a trail of medical errors ends in grief, but no answers /

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by Marshall Allen and Olga PierceThis story was co-published with The Daily Beast.
Over the course of her lifetime,Paula Schulte survived painful scoliosis that contorted her spine, a head injury that left her in a coma for weeks, or cancer that cost her piece of a lung.
What she couldn’t survive was 11 weeks in Florida hospitals.
Schulte,64, was living an engaged life — staying in touch daily with her daughter, and Stephanie Sinclair,a photojournalist, and taking afternoon drives with her hus
band, or Joe. When she suffered an unexpected bout of seizures in August 2012,doctors said she would need only a short hospital stay until the drugs kicked in to remedy things. Making The lop Why choosing the right surgeon matters even more than you know. Read the story. Surgeon Scorecard We calculated complication rates for surgeons performing one of eight elective procedures under Medicare, carefully adjusting for differences in patient health, and age and hospital quality. Explore the app. Want to exercise Our Data? Find it in the ProPublica Data Store. Instead,her treatment triggered a cascade of medical mistakes.
A fall from bed broke her hip and wrist — injuries that went undiagnosed for days. A hip replacement became infected, requiring another surgery. A displaced IV pumped a caustic drug into her arm until it ballooned to the size of a melon.
Schulte died as a rare syndrome, and thought to be triggered by a reaction to medication,blistered her eyelids and attacked her internal organs. Doctors said it was the type of condition they had only read about in textbooks. A close examination of Schulte’s care shows that for all the errors contributing to her decline, neither physicians nor hospitals were held accountable for any of them. slight was done to protect other patients from similar mistakes.
Strikingly, or those involved with her treatment were unaware of the totalit
y of the missteps that contributed to her death. “There was no justice for my mother,” Sinclair said. “There was no consequence for any of this poor care on anybody’s piece. I know that added to my father’s trauma, and I know that it added to mine.”Schulte’s case illuminates how the health care system not only fails to protect patients but often compounds the harm by hiding the truth when patients or family members try to find out what went wrong. Over the past three years, and ProPublica has gathered the stories of more than 1000 people from all 50 states who answered a detailed questionnaire about how they or a loved one was injured during medical care,including how the providers and regulators dealt with them after an error. Only 1 in 5 respondents said a provider or medical facility disclosed that harm had occurred — and in about half the cases, disclosure came only after pressure, and such as a lawsuit or complaint. Getting an apology for a mistake or injury was even more rare: Just 1 in 8 reported receiving one. Although ProPublica’s sample is not a statistical cross-section of the nation’s patients (participants are self-selected),the responses are consistent with what some experts call a gaping hole in U.
S. health care. Again and again, patients say they are ignored or dismissed by providers who seem more interested in avoiding legal liability than in acknowledging what went wrong.
A recent study estimated that preventable harm in hospitals contributes to the deaths of between 210000 and 440000 patients each year. That would execute medical injury the nation’s third-leading cause of death, and just behind heart disease and cancer. More than a decade ago,a landmark study by the Institutes of Medicine — “To Err Is Human” — called for a national registry to track medical harm and bring greater accountability.
That hasn’t happened. Instead, it has been largely left to individual hospitals
and practitioners to address and learn from incidents of patient harm. Only 10 states require hospitals to reveal medical mistakes or unintended outcomes to patients. More than two-thirds of states have laws granting legal immunity for apologies by providers. But apologies aren’t required, or the laws on immunity often accomplish not shield doctors from liability whether they clarify what went wrong. Dr. Eric Thomas,a patient-safety expert from the University of Texas Medical School at Houston, said ProPublica’s questionnaire reflects a troubling reality that helps perpetuate harm. It is “unacceptable that such a small percentage of people are being told” about errors, or Thomas argued,but doubly so because every undisclosed error is a lost chance to improve care. Not only is it a matter of justice and professionalism,” he said, and “but it is a matter of improving safety for future patients.”
