My pager sounded its loud, shrill, urgent call, something
that always caused my heart to flutter.
It was an anxious technician from the pathology laboratory.
I was stunned. I’d
seen Mr Franklin not a couple of hours before and he had looked as right as
rain. There was no suggestion that he
was bleeding. He certainly hadn’t look pale or shocked.
I dashed back to the ward, grabbed a needle and syringe and
ran to his bedside. But when I got there
he was sitting up in bed, reading the newspaper, looking pink and healthy. His observation charts showed a rock steady
pulse and blood pressure. He wanted to
know why I was in such a rush!
My brain tried desperately to consider the possibilities. Surely his haemoglobin couldn’t be so low. I wondered if the samples could have got
mixed up in some way. Had I labelled some bottles incorrectly; put
the wrong name on one of the specimens?
If so, another of my patients, unbeknown to me, was quietly exsanguinating!
This also seemed unlikely as any patient
with a blood count of twenty percent would be extremely ill. I’d seen them all less than two hours ago,
and none of them had given me any cause for concern. Could the laboratory have mixed up the
samples at their end?
I took a sample for repeat haemoglobin estimation as well as
one for cross match and sent them urgently to the lab for further
analysis. I rang the technician to tell
her that the samples were on their way and asked her to phone me as soon as the
result was known. Within 50 minutes she
rang me back, sounding much more cheerful this time.
“The haemoglobin’s
95% this time,” she said. “That’s odd
isn’t it? So strange, in fact, that I’ve spoken with the
boys next door in the biochemistry laboratory to see whether they’ve received a
specimen from Mr Franklin this morning.”
“They will have
done,” I said, “I sent a specimen for urea and electrolytes as well.”
“Yes, I know - and it
seems that the patient has virtually no potassium in his blood and more salt
than you would find in the Dead Sea. According
to these results, the patient ought to be dead! Can I
ask you Doctor, does the patient have a drip up?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And is the drip
running a sodium chloride solution?” There was now a humorous edge to the
technician’s voice.
It was another lesson
learned the hard way.
When delivering healthcare, the occasional mistake is inevitable.
To err is to be human. The secret is to acknowledge
one’s error and learn from it and ensure it is not repeated.
In my experience, factual errors tend not to be repeated.
It is errors of behaviour such as overconfidence or failing to
heed advice that lead to recurring mistakes.
Thought for the day
You are thirty two. You are rapidly approaching the
age when your body, whether it embarrasses you or not, begins to embarrass
other people. Alan Bennett
1934 -
Extract from doctor’s letter: Patient has two teenage children but no other abnormalities
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