In retrospect — always in retrospect — it should have been obvious that, when it came to Dr. Charles Denham, something was not quite right.
In a remarkable number of cases of medical errors, it’s clear — again, in retrospect — that there were signs that something was amiss, but they were ignored. The reasons are manifold: I was just too busy, things are always glitchy around here, I didn’t want to be branded a troublemaker by speaking up…. Part of the work of patient safety has been to alert us to this risk, to get us to trust our internal “spidey-sense .” When something seems wrong, we tell front-line clinicians, speak up!
It’s fitting, then, that the first major scandal in the world of patient safety has a similar subtext. The scandal  involves a $40 million fine levied by the Department of Justice against a company called CareFusion. The company allegedly paid Denham more than $11 million in an effort to influence the deliberations of a “safe practices” committee of the National Quality Forum co-chaired by Denham. While I was shocked to hear this news, in retrospect there were so many unusual things about the career of Chuck Denham that alarm bells could have, okay, should have, gone off — for many people who knew him, including me. But they didn’t.
Let me say at the outset that while some people feel strongly that leaders in safety and quality should have absolutely no ties with industry, I am not one of them. I serve on a corporate board (of IPC , the largest hospitalist staffing company in the US) and advise several companies working on various safety fixes, mostly technologies. I find this work interesting, enlightening, and fulfilling, and I am compensated for my time and expertise. I report all of these activities to my university and other organizations, and recuse myself from any decision that might possibly relate to one of these companies or their products, or potentially be perceived that way (a fuller description and a list of the companies is here ).
Returning to the CareFusion/Denham affair, I first met Chuck Denham about 10 years ago, when he asked me to participate in a session that he was organizing for the National Patient Safety Foundation’s  annual conference. The NPSF runs on a shoestring, yet I recall this session as being lavishly staged, our speeches accompanied by a video with Hollywood-like “production values.” I remember asking myself: Where did this person come from? And, more pointedly, where did his resources come from? I looked him up and learned that he ran an organization, called the Texas Medical Institute of Technology . I found precious little information about the Austin-based institute’s structure, staff, or history on the web, and Denham himself was based in Southern California. It all seemed a bit unusual, but not enough so to set off any alarms.
Over the next several years, I ran into Chuck at half a dozen safety meetings. I always found him enthusiastic, cordial, and highly (perhaps too highly?) complimentary of my work. He asked me to do a few things, including speaking in a couple of webinars staged by TMIT. These were quality events, well produced, and they gave me no reason to question his effectiveness or his motives.
In a remarkable number of cases of medical errors, it’s clear — again, in retrospect — that there were signs that something was amiss, but they were ignored. The reasons are manifold: I was just too busy, things are always glitchy around here, I didn’t want to be branded a troublemaker by speaking up…. Part of the work of patient safety has been to alert us to this risk, to get us to trust our internal “spidey-sense..."