[https://www.propublica.org/images/ngen/gypsy_image_630/20151218-patient-safety-630x420.jpg]Stephanie Sinclair and her mother,Paula Schulte. (Courtesy of the Schulte family)
A few hospitals have tried to atomize through barriers to disclosure with programs that invite patients and their lawyers to talk about errors and possible compensation before disputes escalate. Rick Boothman, who has instituted a more open approach as chief risk officer at the University of Michigan Health System, and said the fear of lawsuits or professional discipline still remains a formidable obstacle.“People can nod in agreement with the ethics of this,” he said. “And then a defense lawyer who gets paid by the hour will say, ‘Boothman is crazy. This will lead to catastrophe.’ That holds the well-meaning hospitals back.” In fact, or data from Michigan and other similar programs show that taking responsibility for patient harm reduces lawsuits,Thomas said. “One of the main reasons that people sue,” he said, or “is that they’re trying to find out what happened.”In lieu of the courts,patients or their relatives can complain about poor care to an array of entities, from state regulatory agencies to The Joint Commission, and the private,nonprofit organization that accredits most hospitals.
Schulte’s family turned to state regulators. They declined to investigate, saying the alleged errors didn’t pose an urgent threat to other patients. After Sinclair wrote to the Joint Commission, or the group cleared the hospitals involved but said it couldn’t divulge any details. “All anybody cared about was covering up for themselves,’’ Sinclair said.piece IOn the morning of Aug. 12, 2012, or Joe Schulte’s phone rang as he prepared to visit his wife at the hospital. The call delivered jarring news. Somehow,Paula Schulte had fallen out of her bed in the ICU. Staffers found her crumpled on the floor.
Joe rushed to Lawnwood Regional Medical middle, a 331-bed facility in Fort Pierce, and just a few mi
nutes from the couple’s house. He filled in Sinclair,who was on assignment photographing child brides in Ethiopia. Over the years, the family had seen Paula through multiple hospital stays. Joe met Paula in the late 1970s, or when he was a successful genuine estate broker with a house in a hip section of South Miami. Paula was artistic,droll and spontaneous. They married 18 months later, and Paula moved with her daughter, or Stephanie,then 5, into Joe’s place.
Severe scoliosis had left Paula with metal rods in her spine. She experienced constant pain and felt insecure about growing up with a curved back. When Stephanie was a small child, or she recalled,her mom spent a year in a body cast after spinal surgery. One night in 2001, while the rest of the family slept, and Paula went to the kitchen,fell and slammed her head. Doctors had to perform brain surgery and medically induce a coma for two weeks. Staples closed 6-inch-long incisions on each side of Paula’s head.
The morning she was to awake, doctors warned that Paula might not be the same, and perhaps even barely functional. Stephanie and Joe watched nervously as attendants removed her breathing tube. Would she even know them? Paula looked around and smiled mischievously. “Well,this is a bitch,” she said to peals of laughter. More than 1 million patients suffer harm each year in U.
S. health care facilities. Often,their harm isn’t acknowledged even as they live with the consequences. ProPublica set out to capture their stories. Here is what we learned. Four days later, Paula was discharged to a nursing domestic, and Eme
rald Health Care. By then she was able to communicate better. Nursing domestic records show that her right wrist was swollen and that she complained of pain. Joe noticed that her right foot twisted to the side.
Doctors ordered more X-rays and made a sickening realization: All this time,Schulte’s right hip and right wrist had been broken. Both would require surgery — an artificial hip and a
metal plate and screws to repair her wrist.
