Monthly Archives: July 2014

Monthly Case: Blocked stent

July safe

What is shown? The upper left photo shows a metal mesh tubing. This is a stent. It’s about half an inch wide and a few inches long. This stent is inserted into a blood vessel to help keep the vessel open and the blood flowing (illustrated on the top right). The bottom photo shows the vessel in a patient who had an autopsy. In this case, the type of vessel is a vein. It is a large vein that drains the blood from the leg.  The vein, is cut into smaller pieces to see what’s on the inside. You can see metal stent as a circle of dots that that presses up on the inside of the vessel. The inside of the stent is filled with yellow solid tissue. This is scar tissue. The vessel should have been open and and empty.

Did the scar tissue cause a problem?  Yes.  The vessel was completed blocked by the scar tissue, so it could not drain the blood from the leg.  The left leg was swollen.  There was blood return from the leg, but it was through smaller side veins, and not enough to keep the leg from swelling.

Did the blockage cause the patient to die?  No.  The patient did not die from this.  He lived with a swollen leg.  The swelling developed gradually over many years (see below).

Why was the sent placed? The stent was placed in the vein to keep it open. A blood clot had formed in the vein, blocking flow. The stent at first helped with that by opening up the vessel to allow blood flow back from the leg.

Why did the scarring happen? The scarring happened because, even after the stent was put in, more clot formed inside the vessel.  The body’s response to a clot is to heal the clot by forming scar tissue. It is a natural response of the body to any clot that forms inside a vessel.  The process of forming this scar took many years.

Does the scar means there was a problem with the procedure or with the stent? No, stents are not perfect. Any time “foreign” material (like metal) is put into the body, there is a known risk that the body will have a reaction to it. Also, this patient was already at risk for forming clots (see below). There is always a “risk-benefit” decision for any procedure. The thinking is like this: Without the procedure, the patient would have had blocked circulation in the legs. With the procedure there is the risk down the line that the stent could get blocked. The best decision was to do the procedure to help with the “immediate risk” to the patient from his own blockage the first time he had a clot.

What was the story here? This was an 18 year old man with a disease related to sickle cell anemia called with S-C disease. “S” stands for “Sickle”. “C” is a genetic variation of sickle cell anemia. These patients are typically a bit less sick than patients with sickle cell anemia but also have serious problems.

How did this patient die?  This patient died from “Acute Chest Syndrome.”  This is a condition that happens commonly in S-C disease.  Here’s how it works:  In S-C disease (just as in Sickle Cell Anemia), the red blood cells can clump and block the blood flow in many areas of the body.  When that happens specifically in the bone marrow, parts of the bone marrow can die.  The dead bone marrow leaks into the blood stream, travels up to the lungs, and the little clumps of bone marrow block the circulation there.  This causes the patient to die.  Unfortunately, many clinicians are not aware of this complication of S-C disease.  This patient’s clinician did not consider this diagnosis.

How did the autopsy help?  The autopsy helped the family come to terms with the loss.  The family also chose to share the results with the treating physician which served to educate him about this condition.  It was an empowering move by the family in a situation that was otherwise marked by helplessness.  The specific finding of a blocked stent was incidental to the cause of death but facilitated a general discussion of the patient’s medical past.

Reflections on an Autopsy Seminar

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Life Matters Media photo credit.

[/one_half] “Was that a one-glass slide? Or a two-glass slide?” I called over to an attendee, gently teasing, as I advanced to the next photo in my presentation. He was all but hiding in the corner. This was the one who had brought in a bottle of wine to our cabaret-style theater where we were holding the event, Science to Humanity: The Autopsy. He had come accompanied by some friends, but really a glass of wine (or two, or three, or a bottle) is what he thought he would need to get through experience. I was just checking in on him.

He smiled.

“I’m good!” he called out.

I was glad to know our at-first-fearful gentleman was doing well. Our attendees always do.

People really don’t know what to expect when they come to an autopsy class. For most, that’s just right. What they get is so different from what they ever imagine.

The class is respectful, paced gradually, engaging and set with a warm, open tone. Who would have thought that the room often fills with laughter? It’s the laughter comedic improvisers know comes from the place, “I recognize that from life.”

