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FIRST, DO NO HARM

Below is the story a wonderful newsreporter did more in honor of the victims rather than focusing on bureaucracy and what actions should the hospitals, insurance companies, and the state take to weed out these doctors that do harm first and are not held accountable. Many stories were done before in Indiana on the local level in 1990 in the Indianapolis Star and News which won a pulizer prize and again in 1996 on television and still nothing was done until Lori Rollins took action with the Attorney General's Office where all malpractice suits are filed, but those stories weren't considered formal complaints. Back when I filed, I was told this would go down in the lawbooks and the Attorney General would consider this good enough as a formal complaint..well, the laws were different then than they are today, plus a great Attorney General helps!!! I have waited years for my voice to be heard (as it was ignored time and again) since the system failed me. When I filed my complaint 10 years ago, I wanted his license then, but was told they were only there to compensate me for my loss, not put a doctor out of practice. Again, my voice was not heard and I told them if this one isn't, more will suffer. My nightmare came true and it took several more lives broken, changed or taken by this one doctor to open the eyes of the one that held this one's license. I hope now that us victims are no longer looked upon as money hungry or complainers when something like this happens. I must say those that are greedy and out for all they can get sure make it harder for those of us who only wanted justice so our loved ones do not die in vain. (No amount of money could ever compensate for the life of an innocent human being)! I hope you can follow the story below (just read as if you were reading a newspaper)

First, do no harm:

Obstetrician Robert Morgan says he is ahead of his time, but colleagues have long questioned his methods. Despite a history of malpractice, only now does his career hinge on a canon of medicine:

By RICHARD D. WALTON; STAFF WRITER

Dr. Robert Morgan proudly stood apart from other Indianapolis obstetricians.
His medical creed: Less is better.

Published:
Sunday, June 27, 1999
THE INDIANAPOLIS STAR
So Morgan kept his Caesarean section rate low and his pain medication orders to a minimum.

Like other physicians, Morgan laid newborns on their moms' abdomens' right after delivery, a practice meant to soothe mother and child.

But nurses worried that some of those babies appeared to be fighting for their lives. The nurses thought the infants needed resuscitating.

There were other signs of trouble, too. Malpractice claims against Morgan mounted. Community Hospitals Indianapolis sanctioned him, monitored his cases.

But Morgan, a big producer for Community, kept practicing.

Consider that:

During Morgan's 28 years in medicine, malpractice complaints have been filed against him 23 times. That's 10 times the career average for claims against OB-GYNs, according to a recent survey by the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.

Physician review panels found that in six cases, Morgan breached the generally accepted standard of care.

A state malpractice compensation fund has paid $1.8 million to his former patients.

Seven malpractice claims are pending.

Also pending is a complaint against Morgan by the Indiana attorney general. It accuses the 54-year-old obstetrician-gynecologist of misusing a drug to advance women's contractions; failing to adequately monitor fetal well-being; not properly treating distressed newborns; and refusing pain medication for nearly an hour to a woman in labor who was begging for relief.

Filed with the Medical Licensing Board of Indiana, which could revoke Morgan's license, the complaint alleges links between Morgan and the deaths of two infants.

In addition, written consumer complaints to the state allege that Morgan gave poor prenatal care ending in the deaths of two premature babies.

The attorney general's office chose not to include those allegations, filed by Rebecca Garvin of Franklin and Myrna Hurless of Indianapolis, in its complaint. But a state investigator said one or both women might be called to testify at Morgan's licensing board hearing later this summer.

Excluding deaths, state records link Morgan to the inadequate care or injury of eight infants and to the injuries of at least five women.

Attorney General Jeffrey Modisett said in his complaint that Morgan "has demonstrated a pattern of behavior throughout his career that indicates mental impairment and brings into question his medical judgment."

Morgan, in his first lengthy interview answering allegations against him, vigorously denied acts of negligence. He also defended his mental and professional competence and bemoaned a litigation-wary Indianapolis medical culture that he suggests is focused almost as much on lawsuits as on patients.

The Nebraska native also sees himself as a victim of misguided or temperamental former patients, greedy plaintiffs' lawyers and a sensationalistic press he says has made him a target for "absolutely obnoxious" malpractice claims.

Morgan says a high-volume practice naturally results in more problems. He says he practices medicine differently from every other local obstetrician, but defiantly adds: "My outcomes are as good or better."

