Speaking for Ourselves 30
Devil’s alternative Will you
donate a part of your liver to save an ailing relative?
Brig A. C. Anand, vsm
I think the starting point of this whole affair was that phone
call from Dr Sharma.* He introduced himself as an associate
professor of surgery in a medical college. He was speaking
from Pune and sounded very disturbed.
The reason for his emotional disturbance became apparent
from what he said. ‘My son Ravi* is serving in the Army and is
presently admitted in a local military hospital for hepatitis.
He has been diagnosed as having fulminant hepatic failure (FHF).
Doctors in Pune have told me about the bad prognosis of this
disease. Will you accept him if he is brought to you?’
After a pause he added, ‘I would like him to be shifted to
your hospital in Delhi because I’ve been told that you have a
liver transplant unit there.’
I gave a guarded reply, ‘Sir, our own transplant programeme
is likely to start in March 2007, but we will be happy to look
after him if the treating physician at that hospital decides
to transfer him to Delhi.’
I also felt it necessary to clarify, ‘We have not yet
started our own liver transplant programme, but if required we
can get this done at any of the other liver transplant units
in Delhi.’
After talking to him I contacted the service doctor who was
treating Ravi. I was told that the diagnosis of FHF was fairly
certain and the physician in-charge had already decided to
transfer Ravi to our hospital at Delhi. An Air Force plane had
been arranged and Ravi would be reaching our hospital in about
4 hours. I ended my call by giving some instructions about the
precautions to be taken en route by the accompanying
intensivist.
It was a Friday and I realized that all government offices
would be closed for the next 2 days. Therefore, I took a
pre-emptive verbal sanction from the authorities, so that I
could refer Ravi for liver transplantation to an external
hospital if required during the next 48 hours.
Ravi was deeply comatose when he arrived and fresh tests
revealed his international normalized ratio (INR) to be 12.
This clearly indicated poor prognosis and urgent need for
transplantation.
Ravi’s father, Dr Sharma was also in constant telephonic
contact with a hepatologist in the USA. The hepatologist had
primed him about the need for liver transplantation as the
‘standard of care’ for FHF in USA. Dr Sharma had anticipated
that I would be discussing this option with him and he was
mentally prepared for it. ‘Dr Anand, I am aware that we do not
have a cadaveric liver transplantation programme in India. I
and my wife both are willing donors and I would like you to
arrange living donor liver transplant (LDLT) for our son as
early as possible.’
With the help of his friend in the USA, he went on to
choose a private hospital where he wanted his son’s transplant
surgery. When I tried to engage him in conversation about the
risks of donor surgery, he cut me short by giving a clear
statement, ‘Whatever the risk, we are willing to take it.’
I officially referred Ravi to his father’s choice hospital
for considering an adult-to-adult LDLT. A sum of Rs 2 200 000
as a package deal was quoted to him by the private hospital.
Donor assessment was started after the relatives deposited a
major proportion of the money as an advance, and Dr Sharma was
found suitable for donating a part of his liver. He was then
hospitalized for donor surgery.
The private hospital, where the LDLT was to be done, sent
its ambulance and an intensivist to pick-up Ravi from our
hospital. Ravi was being wheeled out on a trolley. I walked
behind the trolley with his mother to the ambulance, trying to
reassure her. It was like a tight-rope walk, i.e. telling her
to be optimistic while trying not to be untruthful at the same
time. Believers find God very convenient for such occasions.
Just as Ravi’s ambulance moved, I saw tears welling up in
his mother’s eyes. I knew what was going on in her mind. All
her treasures—the lives of her son and her husband were at
stake that night. I am sure the money they had borrowed to pay
for the procedure was not at all a consideration. As she left,
I closed my eyes for a moment, turned my face to a side and
prayed for them.
I wasn’t mentally prepared for what happened after this.
The minute I opened my eyes, another familiar face came
into focus. I was still trying to put a name to that face when
she cheerfully introduced herself, ‘Remember me, sir? I am
Rina!* I did my internship with you some years back.’
I remembered her as the most inquisitive of the interns who
had worked with me. She was inherently intelligent and always
questioned my decisions. And then she would go on to examine
the evidence to check if my answers were correct.
‘Of course I do, but what are you doing here?’ She had left
Army service a few years back and I had lost track of her.
‘I came to see a relative of mine, who is admitted to your
hospital after a road traffic accident. He is okay now.’
‘And what are you doing these days?’
‘I have done Pathology. You know, I love solving problems.’
Creating problems would be more accurate, I thought.
Unexpectedly, she added, ‘I just came out of casualty and saw
you standing there with eyes closed. The expression on your
face was something I had never seen before. I was wondering
what is behind this peculiar expression. All well, I hope?’
