I’ve been very quiet this week because my first case on my return to work after my holiday went badly.
I put my frail little old lady patient off to sleep for her routine minor surgery, and she suffered a major medical event and never woke up. Ghastly for everyone involved. There were no mistakes made, and it was handled really well, so I feel very little guilt, although terribly sorry for the poor family.
The coroner got involved, as they must be informed of any peri operative death, but he was not concerned and was happy for the ICU to write a death certificate. So, there won’t be any investigations, although I do have to present the case for a hospital debrief tomorrow, and will likely have to do so again to colleagues at a morbidity and mortality meeting in a few months time. As long as the family don’t make a complaint, that will hopefully be the end of it. If they do complain, it would likely be to the Health and Disability Commissioner, which would mean I’d have to write a formal report, and get the lawyers involved. That’s the sort of thing that happens to most doctors at least once in their careers. It can be a soul destroying process, but that’s why they pay us the big bucks, isn’t that right? I don’t think it’s the torch that will see my career crash and burn in a ball of flame, but who knows at this early stage?
I found out this morning that the rumour in the public hospital the day she died was that she was only 30 years old, rather than an octogenarian. I guess hospitals are as much a hotbed of gossip as any workplace. It’s still dispiriting.
The news this morning had a table from Te Whatu Ora listing shortfalls in the health workforce. Jarringly, “anaesthetists” are listed separately to “doctors”. No one knows what we do.