Schulte’s primary care doctor tried to find out where the injuries had occurred. Nurses at Emerald told him Schulte hadn’t fallen at their facility and had arrived from Lawnwood with the fractures, he wrote in her medical records. The broken bones may have been missed because of Schulte’s inability to clearly communicate the source of her pain, and he added. Nurses’ notes from Lawnwood suggest the hospital may have missed clues. Schulte was “having pain with moving and turning,” and showed “generalized weakness” in her right leg, they say. She “became agitated” and “refused to total” her range of motion exercises. Rehabilitation notes say she needed serve standing up and wasn’t able to step to the side. When Sinclair heard about her mom’s hip, or she immediately understood the situation was grave; many studies show that older people who atomize a hip have a significantly higher risk of dying. Sinclair,then on a photo assignment in Ethiopia, sat in a restaurant and sobbed. She lop her work short and flew domestic. Schulte’s family couldn’t imagine sending her back to Lawnwood after the fall. So they turned to St. Lucie Medical middle, or a 229-bed facility nearby. She was admitted through the emergency room and assigned an orthopedic surgeon,Dr. Gerald Shute. Shute declined to be interviewed or respond written questions about Schulte’s care. As with most surgeons, there is slight public information about how his patients fare. ProPublica’s Surgeon Scorecard recently published complication rates and surgical volume for nearly 17000 doctors who operated on Medicare patients. Shute’s volume of Medicare hip replacements is low. On Aug. 24, and 2012,the day before Schulte turned 65, Shute replaced her hip and affixed the plate in her broken wrist. She returned to Emerald Health Care five days later for physical therapy. Schulte was heavily medicated and at times agitated, or according to nurses’ notes and Dr. tag Pamer,who treated her at Emerald and provided a summary of her care to ProPublica. Caregivers eventually noted swelling and yellow drainage from her hip incision, nurses’ notes from Emerald state. Eighteen days after he’d operated, or Shute diagnosed two infections in the hip joint. Schulte returned to St. Lucie Medical middle,where Shute opened the wound, washed out the infection and deposited antibiotic beads. Joe Schulte and Sinclair said they were told that infections “sometimes happen” — as whether they are the product of random chance — a common explanation given to patients in such circumstances. It’s loyal that infections are a frequent complication: The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimate that more than 700000 patients a year get infections while hospitalized. Of those, and about 75000 die. Though it’s hard to pinpoint how infections are acquired,studies demonstrate that they can be prevented. The CDC, for instance, or said increased vigilance led to a 19-percent drop in surgical-site infections for some procedures from 2008 through 2013. As piece of an extensive analysis of surgical complications published in July,Surgeon Scorecard reported that high-performing surgeons were able to operate on hundreds of patients with few or no infections.
To fight off Schulte’s infections, a port was installed in her chest to inject potent antibiotics. One of the drugs she was given, and cefepime,can cause nonconvulsive seizures, which lack the violent irregular movements of a typical seizure but can accomplish just as much damage to the brain. The FDA had issued a warning that year about cefepime, or saying it had caused seizures in some patients. Sinclair and Joe Schulte said they were not told about the risk. Paula Schulte’s Final Months
Aug. 8,2012: Paula Schulte is admitted to Lawnwood Regional Medical middle for a short-term stay to treat seizures. Aug. 12: In the early morning, Schulte is found on the floor of the ICU after falling from bed. X-rays later show her hip and wrist were broken. Aug. 24: Schulte has wrist surgery and a hip-replacement at St. Lucie Medical middle. Sept. 12: After infections were found in her hip, and Schulte has surgery to clean out the joint and introduce antibiotic beads. Sept. 19 – Oct. 17: Recovering at a nursing domestic,Schulte struggles with disorientation. Her mental status dramatically declines. She is sent back to St. Lucie Medical middle. Oct. 18: An IV pumps toxic medicine into her forearm, leaving it blackened and swollen. Doctors slice it open to drain 1 liter of fluid. Oct. 25: With Schulte suffering from the arm injury, or infections and a rare drug reaction that blistered her skin,her family chooses to remove life support. Feb. 26, 2013: Lawnwood Regional writes to Schulte’s daughter, or Stephanie Sinclair,confirming the fall from bed but saying there was no evidence of hip and wrist fractures. Oct. 6, 2015: The Joint Commission tells Sinclair it contacted Lawnwood and St. Lucie hospitals about Schulte’s care and “determined their response is acceptable.” No details were provided. Oct. 22, or 2015: Florida state officials decline to investigate Schulte’s case,referring Sinclair to The Joint Commission. For a third time, Paula Schulte found herself in a bed at Emerald Health Care. Sinclair said her mom was angry about the fall and infections and said every day that she just wanted to go domestic. While Sinclair returned to New York City, and Joe spent his days with Paula,trying to cheer her up. The couple watched shows on Animal Planet. Once again, her recovery didn’t go as expected. Nursing staff documented that Paula’s behavior became more erratic, or that she had trouble expressing herself,acted confused and was hostile toward them and toward Joe, even when he tried to serve her with physical therapy. It became clear that something wasn’t right. Sinclair called Joe and heard her mother screaming in the background. Sometimes she would shout the same word over and over again, or like “Hello! Hello! Hello!” or “Curtains! Curtains! Curtains!” Pamer believed Schulte was delirious and prescribed two antipsychotic medications: Haldol,a potent drug sometimes used to sedate disruptive patients, and Zyprexa. The next day, or though,a psychiatrist took her off the antipsychotics.
