I learned last week that Archer’s case would be discussed at a morbidity and mortality meeting at Mayo clinic. From an absurd perspective, this is an honor. These meetings are only held when serious adverse events occur and learning opportunity is a requirement. If you’ve watched Grey’s Anatomy religiously as I have, you’ve seen these meetings. It will take place in a large conference room with stadium seating with a resident presenting Archer’s case. Following the case presentation, a Q&A occurs, allowing fellow doctors to investigate the ultimate question. What went wrong? What happened behind those doors that cost Archer his life?
Many of you may know some details, and others may not. I know what happened behind those IR doors, but I cannot discuss it online. Following the M&M our physician we have been working closely with for years will call to debrief us. Envisioning a meeting discussing your child’s most delicate time is disturbing. How can they talk about my child without me? Certain things we must accept and not argue.
Later in April, or potentially in May, we will be invited to a round table discussion to discuss the findings of the hospital’s investigation of Archer’s death. Again, we already know the conclusions. They were so obvious when we paged through 4,935 pages of medical records. Brandt and I feel strongly that we need to be there, on campus, and allow them to tell us what went wrong and cost us our son. I plan to open with a statement before allowing them to speak. This came to me yesterday.
As many of you know, my name is Katie and this is my husband Brandt. We are parents to 5 children. May of 2016 we entrusted this facility to provide us with the best care for one of our children. We prayed for answers, knowing answers weren’t always obvious. Overall, our prayers were answered. This facility provided excellent care, and we have since been humbled to have your facility help us tackle this progressive disease. In November of 2020, our son’s name became a part of your medical record database. Easy decision at that time; you’ve done us well for years; of course, we felt comfortable with your treatment plan for our son. After many appointments, phone calls, and many discussions, we lost our son at your facility. We walked your halls and updated family. We prayed together, crouched in corners, and huddled in chairs. We bonded with your staff and then left your facility without our son. We had to drive 4 hours home with an empty car seat, holding on to mementos that we never envisioned cherishing. You failed to listen to me when I asked for a new central line, you failed to put in the midline IV that would have saved him from numerous IV insertions, you failed to do an ECHO that I asked for, you failed to weigh him, you failed to study his medication and learn his hemodynamic levels, you failed him, you failed us. (At this point I am praying to remain stoically strong with dry eyes). Your failure cost us our first son, a son we longed for; our daughters lost their brother, and our son Otto lost his brother and his best friend. By the grace of God, we have handled this loss with determination. Our son has beat us home to his father, but that doesn’t mean any other child should have to go through what he went through. Forgiveness will inevitably come but forgetting will never be an option. Lastly, I’d like you all to know that sometimes I must look at Archer’s intimate hospital pictures to assure my mind that this type of failure did happen because, at times, it seems instrumentally wrong and nearly unfathomable.
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