding of what they should be aiming for.10 The second limitation is the breadth of research currently available. While rigorous and valuable, evidence-based design often overlooks the fact that architects must design across scales, from the master-planning scale—deciding where to place buildings of various functions within a site, and how to manage the safe movement of staff and patients between those buildings—to the scale of a bathroom door. How do you design a bathroom door to meet antiligature and surveillance requirements, to maintain patient safety, while still communicating dignity and respect for patients?.

The available literature provides much to contemplate, but in terms of credible evidence much of this research is based on a single study, typically conducted within a single hospital context and often focused on a single aspect of design. This raises the question, is there really a compelling basis for regarding evidence-based design knowledge as more credible than knowledge generated about this building type from other disciplines?. In light of the small amount of evidence available in this field, is there not a responsibility to use all the available knowledge?.

While the discipline of evidence-based design has existed for three decades,11 purpose-designed buildings for the treatment of mental illness have been constructed for over three centuries. Researchers working within the field of architectural history also understand that patient experience is partially determined—for better or worse—by the decisions that designers make, and that models of care have been used to drive design outcomes since the establishment of the York Retreat in 1796. With their focus on moral treatment, the York Retreat influenced a shift in the way asylum design was approached, from the provision of safe custody to finding architectural solutions to support the restoration of sanity.12 Architectural historians also bring evidence to bear in respect of this design challenge, specifically knowledge of how the best architectural intentions can result in unanticipated (sometimes devastating) outcomes—and of the conditions that gave rise to those outcomes.13 There is a third, rich source of knowledge available to guide designers that, broadly speaking, academic researchers have yet to tap into.

It is the knowledge produced by practitioners themselves. Architects learn through experience, across multiple projects and through practice-based forms of enquiry that include desktop surveys (also referred to as precedent studies), user group consultations and gathering (often informal) postoccupancy data from their clients. Architects have already offered a range of tangible solutions to meet particular aspirations related to patient care.

There is value in examining these existing design solutions to identify those capable of providing direct benefits to patients that might justify implementation across multiple projects. In understanding how the physical design of forensic psychiatric hospitals can best support the therapeutic journey of patients, all available knowledge should be valued and integrated.Methodology. Embracing ‘mode two’ researchThis research was conducted within the context of a master­-planning and feasibility study, commissioned by a state government department, to investigate various international design solutions to inform future planning around forensic mental health service provisions in Victoria, Australia.

The industry-led nature of this project demanded a less conventional and more inclusive methodological approach. Tight timeframes precluded employing research methods that required ethics approvals (interviewing patients was not possible), while the timeframe and budget precluded the research team from conducting fieldwork. The following obstacles further limited a conventional approach:Postoccupancy evaluations of forensic psychiatric hospital facilities are seldom conducted and/or not made publicly available.14Published floor plans that would enable researchers to derive an understanding of the functional layouts and corresponding habits of occupancy within these facilities are limited owing to the security needs surrounding forensic psychiatric hospital sites.Available literature relevant to the design of forensic psychiatric hospital facilities provides few direct architectural recommendations to offer tactics for how the built environment might support the delivery of treatment.The team had to find a way to navigate these challenges in order to address the important question of how the physical design of forensic psychiatric hospitals can best support the therapeutic journey of patients.‘Mode two’ is a methodological approach that draws on the strength of collaborations between academia and industry to produce ‘socially robust knowledge’ whose reliability extends ‘beyond the laboratory’ to real-world contexts.15 It shares commonalities with a phenomenological approach that attributes value to the prolonged, firsthand exposure of the researcher with the phenomenon in question.16 The inclusion of practising architects and academic researchers within the research team provided considerable expertise in the design, consultation and documentation of these facilities, alongside an understanding of the kinds of challenges that arise following the occupation of this building type.

Mode two, as a research approach, also recognises that, while architects reference evidence-based design literature, this will not replace the processes through which practitioners have traditionally assembled knowledge about particular building types, predominantly desktop surveys.A desktop survey was undertaken to understand contemporary design practice within this building type. Forty-four projects were identified as relevant for the period 2006–2022 (31 forensic and 13 non-forensic psychiatric hospitals). These included facilities from the UK, the USA, Canada, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, the United Arab Emirates and Ireland (online supplementary appendix 1).

Sufficient architectural information was not available for 13 of these projects and they were excluded from the study. For the remaining 31 facilities, 24 accommodated forensic patients and 7 did not. Non-forensic facilities were included to enable an awareness of any significant programmatic or functional differences in the design responses created for forensic versus non-forensic mental health patients.

Architectural drawings and photographs were analysed to identify general trends, alongside points of departure from common practice. Borrowing methods from architectural history, the desktop survey was supplemented by other available information, including a mix of hospital-authored guidebooks (as provided to patients and visitors), architects’ statements, newspaper articles and literature from the field of evidence-based design. Available data varied for each of the 31 hospitals.

Adopting a method from architectural theorist Thomas Markus, the materiality and placement of external and internal boundary lines were closely studied (assisted by Google Earth).17 When read in conjunction with the architectural drawings, boundary placement revealed information regarding patient access to adjacent landscape spaces.Supplemental materialA desktop survey has limitations. It cannot provide a conclusive understanding of how these spaces operate when occupied by patients and staff. While efforts were made to contact individual practices and healthcare providers to obtain missing details, such requests typically went unanswered.

This is likely owing to concerns of security, alongside the realities of commercial practice, concerns around intellectual property, and complex client and stakeholder arrangements that can act to prohibit the sharing of this information. To deepen the team’s understanding, a 2-day workshop was hosted to which two international architectural practices were invited to attend, one from the UK and one from the USA. Both practices had recently completed a significant forensic psychiatric hospital project.

While neither of these facilities had been occupied at the time of the workshops, the architects were able to share their experiences relative to the research, design, and client and patient consultation processes undertaken. The Australian architects who led the research team also brought extensive experience in acute mental healthcare settings, which assisted in data analysis.To further mitigate the limitations of the desktop survey, understandings developed by the team were used as a basis for advisory panel discussions with staff. Feedback was sought from five 60 min long, advisory panel sessions, each including four to six clinical/facilities staff (who attended voluntarily during work hours) from a forensic psychiatric hospital in Australia, where several participants recounted professional experience in both the Australian and British contexts.

Each advisory panel session was themed relative to various aspects of contemporary design. (1) site/hospital layout, (2) inpatient accommodation, (3) landscape design and access, (4) staff amenities, and (5) treatment hubs (referred to as ‘treatment malls’ in the American context). These sessions enabled the research team to double-check our analysis of the plans and photographs, particularly our assumptions regarding the likely use, practicality and therapeutic value of particular spaces.Model for analysisWithin general hospital design, a range of indicators are used to measure the contribution of architecture to healing, such as the optimisation of lighting to support sleep, the minimisation of patient falls, or whether the use of single patient rooms assists with control.18 In mental health, however, where the therapeutic journey is based more on psychology than physiology, what metrics should be employed to evaluate the success of one design response over another in supporting patient care?.