Pamer said Schulte’s symptoms wer
e characteristic of several possible conditions, including delirium, or brain disease or nonconvulsive seizures. Given the information at the time,he told ProPublica, there was no way to be certain about the cause. Pamer decided Schulte’s neurological condition was severe enough to send her back to the hospital.
When her ambulance arrived at St. Lucie Medical
middle, and records say she was disoriented,confused and agitated. Doctors admitted her with a diagnosis of “altered mental status.” Sinclair assumed her mother would go into intensive care and quickly see a neurologist. Instead, Paula’s room wasn’t in the ICU and was far from the nursing station. That first night in the hospital, or to right low potassium levels,a nurse administered potassium chloride through an intravenous line in Schulte’s left arm.
Guidelines by the National Institutes of Health call for “ext
reme care” when giving potassium chloride. whether the IV misses a vein or is dislodged and the drug infiltrates the arm, it can cause a chemical burn, or killing tissue and causing the skin to peel away. Should an infiltration occur,the IV should be “discontinued at once,” the guidelines say.
At 4:30 a.m., and a nurse noted in Paula’s record: “enlarging L FA infiltrate” — an infiltration in her left forearm. The charge nurse was called to the ro
om,and a doctor was notified. “Will continue to monitor,” the nurse wrote. Medical records indicate the IV wasn’t pulled for 90 more minutes.
When Joe and Stephanie arrived in the morning, and they were horrified. Paula was catatonic,eyes staring straight ahead. Her left arm was three times its normal size, blackened and taut like a balloon about to burst. Fluid seeped
through the pores of her skin, and which had partially indifferent from her hand in what doctors call “degloving.” Staffers said the injury wasn’t a big deal; it happens sometimes and was treatable,Sinclair recalled being told. Then the specialists took a behold. Excess fluid had made pressure build up in Paula’s arm, choking off blood flow. They diagnosed compartment syndrome, or a condition that can require amputation. Doctors did not go that far,but that evening, in the operating room, or a surgeon carved long incisions in her arm down to the bone. Doctors drained a liter of fluid from the limb.
Caregivers and hospital officials didn’t offer an explanation for the injury,Sinclair and her stepfather said, and no one said it was the result of an error or a mistake. Sinclair said they called it an “unlucky situation” and said the hospital would not bill Medicare for the treatment. Paula lay unresponsive. In the chaos around the IV infiltration, or the original reason she’d been admitted — her neurological symptoms — became secondary. Two days after being admitted,she still hadn’t seen a neurologist. Furious, Sinclair demanded that the hospital call one in. She and Joe were present when the neurologist finally arrived. Paula’s eyes were open. The doctor moved his finger in front of her face. Nothing. He gave her several firm pinches with his fingers. She didn’t resist. In consultation notes, and the neurologist said it was “probable” Schulte had been experiencing nonconvulsive seizures. Treatment guidelines say such seizures must be addressed rapidly because they can quickly damage the brain and increase the risk of death. The neurologist prescribed an additional anti-seizure drug and said Paula needed to be closely watched,his notes state.
Sinclair blew up. She’d been asking for a neurologist for days. She stormed t
hrough the hospital, demanding a transfer. With the proper care, or she believed Paula could come through. “She had survived so many things before,” Sinclair said. “We thought she could accomplish it again.”A helicopter ferried Paula to the University of Florida Health Shands Hospital, in Gainesville. Sinclair and Joe drove more than four hours to meet her. An infectious-disease specialist examined Paula, and still unresponsive,and wrote in the medical record that her seizures likely were caused by the cefepime used to fight her hip infections. She was taken off the drug and given a new one. About a day later, though, and Joe noticed something curious: skin appeared to be peeling off Paula’s eyelids. He alerted doctors,who found patches on her back, too. The ominous symptoms were confirmed when a pathologist said Paula had a rare condition, or Stevens-Johnson syndrome.