‘You seem to have done well!’ I tried to change the topic.
But she was persistent. ‘You can’t fool me. Why would the
chief of medicine stand in front of casualty, looking sad with
eyes closed and face turned up? You have to answer that.’
I was aware of her perseverance. My problem was that my own
thoughts on the problem at hand had not yet fully
crystallized. I tried to be evasive, ‘It’s a long story and
you must be getting late.’
‘I always have time for stories. If
something is worrying you, it would be interesting.’
And I fell for it.
I told her the whole story of Ravi, his
mother and Dr Sharma.
She had a look of disbelief on her face,
‘What is the big deal! Lots of people donate kidneys. Liver
donation should be similar?’
‘Should be, but unfortunately it is not. In
liver transplantation, a donor may have a lot to worry about.
First, as you know, we have only one liver. Therefore, the
surgeon will have to carve out a baby liver out of that one by
cutting through it. Second, the liver is
criss-crossed by 4 sets of structures—arteries, veins, bile
ducts and portal veins. More often than not, the natural
course of these structures within the liver has variations.
Then there are problems associated with the cut surface of
liver. So, even the donor surgery is associated with
significant morbidity and even mortality. It is not usually
the case in kidney donation where one whole kidney can be
removed for transplantation.’
She looked genuinely surprised, ‘Oh I
didn’t realize that.’
I went on, ‘Actually no one is comfortable
with this morbidity and mortality, which though small may be
at least five-fold that of kidney transplantation.’1,2
She suddenly remembered something, ‘You
just said Dr Sharma didn’t let you explain the risks of
surgery. I feel both parents must have been in a state of
shock. In such a mental situation, do you think he is going in
for surgery without actually understanding real risks?’
‘Dr Sharma is a surgeon, who feels that he
has all the information he needs. It is not unusual that many
persons without any medical background may also behave in the
same manner if they have a strong desire to save their near
ones.’
She asked, ‘Do you think informed consent
is valid in such circumstances?’
I could expect nothing less from Rina. I
was regretting my decision to tell her the whole story.
I was more careful this time, ‘This is
actually an area of concern. Informed consent in this setting
is problematic because, in most cases, the decision to donate
has already been made before full information has been
provided, and is seldom withdrawn.’3
Her next question was innocent enough and I
thought she was asking for some information, ‘What is it that
you would want the donor to know before he signs on the dotted
line?’
‘Several things! For starters, a potential
donor must realize that:
-
Donor hepatectomy carries a risk of
death which may be >1%.4At least 19
donor deaths have been recorded in the western literature,5
and possibly 3 in India. Among survivors, there is a
significant (10%–55%) risk of biliary complications.6 Some authorities have gone on to suggest that there
may even be a risk of developing secondary biliary cirrhosis
in donors.7
-
Recovery from surgery may take up to 3
months.8
-
The success of living donor graft is
not always assured. Success in LDLT for FHF is poorer and
many centres are not performing adult-to-adult transplants
for this indication.8
-
Left lobe donations for paediatric
liver transplants are fairly safe, but right lobe donations
are associated with a very high risk of serious
complications in over one-third of donors.9,10
-
There is also a significant
psychological cost for the survivor in the unfortunate event
of either donor or recipient death.’11
She remarked, ‘I have also read a bit of immunology. I
believe that liver from the blood relative would
have higher chances of being accepted by the recipient. Isn’t
that so?’
‘Logically yes; unfortunately, the real
answer is no. Experience has shown that this logic does not
translate into better outcomes. First, relatives with
different blood group will not be suitable donors. And,
contrary to what you expect, there is a higher complication
rate with LDLT in comparison with cadaveric whole liver
transplantation.12 Usual problems are
early biliary leak, late biliary stricture, hepatic artery
thrombosis and sepsis.’5,13
I saw that the colour in Rina’s face was
now changing. ‘And you still feel you are justified in asking
an absolutely healthy asymptomatic person to donate liver?
Does your ethic allow you to put a perfectly healthy person to
so much risk? Don’t you feel hesitant before recommending this
procedure?’
I should have guessed that she was not
going to stop there. I started fumbling for an answer.
‘Rina, how much risk can be considered
acceptable in this setting is not clear at present. Even less
clear is whether the treating doctor, who is focused on the
treatment of recipient, is really competent enough to decide.’
I was now treading on very thin ice. ‘You
see, in this situation, there seems to be a bit of conflict
within the three accepted principles of medical ethics:
Autonomy, beneficence (doing good)/non-maleficence (not
causing harm) and justice (fairness of treatment for all
individuals).’
She candidly said, ‘I’m afraid I don’t
understand this!’