We suggest the first step is to acknowledge the values that underpin contemporary approaches to mental healthcare. The second step is to translate those treatment values into corresponding spatial values using a value-led spatial framework.19 This provides a checklist for relating particular spatial conditions to specific values around patient care. For example, if the design intent is to optimise privacy and dignity for patients, then the design of bathrooms, relaxation and de-esculation spaces are all important spaces in respect of that therapeutic value.

Highlighting this relationship can assist decision makers to more closely interrogate areas that matter most relative to achieving these values. To put this in context, optimising a bathroom design to prioritise a direct line of sight for staff might improve safety but also obstruct privacy and dignity for patients. While such decisions will always need to be carefully balanced, a value-led spatial framework can provide a touchstone for designers and stakeholders to revisit throughout the design process.To analyse the 31 projects examined within this project, we developed a framework (Table 1).

It recognises that a common approach to patient care can be identified across contemporary Australian, British and Canadian models:View this table:Table 1 Value-led spatial framework. Correlating treatment values with corresponding spaces within the hospital’s physical environmentThat patients be extended privacy and dignity to the broadest degree possible without impacting their personal safety or that of other patients or staff.That patients be treated within the least restrictive environment possible relative to the severity of their illness and the legal (or security) requirements attached to their care.That patients be afforded choice and independence relative to freedom of movement within the hospital campus (as appropriate to the individual), extending to a choice of social, recreational and treatment spaces.That patients’ progression through their treatment journey is reflected in the way the architecture communicates to hospital users.That opportunities for peer-led therapeutic processes and involvement of family and community-based care providers be optimised within a hospital campus. 20Table 1 assigns a range of architectural spaces and features that are relevant to each of the five treatment values listed.

Architectural decisions related to these values operate across three scales. Context, hospital and individual. Context decisions are those made in respect of a hospital’s location, including proximity to allied services, connections to public transport and distances to major metropolitan hubs.

Decisions of this type are important relative to staffing recruitment and retention, and opportunities for research relative to the psychiatric hospital’s proximity to general (teaching) hospitals or university precincts. Architectural decisions operating at the hospital scale include considerations of how secure site boundaries are provided. How buildings are laid out on a site.

And how spatial and functional links are set up between those buildings. This is important relative to the movement of patients and staff across a site, including the location and functionality of therapeutic hubs. But it can also impact patient and community psychology.

The design of external fences, in particular, can compound feelings of confinement for patients. Focus community attention on the custodial role of a facility over and above its therapeutic function. And influence perceptions of safety and security for the community immediately surrounding the hospital.

Architectural decisions operating at the ‘individual’ scale are those that more closely impact the daily experience of a hospital for patients and staff. These include the various arrangements for inpatient accommodation. Tactics for providing patients with landscape access and views.

And the question of staff spaces relative to safety, ease of communication and collaboration. Approaches to landscape, inpatient accommodation and concerns of staff supervision are closely intertwined.Findings. What we learnt from 31 contemporary psychiatric hospital projectsForensic psychiatric hospitals treat patients who require mental health treatment in addition to a history of criminal offending or who are at risk of committing a criminal offence.

Primarily, these include patients who are unfit to stand trial and those found not guilty on account of their illness.21 Accommodation is typically arranged according to low, medium or high security needs, alongside clinical need, and whether an acute, subacute, extended or translational rehabilitation setting is required. Security needs are determined based on the risk a patient presents to themselves and/or others, alongside their risk of absconding from the facility. The challenge that has proven intractable for centuries is how can architects balance privacy and dignity for patients, while maintaining supervision for their own safety, alongside that of their fellow patients, the staff providing care and, in some cases, the community beyond.22 In this section we present overall trends regarding the layout of buildings within hospital sites, including the placement of treatment hubs and the design of inpatient wards.

Access to landscape is not explicitly addressed in this section but is implicit in decisions around site layout and inpatient accommodation.Design approaches to site layoutWe identified two approaches to site layout—the ‘village’ (4 from 31 hospitals) and the ‘campus’ (27 from 31 hospitals) (figure 1). Similar in their functional arrangement, these are differentiated according to the degree of exterior circulation required to move between patient-occupied spaces. Village hospitals comprise a number of buildings sitting within the landscape, while campus hospitals have interconnected buildings with access provided by internal corridors that prevent the need to go outside.

Neither approach is new. Both follow the models first used within the 19th century. The village hospital follows the model designed by Dr Albrecht Paetz in 1878 (Alt Scherbitz, Germany), which included detached cottages accommodating patients in groups of between 24 and 100, set within gardens.23 Paetz created this design in response to his belief that upwards of 1000 patients should not be accommodated in a single building, with security measures determined in relation to those patients whose behaviour was the least predictable.24 The resulting monotony of the daily routine and restrictions on patient movement were believed to ‘cripple the intelligence and depress the spirit’.25 Paetz’s model allowed doctors to classify patients into smaller groups and unlock doors to allow patients with predictable behaviour to wander freely within the secure outer boundaries of the hospital.26 This remained the preferred approach to patient accommodation for over a century, as endorsed by the WHO in their report of 1953.27 Broadmoor Hospital (UK, 2019) provides an example of the village model.The Broadmoor Hospital (left) follows a ‘village’ arrangement and includes an ‘internal’ treatment hub.

The Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital (right) follows a ‘campus’ arrangement and includes an ‘on-edge’ treatment hub." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 1 The Broadmoor Hospital (left) follows a ‘village’ arrangement and includes an ‘internal’ treatment hub. The Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital (right) follows a ‘campus’ arrangement and includes an ‘on-edge’ treatment hub.The campus model is not dissimilar to the approach propagated by Dr Henry Thomas Kirkbride, a 19th-century psychiatrist who was active in the design of asylums and whose influence saw this planning arrangement dominate asylum constructions in the USA for many decades.28 Asylums of the ‘Kirkbride plan’ arranged patient accommodation in a series of pavilions linked by corridors. While corridors can be heavily glazed, where this action is not taken, the campus approach can compromise patient and staff connections to landscape views.

Examples of campus hospitals include the Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital (USA, 2012) and the Nixon Forensic Center (USA, under construction).Treatment hubs are a contemporary addition to forensic psychiatric hospitals. These cluster a range of shared patient spaces, including recreational, treatment and vocational training facilities, and thus drive patient movement around or through a hospital site. Two different treatment hub arrangements are in use.

€˜internal’ and ‘on-edge’. Those arranged internally typically place these functions at the heart of the campus and at a significant distance from the secure boundary line. Those arranged on-edge are placed at the far end of campus-model hospitals and, in the most extreme cases, occur adjacent to one of the site’s external boundaries (refer to Figure 1).

Both arrangements aspire to make life within the hospital resemble life beyond the hospital as closely as possible, as the daily practice of walking from an accommodation area to a treatment hub mimics the practice of travelling from home to a place of work or study.With evidence mounting regarding the psychological benefits to patients of landscape access, it should not be assumed that the current preference for campus hospitals over the village model indicates ‘best practice’. A campus arrangement offers security benefits for the movement of patients across a hospital site, while avoiding the associated risks of contraband concealed within landscaped spaces. However, the existence of village hospitals for forensic cohorts suggests it is possible to successfully manage these challenges.

