What happens when a doctor does harm?

When I was in my third year of medical school, I remember telling my mom (a dedicated nurse for over 45 years) about a negative experience I had during a rotation on the hospital wards.

I don't remember even the vaguest of details surrounding the actual event, but I will never ever forget my mom's response that day: "Some day, honey," she said, "It won't be about you anymore. It will be about your patients."

I remember feeling rather hurt at the time, as though my mother was being dismissive of my feelings-- chastising me for thinking I had a right to be a medical professional and a real person at the same time. (And believe me, medical school already does a doozy on one's sense of person hood). I wanted to be part of the story. On some level, I wanted the story to be about me.

A few years later, as a brand new resident physician, I shared her advice with several of my similarly-green colleagues. We all chuckled at the time because so many of our first experiences as newbees (e.g. first deaths, first postpartum hemorrhages, first cancer diagnoses, first arguments with a floor nurse, first morphine prescriptions, first you-name-its) seemed to have everything to do with us. We were learning, after all. And though we were learning through the real life experiences of living breathing patients, we were still our own main characters in our own personal novels--  fumbling our way through a series of awkward and sometimes painful lessons on the way to becoming experienced clinicians and, hopefully, healers.

Now, surprisingly enough,  in the the almost-eight years since our conversation, my mom's once painful words have comforted me through many challenging situations.  I have carried her counsel through frightening birth experiences, challenging family meetings, heated discussions about end-of-life choices, angry patient encounters, awkward teaching moments, even through my own painful infertility journey while caring for a plethora of fertile patients.

When things have gotten complicated, I have repeated her counsel to myself, and I have found relief rather than resentment in the reminder. 

"This isn't about me," I tell myself. "This is about my patients."

It's about his sick body. Her mental illness. His struggle with weight and substances. Her wishes. I am so often privileged to bear witness, to hold hand, to give counsel, to be present, to help guide. But, in the end, it is not about me. It's about my patients.

This isn't to say that I have completely removed myself and any emotional investment from my patient care. No, no, no! Quite the contrary.  In fact, by reminding myself that a patient's particular situation is not about me, I am able to really hold the space for that patient and be as present as possible for them during his or her journey.

Except when I cannot.

Unfortunately, this month, I have been confronted with myself yet again (gosh darn it, I just cannot get away from myself as the main character in my own story)-- in a very raw and real way. This time, however, I am also featured as a main character in someone else's (i.e. my patient's) painful story, and I wish it weren't so.

This week, I must confront the most serious medical error I have made in my career. I messed up. I did not keep my patient safe. In fact, I caused harm. To another human being.


What happens when a doctor does harm?

And what happens when I am that doctor?

Is any part of it about me?

***

Obviously, my first responsibility in reconciling my error is to my patient, to the very patient to whom I have vowed to do no harm. That person to whom I have pledged to care for and guide and counsel, and who has entrusted his/her body to my skill, my experience and my fallibility. And to that patient, I must apologize. This much is very clear.

I am sorry. I am so sorry.

But then what?

Do I apologize again?
And again?
Beg for forgiveness?
Do I throw myself on the floor and cry?
Do I stay up all night trying to understand exactly what happened?
Do I stay up a second night trying to justify a known medical complication?
Do I consult a higher level expert? A more experienced clinician?
Do I dwell?
Do I stop doing what I am doing for fear it will happen again?
Should I second guess my training?
Even worse, second guess my judgement?

All of the above, I guess, and then some.

Yes, I have gone back to review the literature.  I have also reread my own documentation of the event, reconsidered the circumstances, imagined how I could have done something differently, sought the advice of my esteemed colleagues, talked to my boss, taken a long swim, summoned my inner perfectionist along with my well-trained professional side. And cried a little.

After all, I hurt someone. And I cannot really take that back. Ever.

In so processing, I have also to remind myself that errors happen-- that, in fact, that this error I made is actually well-documented and, to a certain extent, expected. It happen somewhere about 1 in a 1000, and I'm getting closer and closer to that thousand. The longer I am in practice, the more procedures I will perform. The more procedures I perform, the more errors I will make.

Ok fine. But is there room in my own head and heart for error? Can I forgive myself?

Like most physicians, I am a pretty much a Type-A-obsessively-compulsive-perfectionist who-- despite the appearance of both my refrigerator and my underwear drawer (both are always disasters)-- doesn't really let myself off the hook very much. I expect perfect from myself. Always.

***

And so, I ask myself--after I first make darned well SURE to take care of my patient-- isn't  my second responsibility to myself? Isn't there also a part of this that is about me?

Me the woman, me the physician, me the fallible one, me the healer?

"Oh big and dangerous ego," I say to all those mes, "Take a step down my dear, you are so fortunately imperfect. You screwed up." And, though this one particular case may have had a different outcome, screwing up is inevitable. "You will screw up again, no doubt."

While this is not my story, I am still part of the story. And though I have not been physically damaged by this turn of events, I will never be quite the same.

I am certainly not alone in making medical mistakes-- even big mistakes-- ones that my patients will have to live with forever. Knowing that I did nothing with mal-intent or beyond the scope of my training. Granting that next time I will be more nervous, more tentative, and hoping this is an acceptable outcome for myself. And that if I move forward from this circumstance changed, may the change be a positive one for all who I serve in the future.

My I continue to be as good as I can be.
May I be self reflective.
May I be humble.
And may I accept-- not just occasionally but always and inevitably-- my own imperfection.