That is no comfort to Diane Bailey of Westfield, whose teen-age son must live with a deformed, partially paralyzed right arm, at least partly due to Morgan's negligence.
Nor do Morgan's words ease the pain of Robert Rollins Jr. and his wife, Lori.

Their son, Robbie, was born comatose, deaf and blind, and later died, after a Morgan delivery in December 1997.

It was a complaint against Morgan by the Rollineses that triggered the attorney general's action. In a separate, pending malpractice claim, the Indianapolis couple also cite Community Hospital East.

They accuse the hospital of negligence in allowing Morgan the right to practice there.

Lori Rollins wants to know what Community's standards are.

"Do they have any?" she asks.
Officials at Community Hospitals Indianapolis - Community East's corporate parent - declined to be interviewed, citing the pending state licensure hearing, internal reviews and patient confidentiality.

In written statements, though, Community said it follows national standards for ensuring physician qualifications and quality care.

The hospitals said Morgan's obstetric privileges were suspended in March 1998 and that he has delivered no babies at Community facilities since. While acknowledging that Morgan remains authorized to perform gynecological procedures, Community said he has performed none at the hospitals in more than six months.

Morgan is appealing his suspension, the hospitals said, adding that the process takes time.

In all matters, Community said, "we have taken appropriate actions."

A question of risks:

Early in his career, Dr. Robert J. Morgan learned a hard lesson.

Treating a laboring woman with a breech baby, Morgan rushed to perform a Caesarean section.

The mother almost died, he said.

From that near-tragedy, the Indiana University School of Medicine graduate became wary of risky medical interventions.

He also resolved not to overreact just because tests looked bad.

Morgan, refusing to jump at "every squiggle" on a printout from an electronic fetal monitor, kept his cool - and his C-section rate down. At 6.7 percent, Morgan's career rate is a third of the latest national annual average.

But Morgan's accusers say he took low intervention too far, disdaining practices and procedures widely accepted in the medical community. Consider these comments from his interview with The Indianapolis Star and from a deposition he gave state investigators:

On prescribing pain medication to women in labor: "I need to know more than just the patient is being uncomfortable again."

On computers predicting birth weight, a factor in delivery risk: "There's no way to anticipate what the size of the baby is going to be."

On internal electronic fetal monitoring: "I consider sticking a screw into the baby's head as an invasion of their primary defense for infection, and I try not to do it."

He added: "I feel like I don't have to do it."

Therein lies the problem, some peers and malpractice lawyers say: In Robert Morgan's world, he is nearly always right. And he does not need a lot of tests to confirm it.

Indianapolis attorney Marshall Hanley, who has pressed malpractice claims against the physician, observes that Morgan "does not seem to have the same worries that the rest of the practitioners of this art have."

And, Hanley adds, he seems to have less regard for procedures highly regarded "by most everybody else."

Certainly highly applied.

Electronic monitoring, for example, is routinely used in U.S. hospitals to track fetuses' heart rates for signs of distress, despite the fact that its readings sometimes can mislead.

Notes Dr. Frederick B. Stehman, the IU medical school's chairman of obstetrics and gynecology: "We've all had the experience of doing a Caesarean section because the monitoring strip looked bad, and pulling out a perfectly healthy baby."

A C-section poses more risk to the mother than a vaginal birth. But worse to most obstetricians is the danger of doing nothing - and letting a baby get in trouble.

Says Stehman, "Physicians would rather monitor too many babies than not enough; to do too many C-sections than too few."

Adds Modisett, "Isn't the first rule (of medicine) to do no harm?" He calls it grotesque for Morgan even to suggest that his troubles stem from some alternative medical philosophy.

What the doctor has demonstrated, the attorney general says, is medical arrogance.

He calls the cases in the complaint against Morgan tragedies - ones that could have been avoided.
Unheard "cries" for help:

Joni Anderson entered Community East in October 1989 to have her second child. Doctors had taken her first by C-section after the fetus struggled.

This time, Anderson opted for a vaginal birth.

For decades, the established medical view was that once a woman had a C-section, she would require one for every subsequent birth. But the vaginal birth after Caesarean - the VBAC - emerged as an alternative to surgery.

Morgan, in his state deposition, said he began performing VBACs years before they were medically accepted. "And I wouldn't hesitate to tell you that I have done more VBAC deliveries in the state of Indiana than any other physician. Now if that makes me an authority . . . I'm an authority."