Why then do we see such a strong persistence of the campus hospital?. This preference may be driven by cultural expectations. From 24 forensic psychiatric hospitals surveyed, 10 were located within the USA and all employed the campus model.

Yet nine of those hospitals occupied rural sites where the village model could have been used, suggesting the influence of the Kirkbride plan prevails. The four village hospitals within the broader sample of 31, spanning forensic and non-forensic settings, all occurred within the UK3 and Ireland1. Paetz’s villa model had been the preferred approach to new constructions in these countries since its introduction at close of the 19th century.29 However, a look at UK hospitals in isolation revealed a more even spread of village and campus arrangements, with two of the four UK-based campus hospitals occupying constrained urban sites that required multi-story solutions.

The village model would be inappropriate for achieving this as it does not lend well to urban locations where land availability is scarce.Design approaches to inpatient accommodationThree approaches to inpatient accommodation were identified. €˜peninsula’, ‘race-track’ and ‘courtyard’ (Figure 2). The peninsula model is characterised by rows of inpatient wings, along a single-loaded or double-loaded corridor that stretches into the surrounding landscape.

This typically enables an exterior view from all patient bedrooms and is not dissimilar to the traditional ‘pavilion’ model that emerged within 19th-century hospital design.30 In the racetrack model bedrooms are arranged around a cluster of staff-only (or service) spaces, still enabling exterior views from all patient bedrooms. The courtyard model is similar to the racetrack but includes a central landscape space. Information on the design of inpatient room layouts was available for 24 of the 31 projects analysed (15 of these 24 were forensic).Common inpatient accommodation configurations.

(1) Peninsula. Single-loaded version shown (patient rooms on one side only. Double-loaded versions have patient rooms on two sides of the corridor).

(2) racetrack and (3) courtyard (landscaped). Staff-occupied spaces and support spaces (social space and so on) shown in grey." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 2 Common inpatient accommodation configurations. (1) Peninsula.

Single-loaded version shown (patient rooms on one side only. Double-loaded versions have patient rooms on two sides of the corridor). (2) racetrack and (3) courtyard (landscaped).

Staff-occupied spaces and support spaces (social space and so on) shown in grey.Ten forensic hospitals employed a peninsula plan and five employed a courtyard plan. Of the non-forensic psychiatric hospitals five employed the courtyard, three the racetrack and only one the peninsula plan. While the sample size is too small to generalise, the peninsula plan appears to be favoured for a forensic cohort.

However, cultural trends again emerge. Of the 10 peninsula plan hospitals, 6 were located within the USA, and among the broader sample of 24 (including the non-forensic facilities) none of the courtyard hospitals were located there. Courtyard layouts for forensic patients occurred within the UK, Ireland, Denmark and Sweden.

However, within these countries, a mix of courtyard and peninsula plans were used, suggesting no clear preference for one plan over the other.Each plan type has advantages and disadvantages (Table 2). Courtyard accommodation provides the following benefits. Greater opportunity for patient access to landscape since these are easier for staff to maintain surveillance over.

Additional safety for staff owing to continuous circulation (staff cannot get caught in ‘dead-ends’. However, the presence of corners which are difficult to see around is a drawback). Natural light is more easily available.

And ‘swing bedrooms’ can be supported (this is the ability to reconfigure the number of observable bedrooms on a nursing ward by opening and closing doors at different points within a corridor). However, courtyard accommodation requires a larger site area so is better suited to rural locations than urban and is not well suited to multi-story facilities. Peninsula accommodation enables geographical separation, giving medical teams greater opportunity to manage which patients are housed together (‘cohorting’).

Blind corners can be avoided to assist safety and surveillance. Travel distances can be minimised. Finally, the absence of continuous circulation provides greater flexibility for creating social spaces for patients with graduated degrees of (semi-)privacy.View this table:Table 2 Advantages and disadvantages of peninsula versus courtyard accommodationAnother important consideration related to inpatient accommodation is ward size.

The number of bedrooms clustered together, alongside the amount of dedicated living space associated with these bedrooms. Ward size can influence patient agitation and aggression, alongside ease of supervision, staff anxiety and safety.31 The most common ward sizes were 24 or 32 beds, further subdivided into subclusters of 8 beds. Typically, each ward was provided with one large living space that all 24 or 32 patients used together.

More advanced approaches gave patients a choice of living spaces. For example, at Coalinga Hospital, patients could occupy a small living space available to only 8 patients, or a larger space that all 24 patients had access to. We describe this approach as more advanced since both 19th-century understandings alongside recent research by Ulrich et al confirm that social density (the number of persons per room) is ‘the most consistently important variable for predicting crowding stress and aggressive behaviour’.32 Only six hospitals had plans detailed enough to calculate the square-metre provision of living space per patient, and this varied between 5 and 8 square metres.Limitations of the desktop surveyData from a desktop survey are insufficient to obtain a comprehensive understanding of how design contributes to patient experience.

To overcome this limitation, the following sections combine knowledge about how people use space from environmental psychology, knowledge about the design and consultation processes that guide the construction of these facilities, and understandings from architectural history. History suggests that seemingly small changes to typical design practice can effect significant change in the delivery of mental healthcare, the daily experience of hospitalised patients and more broadly public perceptions of mental illness. This integrated approach is used to identify three forensic psychiatric hospitals that challenge accepted design practice to varying degrees and, in doing so, have the potential to act as change-agents in the delivery of forensic mental healthcare.

But first it is important to understand the context in which architectural innovation is able, or unable, to emerge relative to forensic mental healthcare.Accepting the challenge. Using history to help us see beyond the roadblocks to innovationArchitects tasked with designing forensic mental health facilities respond to what is called a ‘functional brief’. This documents the specific performance requirements of the hospital in question.

Much consultation goes into formulating and refining a functional brief through the initial and developed design stages. Consultation is typically undertaken with a variety of different user groups, and in a sequential fashion that includes a greater cross-section of users as the design progresses, including patients, families, and clinical and security staff. Despite the focus on patient experience within contemporary models of care, functional briefs tend to prioritise safety and security, making them the basis on which most major architectural decisions are made.33 In large part this is simply the reality of accommodating a patient cohort who pose a risk of harm towards themselves and/or others.

A comment from Tom Brooks-Pilling, a member of the design team for the Nixon Forensic Center (Fulton, Missouri), provides insight into this approach and the concerns that drive it. He explained that borrowing a ‘spoked wheel’ arrangement from prison design eliminated blind spots and hiding places to enable a centrally located staff member to:see everything that’s going on in that unit…[they are] basically watching the other staff’s back [sic] to make sure that they can focus on treatment and not worry about who might be sneaking up on them or what activities might be going on behind their backs.34Advisory panel feedback confirmed that when the architectural design of a facility heightens staff anxiety this has direct ramifications for the therapeutic process. For example, in spaces where staff could become isolated from one another, and where clear lines of sight were obstructed, such as ill-designed elevators or stairwells, this can lead to movement being reduced across the patient cohort to avoid putting staff in those spaces where they feel unsafe.The architects consulted during the course of this research, including those who were part of the research team, articulated how the necessary prioritisation of safety, in turn, leads to compromises in the attainment of an ideal environment to support treatment.

