Last week I delivered a lecture about resuscitation decisions. Part of it was a scenario, carefully thought out with my co-presenting colleague. We described a lady in the 80s, living in a residential home, with a degree of heart failure and some other co-morbidities, who had been admitted with pneumonia. There were markers of severity indicating a 20% risk of death. In this scenario she deteriorated overnight, and was found ‘barely conscious’ and in respiratory failure.
We asked the audience to put up their hands if they thought the patient should have a ‘do not attempt resuscitation’ (DNACPR) notice. I was amazed to see only around 15% of the audience put their hand up. Then we asked if they would consider a ceiling of care, for instance non-invasive ventilation or, all the way to intensive care and mechanical ventilation. Most felt that non-invasive ventilation on HDU would be the appropriate limit of intervention. But I couldn’t get over the small number who would have started to discuss resuscitation status at this stage. Why didn’t they think like me?
This scenario was deliberately “grey”. We didn’t want to make it obvious that the patient was dying, for instance with terminal cancer or end-stage heart failure. But we wanted to describe a patient who was not improving. In my mind, having considered the case carefully before the lecture, the fact that she was to deteriorating despite antibiotics meant that if her heart did suddenly stop, the chance of surviving would be very small indeed. Advanced life support might temporarily restart the heart, but would not reverse the problem, which was pneumonia. It seems clear to me. Why not to my colleagues?
Could it be that I was wrong?
Probably not, in terms of the evidence base around prognosis and resuscitation. My colleague and I had reviewed the studies. We could show that a successful outcome was unlikely. So I came away asking myself, why the discrepancy?
I had had the benefit of thinking about this case in detail, for a few days. Those who had just heard the scenario were like doctors in the acute medical units, who are presented with a new patient’s details and required to make big decisions a few minutes later. It doesn’t feel comfortable, or right. Perhaps that was the issue. How can you make what seems like a ‘life limiting’ when you’ve only spent 10 minutes with the patient?
Or perhaps they judged that the hypothetical patient had more of a chance than I did. Perhaps, if the heart was restarted (assuming too that they would then be admitted to ITU for ongoing ventilatory support), continued antibiotics would overcome the infection and she would recover. That seemed like wishful thinking… but who would criticise a doctor for grasping at that possibility, however small?
Or perhaps, I reflected, I have developed too gloomy outlook. I am too ‘realistic’. So interested have I become in identifying futility and ensuring that patients do not undergo CPR needlessly, I am unable to recognise therapeutic opportunities anymore. How else could my opinion different from the majority so starkly?
But I know that this is not the case. I am careful always to make sure that I have not overlooked an opportunity for improvement, or cure. So is the problem me or them?
The answer can only be – neither. They are good doctors; I think I’m a good doctor. We disagree. And in this disagreement is revealed the essence of uncertainty, the unknown quantity that doctors deal with every day. If a room of individuals interested enough in resuscitation to attend a lecture cannot agree on the right course of action, how can we expect patients or their family to offer a firm opinion, or agree with our suggestions?
This point was brought up by someone in the audience. He said that we should not be surprised when families disagree with our assessments, if a group of ‘experts’ cannot be certain of what the outcome is likely to be. And faced with disagreement, we must not allow ourselves to see them as opponents in a debate whom we must win over. However sure we are of our opinion (having had the benefit of dwelling over the results of investigations, the output of prognostic models, or just plain experience), to walk into a room and bring around an anxious family to that point of view is probably naïve. The situation is being revealed to them with the same suddenness that it was revealed to the colleagues on that lecture theatre. The natural instinct is to defer judgement; to assume that there is a chance of survival that should be pursued with active treatment. Only in the most clear-cut cases, where death is visibly progressing or an underlying disease has clearly reached its culmination, can we be fully didactic.
So at the end of it all, I remain confident that I can identify patients for whom CPR would be futile, but at the same time I realise, if I had not before, that opinions will frequently differ. For both doctors and families, time is needed for the facts to be explained, for their implications to sink in, and for the resulting reaction to mature. This cannot always be done in ten minutes, or on Day 1.
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