Reading Danielle Ofri's latest book on medical errors has been cathartic. It's terrible that this happens too often, but there's a bit of relief in knowing you're not the only one. For example, coming from a rural area, it may feel as if doctors, from the big cities, larger hospitals, and teaching universities, look down on you, perhaps, for being poor, or having an accent, etc. Hearing that it's more of a defensive mechanism, on the part of doctors, relieves those thoughts, somewhat. Ofri points out that rural hospitals usually are not equipped for handling complex care and emergencies The defining medical challenge for rural hospitals has always been attracting - and retaining - enough doctors. 166 Most larger hospitals are now staffed with full-time emergency medicine doctors, but rural hospitals have to make do with the old system. 167
What's most frustrating to me is the constant talk, in the larger universities, on attracting students from rural areas in the hopes that these students will return to their hometowns to provide more advanced medical training and relief. (I’m still feeling rather burned that I was twice overlooked for the PA program, even though I’m the rural student poster child. Hello?!!) I don't see this system working fast enough, if at all, in many rural areas. Maybe it would be better to have clinical rotations in rural hospitals and bring rotating teams into these places. Bring the universities and students to the rural hospitals. I think it would be a win/win, training new students in understanding social determinants of health, as well as creating more communication, positive collaborations, and teaching between the rural doctors and the university doctors.
From my perspective, there are more errors in rural hospitals, and this seems due to a lack of advanced technologies, equipment, and specialty doctors. My family has lost two members due to rural healthcare and lack of access to more advanced facilities. In one case, it was a lack of recognition of zebra hoof prints, which probably would have been a hard catch even in the most advanced facility. For that reason, it was a more forgivable, understandable error for the family. However, even over 40 years later, the loss is strongly felt, and the seed of distrust has been planted. Over 40 years later, the tombstone remains marking the gravesite of my 18 year old aunt. Recently, too recently, it has been my own father. A routine, standard surgical procedure, which we thought could be entrusted to this rural hospital, did not go well. Several surgeries and hospital transfers later proved too demanding on his body. Recently, I had undergone my CPR renewal training. As a student assigned to a clinical rotation, in the University hospital where my father was airlifted to, I was nervous in anticipation of witnessing my first code. I never could imagine that less than 2 weeks after CPR training my father's code would be the first I'd witness. I had great faith in the University hospital and never doubted they would save him, and they did! The surgeon there had a successful surgery in repairing the errors done. He was on the mend!! However, there were too many surgeries, and in the end his body couldn't handle the trauma. Now as a family we mull it over again and again, why didn't we skip the rural hospital, we shouldn't have trusted, but we thought it was routine and that it'd be okay. It's not fair.
Life is not fair, but it often seems more unfair for those on the fringes. I hope that Ofri's book brings about more changes, in the systems in place, to help reduce and prevent future errors.
In a strange way, death is actually one of the steps of the code. It isn't listed in the algorithm, of course, but it's there. The first step. Everyone knows it, but no one will say it. Even though the patient has already died from the devastation of disease, the code presses on until someone "calls it." Then, and only then, can death be acknowledged. It is a wrenching combination of human grief and quotidian bureaucracy...In all cases, life had already ceased for the patient. In fact, life had ceased before the code started. That was the time when the patient had stopped breathing or the heart had stopped beating. That was when the patient had really died. Yet we officially record the time of death as the moment when we adjourn our battle, not the moment the cells have adjourned theirs. 83
One area that has largely gone under the radar is the working condition of nurses. Because of chronic staffing shortages, many nurses end up working overtime. In some hospitals, what is meant to be a stopgap measure has become standard operating procedure...A study of more than 232,342 surgery patients examined nurse-to-patient ratios and mortality. To no one's surprise, the heavier the patient load per nurse, the higher the mortality rate. The researchers calculated that for every additional patient added to a nurses' roster, the odds of a patient dying within 30 days increased by 7%. Nurse burnout goes up by 23%....Moreover, they noted that mortality also increased by 4% per shift when there was high patient turnover - admissions, discharges, transfers. These events require significant nursing time, often at the expense of the other patients on the ward. This study underscores that adequate nurse staffing is critical and that staffing needs to be adjusted upward at busier times and for sicker patients. Skimping on nursing is a patient-safety hazard. 126
What is possible to say with certainty, however, is that a beloved man was ripped from his family, leaving a gaping, ragged wound that no protocol or algorithm or lawsuit could ever heal. 169