In the various forensic and acute psychiatric hospital projects they had been involved with, all observed a sincere commitment on the part of those engaged in project briefing to upholding ideals around privacy, dignity, autonomy and freedom of movement for patients. They reported, however, that the commitment to these ideals was increasingly obstructed as the design process progressed by the more pressing concerns of safety. Examples of the kinds of architectural implications of this prioritisation are things like spatially separated nursing stations (enclosed, often fully glazed), when a desire for less-hierarchical interactions between patients and staff had been expressed at the beginning of the briefing process.

Or the substitution of harder-wearing materials, with a more ‘institutional’ feel when a ‘home-like’ atmosphere had been prioritised initially. There is nothing surprising or unusual about this process since design is, by its nature, a process of seeking improvements on accepted practice while systematically checking the suitability of proposed solutions against a set of performance requirements. In the context of forensic psychiatric hospitals, safety is the performance requirement that most often frustrates the implementation of innovative design.

Thus, amid the complexities of design and procurement relative to forensic psychiatric hospitals, innovation, however humble, and particularly where it can be seen to contribute positively to the patient experience, is worth a closer look.In the historical development of the psychiatric hospital as a building type, two significant departures from accepted design practice facilitated positive change in the treatment of mental illness. The first was Paetz’s development of the village hospital which sought to replace high fences, locked doors and barred windows with ‘humane but stringent supervision’.35 While this planning approach may not have significantly altered models of care, it was regarded as ‘an essential, vital development’, providing architectural support to the prevailing approach to treatment of the time—that of moral treatment—which aimed to extend kindness and respect to patients, in an environment that was as unrestrictive as possible. The York Retreat is worthy of acknowledgement here as a leading proponent of moral treatment whose influence shifted approaches to asylum design, from focusing on the provision of safe custody to supporting the restoration of sanity.

Architecturally, however, the differences in the York Retreat’s approach were mainly focused on interior details that encouraged patients to maintain civil habits. Dining rooms had white tablecloths and flower vases adorned mantelpieces, door locks were custom-made to close quietly, and window bars fashioned to look like domestic window frames.36 The York Retreat was originally a small institution, in line with Samuel Tuke’s preference for a maximum asylum size of 30 patients. History confirms the extent to which this approach was not scalable and thus unable to be replicated widely for asylum construction.

For these reasons, it has not been considered here as a significant departure from accepted design practice.The second significant departure from accepted design practice was the development of acute treatment hospitals, located within cities, adjacent to general hospitals and medical research facilities. The first hospital of this type was the Maudsley Hospital, led by doctors Henry Maudsley and Frederick Mott, in London. The design intent for this hospital was announced in 1908 but it was not opened until 1923.37 In proposing this hospital, Maudsley and Mott were motivated to bring psychiatry ‘into line with the other branches of medical science’.38 This 100-bed facility, located directly across the road from the King’s College (Teaching) Hospital, emulated the general hospital typology in offering both outpatient and short-duration inpatient care, specifically targeted at patients with recent-onset illnesses.

The aspirations were threefold. To avoid the stigma associated with large public asylums. To advance the medical understanding of mental illness through research collaborations with general hospitals and medical schools and via improved teaching programmes.

And to both enable and encourage patients to access early, voluntary treatment on an outpatient basis.38 Today the Maudsley appears unremarkable, an unassuming three-storied building on a busy London street. But the significance of what this building communicated at the time it was constructed, and the extent to which it challenged accepted practice, should not be underestimated. The Maudsley sent a clear message to the public that mental illness was no longer to be regarded as different from any other illness treated within a general hospital setting.

That it was no longer okay to isolate those suffering from mental illness from their families or the neighbourhoods in which they lived.39 Following the announcement of the Maudsley, the ‘psychopathic hospital’ rose to prominence within the USA with Johns Hopkins University Hospital opening the Phipps Psychiatric Clinic, in Baltimore, in 1913. The psychopathic hospital similarly promoted urban locations and closer connections to teaching and research. The Maudsley can be seen to have played a significant role in the shift to treating acute mental illness within general hospital settings.In any discussion of the history of institutional care, there is a responsibility to acknowledge that the aspiration to provide buildings that support care and recovery have not always manifested in ways that improved daily life for patients.

The five treatment values that underpinned the analysis framework for this project are not new values. The extension of privacy and dignity to patients and the delivery of care within the least restrictive environment possible were both firmly embedded in the 19th-century approach of moral treatment. Yet the rapid growth of asylum care frustrated the delivery of those values to patients.40 Choice and independence for patients, the desire for a patient’s recovery progress to be reflected in their environment, and opportunities for peer support and family involvement have been present in approaches to mental health treatment since the formal endorsement of the ‘therapeutic community’ approach to hospital construction and administration in the WHO’s report of 1953.41 History reminds us, therefore, that differences can arise between the stated values on which an institution is designed and those which it is constructed and operated.

The three hospitals discussed in the following section include innovative solutions that hold the promise of positive benefits for patients. Yet we acknowledge this a theoretical analysis. For concrete evidence of a positive relationship between these design outcomes and patient well-being, postoccupancy evaluations are required.Three hospitals contributing to positive change in forensic mental healthcareBroadmoor Hospital.

Optimising the value of the village model for patientsNineteenth-century beliefs and contemporary research are in accord regarding the importance of greenspace in reducing agitation within forensic psychiatric hospital environments and in promoting positive patterns of socialisation.42 It is surprising, therefore, that enshrining daily landscape access for patients is not widespread within current design practice. The Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital and the State Hospital at Carstairs (Scotland) both follow the model of the village hospital, but only in that they comprise a number of accommodation buildings set within the landscape, enclosed by an external boundary fence. At the Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital, the scale of the landscape—the distance between buildings and the lack of intermediate boundaries within the landscape—suggests it is highly unlikely that patients are allowed to navigate this landscape on a regular basis.

By comparison, the architectural response developed for Broadmoor Hospital (2019) shows an exemplary commitment to patient views and access to landscape (Figure 3).Likely extent of landscape occupation by patients as indicated by the position of inner and outer secure boundary lines. (1) Broadmoor Hospital (rural site, UK), (2) Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital (rural site) and (3) Roseberry Hospital (suburban site, UK)." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 3 Likely extent of landscape occupation by patients as indicated by the position of inner and outer secure boundary lines. (1) Broadmoor Hospital (rural site, UK), (2) Irish National Forensic Mental Hospital (rural site) and (3) Roseberry Hospital (suburban site, UK).Five contemporary hospitals follow the logic of a traditional villa hospital, yet Broadmoor is the only one that optimises the benefits offered by this spatial configuration.

Comprising a gateway building and a central treatment hub, with a series of patient accommodation buildings positioned around it, the landscape becomes the only available circulation route for patients travelling off-ward to the shared therapy, recreation and vocational training spaces. Most patients will thus engage with the outdoors at least twice daily on their way to and return from these shared spaces. But in addition to accessing this central landscape, landscape views from patient rooms have been prioritised, and each ward is allocated its own large greenspace.

