By Dr. Kate Scannell, Syndicated columnist
First Published in Print: 08/18/2012
Every doctor, it seems, has at least one story about a patient who, against all known odds, defied expectations and escaped -- "miraculously" -- from death's certain grasp.
One of mine involves a young man dying with multiple complications of AIDS during the early '80s. For days, his motionless body had been unresponsive to physical and verbal stimuli. He had ceased breathing and was ventilator-dependent. His blood pressure required chemical support to encourage blood flow. And one day, his heart just stopped beating. Honoring his previously expressed wishes, we disconnected the ventilator, the intravenous drips and the heart monitor, which had flat-lined. He didn't flinch when his breathing tube was extracted. After performing the ritual examination to determine death, I joined family members who comforted one another at his bedside, telling stories involving the patient, which made them laugh and cry.
About 10 minutes later, I informed the family that I needed to leave but would return within the hour. Before departing, I took the patient's cold hand in mine, while also checking for a pulse (none), and I placed my other hand over his heart (no beating and no response to the physical stimuli I covertly applied).
Approximately 30 minutes later, I returned to the patient's bedside. His cadaveric body had turned yet a deeper shade of gray, and his family was preparing to leave. We all said our final goodbyes and headed for the exit. And that's when, with our backs all turned, we heard him ask: "Where's everyone going?" Well, we were going into shock. And he proceeded to live several more months.
In general, we doctors don't like to speak publicly about such "cases." In fact, as someone who has written extensively about doctoring, I have not until now written about this patient. I didn't even include his story in the book I published -- "Death of the Good Doctor" -- that chronicles my experiences caring for AIDS patients within that same hospital during the early epidemic. Read More
First Published in Print: 08/18/2012
Every doctor, it seems, has at least one story about a patient who, against all known odds, defied expectations and escaped -- "miraculously" -- from death's certain grasp.
One of mine involves a young man dying with multiple complications of AIDS during the early '80s. For days, his motionless body had been unresponsive to physical and verbal stimuli. He had ceased breathing and was ventilator-dependent. His blood pressure required chemical support to encourage blood flow. And one day, his heart just stopped beating. Honoring his previously expressed wishes, we disconnected the ventilator, the intravenous drips and the heart monitor, which had flat-lined. He didn't flinch when his breathing tube was extracted. After performing the ritual examination to determine death, I joined family members who comforted one another at his bedside, telling stories involving the patient, which made them laugh and cry.
About 10 minutes later, I informed the family that I needed to leave but would return within the hour. Before departing, I took the patient's cold hand in mine, while also checking for a pulse (none), and I placed my other hand over his heart (no beating and no response to the physical stimuli I covertly applied).
Approximately 30 minutes later, I returned to the patient's bedside. His cadaveric body had turned yet a deeper shade of gray, and his family was preparing to leave. We all said our final goodbyes and headed for the exit. And that's when, with our backs all turned, we heard him ask: "Where's everyone going?" Well, we were going into shock. And he proceeded to live several more months.
In general, we doctors don't like to speak publicly about such "cases." In fact, as someone who has written extensively about doctoring, I have not until now written about this patient. I didn't even include his story in the book I published -- "Death of the Good Doctor" -- that chronicles my experiences caring for AIDS patients within that same hospital during the early epidemic. Read More