But at least a quarter of all attempted VBACs end in C-sections. So hospitals commonly expect the doctor to be at the facility or readily available throughout the active labor.

Also, while some obstetricians see no harm, most will not risk a VBAC if the baby is expected to weigh 10 pounds or more.

At just 8 pounds, 1 ounce, Anderson's first baby proved so difficult to deliver that her former doctor warned her: If your next child is bigger, forget about a vaginal birth. So, when a test in 1989 raised the possibility of a large baby, Anderson expressed fears to Morgan.

She says he dismissed them.

Don't go crazy, he said.

During Anderson's labor at Community East, Morgan started her on a drug called Pitocin that increases contractions.

In his deposition, Morgan decried the risks of aggressive intervention. In medicine, he said, "less is better."

Yet with Pitocin, Morgan acknowledged that he sometimes used higher-than-normal doses. There is no right or wrong amount, he said, just "whatever it takes" to establish a good labor pattern.

But experts warn that use of the powerful drug must be monitored closely. If the uterus is overstimulated, contractions can come too close together - depriving the fetus of oxygen-carrying blood.

In fact, monitoring of Anderson's fetus showed its heart rate was not recovering adequately after each contraction, recalls Anderson's attorney, Deborah Pennington.

The baby, Pennington says, was "crying out" for help.

But Morgan was not at the hospital to hear it, she says.

Notified by nurses over the phone, Morgan did not come in, Pennington says; he just ordered an increase in the dosage of Pitocin.

Hours into Anderson's painful ordeal, Morgan did appear. Through a nurse, Anderson says, she urgently declared that she now wanted a C-section.

Anderson says Morgan replied: "Are we being a chicken or what?"

Morgan, declaring, "Let's get this show on the road," momentarily cranked the Pitocin sky-high, Anderson says. "My whole back just cracked," she recalls.

With forceps, Morgan vaginally delivered Kyle Matthew Anderson.

She says the baby was blue.

He weighed 8 pounds, 8 ounces, with an extremely large head - too large, Pennington says, to fit through his mother's pelvis.

Morgan admits he had considered Anderson's pelvis borderline for a VBAC. But he says Anderson wanted to try anyway. He says he offered her a C-section during her labor, but she refused. Anderson vehemently denies that.

Morgan also says a test right after delivery revealed no damage to the infant. But he says another test, taken 20 minutes later, showed the baby severely oxygen-deprived. Insists Morgan, "Something happened between the time the baby was born and the time (he) was seen in the nursery."

But a malpractice review panel unanimously found Morgan's conduct wanting.

Three physicians ruled that both he and Community Hospitals failed to meet the appropriate standard of care.

While those doctors could not say whether the conduct caused the newborn's injuries, the case was among nine incidents of improper care alleged in the attorney general's complaint.

Seizures plagued brain-damaged Kyle Anderson's short, tragic life.

Said his mother: "He survived - I wouldn't say `lived' - four months in pure agony."

(The test the doctor is referring to with me was this doctor's only evidence to help him..the test not only was missing my baby's name, but the numbers were somewhat tampered with as was claimed in my lawsuit. I am the person holding my son, Kyle above.)

A record of concern:

The Anderson birth was hardly the first time that Community Hospitals officials had cause to doubt Morgan's care.

In 1986, Community put Morgan on a year's probation and ordered a review of his obstetrical and gynecological cases after he refused to respond to nurses' complaints about "medical management of specific cases."

In addition, hospital records show, concern was expressed about Morgan's "adherence to guidelines and policies" of the obstetrics and gynecology department. Also questioned was the physician's manner of communicating with the nursing staff.

Further, from 1988 to 1990, Morgan had "significant quality of care issues."

Morgan, in his state deposition, confirmed that Community Hospitals officials long were uncomfortable with his medical approach.

He complained that they had scrutinized him since the 1980s.

"They had a magnifying glass out," he said.

Morgan's patients, though, would never know it.

All the hospitals' review proceedings were, as the law provides, held in private.

Publicly, Community presented Morgan as a doctor in good standing.

In March 1990 - less than two months after Kyle Anderson's death - Community included Morgan's name among hundreds of staff physicians in a newspaper advertisement marking National Doctors Day.

The headline: "How to recognize a good physician when you see one."

Three months later, The Indianapolis Star published a Pulitzer Prize-winning series exposing flaws in the state's system for disciplining negligent doctors. The second day of the series led with the case of Cynthia Farrar.