Multiple, internal boundary fences enable patient access to the adjacent landscape to the greatest possible degree (refer to Figure 3). This approach provides patients with a diversity of landscape experiences. This is important given the patterns of landscape use between forensic and non-forensic hospitals.

In non-forensic facilities, patients are likely to have the choice of accessing multiple landscape spaces, whereas in forensic facilities access to a particular space is often restricted to one cohort, for example, a single ward group. This highlights a limitation of the courtyard model for forensic patients. Roseberry Park Hospital (2012) provides an example of how a high degree of landscape access can be similarly achieved for patients on constrained urban site, using a courtyard layout (refer to Figure 3).Providing patients with daily landscape access provides challenges to maintaining safety and security.

Trees with low branches can be used as weapons, while tall branches can be used for self-harm, and ground cover landscaping increases opportunities to conceal contraband. At the Australian hospital where advisory panel sessions were conducted (constructed in 2000), the landscape is occupied in a similar way and staff conveyed the constant effort required to ensure safe patient access to this greenspace. Significant costs are incurred annually by facilities staff in keeping the greenspace free from contraband and from several varieties of wild mushroom that grow seasonally on the site.

Despite this cost, staff reported that both they and the patients value the opportunity to circulate through the landscaped grounds (even in inclement weather). Hence, the benefits to well-being are perceived as significant enough to justify this cost. These examples make evident that placing a hospital within a landscape is not enough to ensure patients are extended the well-being benefits of ongoing access.

Instead this requires that hospitals factor in the additional supervisory and maintenance requirements to maintain landscape access for patients.Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital. Spaces to support choice and a sense of controlResearch in environmental psychology, conducted within residential and hospital settings, confirms that the ability to regulate social contact can have a dramatic impact on well-being. The physical layout of spaces has been linked to both the likelihood of developing socially supportive relationships and impeding this development, with direct implications for communication, concentration, aggression and a person’s resilience to irritation.43 These problems can be more pronounced in a forensic psychiatric hospital as there is an over-representation of patients who have suffered trauma.

Architects working in forensic psychiatric hospital design acknowledge that patients need space to withdraw from the busy hospital environment, spaces where they can ‘observe everything that is going on around them until they feel ready to join in’.44 It is surprising, therefore, that many contemporary forensic psychiatric hospitals still continue to provide a single social space for all 24 or 32 patients occupying a ward. The Worcester Recovery Center, by comparison, provides patients with a choice of social spaces that are designed to enable graduated degrees of social engagement. This can support a sense of control to limit socially induced stress.Worcester is conceptualised as three distinct zones designed to resemble life beyond the hospital.

The ‘house’, ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘downtown’ (Figure 4). The house zones include patient accommodation, employing a peninsula model. Each comprises 26 patient rooms, clustered into groups of 6 or 10 single bedrooms that face a collection of shared spaces dedicated to that cluster, including sitting areas, lounges and therapeutic spaces.

A shared kitchen and dining room is provided for each house. Three houses feed into a neighbourhood zone that includes shared spaces for therapy and vocational training, while the downtown zone serves a total of 14 houses. The downtown zone can be accessed by patients based on a merit system and includes a café, bank and retail spaces, music room, health club, chapel, green house, library and art rooms, alongside large interior public spaces.

This array of amenities does not seem distinctly different from other contemporary facilities, where therapy and vocational training happen in a mix of on-ward and off-ward (often within a central treatment hub). The difference lies in the sensitivity of how these spaces are articulated.Details of the social spaces provided on each ward at the Worcester Recovery Center and the proximity of the ‘house’ (or ward) to the ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘downtown’." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 4 Details of the social spaces provided on each ward at the Worcester Recovery Center and the proximity of the ‘house’ (or ward) to the ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘downtown’.The generosity of providing separate living spaces for every 6–10 patients and locating these directly across the corridor from the patient rooms supports a sense of control and choice for patients. Frank Pitts, an architect who worked on the Worcester project, has written that this was done to enable patients to ‘decide whether they are ready to step out and socialise or return to the privacy of their room’.45 This approach filters throughout the facility, providing a slow graduation of social engagement opportunities for patients, from opportunities to socialise with their cluster of 6–10 individuals, to their house of 26, to their neighbourhood of 78 people, to the full downtown experience.

According to the architects, the neighbourhood thus provides an intermediary zone between the quiet house and the active downtown, which can be overwhelming for some patients.46 Importantly the scale of the architecture responds to this transition from personal to public space, providing visual indicators to reflect patients’ movement through their treatment journey. Spaces become larger as they move further from the ward. This occurs because instead of providing a single, large shared living space, patients are provided a choice of smaller spaces to occupy—these are not much bigger than a patient bedroom.

Dining spaces are slightly larger, while downtown spaces have a civic quality. These are double-height, providing a greater sense of light and airiness. These are arranged in a semicircle, opening onto a large veranda and greenspace.

The sensitive articulation of these spaces, with regard to both their graduated physical scale and the proximity of the social spaces to the patient bedrooms, provides spatial support to these social transitions while empowering patients to control their own level of social interaction.Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare. Creating opportunities for greater public engagement and supporting readjustment to the world beyond the hospitalOne of the most significant barriers to mental health treatment is the stigma associated with admission to a psychiatric hospital. We know that discrimination poses an obstacle to recovery and that the media fuels public fears related to forensic mental health patients.47 Two further challenges to mental health delivery include the disconnection patients can experience from the community, including from family and educational opportunities, and the risk of readmission in the period immediately following discharge.48 If architecture is capable of acting as a change-agent in the delivery of mental healthcare, then it needs to show leadership, not only in the provision of a better experience for patients but more broadly in taking steps to help shift public perceptions around mental illness.

The Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare (MCJC) (Canada) displays several similarities with the approach taken to the Maudsley Hospital. Its appearance communicates a modern, cutting-edge healthcare facility. It does not hide on a rural site or behind walls.

At five stories, and extensively glazed, MCJC communicates a strong civic presence. Its proximity to McMaster University (6 km) and to neighbouring general hospitals, including Juravinski Hospital (4 km) and Hamilton General Hospital (4 km), positions it well for research collaborations to occur, while its proximity to the Mohawk Community College, across the road, can enable patients with leave privileges to access vocational training. More importantly, it employs three innovative design tactics to target the challenges of contemporary forensic mental healthcare, providing an example for how architecture might broker positive change.The first innovative design strategy is the co-location of support services for outpatient mental healthcare.

The risk of readmission is highest immediately following discharge. A lack of collaboration between outpatient support services can result in fragmented care when patients are most vulnerable to the stresses associated with readjustment to the world beyond.49 MCJC includes outpatient facilities allowing patients to use the hospital as a stable base, or touchstone, in adjusting to life after discharge. Bringing these services onto the same physical site can also improve opportunities for coordination between inpatient and outpatient support services which can support continuity of care.

The second design strategy is the co-location of a medical ambulatory care centre which includes diagnostic imaging, educational and research facilities. This creates reasons for the general public to visit this facility, setting up the opportunity for greater public interaction. This could potentially advance understandings of the role of this facility and the patients it treats.The third innovative design strategy was to optimise the on-edge treatment hub for public engagement.

