'The Operation Was a Success, but the Patient Died'


Schopenhauer would have enjoyed the spectacle of grand rounds in academic hospitals: his theory that people argue for victory more than for truth would have found confirmation there.

In grand rounds a physician presents a complex or enigmatic case to the other physicians of the hospital, who then discuss it in detail. The ostensible purpose is to teach, learn and sometimes to enquire; but such human desires as to show off, to appear more-learned-than-thou, and to appear brilliant are often much in evidence. I once worked in a hospital where an ancient and celebrated physician, who had had more diseases, albeit rare and obscure ones, named after him than any other physician in history, attended such rounds until well into his nineties. Once he had spoken he would ostentatiously turn off his hearing aid, the entire matter having been settled to his satisfaction by his own opinion.

The New England Journal of Medicine carries each week a case report from the Massachusetts General Hospital, presented on a grand round. Generally speaking they record a triumph of diagnosis and often of treatment, somewhat like a Sherlock Holmes story. The more obscure the diagnosis the more brilliant appears the solution, seemingly reached effortlessly by the teamwork of clinicians and pathologists. One cannot help but wonder, sometimes, what has been left out. Certainly the patient’s experience doesn’t get much of a look in.

Recently there was a case reported in the journal that brought to mind the old saying of Victorian surgeons, “the operation was a success, but the patient died.” It concerned a fifty-three year old woman who suffered from persistent redness of the skin and enlargement of the lymph nodes. She was susceptible to infections for which she had repeatedly been admitted to hospital (not the Massachusetts General) and treated with antibiotics.