In September 1996 I received an early AM call, during my hospital
rounds, routed via Boston Medical Center to Michael Reese Medical Center
of the University of Illinois Chicago. The call was from my sisiter, a
physician. "Papa was admitted for a routine evaluation for unteadinees
of his balance; a burr hole was placed; immediate post-op period he
began vomiting blood; during transit to GI suite for endoscopy, he
aspirated his blood and went into a coma; he had asked for you before
this complication; come home immediately," I flew to Melbourne and drove
straight to Monash Medical Center. My father's condition was grave; his
breathing was labored and agonal. The house officers and the consultant
were not quite forthcoming with much information. It became apparent
that certain standards of care were not observed when an elderly
patient, such as my dad, is subjected to caraniotomy or any surgical
procedure. My father did not receive the simplest procedure that is
routinely performed prior to surgrery, which was to protect his stomach
lining with an agent, either a H-2 blocker or sucralfate.
What bothered my family was the arrogance of an Intern ( a female of
Vietnamese origin) and her total lack of empathy. We proceeded to take
care of matters necessary, as our culture dictated, in the name of our
deceased father including his cremation. We are a family of doctors and
were not interested in pursuing any further on the matter of our fathers
cause of death other than what was presented to us by the doctors.
Several thousand of miles away in Chicago I think of my father often and
invariably my thoghts drift toward those agonosing moments on a fateful
day in September 1996 and wander in silence 'if only had they.....'