While adopted across a number of hospitals, including Hawaii State Hospital, Helix Forensic Psychiatry Clinic (Sweden) and the Worcester Recovery Center, the on-edge treatment hubs at these hospitals are buried deep inside the secure outer boundary. At MCJC, the treatment hub is placed adjacent to the public zones of the hospital—although on the second floor—and this can be viewed as extension of the public realm and enables the potential for the public to be brought right up to the secure boundary line (which occurs within the building). MCJC is divided into four zones.

The public zone, the galleria (the name given to the treatment hub), the clinical corridor and inpatient accommodation (Figure 5). The galleria functions similarly to the downtown at the Worcester Recovery Center. Patients are given graduated access to a series of spaces that support their recovery journey.

These include a gym, wellness centre, spiritual centre, library, café, beauty salon, and retail and financial services, alongside patient and family support services. While the galleria was initially intended to be accessible by the general public, this was not immediately implemented on the facilities’ opening and it is unclear whether this has now occurred.50 Nonetheless, the potential for movement of patients outwards, and families inwards, has been built into the physical fabric of this building, meaning opportunities for social interaction and fostering greater public understanding are possible. If understanding is the antidote to discrimination, then exposing the public to the role of this facility and the patients it treats is an important step in the right direction.Zoning configuration at the Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare.

The galleria zone is on the second floor (shown in black). The arrows indicate main access points to the galleria. Lifts (L) and stairwell (S) positions are indicated." data-icon-position data-hide-link-title="0">Figure 5 Zoning configuration at the Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare.

The galleria zone is on the second floor (shown in black). The arrows indicate main access points to the galleria. Lifts (L) and stairwell (S) positions are indicated.ConclusionThe question of how architecture can support the therapeutic journey of forensic mental health patients is a critical one.

Yet the availability of evidence-based design literature to guide designers cannot keep pace with growing global demand for new forensic psychiatric hospital facilities, while limitations remain relative to the breadth and usability of this research. A narrow view of what constitutes credible evidence can overlook the value of knowledge embedded in architectural practice, alongside that held by architectural historians and lessons from environmental psychology. In respect of such a pressing and important problem, there is a responsibility to integrate knowledge from across these disciplines.

Accepting the limitations of a theoretical analysis and of the desktop survey method, we also argue for its value. Architects learn through experience, across multiple projects. This gives weight to the value of examining existing, contemporary design solutions to identify architectural innovations capable of providing benefits to patients and thus perhaps worthy of implementation across multiple projects.

History gives us reason to believe that small changes to typical design practice can improve the delivery of mental healthcare, the daily experience of hospitalised patients and more broadly public perceptions of mental illness. Architecture has the capacity to contribute to positive change.Here, we have provided a nuanced way for architects and decision makers to think about the relationship between architectural space and treatment values. An institution’s model of care and the therapeutic values that underpin that model of care should be placed at the centre of architectural decision making.

A survey of contemporary architectural solutions confirms that, generally speaking, innovation is lacking in this field. There will always be real obstacles to innovation, and the argument presented here does not suggest it is necessarily practical to prioritise therapeutic values at the cost of patient, staff and community safety. Instead, it challenges architects and decision makers to properly interrogate any architectural decision that compromises an initial commitment to supporting a patient’s treatment journey—to be more idealistic in the pursuit of positive change.Tangible examples exist of architectural innovations capable of positively improving patient experience by supporting key values that underpin contemporary treatment approaches.

The Broadmoor Hospital optimises the value of the village model for patients, prioritising patient needs for frequent landscape engagement to support their therapeutic journey. The Worcester Recovery Center provides a generous choice and graduation of social spaces to support the social reintegration of patients at their own pace. MCJC co-located facilities to support a patient’s readjustment to daily life postdischarge, while creating opportunities for public engagement that has the potential to foster greater public understanding of the role of these institutions and the patients they treat.

In identifying these three innovative design approaches, we provide architects with tangible design tactics, while encouraging researchers to look more closely at these examples with targeted, postoccupancy studies. These projects provide hope that with a shared vision and commitment, innovation is possible in forensic psychiatric hospital design, with tangible benefits for patients.Data availability statementAll data relevant to the study are included in the article or uploaded as supplementary information. The primary method undertaken for this research relied on data publicly available on the internet.Ethics statementsPatient consent for publicationNot required.AcknowledgmentsThe opportunity to conduct this project arose out of a multidisciplinary master-planning and feasibility study, commissioned by the Victorian Health and Human Services Building Authority, to investigate various international solutions to inform future planning and design around forensic mental health service provision.

The following people contributed their time and expertise in shaping the research process that enabled this article. Neel Charitra, Stefano Scalzo, Les Potter, Margaret Grigg, Lousie Bawden, Matthew Balaam, Martin Gilbert, John MacAllister, Crystal James, Jo Ryan, Julie Anderson, Jo Wasley, Sophie Patitsas, Meagan Thompson, Judith Hemsworth, James Watson, Viviana Lazzarini, Krysti Henderson, Nadia Jaworski, Jack Kerlin and Jan Merchant.Notes1. Jamie O'Donahoo and Janette Graetz Simmonds (2016), “Forensic Patients and Forensic Mental Health in Victoria.

Legal Context, Clinical Pathways, and Practice Challenges,” Australian Social Work 69, no. 2. 169–80.2.

The challenge of which terminology to select when writing about psychiatric hospital design remains difficult relative to the stigmas that surround this field. The term ‘patient’ has been used throughout, instead of ‘consumer’, as this article spans both historical and contemporary developments. In the context of this timespan, consumer is a relatively recent term, introduced around 1985.3.

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Although not fitting a strict definition of postoccupancy evaluation, the following articles were notable exceptions to this finding. Eggert et al., “Person-Environment Interaction,” 527–38. Roger S.

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Refer to McLaughlan, “One Dose of Architecture, Taken Daily.”20. The following documents were referenced in compiling this list. Joint Commission Panel for Mental Health, NHS, UK (2013), “Guidance for Commissioners of Forensic Mental Health Services,” May, https://www.jcpmh.info/resource/guidance-for-commissioners-of-forensic-mental-health-services/.

Cannon Design (2014), “St Joseph’s Integrated Healthcare Hamilton, Margaret and Charles Juravinski Centre for Integrated Healthcare,” Healthcare Design Showcase, September. Health Nexus Group, 2017, “Forensicare Model of Care Report,” April, Australia (access provided by the Victorian Health and Human Services Building Authority). Donald Cant Watts Corke (2014), “Service Plan for Forensic Mental Health Services,” July, Australia (access provided by the Victorian Health and Human Services Building Authority).21.

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World Health Organization (1953), The Community Mental Hospital. Third Report of the Expert Committee on Mental Health (Geneva. WHO).28.

Carla Yanni (2007), The Architecture of Madness. Insane Asylums in the United States. Minneapolis (London.

University of Minnesota Press).29. Key British examples included the 1923 rebuild of London’s Bethlem Hospital which followed the villa model, alongside Shenley Park Mental Hospital (Middlesex County) and Barrow Mental Hospital (Somerset), both constructed in the early 1930s.30. Taylor, Hospital and Asylum Architecture in England.31.