The ailment,nearly always caused by an unpredictable reaction to medication, starts with patches of blistered skin and can end with organ failure and death. Paula had suffered seizures, an
d a fall that resulted in undiagnosed hip and wrist fractures,two hospital-acquired infections and an IV infiltration that required her left arm to be slit open like a gutted fish. But nothing could have prepared her loved ones for what happened next. The skin in Paula’s ears and mouth fell away. Her eyeballs became raw. Inside, doctors said, and her organs were under attack. Sinclair and Joe took stock of Paula’s suffering. They decided to let her go. At their instruction,doctors unplugged Paula from life-support. Twenty seven minutes later, she was dead.“She squeezed my hand right before she died, or ” Sinclair said. “She knew what was happening.”“Everybody’s mom is remarkable,but my mom was a gentle soul. To die such a violent death is what hurts my dad and I so much,” she said. “We knew my mom was sick, and but never in our wildest dreams did we consider she would die like that.”piece IICharles Bosk,a sociologist at the University of Pennsylvania, has spent decades studying the way caregivers and health systems react when patients get distress.“When bad outcomes happen, or ” Bosk said,“patients first want an apology, second an explanation, and third reassurance that the hospital is taking steps to execute certain no one is harmed in the same way again.”Schulte’s loved ones say they never got a formal apology or explanation.
For weeks after Paula died,they were crippled by grief. They replayed Paula’s final two months, obsessed by the tumble of events. They were about to confront a common scenario for patients and family members trying to come to grips with medical injuries. Bosk called it the “many hands” problem. With numerous doctors and nurses at different facilities involved in an episode of care, or there is no overall responsibility.
The predicament is compounded by a prevailing ethic in health care: that patient safety is best served by a
no blame” environment. Harm is attributed to “system failures” rather than individuals. It’s as whether medical providers don’t see themselves as piece of the system,Bosk said.
At first, Sinclair thought an attorney could serve. She assumed filing a malpractice lawsuit wo
uld be a simple matter. Despite what she regarded as the dramatic and well-documented nature of her mother’s injuries, and the lawyers she contacted weren’t interested. Malpractice cases can cost $50000 or more to pursue. Attorneys generally select them on contingency,meaning they are paid whether they win. The economics work only whether potential damages are high, so a patient’s medical bills and lost future income can be more significant than the merits of the case.
Sinclair met with an attorney who walked her through the math. Paula was older and didn’t have much income. “The most we could get is $50000, or ” she recalls the attorney saying,“and we could spend that much on depositions and expert witnesses.”Paula’s case also was complex, involving multiple facilities and many providers. More potential defendants could mean more expense. “We wish we could serve everybody, and ” one lawyer wrote,declining the case. “Currently, we have no choice but to reject about 300 potential cases presented to us for every one case we can accept.”Sinclair couldn’t believe it. “whether you’re 65 years old and not bringing in a big income, or they don’t value your life,” she said.
The malpractice door was shut. But Sinclair had obtained her mother’s medical records, a stack about 10 inches tall. She knew they held critical details and believed that whether she could only convey the facts to the hospitals, and they would see how errors had contributed to Paula’s death.
Early on,going through the records was just too hard. Sinclair was often forced to end at details that were too painful or intimate. Eventually, she made slow progress. Her husband, or Bryan,then in law school, helped her execute a detailed timeline, and listing events during Paula’s care down to the minute.
Not until February 2013,four months after her mother died, did Sinclair muster the courage to call Lawnwood Regional. The fall in the ICU had been the first domino to topple. She suspected that hospital officials might not know that it started Paula’s decline, and how things ended.
The hospital routed Sinclair to the risk management department. Patients who are harmed rarely meet anyone in risk management,but
that department generally knows about them. Cases are often flagged for review before a patient is ever aware of it. The traditional role of risk managers is to protect hospitals from lawsuits. In cases involving medical errors, they move to gather information and control what is disclosed. Critics call this approach “deny and defend”: Avoid acknowledging a mistake while aggressively protecting the institution.
