A letter to Dr. Patrick Hammen
Dear Dr. Hammen,
I just wanted you to know what my life is like as a consequence of desicions you made almost four years ago.
We had our Thanksgiving dinner today, as we usually do. I volunteer to work on Thanksgiving so other people can get home to be with their families, and then members of my family have that extra day to get here so things aren’t rushed.
Mike usually made dinner for people who didn’t have family and then came up here Thanksgiving night.
Maybe you don’t remember Mike. He was your patient. He was at very high risk of colon cancer and needed a colonoscopy. I know you were aware of that at the time because you wrote, “patient needs a colonoscopy but can’t afford one,” into his medical record a number of times.
The final time you also wrote, “will advise patient to get financial counseling.”
But then he got really sick. He lost about 30 pounds and couldn’t keep any food down, so you agreed to do a colonoscopy. But you never told him the results. My daughter-in-law had stepped out for a minute because she thought the procedure would take longer, so you never spoke to her, either. You just left.
Your records show Mike’s colon was blocked. You couldn’t even finish the procedure, so you jotted, “next time try peds scope.” Then you went home.
You never had anyone from your office call to tell Mike his colon was blocked. Three weeks later, he showed up in the emergency room vomiting fecal matter and in renal failure. He weighed about 110 pounds.
By then his cancer was stage 3. It was in 12 of the 13 lymph nodes you removed.
He had chemo and radiation, then got sick again. Scans showed a blockage in his small intestine, caused by radiation. But his oncologists took a wait-and-see approach until he was 104 pounds and near death.
I remember you told me it never should have gone that far.
Of course, it likely wouldn’t have gone that far if he had gotten the colonoscopy he needed when he needed it.
The pathology report after his second surgery found a “few viable cancer cells,” and you gave up on him. Fortunately, we found a doctor at Duke University Medical Center who was willing to fight for his life with him. They gave him two more years.
But it was too late already by the time he got to Duke because his cancer wasn’t caught early enough.
If he had been able to get that colonoscopy, he probably would have been here to have Thanksgiving dinner with us today. He could have raided the bread stuffing before it got to the table. He could have eaten too much and then sat in the living room and belched until there was enough room for dessert.
Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday because it was all about food, family and blessings. Mike always felt blessed, even as he lay dying. He had friends and family and a hell of a lot to live for.
But he died when he was 33 because he needed a colonoscopy but couldn’t afford it.
How often does this happen in your practice? Do you feel any responsibility over it, or do you just block any feelings? Do you wish you could help everyone who needs it? Do you advocate for health care for all Americans? Or do you shrug and say, “that’s life”?
Well, this is my life without Mike.
I miss him every day. I miss his laugh, I miss his hugs. I miss the phone calls. I miss his complaints about bad drivers and people who don’t know good food. I miss his being able to figure out how to fix almost anything. I miss his guitar music. I miss his practical jokes and the way he could eat an entire loaf of my homemade bread in a single day.
“The only thing wrong with this bread is that it’s not at my house,” he used to say with his mouth full.
I miss his kindness and the way he cuddled up to his cat. I miss the way that he cuddled up to what was left of the blanket I made him when he was a child. I miss watching “Star Trek” with him and the philosophical discussions we had late into the night.
I miss cooking with him. I miss sharing my birthday with him.
Today, his favorite day of the year, I wish more than ever that you had been able to find it in your heart to do a colonscopy, even though he couldn’t afford it.
Leslie Boyd
Patient Pals & Family Friends
Life o' Mike has a new peer support program for people newly diagnosed with chronic or serious illness or with a new disability and their caregivers.
Patient Pals are people who have experience with various illnesses and disabilities, who can help someone newly diagnosed or with a new disability work through the fear, frustration, confusion and grief often experienced in the first few months.
Family Friends are there to help caregivers and other family members grow into their new role.
People with new illness or disability fare better when they have a role model -- someone who can help them negotiate their new path in life.
We need volunteers, who are asked to donate a minimum of one hour a week. Training is free and includes information on active listening, ways to help and when to know more help is needed.
And of course, we need funding.
To learn more, call Leslie Boyd at 828-243-6712 or e-mail lifeomike@gmail.com.
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