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Why?

Sean Donahue, DO

“We should have known he was dying,” my Attending said to me with a somber look on her face. “These young guys always fight you when they are getting ready to die,” and that’s exactly what Rodney did-he fought us. One minute the picture of perfect health, the next, gone-his only memory the steady beep of a heart monitor, a trail of blood leaving the trauma bay. Rodney died in the operating room.


“We can’t get him controlled,” the trauma nurse yelled as the young man, bucked, and sat upright on the gurney…” “What is his blood pressure?” I screamed, “It is stable in the 120s,” my surgical counter- part replied. Two nurses had to lie across him just to keep him still. He continued to buck, trying to sit up…”Rodney it’s OK, you are in the Emergency Room, you have been shot in the arm,” I tried to call him down. The paramedics had just called us 15 minutes ago-“a single gun-shot wound to the left upper arm, no other injuries, his vital signs are stable, we are working on an IV, we’ll be there in 5 minutes…”


It was my day to manage the trauma victims who arrived at the Emergency Department. I was going to treat Rodney with the same level of suspicion, and caution as I would any other trauma patient who comes into the Department: “Trauma patients are all guilty until proven innocent from an injury standpoint,” one of my mentors, and a great trauma surgeon, had once told me. Rodney was no exception.


When he arrived to the trauma bay, his left arm was covered in blood. He immediately was consumed by the trauma staff: taking his clothes off, working on IVs, getting warm blankets. We ensured that his airway was patent…”Rodney, I’m Doctor Donahue, do you know where you are right now?” “I’m at the hospital,” he replied in a calm, strong, yet frightened voice.” Next I turned to his breathing, I listened to his lungs-his right lung sounded muffled, but he was still moving air…”his breath sounds are diminished on the right, “ I yelled, “ can we get a chest x-ray now, and prep for a chest tube…” I could not piece it together, he had been shot in the left arm, apparently no other wounds. He had strong, fast pulse in all limbs, and he had a great blood pressure, but he was becoming increasingly more agitated. “Let’s make sure we have IV access on him,” I yelled.


“Where in the hell am I-let me go! LET ME GO!!” He swung wildly at one of the nurses. It had been just one minute; Rodney was changing in front of our eyes. He seemed almost like a caged animal. Was he on drugs? Did he have a head injury we did not know of? What was he trying to tell us? “Let’s quickly look for any other injuries I yelled.” My surgery colleague and I quickly assessed for any other wounds… only one wound to the left upper arm. I listened to his lungs again-this time I could not hear anything on his right side. The surgery Resident immediately prepped Rodney’s right chest for placement of a chest tube to evacuate any blood, or air which may have collapsed his lung. It was taking three nurses to hold him down-something was seriously wrong.


“Is that his pulse,” I asked in disbelief. His heart rate was now in the 30s…it had been 120 not fifteen seconds ago…”What is his blood pressure?” The trauma surgeon screamed….”we don’t have one,” a nurse replied. Rodney had stopped fighting us. “We need to open his chest,” the Trauma Surgeon commanded, “get me the thoracotomy tray!” In an instant the Surgery Resident had inserted a chest tube in Rodney’s right lung, and I assisted the Trauma Surgeon with the thoracotomy- a procedure to open the chest cavity, and to assess for injuries to the heart, aorta, and other great vessels. Over 2 Liters of blood spilled out from his right lung- mystified as to why Rodney continued to bleed, we struggled to decipher where the bullet had gone?


Once we had his chest cavity open, we discovered his heart was empty, there was no blood inside of the chambers, and it was barely squeezing. It was obvious he had bled a lot. The surgeon clamped the aorta below the heart in order to maintain blood pressure to the heart and brain…blood continued to pour out of his right chest, and from above his heart…”I can’t tell where this is coming from, I just can’t tell…” I can still hear ringing in my ears.


Rodney was whisked away to the Operating Room. He died 10 minutes later. The bullet had entered Rodney’s left chest cavity through his left shoulder, coursed behind his left collar bone, and major arteries on that side-somehow avoiding all major vital structures. It ultimately transected his right Carotid Artery before lodging in the deep muscles of his neck. He was bleeding to death in front of our eyes. In his own way he was telling us he was bleeding to death. I do not think we could have helped him any better. Frustrated and sad are the only words which come to mind. Standing in the trauma bay after he left I felt completely numb. The monitor made the only noise in the room.

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Superman Sean

Anil Menon, MD
I am using this title not only because I think Sean is one of my favorite and most impressive people to work with but also in an effort to instigate Sean into writing about his recent experience as a first responder to a trauma in downtown Palo Alto. In a sad turn of events, someone jumped from a building and landed right next to him. I'll leave that story for him. However, I do have my own story, similar to his that underscores how multidisciplinary and interdependent our medical system is.

Sean, myself, and most other emergency medicine physicians were attracted to our field because it offered a breadth of training that seemed widely applicable. I certainly wanted to be able to help any person in any situation instead of being constrained to reading CT scans or focusing on a specific organ system to do surgery. Sean even did a residency in family practice to before these three years of training. How much more broad can you be? (I suppose he can always do surgery next). It is probably this desire of mine that leaves me feeling helpless when I encounter a medical situation away from the hospital but find myself powerless without all those people and resources I normally work with--nurses, radiologists, technicians, subspecialists, CT scanners, ultrasounds, IV fluid, and medications.

The first time this angst struck home was in my last year as a medical student, after I finished my advanced cardiac life support class. That Saturday I ran a mock code on a patient with ventricular fibrillation and rushed to leave the class so I could go biking on Canada road. It was sunny and approaching noon when I started spinning my pedals on the 25 mile stretch. Of course, it seemed like half the world passed me at my max speed. One fifty year old man and his younger friend cruised by me on a slight incline. I was surprised to discover that older man on the ground just 2 minutes later. There was a circle around him and everyone seemed perplexed. Apparently, his younger friend was a chiropractor and had started chest compressions for a 30 seconds and stopped (today I'm still not sure why).

Since he was unresponsive and soon after I checked to discover that he also lacked pulses, I found myself in the same situation I had trained for just an hour earlier. The first step of calling for help was already complete so I moved on to getting someone to start chest compressions while I alternated with breaths.

It is worth taking a moment here to clarify that this is no longer the recommended procedure for BLS. A recent study lends evidence that breaths are not needed and 100 chest compressions for 2 minutes should be continued until EMS can respond.

That recommendation did not exist at the time so I did get a lot of saliva all over the place as I attempted rescue breathing. With the chest compressions he turned from blue to pink. Still, he had no pulses and there was nothing I could do. I knew he needed paddles to assess his rhythm and probably defibrillation, vasopressin, epinephrine, and more people to help with his care.

10 minutes later, and what seemed like an eternity, the paramedics did arrive to detect his ventricular fibrillation. The first shocks he received did not bring back his pulses and the rest of the care I missed I raced to Stanford to see what happened and he headed to another hospital never to be found by me.

As I said, the incident underscored the importance of our whole medical system, every person at the hospital, and all the resources we wield to make my training useful. Of course there is more we could do as a society as Sean touched on 2 posts ago.

For those physicians who strive to be as individually functional as possible there is still wilderness medicine. Another blogger here, Paul Auerbach, has written a textbook on medicine as it applies to remote environments. Maybe I'll start reading more of his blogs and until then I'll stay grateful for any hospital employee and even the pharmaceutical industry.

Anil

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