Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Who Tells the StoryCindy BitterThirty years later, I do not remember her name, but I definitely remember her face, and this is how I remember her story.She came into the office for her flu shot. She was in her 70s and had a mild case of COPD attributed [End Page 87] to years of exposure to pesticides on the family farm. She said she was trying to stay healthy, as the grandkids were due for a visit, and everyone had gotten a cold after Thanksgiving the year before. I was a sub-intern doing a required rural medicine rotation and diligently did an exam, finding asymptomatic new-onset atrial fibrillation of uncertain duration. We admitted her to the hospital and started anticoagulation. My attending also ordered a calcium channel blocker to slow her pulse, which was running 90–100 while she was at rest. The attending insisted that it would convert her back to sinus rhythm. The nurses were not experienced with the medication and were uncomfortable giving it. I was pretty sure the calcium channel blocker was not indicated, and a quick check of my pocket manual confirmed the drug would lower her heart rate and maybe her blood pressure but that it would not fix the abnormal rhythm. I refused to administer it. The attending came in, pushed the medication, and returned home. A few minutes later, the patient was struggling to speak. Her pulse fell to in the 30s, and her blood pressure had dropped dangerously low. I asked for the crash cart and calcium, and my attending, then started CPR when she lost her pulse. Half an hour later, my attending called her time of death.Hers was not the first death I'd witnessed, but it was the first time I felt like my patient would have been better off without our interventions. As a medical student hundreds of miles from the main hospital campus, I felt powerless to contradict the attending, and did not know where to turn for support in the moment. I rationalized it by saying that I had not actively contributed to her death by pushing the medication, but I held myself morally culpable for doing the exam and finding an asymptomatic abnormality that started her down that path. I felt I should have known the pathophysiology and medication side effects better, or been more assertive, or called for help.One could argue whether I was suffering from a grief reaction or falling into depression, but I questioned my calling to medicine and seriously considered leaving the field. But I was quite certain that I did not want another patient to be put at risk, or a student to feel cornered into taking actions against their better judgment. After returning to the main hospital, I met with the clerkship director and helped develop a pathway for students to raise safety concerns in real-time. Now I recognize the feeling I experienced as moral injury, but we weren't using that term at the time, or talking about Six Sigma safety, or stopping the line.Ultimately, I continued through medical school and trained as an emergency physician. My prior reverence for my attendings moderated to a healthier respect that had to be earned. I read voraciously, trying to prepare myself for unexpected situations. I became an advocate for patient safety and was an early adopter of shared decision-making. I strive to be a physician who welcomes questions and respects the concerns of all team members. Many of the principles that ground my career in medicine grew out of my exposure to this patient.It was always my least favorite of the tropes common to television medical dramas—the circumstances of the patient-of-the-week illuminated some aspect of our main characters' lives, providing a very important life lesson. I felt it positioned patients to be in service of the physician's aims, using patients as a means to our ends, when we should be using our knowledge and experience to further the patient's goals. Very un-Kantian, in addition to transgressing against multiple other philosophers and medical ethicists. As medicine learns more about the power of...