This makes sense in a class about the autopsy, perhaps not so paradoxically. The autopsy is about closure. And closure is human. This is a class where people connect.

I have been giving this class since 2012 and we are delighted to now be moving to the International Museum of Surgical Science. It is a milestone for us. We are honored to be able to hold the event in such a respected venue, and looking forward to continuing our outreach.

The class began on the 84th floor of the then Sears Tower — my office space at the time. Our first attendees were a young couple, and that was it. The young man had called me in seeming desperation hours before.

“I missed the ticket deadline! Can we come?” he inquired.

“Of course,” I responded, and called the office to reschedule the room reservation I had just cancelled.

And so, with a bit of a hurry, the first class was held with the three of us. Slide after slide, question after question, proceeded; explanations turned into stories; and, as it always does, the class became an experience. The man ultimately disclosed that his mother had had the same procedure I had shown in one of my slides — placement of a gastrostomy tube. The slide showed a medical mishap. I gasped, fearing what he might infer about his mother’s experience, and I quickly reminded him that I see cases only when things “go wrong” — it’s just the nature of my work. When I was done reassuring him — emphasizing the countless times the procedure had helped patients — he sighed and relaxed. And the flow of questions continued. The young couple walked out hand in hand.

While the class is educational and not a counseling experience, I am aware that what happens there can have an impact. I see this in the letters I receive from attendees and in the reviews.

One attendee wrote months after coming to the class:

“I just wanted you to know that your workshop has been helping in our understanding that [our mother] might not have felt any pain [during her death].”

And a recent reviewer commented:

“I wasn’t considering myself “in bereavement” when attending [the class] although I did lose someone very close to me earlier this year….I was incredibly suprised at how some of the presentation struck a chord with me and answered some questions that I didn’t even realize that I had. I left feeling a sense of peace that I didn’t realize I needed. I didn’t know that certain questions could even be answered.”

So I take the class seriously, keep it “light” — as much as possible for this topic — but respectful and am open to the human experience as well as sharing my own. People leave satisfied.

Our gentleman with the bottle of wine told me at the end that the slides were his favorite part.

“They really weren’t bad,” he said. “I wanted to see some more.”

Next event: July 30. Tickets/information/reviews: here

Poem: Invitation

Med Humanities (British Medical Journal) 2013;39:72 doi:10.1136/medhum-2012-010312

Invitation
Ben Margolis

Come.

I will show you grief.

Look here.

You want to see?

The open refrigerator door frames the lovers.

Just this way.

Follow me.

We’re almost there.

You will stand with me by the side.

You will have to look down—it’s private.
[one_half] But can see from the corner of your eye.

A cold visitation deep in the quiet maze of the hospital basement. Just myself witness. Best man to half an alter-vow fading under caresses. Now you along side.

‘Can I cut a piece of hair?’ she asks, no longer knowing what was hers. Crush hold memento.

‘Of course, or we can take care of that for you’. I would start the case as soon as she finished. An intrusion of strong gloved hands and calculating blades waiting.

The hair was her final quiet request, but the visit had started with a scream. Mrs. Paznyk had seen her husband immediately after he had died, but not since, now a day later.

‘Close his eyes! Close his eyes! Close his mouth! Stop it!’ Eyes as wide as his, mouth not quite, body pulled back. She was unprepared for rigor mortis’s play. Swift sculptor of all dead. No embalmer’s rewinding art yet.

‘It’s part of death’.

‘Ok. It’s part of death. It’s part of death. It’s better this way. It’s normal’. Recoiled pain and suffering stuffed into calmed adult readiness. But still bruising, tearing under the surface.

We had agreed on 15 minutes for this last viewing. It made sense to have a start and an end, or she would have remained there, in the cold walk-in, drinking passionate memories and tender commitments from a bottle of Amontillado-laced grief.

I shall leave you here.

If this is what you were looking for.

Unless you would like to meet four year old Javier.

Rolling onto my lap.

‘Read it again!’

Giggle.

‘Ok. I love David. He’s such a bad boy!’

Booga-booga-booga belly!

Nose up to mine.

Smiling.

Hand on book.

‘Read it again!’

You start.

 

Footnotes

Competing interests None.  Provenance and peer review

Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed.

Author note:  All names and events are fictional.

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