Bad Medicine

One aspect of my father's illness that I haven't really delved into is the unethical, unprofessional, utterly appalling manner in which his own oncologist treated him. While I won't go into details about the hospital or doctor, let's just say that this particular locale has received awards for the cancer care it provides. So you'd think they'd have that whole "care" part down pat.

Alas that was not to be the case. The doctors at said hospital are obviously brilliant and know their sh*t when it comes to cancer, treatment options, clinical trials, etc. But there's something distinctly wrong with an oncologist who knows his patient is dying and rather than help the patient with end-of-life issues, provide supportive care and just be an all-around human being, he instead washes his hands of the situation. As soon as it became clear that my dad's cancer was one of the most aggressive types out there (this information came thanks to his very helpful radiation oncologist), "Dr. No-Good" distanced himself as much as possible from our family.

While Dad spent a good part of the month of August in the hospital for uncontrollable pain and nausea, this particular doctor was still cheerleading Dad along, telling him that he still had options and assuring us that when he felt it was time to discuss hospice, he would let us know. Meanwhile he's telling my mom in the hallway that Dad didn't have much time left and that he would more than likely be discharged into hospice. Why couldn't he tell Dad this? Apparently Dad "wasn't ready." Well pardon me, but isn't it part of the oncologist's job description to help make him ready?

It took Dad's palliative care nurse to sit us down and tell us that we were nearing the end of this journey and recommend that we say whatever needed to be said, and soon. Less than twelve hours later, he was in a coma. When the nurse called Dr. No-Good to tell him of this significant turn for the worse, his response was "Well, it's time we refrain from heroic measures." No sh*t.

I firmly believe that Dad hung on as long and as hard as he did because he truly wasn't ready. And I blame his doctor for that. Of course the prospect of facing one's own death has got to be terrifying - who is ever really ready? But had we had more time to grapple with it, had my father known what was about to happen, I know he would have done some things differently. As would have I.

When the dust settled and the relatives left town, our family sat down and penned a pretty damning letter to the hospital. We didn't mince words and we did name names. It must have gotten their attention, because a few days later, the CEO of the hospital called. He assured my mom that they were already making changes based on some of our observations. And then he told mom that someone would be calling to follow up.

And someone did. The Vice-President in charge of Quality Control, in fact. And we have a meeting with him Tuesday morning. Hell yes.

I know our anger had to be directed somewhere and I know Dad didn't like us criticizing the doctor he trusted with his life. But that's just it...he trusted this doctor and this doctor let him down. And as someone headed into the medical profession, I find it quite disturbing that an institution with multiple accolades for its cancer center is so messed up.

So I'll keep you posted how it goes. I do have to say I'm impressed with how quickly they have responded to our concerns. Hopefully what we contribute will help the next family suffer just a little bit less.

Facing terminal cancer is bad enough. You should at least be able to trust your doctor to help you deal with it.