Thanksgiving & Medical Malpractice
It is the verge of Thanksgiving and I find myself forced to consider medical malpractice again. Readers of this blog are well familiar with my stance on medical malpractice reform, which is often preceded by a disclosure that the J.D after my name means I have somewhat of a vested interest. But in addition to my ties to the law, like everyone else I have family ties as well. I’ll disclose that as well. I am both a son and a father, once a husband and a grandson, still a cousin and an uncle. And a nephew. I am 48 years old and have now lived to see serious medical malpractice up close and personal at least 4 times.
Last night I sat in a waiting room and listened to my 80 year old aunt scream and cry as her 50-something year old daughter died from a massive brain hemorrhage. I listened to my cousin’s children crying as they tried to figure out how they were going to tell their children that their “Ama” had died. I held my cousins as they cried. I held my brother. I smoked with my cousin’s husband–shellshocked, lost and aghast. And 25 of us more or less crammed the waiting room over a period of 12 or 14 hours or so, wandering, hoping and praying that my cousin would come back from a doctor’s generally admitted error. It did not happen, and November 23rd was her last day on earth. I am an articulate man. But I do not think I can even come close to describing the pain and anguish I witnessed the last few days– or that which is to come as we prepare to bury my cousin Michelle.
A short time ago a doctor had drilled through my cousin’s skull in order to place a chemo port to treat her lymphoma– eschewing the use of a depth guide, he drilled too deep. And here we are. Again.
25 years ago I sat in a similar waiting room with the same aunt who was mourning last night and loads of other family after my 80 year old grandmother– a matriarch if ever there was one– had been hit by a car while crossing the road. After the first day, we were told that my grandmother would be fine and that she was stable and would need only an operation in a few days to fix her legs. I sat in my grandmother’s room and convinced her that although Jesus alone had fixed her in the past, that maybe sometimes God works through doctors too– and that this time they said that if she didn’t have the operation she would never walk again. We talked. I read her Bible verses. She relented. But a day before the scheduled surgery she suddenly died. From the impact of the collision, her head had swollen. When the swelling went down, a damaged blood vessel burst. The swelling had been keeping that vessel in tact. None of the doctors had thought to check. The doctor apologized; the hospital paid some small settled amount– my family too traumatized to carry on a protracted battle.
When my father passed away a few years back from an extremely rare (1 in a million), 100% fatal, organic brain disease with a sudden onset, I watched more serious errors made. By that time I was in my second year of law school. I asked questions. I monitored. I pressed. My first battle was the day after his initial admittance with a weekend resident who was going to discharge my father with a patently erroneous and perfunctory diagnosis of Alzheimers, saying “there’s only so many tests we can run.” This despite the sudden onset of his symptoms, a number of which do not occur in Alzheimers. I won, he stayed– and he puzzled physicians of every stripe for weeks. The next error revolved around one doctor telling others that a very important portion of a series of tests had been run when they had not. The tests, measuring particular proteins and antibodies, would determine whether my father had something about as rare, which presents in a manner very similar to the 100% fatal disease, but can be treated– if caught promptly–by, believe it or not– steroids. Forced to prove the error to the neuroscience team at a conference table with the hospital liaison seated, I did. It was arduous, the chief of neurosurgeon nearly choked on his own hubris, and I received an apology, while my father received the omitted portions of the critical tests.
The results of the test were not what we had hoped for, and my father passed away around two weeks later. But that, I suppose, is not the point. Had he had the much hoped for disease which can be treated with steroids, and had I not discovered the omission and false reporting, my father would have lost his life from a treatable disease due to a wrong diagnosis and a failure to treat– along with a false report.
About 15 years ago my wife at the time bled heavily after a same day gynocological procedure. I contacted the doctors office and explained in detail the situation to the doctor’s receptionist because “the doctor was busy” and would not come to the phone. The doctor relayed through the receptionist that my wife should take pain pills and relax. I stressed again the severity of the bleeding and the pain. I was dismissed again out of hand– until I told the receptionist that she should tell that doctor that she had better be very sure of this diagnosis she had just made over the phone because if she’s wrong– and I somehow lost the mother of my children on account of it– I would take every single thing she owns– not because I want them– but because I would live to make her pay. The doctor agreed to see my wife, which was fortunate– because she had hemorrhaged, but lived.
Which is more than I can say for my cousin.
Last week I wrote a post here derived from an HHS study on medical mistakes. Largely taken from an article by the Inspector General of the Department of Health and Human Services, Daniel R. Levinson,
Physicians determined that about one in seven patients (13.5%) experienced at least one serious instance of harm from medical care that prolonged their hospital stay, caused permanent harm, required life-sustaining intervention, or contributed to their deaths. Projected to the entire Medicare population, this rate means an estimated 134,000 hospitalized Medicare beneficiaries experienced harm from medical care in one month, with the event contributing to death for 1.5%, or approximately 15,000 patients.
That’s per month. Some quick math will give us the yearly death figure: 15,000 x 12 months = 180,000 per year. And that’s just Medicare patients.
The “seriously harmed” equals 1,608,000 per year. Again, just Medicare.
Rest in Peace Michelle
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I feel for mr. ricciardelli’s loss but as a family man myself I have personally witnessed many life saving and heroic acts by physicians
I too have experienced great healing from doctors, and I have seen first hand the benefit of effective care– as have most, if not all, people. Doctors have fixed me and those I love more times than I can count– often going above and beyond. Perhaps I don’t say so enough in this forum. But of course, no one wants to “reform” effective care. I suppose the point is, simply, that physicians and medical and hospital staff are human– and capable of grave error. I don’t think we can lose sight of this if we wish to improve the system and our own care as we seek it. And I don’t think that immunizing physicians and staff from the consequences of their error when negligent will improve the system. This post, recounting my own experience and the consequences of malpractice, was meant, in a sense, to put a human face and a particularized experience to the frightening statistics linked within on medical error. Perhaps my training as a lawyer and my own personal experience cloud my view. But it’s my aunt’s sobbing howls of anguish that I hear as I write this. And she does not have a forum in which to be heard. To quote Arthur Miller, “Attention must be paid.”