December 4th, 2007 by Dr. Val Jones in Medblogger Shout Outs, Opinion
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I have witnessed various disappointing doctor-patient interactions over the years. Sometimes the doctor is insensitive, other times he or she doesn’t listen to the patient – and errors can result. Young physicians are more prone to inappropriate patient and family interactions when they are feeling inadequate and insecure. A fellow blogger describes just this kind of problem with a young pediatrics resident:
A meek lady with a white lab coat
walks in and just starts asking medical questions. So
my answer to her first question was “Who are you?” She apologized and
said she was the pediatrics resident and asked a bunch of questions
that didn’t seem to us to have much bearing on the situation at hand.
We asked about why my son was making unusual gasping breaths ever since
he woke up and she said it was because he was crying. We said that he
was making these breaths before he started crying. She then said it was
probably hiccups. My wife, who is a registered nurse, said there was no
way it was hiccups because she felt him pressed against her body and
could tell. The resident then said that it was probably due to the
anesthesia. I could tell she was just giving that answer to say
something but really had no clue what was going on. So I challenged her
on it and said “Have you ever seen this after anesthesia before?” She
paused and said, “Maybe once.”
Although this is not the wost example of an unsatisfying doctor-patient interaction (read the rest of the post to get the full story), it is pretty typical for inexperienced physicians to “make up” explanations for symptoms or problems that they don’t understand. This can be dangerous or even life threatening if certain symptoms are ignored.So how do we protect ourselves against this kind of potential error? Sadly, the current quality assurance programs are rather ineffective. In his recent blog post about ensuring physician quality, Dr. Scalpel published a letter he recently received from his hospital. The letter was prepared as part of the Joint Commission quality assurance program. They actually require doctors to get a letter of recommendation from someone (who doesn’t work with them) to ensure that they’re practicing good medicine… It’s like asking a stranger to grade your work competence.
Dear Dr. Scalpel:
In
accordance with Joint Commission regulations, we are required to
request an evaluation of your clinical performance. The Credentialing
Committee now requires the completion of an evaluation form by a peer in your specialty who is not a member of your group practice.
Attached,
you will find a letter and accompanying evaluation form which you
should forward to a peer of your choice for completion. In order to
proceed with the processing of your reappointment application, it is
necessary that you ensure that the required evaluation form is
forwarded to a peer and returned to us in a timely manner. A return
envelope is provided for this purpose. Please note that the evaluation
form must be returned to us by the person completing the form. If we do
not receive the evaluation form before ________, your clinical
privileges may be interrupted.
Sincerely,
An Unnamed Bureaucrat
So, how do you ensure that you’re getting good medical care? It’s not easy, and you can’t necessarily depend on oversight committees to come up with sensible safeguards. Being an informed patient is part of being an empowered patient – you should do what you can to research your doctor’s and hospital’s credentials and reputation (you can do that right here with Revolution Health’s ratings tool), you should read about your diagnosis or condition on reputable websites like Revolution Health, and you should advocate for yourself or loved one at the hospital when necessary. You have the right to reasonable explanations for care decisions – and if you’re concerned about a symptom, you should ask about it.
Unfortunately, there’s no way to guarantee quality medical care. However, perhaps the most important thing you can do (besides advocate for yourself and become educated about your condition) is to develop a close relationship with a primary care physician. Establishing a medical home with a good primary care physician can go a long way towards helping you to navigate the system. They can be your best advocate in this broken system.This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
November 8th, 2007 by Dr. Val Jones in True Stories
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Today a dear friend of mine told me a horror story about her recent trip to a hospital ER. She has kidney stones, with rare bouts of excruciating pain when they decide to break off from their renal resting place and scrape their way down her ureters.
My friend is a stoic person who also doesn’t like to cause trouble for others – so when she was awoken at 4am with that same familiar pain, she decided not to call an ambulance but rather drive herself to the ER. She also chose not to call her doctor out of consideration for his sleep needs.
She managed to make it to the triage desk at her local hospital and was relieved to see that the ER was quite empty. There were no ambulances in the docks, no one in the waiting area, and no sign of any trauma or resuscitations in the trauma bay. She approached the desk trembling in pain and put her health insurance card, driver’s license, and hospital card on the desk and let the clerk know that she was in incredible pain.
