A Free Kill

By Edward Salazar

By society’s standards, Christopher John Salazar wasn’t very significant. He wasn’t famous; he wasn’t a political figure; he wasn’t a scholar. In fact, he never graduated from college.

To his family and friends, he was very significant and an amazing human being, son and a devoted father.

So how did he die after 18 days of steady progress in an intensive care unit, in the care of trained professionals?

This is a true story as told by the father of Christopher, about how a hospital got away with “a free kill” through a little known law in the state of Florida.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whimsical Publications
• Release date: Jun 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940707457

Edward Salazar

At the time of this writing, I have been a respiratory therapist for over 40 years. I relocated from Adrian Michigan to South Florida in 1972 to attend Broward College to study respiratory therapy technology. From the time I graduated in 1974 until today, I have served as a staff therapist, shift supervisor, assistant director, and technical director for various cardiopulmonary services in South Florida. As a clinical therapist, I have worked in adult, pediatric, and neonatal intensive care units. I have been an instructor for pulmonary function technology in a collegiate respiratory therapy program and I have been an instructor for mechanical ventilation for critical care transport programs. Thanks to the patience and coaching from my editor and publisher, this book has been brought to press. I sincerely hope you find reading it worth your time, and that the information it contains might help you protect yourself and those you love while under the care of medical professionals.

Book preview

Prologue

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This story evolved from a tragic accident involving a young man. Well, two tragedies actually.

By society’s standards, he wasn’t very significant. He wasn’t famous; he wasn’t a political figure; he wasn’t a scholar. In fact, he never graduated from college. He didn’t have a lot of material possessions. He worked as a cook and server in the restaurant industry

In other words, this young man was just another ordinary person.

What he had that made him an amazing human being was a devotion to his two beautiful daughters whom adored him very much, a love for life and all the adventures it brought, and parents and family who loved and respected him as he did them.

To his friends, he was a good-natured man you could count on, not only for help if it was within his power to do so, but also for a smile, a hug, and an attentive ear when they needed to vent or discuss whatever.

On April 9th, the first tragedy happened: this young man needlessly lost his life.

This young man died while in the care of highly trained, critical care personnel at a level III Trauma Center. Eighteen days after his devastating accident, his heart and lungs stopped working. At 27, there was nothing wrong with either organ. So why did this happen?

Now, here was the second tragedy, and the reason I wrote this book. Although the case for negligence seemed apparent to three different teams of lawyers, in the final analysis, we were told a little know healthcare law made it not economically feasible to pursue litigation. To me, that meant the lawyers found it wasn’t worth financially pursuing justice for this young man.

This very significant 27-year-old man was was my son, Christopher John Salazar.

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The Early Years

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As I sat here recalling the events that had occurred throughout my son’s life while he was growing up, about the many ways I could introduce you to Christopher, I remembered how his story started.

The day my wife went into labor, Kathy and I drove to the hospital filled with much anticipation, much excitement. We were finally going to be introduced to our next child, a brother or sister to Brian. Every aspect of the pregnancy seemed to be going well, even up to when we were whisked into the delivery room. It was after she was placed in the bed and the fetal monitor was initiated that we found out there was something wrong. Nothing bad. Just something that needed to be watched. It was a slight variation in the fetal heart rate.

Kathy was a real trooper during the initial phase of the pregnancy, focusing intently on her Lamaze technique, the technique on breathing through the pain of childbirth. But she was still aware of what was happening around her with the comings and goings of the staff, her family, and about the variation the monitor showed.

As time passed, I watched the labor progress and her pains became more intense. She grew less aware of the delivery room and more focused of what was going on with her body.

I don’t remember how far into the labor process we were when a startling, alarming event occurred. I watched Christopher’s heart rate drop very low, to about 60 beats per minute (bpm). The normal range for a baby is 110 to 160 bpm. My heart wrenched but I had to remain calm for Kathy. I had to stay focused.

It felt like the heart rate was low for an eternity when in fact it was only a very short time, and I wondered why the staff was not reacting like I thought they should.

I immediately began thinking through some of the causes: maybe the drop was because Kathy was holding her breath through the pain, the Lamaze technique completely forgotten. Maybe it was because she was breathing too shallow. Whatever the reason, as a respiratory therapist, I knew something had to be done before the situation worsened. I asked the nurse anesthesiologist if there would be any harm in putting an oxygen mask on Kathy.

Because the heart rate so low, I knew much needed oxygen was not being carried to the baby’s brain. She said it would be fine.

Kathy was having none of it. Her pain was extreme by now and she didn’t want anything touching her. She ripped the mask right off her face and tossed it aside. Concerned by her actions and for the baby’s well-being, I leaned over and spoke directly into her ear so I could grab her attention and get past the pain. I made sure she understood the baby’s heart rate was very low.

It worked.

Being a nurse herself, Kathy knew what that meant. She grabbed the mask and put it back on. The heart rate rose.

After the baby was born, I was elated when I was told I had another son. Christopher was finally here. Before introductions could be made, though, he was whisked over to the other side of the room.

We waited in anticipation for the noise that signaled life, for the noise that told us Christopher was unhappy with being taken from a nice warm environment to a cold, bright one. Silence greeted us instead.

Under normal circumstances, I knew this was nothing too unusual as long as the crying started relatively soon. The fact that he had had a low fetal heart rate during the delivery caused Kathy and I to look at each other, our bodies filled with the sensation of a thousand pins and needles. We wanted so much to hear those first screams.

The silence went on for what seemed like forever. I glanced over and saw his skin still had the bluish hue instead of going pink like it should have after his first breaths. Frozen in horror by the realization that my son could die here and now, I watched the staff diligently try all the usual manual attempts to initiate spontaneous respiration. They were not working. That was when the decision was made to attempt intubation, or to assist with breathing by placing a tube into his airway.

After several attempts, the nurse anesthesiologist was not able to get the tube in place. My concerns for the baby rose tenfold. What was the lack of oxygen doing to him? Why was the tube not able to be placed? Was there something else wrong with