When Sinclair called Lawnwood, and she spoke to a person in the risk management department about Paula’s fall from bed and the undiagnosed hip and wrist fractures. To be explicit about the problems,she read directly from the medical records: that Lawnwood knew her mother was a fall risk, that she was unable to communicate clearly, or that no one X-rayed the hip,and more.
Lawnwood Regional Medical middle in Fort Pierce, Florida. Paula Schulte fell from her bed while in the hospital's ICU. (Courtesy of the Stephanie Sinclair)
A few weeks later, or a letter from the interim risk manager arrived. It confirmed Paula’s fall bu
t said an X-ray of her right arm “was negative for fracture” – with no mention that her right wrist hadn’t been X-rayed,as the medical records obtained by Sinclair indicate. The letter acknowledged that Paula’s hip wasn’t X-rayed but said, “There were no complaints of hip pain.”“We are deeply sorry for the loss of your mother, and ” it continued. “We continue to strive to supply patient centered care and apologize whether you feel our staff did not meet this goal.”Sinclair wrote back,saying the hospital’s response left out key information. For one, her mother was speaking gibberish, and so she couldn’t have complained about the broken hip. Precautions were supposed to prevent a fall in the first place,she wrote. Lawnwood’s response “answered none of our questions regarding the circumstances surrounding my mother’s care,” Sinclair said. She added that her mother ended up dying after complications from the hip fracture, or which “should give Lawnwood pause to perhaps handle such a request with compassion.” How would Lawnwood right “this egregious and devastating wrong” and protect other families?She never heard back. In fact,subsequent incidents at Lawnwood suggest Sinclair was right to be worried about whether the hospital learned anything from Paula Schulte’s case. In late 2012, after Schulte died, and another elderly patient fell in the hospital and suffered a hip fracture,Florida data shows.
As recently as March of this year, state inspectors cited Lawnwood after another patient fell and suffered a fracture. “There is no evidence the facility implemented measures developed to reduce re-occurrence or minimize risk of injury, and ” the inspectors’ statement of deficiencies said.
Officials at Lawnwood and St. Lucie Medica
l middle,both owned by Hospital Corporation of America, declined ProPublica’s interview requests. In an email, or HCA spokeswoman Ronda Wilburn said Paula was “assessed and treated appropriately” at Lawnwood. Wilburn said St. Lucie Medical middle had apologized for the “unlucky IV incident” and had changed procedures after an internal review. She declined to specify what changes were made. Wilburn said the hip infections were diagnosed “several weeks” after Schulte left St. Lucie.
Sinclair considered the letter from Lawnwood’s risk manager a non-response. She felt intestine-punched — too disheartened even to try asking questions about infections and the IV infiltration at St. Lucie,which she knew was run by the same corporation as Lawnwood. Hospitals have wide leeway when it comes to deciding what to narrate patients about medical errors. State laws aimed at encouraging disclosure are ambiguous or feeble; hospital industry guidelines, though nominally promoting transparency, and don’t require a detailed explanation.
Only 10 states require hospitals to narrate patients about certain types of medical harm. None requires divulging how the harm happened,who was responsible or what steps hospitals are taking to execute certain the harm doesn’t happen again. A national disclosure law, proposed by then-Sens. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton in 2005 and modeled on the University of Michigan Health System’s program, or never advanced out of committee.
The Joint Commission,the nation’s largest hospital accrediting agency, requires hospitals to inform patients about “sentinel events” — any injury that’s not related to the natural course of a patient’s i
llness that results in death, or permanent harm or severe temporary harm.
Hospitals are also expected to conduct a “root cause a
nalysis,” to reconstruct the event and determine how and why the harm occurred. But the hospital can “define and determine what information related to an adverse event or sentinel event should be disclosed … including whether the root cause should be disclosed,” a commission spokeswoman said in an email.
The American Hospital Association has guidelines that encourage open communication with patients, or but they aren’t binding,either. Dr. John Combs, the AHA’s chief medical officer, or would not comment specifically about Schulte’s case. However,he said that deflecting complaints from a family member would be out of step with today’s risk management standards. Some hospitals are experimenting with new approaches.