‘It is the right of the donor to choose
what may be a high-risk donation. In this situation a
surgeon may rule out potential
donors on the basis of their assessment of excessive clinical
risk, but most would prefer to go by universal thinking (read
international guidelines) on this subject, which, so far does
not exist. And the real catch in this situation is that a
donor determined to undertake a particularly risky donation
may not realistically comprehend risks or be in a state to
assess his or her own emotional competency, financial burden
or the impact on his or her
extended family!’8
‘Then how is the doctor supposed to decide
what is right?’
‘First, the doctor is supposed to explain
the limits of current knowledge; that is, statistics are
affected significantly by the short history of the procedure,
variety and changes in technique, and self-reporting bias. In
our case, I could not explain it to Dr Sharma to my
satisfaction as he had plenty of input from his hepatologist
friend in the USA. I sincerely hope the surgeon would follow a
copy-book approach while obtaining the informed consent.’
She was still prodding me, ‘What do you
mean by short history of the procedure?’
‘This procedure is barely a few years old
and still evolving. Living donors encounter known as well
unknown perils.’14
‘What exactly is meant by that?’
‘Living donations of liver lobes is still
considered an innovative procedure by many authorities and so
far we do not know everything about its impact on the
subsequent life of the donor.8 These
circumstances have been compared to testing a new drug in
healthy human volunteers, who agree to it solely on the basis
of altruism. In this situation, unexpected events can happen.
It is best shown by Ellen Roche’s story.’3
‘What is that story?’
‘Ellen Roche was one such volunteer who died while taking a
trial treatment for an asthma study in the USA. This event
stimulated new efforts for the protection of human subjects in
research; not only at Johns Hopkins where the event occurred,
but across that country.15 We sincerely
hope we don’t get any unpleasant surprises in living donation. Presently, a
7-year multicentre study is in progress to determine living
donor outcomes.’16
She was keenly following me, ‘You mean, at
the time of informed consent, the donor should be told that
the surgical procedure is new and not yet fully evaluated?’
‘Something like that. The doctor should
also explain his country’s and his centre’s data regarding
deaths, complications and most frequent patient complaints.’
‘And what are the Indian results like?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean—I don’t know? How can you
refer patients without knowing that?’
‘As far as I know, we do not have any
detailed publication in a peer-reviewed journal about liver
transplantation in India. We only know what surgeons tell us
in meetings.’
‘I cannot believe it!’
‘It’s true. There can be several reasons
for lack of publications. Initial results are often not as
good as those from established centres. In any case, no centre
has done enough transplants so far to have meaningful
publications. Doctors say they are so busy that they have no
time to publish their results! We have to live with the idea
that our knowledge is incomplete. You see, in India there is
no transplant or donor registry, and every hospital is free to
do what it likes. We are a true democracy!’
‘Then why have you referred your patient
there?’
‘Because I know the capability of the
surgeons involved. In Dr Sharma’s case, he made a bold choice
on the basis of what he heard from his friends. Do you think
he should be denied the right to opt for what he thinks is
"life-saving" surgery?’
‘Then why do you want to go into so many
details with the donor?’
‘You see, healthy individuals who have
never been seriously ill often underestimate the amount of
pain, fatigue and other disability they will experience after
major abdominal surgery. It has been reported that
postoperatively, they often report unexpected pain, a larger
surgical scar than anticipated, or delayed normal bowel
function.’17
Rina has a habit of catching you by the
throat, ‘What about the ethical principle that states "cause
no harm"?’
‘In organ donation, the obligation of non-maleficence
does not dictate that absolutely no harm may be done to the
patient, but allows for some degree of injury as long as there
is an intended benefit to another.8 The
procedure recommended must be reasonably successful both in
donor and the recipient.’
As if to justify what was being done in our
case, I added, ‘LDLT is considered to have also stood the test
of "justice", the third ethical principle. In western world,
where cadaveric transplant programmes exist, it augments the
number of patients that can be treated. In case of recipient
organ failure, recipients would be granted regional priority
for a cadaveric re-transplantation, which would lead to
cadaveric organs to be allocated out of turn.’8
‘What would happen in our country where no
cadaveric programmes exist?’
‘I guess it will be a disaster, but
fortunately such events are rare.’ I saw a car drive close to
us. Rina recognized it as her car and asked the driver to
wait.
‘Sir, one more question. Suppose, Dr Sharma
was found unsuitable as a donor and the mother was found
suitable instead. What would have been the status of your
"informed consent"? Would you have educated her about all
these strange sounding words for a lay person?’
‘That is a difficult one for me. In our case, Dr Sharma is
a medical doctor. If he said he understands
risks, one may accept it. But many Indian women see the world
through the prism of their husband’s opinion. For many, the
impulse to sacrifice one’s comfort or even life would be so
great that no amount of risk will deter them. We in India have
strong emotional bonds. Even extreme risk would be regarded as
acceptable, when you show them hope of saving the life of a
near one. Even our family pressures are such that many persons
would prefer dying rather than face the risk of living with
the guilt of not saving the husband or son when they could
have.’
