s, claiming that the aortic dissection was misdiagnosed as a heart attack and that the enlarged aorta should have been reported to Mr. Ritter two years earlier during a full body scan.
Well, perhaps this is the start of a trend. Up until now, it has been commonplace for doctors to ignore many of the important findings on heart scans, full body scans, and similar direct-to-the-public imaging services. For instance, similar to John Ritter's case, enlarged thoracic aortas are commonly ignored. I'd even say that as a rule they are ignored. I have seen many patients in consultation who have had large aortas identified on heart scans, yet nothing--not a thing--was done about it. While the doctors escaped a lawsuit this time, it might not happen a second time.
I truly hope that Mr. Ritter's unfortunate experience and the consequent lawsuit do not trigger the usual defensive medicine response of resorting to major procedural "solutions."
A better response would be to 1) identify the problem--enlarged aorta in this case, 2) identify the causes, then 3) correct the causes. It does not necessarily mean that a major procedure like replacing the aorta (a horrendous surgery, by the way) needs to be pursued each and every time.
It is possible that Mr. Ritter's lawsuit is just the first. Over the next several years, it could trigger an avalanche of lawsuits for all the neglected findings on tests like heart scans, body scans, and other imaging methods that are gaining expanded direct-to-consumer access.
On the afternoon of October 30th, 1958, nearly 30 years after Werner Forssmann’s fumbling attempts, Dr. Mason Sones, a 5 foot 5 inch, plain-talking, cuss-every-few-words, cigarette-wielding radiologist at the Cleveland Clinic, was performing a routine angiogram of a patient’s aorta (the large vessel emerging from the heart) in a dark basement laboratory. (In Sones’ day, imaging methods remained primitive, disease diagnosis relying more than anything else on the physician’s powers of observation and crude diagnostic procedures. Abdominal pain was assessed with exploratory laparotomy, headaches with air injected into the brain and nervous system (“pneumoencephalography”), an excruciatingly painful ordeal. Being able to track the course of x-ray dye injected into specific internal organs, whether liver, biliary tree, aorta, lungs, or coronary arteries, represented a huge advance in diagnostic tools for human disease.)
In 1958, no one had yet injected dye directly into the coronary artery of a living human.
Just as the dye injector was triggered, Dr. Sones’ eyes widened in horror when the black and white monitor showed that the catheter had inadvertently jumped into the right coronary artery. The injection pump, already triggered to release its load, proceeded to pump 30 cc of X-ray dye straight into the artery. (Modern techniques usually require only 5–10 cc of dye.) Dr. Sones recounts the incident:
“It was late in the day and we were tired. I hit the switch to rev up the x-ray generator so I could see. As the picture came on, I could see that the damn catheter was in the guy’s right coronary artery. And there I was, down in the hole [a recess to shield him from radiation]. I yelled, “Pull it out! Pull it out!”*? By that time, about 30 cc of the dye had gone into the coronary artery. I climbed out of the hole and I grabbed a knife. I thought that his heart would fibrillate and I would have to open his chest and shock his heart. [In Sones’ day, modern CPR hadn’t yet been developed as a method of resuscitation.] But he didn’t fibrillate—his heart stopped. I demanded he cough. He coughed three times and his heart began to beat again. I knew at once that if the heart could tolerate 30 cc of dye, we would be able to safely inject small amounts directly into the coronary artery. I knew that night that we would have a tool to define the anatomic nature of coronary disease.”
*An observer, Dr. Julio Sosa, reported that Dr. Sones, in his shock, also blurted, “We’ve killed him!” After all, conventional wisdom of that era, based on observations from dye injections into the coronary arteries of dogs, was that injecting x-ray dye into human coronary arteries would result in immediate death from the electrical imbalance provoked in heart muscle momentarily deprived of oxygen-carrying blood.
Thus it was established that it was indeed possible to directly inject x-ray dye into human coronary arteries and reveal its internal contours. That’s not to say that the x-ray dyes of 1958 were innocuous. Far from it. In addition to briefly interrupting heart rhythm, as happened with Sones’ first accidental attempt, the dyes used then typically caused dizziness and the sudden urge to vomit. During the first 30 years of direct coronary catheterizations, it was common for hospital staff to run to the patient’s side, bucket in hand to catch the inevitable vomit, once the heart was jump-started by coughing.
