I’m not here to define the difference between malpractice, negligent homicide or out and out murder, but the story I am going to tell you is nothing less than murder; murder that took place in a hospital about twenty years ago and occurred not because of malice or stupidity but because of arrogance and self-centeredness.
In the late 1980s, at a major public city hospital, an African American man in his twenties was admitted to the intensive care unit with heart failure. An electrocardiogram (ECG) suggested he had a large heart attack. While I do not recall all of the patient’s symptoms I do remember that he had not been feeling well for about two weeks and that his wife brought him to the hospital because he looked very ill. Sensitive blood tests did not confirm he had a heart attack -- possibly because it had occurred as much as two weeks earlier (these tests are only positive for several days after a heart attack).
As is the case in most city hospitals the patient was admitted to a group of medical residents who were supervised by, and took their orders from, senior physicians employed by the hospital. I became involved because the academic center I was training at had an affiliation with the public hospital and it was my job (usually a different cardiology fellow rotated through that hospital every month) to consult, when called, on patients admitted with heart problems.
In any event, two of the most senior and quite brilliant doctors (although they were not cardiologists) at the city hospital came to the conclusion that this young man had not had a heart attack but suffered from a very unusual presentation of myocarditis – an acute inflammation of the heart -- even though the ECG indicated a heart attack had occurred. I suggested to both doctors, and to their medical residents, that they might indeed be right about the myocarditis, but that this young man also could also have coronary artery disease and that if we didn’t act on it the results would be catastrophic. I brought my attending in to speak to them, and even though he agreed with my diagnosis and suppositions, he was too indifferent or too timid to persuade the men to reconsider their strongly held opinion.
The two doctors did not want to hear about the possibility that the patient had coronary disease; they were certain he had myocarditis and should be treated for this illness and sent home. When I voiced my belief that it was a potentially grave error not to send this patient for an angiogram to make certain he did not have coronary disease, I was ordered to stop writing notes in the chart and not to see the patient again. Perhaps I could have done more, but only two years before I was reprimanded by a vice-chairman of medicine ( I later found out that he sent a letter out to my supervisor suggesting he review my patient’s charts) because I questioned a doctor’s order to transfuse a patient – even though the medical literature supported my opinion. And I guess I just did not want to take any more risks fighting with powerful and spiteful men. Not back then anyway.
As it turns out, the patient did indeed have coronary disease. He had a second heart attack, just as he was being discharged from the hospital, and died a few days later. The autopsy confirmed the presence of severe coronary artery disease. Yet with almost no regrets or remorse the two senior doctors circulated articles to the staff about how rare viruses might cause unusual heart attacks. Neither ever apologized to me, or more importantly, to the patient’s wife, and nothing ever came of this episode. No one was reprimanded and both doctors continue to teach at major medical centers to this day.
I always tell young physicians and physician assistants that hubris kills more patients than ignorance. Two arrogant senior physicians and their crew of younger residents were as blind to reason as the members of an unjustly inflamed and murderous mob. And that, together with the indifference or cowardice of others, who might have spoken out, but did not, caused the death of this young man.


Salon.com
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Sometimes wrong, never in doubt -- I've met the type.
i made them do bloodwork anyway. it came back abnormal, but they insisted on redoing it as it could have been a mistake.
i KNEW something was wrong with Caitie. i kept pushing and then she started having nosebleeds and then fainting spells. i finally told them to do the tests or else! (i'm not sure what my 'or else' would have been, but i was getting angry by this point.)
they did yet another blood test and we got a phone call from an oncologist they had called and we were to take her to children's hospital in pittsburgh that afternoon for an appointment.
long story short, it was acute lymphocytic leukemia. her bone marrow was 94% cancer cells by the time it was diagnosed.
because of her age, it was very serious.
again, long story short, she relapsed 3 times, had a bone-marrow transplant in january 2005. it lasted 9 months. we lost her november 27, 2005.
4 yrs later i still miss her every second of every minute of every hour of every day. she and i spent more time in hospital together, sometimes for weeks/months at a time. she became my best friend.
the sent her home too soon the last time after 10 days of intense chemo. i begged them to let her stay but i was tired, in shock at the relapse...i gave in. the doctor who did this was head of oncology and had worked with us for all the almost 5 yrs she had been sick. she had a brain bleed at home and we lost her. i still blame myself because the dr never took any blame. it was thanksgiving weekend and when he finally called us on tuesday to tell us how 'shocked we all were' that cait had died. her platelets were just too low to stop bleeding. a nurse had sent her home from clinic on friday after only receiving one bag of platelets; her count was 1, meaning 1000 platelets. they do something when the count reaches 18,000 usually.
it is the oncology departments policy to not meet with parents when a child dies. there was never one word of responsibility for her death. in fact, the dr tried to say the cait had wanted to come home for thanksgiving, which was patently untrue. she was sick as a dog and ate one tiny bit of turkey.
the trauma not just of her loss but the terrible way, her losing consciousness on our bathroom floor, her last words being 'mom, i'm afraid; am i gonna die?' and me lying, saying 'no, baby, you're just dehydrated.' the ride in the ambulance at 3:30am. the watching them do cpr on her. the turning off of life-support with no help in making the decision from the staff...all of this at a children's hospital that purports to be there, every step of the way.
we are not meant to bury our children. it has destroyed me. i should have fought harder for what my gut was telling me. i was her advocate...
i deeply apologise for the length of this post. but i still struggle every day with the trauma of the past decade.
About 24 years ago, my then wife, now ex, called the doc's nighttime emergency number because my 18 m.o. son was having trouble breathing. He dismissed it as croup, gave the usual advice.
She had two kids before my son, and knew the doc was wrong. She took him to the hospital, where they were barely able to get a tube down his throat to prevent him from suffocating.
It was H-flu.
Several long nights at the hospital, and the danger passed. But for my ex's intuition....
During my training I found too many physicians who behaved more like dictators than professors- I suspect some doctors accept jobs at teaching institutions because they crave that feeling of authority.
I always joke with friends that some of these docs were picked on by all the other kids when they were in second grade.
Murder isn't the only hospital crime. I had surgery based on someone else's x-ray, and rather than apologize, the surgeon told me he thinks I needed the surgery anyway. I never got a vote.