Ulrich et al., “Psychiatric Ward Design Can Reduce Aggressive Behavior,” 53–66. O. Jenkins, S.

Dye and C. Foy (2015) (Oliver Jenkins et al., 2015), “A Study of Agitation, Conflict and Containment in Association With Change in Ward Physical Environment,” Journal of Psychiatric Intensive Care 11, no. 01.

Mayer, and T. Martin (2004), “Environmental Contributors to Aggression in Two Forensic Psychiatric Hospitals,” International Journal of Forensic Mental Health 3 no. 1.

(1994), “Patient Overcrowding in Psychiatric Hospital Units. Effects on Seclusion and Restraint,” Administration and Policy in Mental Health 22, no. 2.

133–44. T. T Palmstierna, B Huitfeldt, and B Wistedt (1991), “The Relationship of Crowding and Aggressive Behavior on a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit,” Psychiatric Services 42, no.

12. 1237–40.32. Ulrich et al., “Psychiatric Ward Design Can Reduce Aggressive Behavior,” 57.

Charles Mercier (1894), Lunatic Asylums. Their Organisation and Management (London. Charles Griffin and Company), 135.33.

Morgan Andersson et al. (2013), “New Swedish Forensic Psychiatric Facilities,” 24–38. Joel A Dvoskin et al.

(2002), “Architectural Design of a Secure Forensic State Psychiatric Hospital,” Behavioral Scients &. The Law, 20, no. 3.

Maclnnes (1999), “The Relationship between Building Design and Escapes from Secure Units,” Journal of the Royal Society for the Promotion of Health 119, no. 3. 170–4.

Jon E. Eggert et al. (2014), “Person-Environment Interaction,” 527–38.34.

Tom Brooks-Pilling cited in Mike Lear (2015), “Designer. New Fulton State Hospital Will Be Better, Safer,” Missourinet, January 5, https://www.missourinet.com/2015/01/05/designer-new-fulton-state-hospital-will-be-better-safer/35. Leslie Topp (2007), “The Modern Mental Hospital in Late Nineteenth-Century Germany and Austria.

Psychiatric Space and Images of Freedom and Control,” in Madness, Architecture and the Built Environment. Psychiatric Spaces in Historical Context, ed. Leslie Topp, James Moran and Jonathan Andrews (London and New York.

Routledge), 244.36. McLaughlan, “One Dose of Architecture, Taken Daily,” 35. Digby, Madness, Morality and Medicine.37.

Anon (1908), “Proposed New Hospital for Mental Diseases,” The Lancet 171, no. 4410. 728–9.38.

Anon, “Proposed New Hospital for Mental Diseases.”39. McLaughlan, “One Dose of Architecture, Taken Daily.”40. Samuel Tuke (1964), “Description of the Retreat (1813),” reprinted in Description of the Retreat With an Introduction by Richard Hunter and Ida Macalpine (London.

Dawsons of Paul Mall). Scull, Museums of Madness. Digby, Madness, Morality and Medicine.

Smith, Cure, Comfort and Safe Custody.41. World Health Organization (1953), The Community Mental Hospital. Also refer to T.F Main (1946), “The Hospital as a Therapeutic Institution”, Bulletin of the Menninger Clinic 10, no.

3. 66–71. David Clark (1965), “The Therapeutic Community Concept, Practice and Future,” The Journal of Mental Science 111.

947–54.42. Jolanda Maas et al. (2009), “Social Contacts as a Possible Mechanism behind the Relation between Green Space and Health,” Health &.

Gayle Souter-Brown (2015), Landscape and Urban Design for Health and Well-Being. Using Healing, Sensory and Therapeutic Gardens (Oxon &. New York.

Routledge). Ulrich et al., “A Review of the Research Literature,” 61–125.43. Leon Festinger et al.

(1950), Social Pressures in Informal Groups. A Study of Human Factors in Housing, vol. 11 (New York.

Harper Bros). David Halpern (1995), Mental Health and the Built Environment. More than Bricks and Mortar?.

Baum and G.E. Davis (1980), “Reducing the Stress of High-Density Living. An Architectural Intervention,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 38, no.

Altman and M.M. Chemers (1984), Culture and Environment (Monterey, CA. Brooks &.

Cole Publishing). Gary W Evans (2003), “The Built Environment and Mental Health,” Journal of Urban Health. Bulletin of the New York Academy of Medicine 80 no.

4. 536–55. Ulrich et al., “Psychiatric Ward Design Can Reduce Aggressive Behavior,” 53–66.44.

Stence Guldager cited in Troldtekt, “Innovative Architecture is Good for Mental Health,” https://www.troldtekt.com/News/Themes/Healing_architecture/Innovative_architecture_is_good_for_mental_health (accessed June 30, 2019). Clare Hickman and “Cheerful Prospects (2009).45. Frank Pitts cited in Patricia Wen (2012), “For Mentally Ill, A Design Departure,” B News, August 16, https://www.boston.com/news/local-news/2012/08/16/for-mentally-ill-a-design-departure46.

Ellenzweig with Architecture Plus, “Massachusetts Department of Mental Health, Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital – Worcester, MA,” Healthcare Design (2013), July 30, https://www.healthcaredesignmagazine.com/architecture/massachusetts-department-mental-health-worcester-recovery-center-and-hospital-worcester-ma/47. Sane Australia (2003), “A Life Without Stigma,” July 25, http://apo.org.au/resource/life-without-stigma. Otto F Wahl (2012), “Stigma as a Barrier to Recovery from Mental Illness,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 16, no.

1. 9–10. New Zealand Ministry of Health and Health Promotion Agency (2014), “Like Minds, Like Mine National Plan 2014–2019.

Programme to Increase Social Inclusion and Reduce Stigma and Discrimination for People with Experience of Mental Illness,” May 20, https://www.likeminds.org.nz/assets/National-Plans/like-minds-like-mine-national-plan-2014-2019-may14.pdf. G Moon (2000), “Risk and Protection. The Discourse of Confinement in Contemporary Mental Health Policy," Health &.

R. Allen and R.G. Nairn (1997), “Media Depictions of Mental Illness.

An Analysis of the Use of Dangerousness,” Australian &. New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry 31, no. 3.

375–81. Greg Philo et al. (1994), “The Impact of the Mass Media on Public Images of Mental Illness.

Media Content and Audience Belief,” Health Education Journal 53, no. 3. 271–81.48.

G Moon (2000), “Risk and Protection,” 239–50. T.F Main (1948), “Rehabilitation and the Individual,” in Modern Trends in Psychological Medicine, ed. Noel Haris (London.

D.A Fuller, E. Sinclair, and J. Snook (2016), “Released, Relapsed, Rehospitalized.

Length of Stay and Readmission Rates in State Hospitals. A Comparative State Survey,” 2016, https://www.treatmentadvocacycenter.org/storage/documents/released-relapsed-rehospitalized.pdf. Leila Salem et al.

(2015), “Supportive Housing and Forensic Patient Outcomes,” Law and Human Behavior 39, no. 3. 311.49.