Not surprisingly, Dr. Sones’ discovery set off both an avalanche of criticism and bold predictions of how the new technique might change the course of diagnosis in heart disease.
Over the subsequent weeks and months, Dr. Sones proceeded to purposefully insert catheters into coronary arteries and create angiograms that revealed the extent of coronary atherosclerosis. He learned how to fashion new catheter shapes to facilitate access to the arteries. Sones developed an impressive experience in the new technique. For the first time, clear images of the coronary arteries were routinely obtainable for the confident diagnosis of coronary atherosclerosis before death. Dr. Sones became an unlikely celebrity in Cleveland, entertaining physicians from around the world eager to learn about his methods, politicians and celebrities, even Middle Eastern nobility complete with bodyguards and food testers.
Dr. Sones continued to work in Cleveland, furthering the techniques of heart catheterization after his fortuitous error. He died of lung cancer in 1985, 17 years after his discovery.
Thus was born the modern age of heart catheterization.
Today, over 10,000 heart procedures are performed in the U.S. every day, 365 days a year, the vast majority of which involve heart catheterization or begin with a heart catheterization. Dr. Sones' fortuitous blunder was followed by 30 years of productive refinement and development before the blatant excesses of this technique really began to be exploited.
The modern era of heart disease care was born from an accident, quirky personalities, and even a little daring.
The notion of heart catheterization to visualize the human heart began rather ignominiously in 1929 at the Auguste-Viktoria Hospital in Eberswalde, Germany, a technological backwater of the day. Inspired by descriptions of a French physician who inserted a tube into the jugular vein of a horse and felt transmitted heart impulses outside the body, Dr. Werner Forssmann, an eager 25-year old physician-in-training, was intent on proving that access to the human heart could be safely gained through a surface blood vessel. No one knew if passing a catheter into the human heart would be safe, or whether it would become tangled in the heart’s chambers and cause it to stop beating. On voicing his intentions, Forssmann was ordered by superiors not to proceed. But he was determined to settle the question, especially since his ambitions captured the interest of nurse Gerda Ditzen, who willingly even offered to become the first human subject of his little experiment.
Secretly gathering the necessary supplies, he made his first attempt in private. After applying a local anesthetic, he used a scalpel to make an incision in his left elbow. He then inserted a hollow tube, a catheter intended for the bladder, into the vein exposed under the skin. After passing the catheter 14 inches into his arm, however, he experienced cold feet and pulled it out.
One week later, Forssman regained his resolve and repeated the process. Nurse Ditzen begged to be the subject, but Forssmann, in order to allow himself to be the first subject, tricked her into being strapped down and proceeded to work on himself while she helplessly watched. After stanching the oozing blood from the wound, he threaded the catheter slowly and painfully into the cephalic vein, up through the bicep, past the shoulder and subclavian vein, then down towards the heart. He knew that simply nudging the rubber catheter forward would be sufficient to direct it to the heart, since all veins of the body lead there. With the catheter buried 25 inches into his body, Forssmann untied the fuming Ditzen. Both then ran to the hospital’s basement x-ray department and injected x-ray dye into the catheter, yielding an image of the right side of his heart, the first made in a living human.
Thus, the very first catheterization of the heart was performed.
An x-ray image was made to document the accomplishment. Upon hearing of the experiment, Forssmann was promptly fired by superiors for his brazen act of self-experimentation. Deflated, Forssmann abandoned his experimentation and went on to practice urology. He became a member of the Nazi party in World War II Germany and served in the German army. Though condemned as crazy by some, physicians in Europe and the U.S., after hearing of his experience, furthered the effort and continued to explore the potential of the technique. Forssmann himself was never invited to speak of his experiences outside of Germany, as he had been labeled a Nazi.
Many years after his furtive experiments, the once intrepid Dr. Forssmann was living a quiet life practicing small town medicine. He received an unexpected phone call informing him that he was one of three physicians chosen to receive the 1956 Nobel Prize for Medicine for his pioneering work performing the world’s first heart catheterization, along with Drs. André Cournand and Dickinson W. Richards, both of whom had furthered Forssmann’s early work. Forssmann remarked to a reporter that he felt like a village pastor who was made a cardinal.