‘It’s a Hobson’s choice for the donor! You
are in effect asking the donor to part with half of his liver
and face the risk of death or live with the guilt for rest of
his life!’ Her exclamation was followed by another
question. ‘What is your opinion? Can it be considered a
reasonable risk to take for the donor by any standards?’
‘People make decisions about future based
upon their emotional state at the current time.18
Fear of losing a loved one may lead to decisions that are not
entirely logical.19 Most decisions to
donate may be influenced by fear, preconceived notions and
perceived lack of choice. In one survey members of the lay
public were willing to accept mortality rates as high as 21%
in order to save the life of a loved one. Unacceptable by any
medical standards.’
She tapped her head with her index finger
and popped a totally unexpected question. ‘I vaguely remember
having read about some trouble over an LDLT in Hyderabad a few
years back. Did you also read that somewhere?’
I respected her for her ability to bring
out issues that were long forgotten. ‘I think, no doctor who
is related to this form of treatment would like to remember
that.’
‘What made it so unusual?’
‘That was the story of Mr A. V. Srinivas (av_srinu@yahoo.com)
and it was published along with a comment from the hospital
involved, in the Indian Journal of Medical Ethics.20
Mr Srinivas had an unfortunate experience with an LDLT in
relation to his father, who was suffering from cirrhosis of
liver. In this instance, Mr Srinivas’s mother was the
hesitant living donor, who agreed for donation because she
saw it as the only hope of survival for her husband. Surgery
was organized in a private hospital, was carried out by a
foreign surgeon from the UK. The foreign surgeon operated and
left for his country, leaving postoperative care in the hands
of local doctors. The outcome was disastrous. Mr Srinivas’s
father (the receipient) died and mother (the donor) was left
in a persistent vegetative state due to ischaemic brain
damage. The story underlines the bottom line that in an
attempt to save one life, two lives can be lost.’
‘Mr Srinivas must be shattered and
furious?’
‘That would be an understatement. He was
upset on several counts. He maintained that
-
the family was not told about the
difference in risk between an adult-to-child LDLT and
adult-to-adult LDLT.
-
surgery was done by a foreign surgeon
from the UK. At that time this surgeon was not permitted to
do an LDLT surgery in the UK under the National Health
Scheme.
-
the hospital initially promised that
donor care would be free. But subsequently, after a
complicated course, he was presented with a bill for Rs 4.5
million.’
‘My God, that’s terrible if it’s true.’
‘I agree. You can read full details on website even today.20 In western world, two widows of donors have challenged the
decision-making process for donor screening.21,22
All professionals are concerned about these issues23
and agree that potential donors should be protected from undue pressure to
donate but "how" is the question that has not been answered.’
‘What is preventing us from having a
cadaver donation programme?’
‘If it was easy, kidney transplant surgeons
would not be looking towards unrelated donor transplants.24
It is all a question of public attitude. We recently had a
patient who was awaiting kidney transplantation. He did not
have a suitable relative to donate kidneys and his relatives
used to crib every day about the lack of cadaver donation
programme in our country. They felt
that the doctors were not doing enough. Due to an unfortunate
complication, the patient developed massive intracerebral
haemorrhage and was declared brain-dead. When a coordinator
approached them to become an organ donor, they became angry
and refused it outright.’
‘Does that mean India cannot have cadaveric
donation programme?’
‘I never said that. I guess the main
road-blocks are ignorance among doctors as well the lay public
about this issue. There are several organizations, especially
in southern India, which are doing very good work in this
direction and have achieved reasonably good results.25,26
I think results are proportional to the effort that is put in,
and that means we have not yet invested enough time and energy
in this direction.’
‘One last question and then you are a free man. And I want
your frank opinion.’ She looked directly into my eyes as if
trying to judge the truthfulness of my answer.
‘In our setting, is consent for an
adult-to-adult LDLT really above board, when cadaveric liver
transplant programmes do
not exist?’
‘You are pushing me into a
back-to-the-wall-situation.’ I care-fully thought what my
answer should be. ‘An adult-to-adult LDLT involves complex
interplay of psychosocial and family dynamics. Potential
donor’s perceptions will entirely depend on surgeon’s
explanation. The ethical soundness of an LDLT, therefore, will
primarily depend on those who will deliver the service.’27
POSTSCRIPT
At the time of going to press both Ravi and
Dr Sharma were doing well over one month after surgery. The
first cadaver liver transplant at Army Hospital R&R was done
on 8 March 2007.
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