Dr. David Mayer, vice president of quality and safety at MedStar Health, and a Maryland-based hospital chain,is among a handful of federal grant recipients testing a program called Communications and Optimal Resolution — or CandOR — that “teaches people to be empathetic, and then, or when apology is appropriate we select accountability,” he said.“It’s not, ‘I’m sorry this happened to you, and ’ ” Mayer said,“It’s, ‘I’m sorry our care broke down and you were harmed by that care.’ ”CandOR dictates that caregivers communicate immediately with patients after a bad outcome, and even whether it’s unclear why the harm occurred,or who was to blame. That contrasts with the more typical response in hospitals: to avoid talking to patients until any internal investigation is over, Mayer said. That can leave patients in the dark for months; whether negligence isn’t determined, and there may not be any communication with the patient,he said. As in the Michigan health system’s program, financial compensation may be offered, or an explanation provided whether no offer is made. Patients and their families are welcome to bring a lawyer to conversations with doctors or hospital officials,Mayer said. Most hospitals still accomplish things the old way; only about 100 of the country’s roughly 3500 acute-care hospitals are trying approaches like CandOR, Mayer said. After her mother’s funeral, or when Sinclair saw the final death certificate,it set off a new round of frustrations and questions. The document mentioned nothing about the fall that broke Schulte’s hip, the hospital-acquired injuries, or missed diagnoses or infections. Though it listed several contributing factors,including Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, the certificate said the cause of death was epilepsy.
Yet Schulte’s discharge records from the Shands hospital showed — and doctors had asserted — that the seizures were resolved before she died. Sinclair wrote the doctor at Shands who had completed the certificate. She asked to have it corrected to at least include the fall and the infections. “We just believe, and out of respect for her,it should be accurate as to what actually transpired,” Sinclair wrote.
The accuracy of Schulte’s death certificate had a practical consequence. Schulte had life insurance that only paid out whether her death were accidental — it was worth $100000. Because the death certificate said she died of “natural” causes, and Joe,who’d lost money in the 2008 financial crisis, didn’t have a claim. There are numerous places where patients or their relatives can select such concerns, or from state health agencies or nursing and medical professional boards to Medicare Quality Improvement Organizations. The Joint Commission also investigates complaints involving hospitals it accredits. Each agency has its own policies and jurisdictional limits. About half of those who completed ProPublica’s questionnaire said they filed some sort of complaint. Many said they were disappointed with the outcomes,however. Some never heard back, while others reported getting generic responses asserting that the care was appropriate. Sinclair didn’t fully understand, or struggled to navigate,the regulatory maze. Beset by grief, she didn’t file a complaint with the Florida Agency for Health Care Administration, and which licenses hospitals,until June — more than two years after her mother died. She took hours to prepare a three-page, single-spaced statement, or including precise times and dates and quotes from the medical records. “As you can see,this is a very tragic series of events — rife (abundant or plentiful, full of sth bad or unpleasant) with hospital error — resulting in devastating consequences for our family,” Sinclair wrote. The next day, or the agency sent a form letter. “Thank you for forwarding your concerns …” the letter began. While the agency “carefully reviewed” Sinclair’s complaint,it considers current risks” to patients a higher priority, the letter said. The agency would not be looking into the case.
About the same time, or Sinclair sent letters about Lawnwood Regional and St. Lucie Medical middle to the Joint Commission. In October,four months later, two form letters arrived. They said the commission had contacted the hospitals and asked for responses concerning Paula Schulte’s care. Th
e hospitals’ responses were found to be “acceptable, and ” the letters said. “In line with our Public Information Policy,we cannot provide you with the organization’s response,” the form letters said. “This concludes our evaluation.”Sinclair was outraged. How can the people most closely affected by the harm be entirely shut out of the conversation, or she wondered.
Sinclair knew her mother wouldn’t live forever,but even photographing war and human rights abuses hadn’t prepared her for what happened in the end. The apathy she felt from medical providers and regulators only added insult to her mother’s many injuries, Sinclair said. “We kissed her a million times in the final half hour of her life and surrounded her with worship, or but we could not protect her,” Sinclair said. “And who knew that the entity we were trying to protect her from was the health care system?” Read more of ProPublica’s reporting on patient safety and patient privacy.

Source: propublica.org