The clerk responded,
“Lady, I saw you walk yourself in here. There’s no way you’re in that much pain. Sit down and fill out this paper work!”
My friend replied in a soft voice,
“Please, can you help me fill out these forms? I can barely see straight and can’t concentrate well. I have a kidney stone and it’s excruciating.”
Tears fell softly from her face as the clerk rolled his eyes at her.
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. And I bet you’re allergic to everything but Demerol.”
My friend started becoming frightened, realizing that she was being pegged as a “drug seeker” and would be punished with a long wait time for pain medication. “Please let me just speak to the triage nurse.”
“Sure, sweetheart,” hissed the clerk. “I’ll get him when you’ve finished your paperwork.”
And so my friend sobbed as she tried to fill in her address, phone number, insurance information, etc. on the paper form at a hospital where she had been treated for over 7 years for ovarian cancer. All of that information was in their EMR, but the registration process would not be waived.
The triage nurse slowly emerged, still chewing a bite of his steak dinner. “What have we got?” He said to the clerk looking out into a waiting room populated only by my sobbing friend.
The clerk replied to him under his breath. The nurse rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Alright lady, let’s get you back to an examining room. Follow me.”
My friend followed him back to the patient rooms, doubled over in pain and was put on a stretcher with a thin curtain dangling limply from the ceiling.
She couldn’t control her tears. She couldn’t get comfortable and she moaned softly as she took short breaths to explain her past history. She handed him her business card, explaining who she was and that she was not faking her pain. The nurse made no eye contact, jotted down some notes in a binder, and prepared to leave the room.
“Listen, your crying is disturbing the other patients,” he said, yanking the curtain across the front of the room to block her visually, as if the curtain would make her disappear.
Hours passed. My friend had no recourse but to writhe on the stretcher and cry out occasionally when the pain was too intense too bear. She asked for them to order a CT scan so they could see the stones. The nurse ordered it, a physician never came to examine her.
Four hours later my friend was greeted by a physician. “You have kidney stones. One is in your right ureter, and there are others sitting in your left kidney. Do you need some Dilauded?”
“Yes please!” said my friend, hoping that some relief was in sight.
“Alright, the nurse will be here shortly.” Said the doctor, glancing at her chart without completing a physical exam.
The shift changed and a new nurse came in to place an IV. She was gruff and complained that my friends veins were too small. “I’ve never seen anyone with a kidney stone need this much pain medicine” she snapped with a suspicious tone.
Five hours after her arrival at a virtually empty ER my friend received pain medicine for her kidney stone. She is a cancer survivor and national spokesperson for patient advocacy. In her time of need, though, she had no advocate to help her. No, she received nothing for her years of service, for her selfless devotion to helping others, for her tenderness to patients dying of a disease with no cure.
That night, my friend did not even receive the benefit of the doubt.This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
November 3rd, 2007 by Dr. Val Jones in Expert Interviews, True Stories
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I had lunch with an extraordinary physician today. She came to the US from Pakistan 30 years ago with a medical degree, a little girl and a baby on the way. Since she was a foreign medical grad, she had to accept a position at a less competitive residency program in New York’s inner city (even more violent and dangerous then than now). She made it through, with several near muggings and death threats but longed to work at a hospital where she and her girls could be safe.
One day she came upon a large, clean naval hospital and on a whim decided to join the military so she could work there. She served for two decades as a navy physician, and learned many life lessons along the way.
As I hung on her every word, my friend told me about her experience with navy pilots. She said that one of the scariest maneuvers is landing a plane on a dark aircraft carrier on a rolling sea. The pilots dreaded these drills, and truth be told, the officers were more worried about losing a 3.2 million dollar jet to the ocean waves than the life of one of the pilots. “There will always be another pilot. They’re not in short supply. But the planes are expensive.” This was the attitude drilled into the young aviators.
In order to land the plane in the dark, the pilot had to learn to trust completely in his optical landing system. It more or less consists of a pin icon with a ball on top, and a series of red, yellow, and green lights. The goal is to keep the ball well centered so that it remains green for landing. Achieving this is called “flying the ball.” In total darkness with crashing waves and a rolling deck, a successful arrested landing is difficult and perilous.
