testing positive for hepatitis C
who lack the traditional risk factors. The common thread among these patients is that they all had surgery at
our hospital between November of last year and April of this year.
“Coincidentally, at the same time that these
cases were being investigated by the State Health Department, one of the
surgical scrub techs from the main OR was caught using Fentanyl. Her name, as many of you now probably
know, is Hillary Martin, and she worked here during the time period in
question. She was known to be
positive for hepatitis C at the time she was hired.
“About ten days ago, Ms. Martin turned
herself in to authorities. Martin
has admitted to stealing syringes of Fentanyl from our anesthesia carts. She would inject herself with the drug
and replace the dirty syringe, refilled with saline, back on our carts before
any of us noticed the theft. Unfortunately, if what she says is true, then at least some of us
unknowingly injected hepatitis C virus directly into our patients’ bloodstream
while they were under our care.”
The doctors were speechless, and the
collective body heat was causing the room to become stuffy.
Rob caught his breath and continued, “At
this point, ten patients have tested positive for hepatitis C. We have no idea how many more will turn
up as we proceed with mass testing.
“We will try to get more news to you as it
becomes available. At this point, I
must discourage all of you from discussing this matter with other members of
the OR staff or other anesthesiologists who are not part of our group. The potential legal implications of this
debacle are nothing short of epic. As such, I must also ask that all of you refrain from engaging in any
discussions with the media. For
now, that’s all I know. I suggest
that the best thing we can do is get back to work and continue to take
excellent care of our patients.”
Once Dr. Wilson had concluded his speech,
the noise in the room quickly escalated as Jenna’s colleagues pelted him with
questions. Jenna, unable to
tolerate the frenzy, quietly slipped away.
Despite having been warned about discussing
the scandal, it was the main topic of conversation throughout the operating
rooms. By the end of the day, the
speculations and rumors only made Jenna more upset and uncertain.
Shortly after 3:30 p.m., Jenna’s cases were
over, and she was mentally exhausted. Slipping out one of the back doors of the hospital, she made it to her
car undetected, and drove home in silence.
Pulling into her driveway, Jenna whispered
to herself, “Please, God, don’t let this involve me.”
CHAPTER 8
June 15, 2010
At 3 a.m. Jenna lay in bed, wide-awake with
a pounding headache and a profound sense of dread. The racket from the chirping of crickets
outside her open window sliced through her. Jenna had hoped that the Ambien she
consumed the night before would have allowed her to sleep. Unfortunately, the sedative was unable
to conquer her racing mind. Giving
up on any hope of rest, Jenna grabbed her glasses, quietly rolled out of bed,
and tiptoed down the hallway. Ginger’s
paws clicked against the tile as the dog trailed behind her. When Jenna reached the kitchen, she
could hear Tom snoring. In the
early morning stillness, she swallowed four tablets of Advil and made a cup of
tea.
Jenna headed to her home office. Not wanting to wake the rest of her
family, she left the lights off. Carefully, she felt her way behind her antique, cherry desk and sat in
the leather chair. Alone in the
darkness, Jenna wiggled the computer’s mouse. The light from the monitor was barely
enough to illuminate the keyboard, but it was sufficient for Jenna’s
purposes. She opened her email. Midway down the screen, her attention
was drawn to an email from Dr. Rob Wilson.
With a trembling finger, Jenna clicked on
the mouse and opened the document. She was completely
who lack the traditional risk factors. The common thread among these patients is that they all had surgery at
our hospital between November of last year and April of this year.
“Coincidentally, at the same time that these
cases were being investigated by the State Health Department, one of the
surgical scrub techs from the main OR was caught using Fentanyl. Her name, as many of you now probably
know, is Hillary Martin, and she worked here during the time period in
question. She was known to be
positive for hepatitis C at the time she was hired.
“About ten days ago, Ms. Martin turned
herself in to authorities. Martin
has admitted to stealing syringes of Fentanyl from our anesthesia carts. She would inject herself with the drug
and replace the dirty syringe, refilled with saline, back on our carts before
any of us noticed the theft. Unfortunately, if what she says is true, then at least some of us
unknowingly injected hepatitis C virus directly into our patients’ bloodstream
while they were under our care.”
The doctors were speechless, and the
collective body heat was causing the room to become stuffy.
Rob caught his breath and continued, “At
this point, ten patients have tested positive for hepatitis C. We have no idea how many more will turn
up as we proceed with mass testing.
“We will try to get more news to you as it
becomes available. At this point, I
must discourage all of you from discussing this matter with other members of
the OR staff or other anesthesiologists who are not part of our group. The potential legal implications of this
debacle are nothing short of epic. As such, I must also ask that all of you refrain from engaging in any
discussions with the media. For
now, that’s all I know. I suggest
that the best thing we can do is get back to work and continue to take
excellent care of our patients.”
Once Dr. Wilson had concluded his speech,
the noise in the room quickly escalated as Jenna’s colleagues pelted him with
questions. Jenna, unable to
tolerate the frenzy, quietly slipped away.
Despite having been warned about discussing
the scandal, it was the main topic of conversation throughout the operating
rooms. By the end of the day, the
speculations and rumors only made Jenna more upset and uncertain.
Shortly after 3:30 p.m., Jenna’s cases were
over, and she was mentally exhausted. Slipping out one of the back doors of the hospital, she made it to her
car undetected, and drove home in silence.
Pulling into her driveway, Jenna whispered
to herself, “Please, God, don’t let this involve me.”
CHAPTER 8
June 15, 2010
At 3 a.m. Jenna lay in bed, wide-awake with
a pounding headache and a profound sense of dread. The racket from the chirping of crickets
outside her open window sliced through her. Jenna had hoped that the Ambien she
consumed the night before would have allowed her to sleep. Unfortunately, the sedative was unable
to conquer her racing mind. Giving
up on any hope of rest, Jenna grabbed her glasses, quietly rolled out of bed,
and tiptoed down the hallway. Ginger’s
paws clicked against the tile as the dog trailed behind her. When Jenna reached the kitchen, she
could hear Tom snoring. In the
early morning stillness, she swallowed four tablets of Advil and made a cup of
tea.
Jenna headed to her home office. Not wanting to wake the rest of her
family, she left the lights off. Carefully, she felt her way behind her antique, cherry desk and sat in
the leather chair. Alone in the
darkness, Jenna wiggled the computer’s mouse. The light from the monitor was barely
enough to illuminate the keyboard, but it was sufficient for Jenna’s
purposes. She opened her email. Midway down the screen, her attention
was drawn to an email from Dr. Rob Wilson.
With a trembling finger, Jenna clicked on
the mouse and opened the document. She was completely
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