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Steve Corbett
Tuesday, January 25, 2000 Page: 3A
Babbling and wide-eyed anxious, my father seemed oblivious to the care and
support that surrounded him.
Grabbing my arm, he pleaded incoherently for help.
Looking from physician to family member and back again, knowing there was
nothing I could do, I fought to maintain my composure.
That sinking, helpless feeling multiplied manyfold when the doctor took me
aside and shared his diagnosis.
The cancer is moving into your father’s brain, he said in a matter-of-fact
voice. It’s only a matter of time.
I understand, I said.
Thank you, I said.
Taking slow, deep breaths, I walked away from the hospital that afternoon
and spent the rest of the day wondering how many days we had left.
When I visited the hospital that next day, I expected to see my dad
strapped to the bed, sedated and unconscious.
What greeted me when I walked into his room was not a man suffering the
onslaught of terminal brain cancer.
Whatever the reason, my dad had come around.
Weak as it was, the smile that had consoled and strengthened countless
people over the years spread across his pale, but still gentle, face.
My pulse quickened.
However it happened, my father lived several more months, finally
succumbing to lung cancer.
Before he died, we lay together on his bed at home and whispered words
about living and dying and all the love that falls in between.
To this day I don’t know what happened in the hospital.
I do know that a respected and caring doctor got it wrong. And he never had
the courage to admit his mistake and tell me he was sorry.
Cancer had not moved into the brain.
More likely, what my father suffered was an adverse reaction to one or more
of the many medications that gushed through his veins as he struggled to
understand the upheaval contained in his body and mind.
A scary call
When it comes to medical doctors and the treatment they provide, few
patients understand the risk.
Unlimited procedures involve trial and error and calculated risk.
You win some.
You lose some.
Sometimes errors kill.
Recent studies indicate that millions of people die each year as a result
of unreported mistakes made by well-intentioned doctors and other dedicated
hospital staff.
In the past few years, several fatal mistakes have occurred locally.
Malpractice suits have been settled in and out of court. Others await
adjudication.
A call I got over the weekend did little to enhance the vital bond we
expect with the medical community.
My kitchen phone rang at about 10:40 Saturday night.
The caller, who declined to identify himself, said a friend had just called
him from an area nightspot.
The friend said that a well-known doctor was in the bar drinking heavily
and “boasting” that he was performing surgery in the morning.
This couldn’t be true.
Maybe the doctor was just kidding.
Or, maybe another burned-out quack was dangerously out of control.
Sober doctors make enough mistakes as it is.
Hung-over healers might make more.
Call Corbett at 829-7215 or e-mail stevec@leader.net.