As I looked at my friend, a petite and beautiful woman, I tried to imagine what life was like for her as a young Pakistani resident – pregnant and alone in a concrete jungle filled with graffiti, trash, and drug addicts. Her life has been an incredible journey with ups and downs, and amazing success against all odds.
“How did you do it?” I asked her, shaking my head. “How did you get where you are today through all that adversity?”
She paused for a moment, then grinned slowly as she replied: “I learned how to fly the ball.”This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
October 14th, 2007 by Dr. Val Jones in True Stories
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I had dinner with a physician friend of mine who works in New York City. She told me an interesting story about her last couple of days at work…
A patient of hers was in the hospital on a fairly high dose of steroids to treat an autoimmune disorder. He was generally a very even tempered and friendly person, but was a little bit grumpy when she visited him on rounds that evening. He was complaining of slight shortness of breath and some mild stomach pain – and that the hospital food was bad. His labs from that morning were all normal, and he had no fever or abnormalities in blood pressure or heart rate.
On sheer gut instinct, my friend ordered a CT scan of his abdomen right away. Lucky she did, because this gentleman had a perforated colon (from ruptured diverticulae) with air under his diaphragm, causing shortness of breath. Because he was on steroids, the body’s usual response to early sepsis was blunted. He was rushed to the OR where surgeons corrected the problem. In this situation, if it weren’t for a gut instinct, this patient may have died.
I think this case illustrates how important it is to know your patients, to take their concerns seriously (especially when they’re on medicines that could minimize serious symptoms), and if something doesn’t seem right (even if lab tests and vital signs argue otherwise) you should listen to your gut. Sometimes instinct is smarter than science.This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
September 18th, 2007 by Dr. Val Jones in True Stories
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Dr. Rob wrote a touching blog post today about death and dying. He contrasts two deaths – one in which the family members were excluded from the room as physicians deliberated about the patient’s heart rhythm (while she was dying), and another one in which a patient was surrounded by family members who sang a hymn and held him in their arms as he passed.
Although the ultimate mortality rate of individuals has been 100% throughout history, physicians are trained to fight death at all costs. When you think about it – we must be the most optimistic profession on the face of the planet. Who else would leap headlong into a battle where others have had a 100% failure rate since the beginning of time?
Instead of thinking of medicine as a means to defeat death, I think we should consider it a tool to celebrate life. Adding life to years is so much more important than adding years to life – and yet we often don’t behave as if we believe that. Unfortunately in my experience, death has not been handled well in hospitals. For every hymn singing departure, there must be 100 cold, lonely, clinical deaths surrounded by a crash cart, CPR and shouting.
I remember my first death as a code team leader in the ER. An obese, elderly man was brought in on a stretcher by EMS to the trauma bay. They were administering CPR and using a bag valve mask to ventilate his lungs. He skin was blueish and there was absolutely no movement in his lifeless body. His eyes were glassy, there was no rhythm on the heart monitor… I knew he was long gone. The attending asked if I’d like to practice placing a central line on him, or if I’d like to intubate him to get further experience with the procedure. She saw that I was hesitant and she responded, “This is a teaching hospital. It is expected that residents learn how to do procedures on patients. You should take this opportunity to practice, since it won’t hurt him and it’s part of the code protocol.”
As I looked down at the man I overheard that his family had arrived and was awaiting news in the waiting area. I sighed and closed his eyes with my gloved hand, gently moving his hair off his forehead. I looked up and told the attending that I was sorry but I couldn’t justify “practicing” on the man while his family waited for news. I took off my gloves, quietly asked the nurses to please prepare the body for viewing, and walked with my head hung to the private waiting room.
The family scanned my face intensely – they could see immediately that their fears were confirmed by my expression. I sat down very close to them and told them that their loved one had died prior to arrival in the Emergency Department, and that he did not appear to have suffered. I told them that we did all we could to revive him, but that there wasn’t any hint of recovery at any point. I explained that his death was quick and likely painless – probably due to a massive heart attack. I told them that they could see him when they were ready, and that I believed that he had passed away with dignity. They burst into tears and thanked me for being with him at the end. I hugged his wife and walked the family to his bedside and closed the curtains around them so they could say goodbye in their own way. I hoped that they felt some warmth on that very dark night. “Doing nothing” was the best I could do.This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