National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence, Manchester (2016), “Transition between Inpatient Mental Health Settings and Community or Care Home Settings. Guideline,” August, https://www.nice.org.uk/guidance/ng53/evidence/full-guideline-pdf-260695191750. Catherine Clark Ahern et al.

(2016), “A Recovery-Oriented Care Approach,” 47..

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Veterans Health Administration (VHA), Department of Veterans Affairs (VA), buy cialis with free samples is announcing an opportunity for Best place to buy levitra public comment on the proposed collection of certain information by the agency. Under the Paperwork Reduction Act (PRA) of 1995, Federal agencies are required to publish notice in the Federal Register concerning each proposed collection of information, including each proposed extension of a currently approved collection, and allow 60 days for public comment in response to the notice. Written comments and recommendations on the proposed collection of information should be received on or before January 9, 2023. Submit written comments on the collection of information through Federal Docket Management System (FDMS) at www.Regulations.gov or to Janel Keyes, Office of Regulations, Appeals, and Policy (10BRAP), Department of Veterans Affairs, 810 Vermont Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20420 or email to Janel.Keyes@va.gov buy cialis with free samples.

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This request for comment is being made pursuant buy cialis with free samples to section 3506(c)(2)(A) of the PRA. With respect to the following collection of information, VHA invites comments on. (1) whether the proposed collection of information is necessary for the proper performance of VHA's functions, including whether the information will have practical utility. (2) the accuracy of buy cialis with free samples VHA's estimate of the burden of the proposed collection of information.

(3) ways to enhance the quality, utility, and clarity of the information to be collected. And (4) ways to minimize the burden of the collection of information on respondents, including through the use of automated collection techniques or the use of other forms of information technology. Authority:Public buy cialis with free samples Law 104-13. 44 U.S.C.

3501-3521. Title buy cialis with free samples. Staff Sergeant Parker Gordon Fox Suicide Prevention Grant Program (SSG Fox SPGP), VA Forms 10-315a-b, 10-316a-f, and 10-317a-d. OMB Control Number.

2900-0904. Type of Review. Extension of a currently approved collection. Abstract.

On October 17, 2020, the Commander John Scott Hannon Veterans Mental Health Care Improvement Act of 2019, Public Law (Pub. L.) 116-171 (the Act), codified as a note to section 1720F of title 38, United States Code (U.S.C.), was enacted in law. Section 201 of the Act mandated VA establish the Staff Sergeant Parker Gordon Fox Suicide Prevention Grant Program (SSG Fox SPGP) to reduce Veteran suicide through the provision of community-based grants to certain eligible entities to provide or coordinate the provision of suicide prevention services to eligible individuals and their families. In order to award grants under this program, and assess services and compliance with grants provided, VA requires submission of Applications for grants and Renewals of grants, Compliance Reports, Eligibility Screening, Intake Forms and Assessments, Participant Satisfaction Surveys, Program Exit Checklists, and Suicide Risk Screening Tools.

VA Form 10-315a—Application. This information is needed to award SSG Fox Start Printed Page 67537 SPGP grants to eligible entities. The application requirements are consistent with section 201(f) of the Act and are designed to ensure that VA can fully evaluate the ability of applicants to achieve the goals of the grant program. VA Form 10-315b—Renewal Application.

This data collection instrument has been developed for grantees to renew grants previously awarded. The renewal application will allow VA to fully evaluate the ability of applicants to achieve the goals of the SSG Fox SPGP and proposed 38 CFR part 78. This information will be used by VA to determine whether to award renewal funds to existing grantees. VA Forms 10-316a-f—Compliance Reports.

This collection of information will be required to ensure grantees are complying with all program requirements set forth in proposed 38 CFR part 78 and their grant agreements. These reports will allow VA to assess the provision of services under this grant program. The reports consist of Annual Performance Reports, Other Performance and Implementation Reports, Program &. Budget Changes, Corrective Action Plans, Annual Financial Expenditure Reports, and Other Financial Reports.

VA Form 10-317a—Eligibility Screening. This data will be collected by grantee staff to determine eligibility for the grant program, prior to enrollment. The collection instrument will include suicide risk factors. VA Form 10-317b—Intake Form &.

Assessments. This data collection instrument will be used by grantee staff to collect demographic and military service. This information will be used by the VA to identify trends of the Veteran population the grantees are servicing. In addition, the intake form will include the following assessments.

Social Economic Status (SES). Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9). Short Warwick-Edinburgh Mental Wellbeing Scale (SWEMWS). General Self-Efficacy Scale (GSE).

And Interpersonal Support Evaluation List (ISEL-12). VA Form 10-317c—Participant Satisfaction Survey. This data collection instrument has been developed to capture participant feedback about services and to evaluate the SSG Fox SPGP. This information will be used by VA to determine the satisfaction of Veterans participating in the grant program funded services and the effectiveness of those services provided under the SSG Fox SPGP.

VA Form 10-317d—Program Exit Checklist. This data collection instrument will be used by grantee staff at the completion of the program to track the following assessments upon program exit. Social Economic Status (SES). Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9).

Short Warwick-Edinburgh Mental Wellbeing Scale (SWEMWS). General Self-Efficacy Scale (GSE). And Interpersonal Support Evaluation List (ISEL-12). Columbia Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS).

Suicide risk screening will be administered by grantees using the existing C-SSRS to assess suicide risk of program participants. Total Annual Number of Responses = 30,205. Total Annual Time Burden = 21,827 hours. VA Form 10-315a—Application.

Affected Public. Private sector. Estimated Annual Burden. 8,750 hours.

Estimated Average Burden per Respondent. 35 hours. Frequency of Response. Once annually.

Estimated Number of Respondents. 250. VA Form 10-315b—Renewal Application. Affected Public.

Private sector. Estimated Annual Burden. 900 hours. Estimated Average Burden per Respondent.

10 hours. Frequency of Response. Once annually. Estimated Number of Respondents.

90. VA Form 10-316a—Annual Grantee Performance Report. Affected Public. Private sector.

Estimated Annual Burden. 68 hours. Estimated Average Burden per Respondent. 45 minutes.

Frequency of Response. Once annually. Estimated Number of Respondents. 90.

VA Form 10-316b—Other Grantee Performance Report. Affected Public. Private sector. Estimated Annual Burden.

90 hours. Estimated Average Burden per Respondent. 30 minutes. Frequency of Response.

Twice annually. Estimated Number of Respondents. 90. VA Form 10-316c—Program Change Request.

Affected Public. Private sector. Estimated Annual Burden. 45 hours.

Estimated Average Burden per Respondent. 15 minutes. Frequency of Response. Twice annually.

Estimated Number of Respondents. 90. VA Form 10-316d—Corrective Action Plan (CAP). Affected Public.

Private sector. Estimated Annual Burden. 13 hours. Estimated Average Burden per Respondent.

30 minutes. Frequency of Response. Once annually. Estimated Number of Respondents.

25. VA Form 10-316e—Annual Grantee Financial Report. Affected Public. Private Ssector.

Estimated Annual Burden. 68 hours. Estimated Average Burden per Respondent. 45 minutes.

Frequency of Response. Once annually. Estimated Number of Respondents. 90.

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