Farrar and her husband had obtained a malpractice settlement against Morgan, who they said failed to perform a routine rectal exam on her when she went to him in 1983 with complaints of rectal bleeding. Another doctor later diagnosed cancer.

Cynthia Farrar had to have a permanent colostomy; radiation treatments left her sterile.

Morgan earlier had lost another malpractice case, The Star reported.

It was shocking news to Rebecca and Douglas Garvin.

A week earlier, they had buried their fourth child.

Going for a run

Rebecca Garvin's pregnancy defined high-risk. She had lost twin sons to prematurity and a third child to miscarriage.

Morgan, though not Garvin's regular physician, was on call the night in April 1990 when she had pain.

Over the phone, Garvin related her tragic past and symptoms. She recalls that Morgan seemed unconcerned and prescribed no medication.

The next day - hemorrhaging - Garvin went to Community East. There, Morgan examined her to determine whether she was dilated. She wasn't. Garvin says he told her that she was one of the reasons insurance rates were rising and sent her home.

Another physician subsequently ordered a test to determine the cause of the bleeding, then put Garvin on bed rest. But two months later, Garvin, who had a history of rapid labor, began having contractions.

Now in danger of giving birth just 22 weeks into her pregnancy, Garvin asked for any physician but Morgan. But again, only he was available.

Garvin says she was at the hospital at least three hours before Morgan arrived.

This time, he ordered tests.

Then, Garvin says, Morgan announced that he was going for a run. "I'll be back later," he said.

Morgan's casual attitude distressed Garvin and her husband.

"We were fighting for our daughter's life," Rebecca Garvin said.

After returning, Morgan gave Garvin drugs to suppress her contractions, then transferred her to another hospital. But by then, Garvin had begun to dilate.

Dark-haired Nicole Linden Garvin, weighing a pound, died in her parents' arms.

Morgan insists that he gave Garvin the "national standard of care." But he acknowledges that while awaiting an ultrasound, he did go for a stress-reducing run.

"She was one of those cases who was just difficult. . . . And I ran from the hospital and then ran back," he said. Morgan added dryly, "I could have sat in the doctors' lounge."

The Garvins' baby was so premature that her chances of survival were poor.

Could the pregnancy have been extended, and Nicole's chances for survival improved, had Morgan taken her mother's complaints more seriously?

The Garvins admit they don't know.

But at least, Douglas Garvin said, she would have had "a fighting chance."

A mother's questions

Myrna Hurless says Morgan didn't take seriously her complaints of bleeding, either.

During her troubled 1993 pregnancy, Morgan allegedly told the 17-year-old mother of one that she was too young to have two kids anyway. Another time, the waitress asked Morgan whether she should be on bed rest. "No," Hurless says Morgan replied. "You'll get fat and lazy."

Hurless delivered an 11-ounce son, 3 1/2 months early. The infant lived 48 minutes.

Morgan, who was not present for the delivery, denies poor prenatal care and says he never made snide comments to Hurless. Distraught people, he observes, sometimes get such "things" in their heads.

But in her complaint to the state, Hurless blamed Morgan for her devastated life.

"Now my son was dead," she wrote, "and I had a doctor who didn't care."

A doctor's defense:

To Robert Morgan, all this talk about individual cases misses the larger point: On average, he says, his patients have faired better than those of other local physicians. And, he added, his number of "surgical interventions" was the lowest around.

"You're looking at little bitty case incidents that are major to these people," Morgan told a reporter. "Where you're losing sight is that medicine needs to change. It needs to reduce costs. (And) it needs to keep good outcomes."

Morgan says he has delivered more than 3,000 babies, but that critics unfairly dwell on a relatively few bad results.

Among medical specialties, obstetrics-gynecology ranks high for the number of malpractice claims. Nationally, almost three-quarters of obstetrician-gynecologists have been accused of negligence at least once; nearly a quarter have had four claims or more.

Of the 33 malpractice claims filed against Morgan, 10 have been dropped or resolved in his favor.

In other cases, Morgan says, he agreed to settle malpractice complaints rather than point an incriminating finger at co-defendants.

Morgan also says that in an act of conscience, he once warned his patients about a clip he had used in surgeries that he later determined was faulty. When some patients turned around and sued him, his malpractice insurer refused to renew his coverage, he says.

Morgan's next insurer also refused to renew. Again, the physician says, it was related to his malpractice claims.

Morgan feels picked on by Community Hospitals, too.

He says officials, for example, questioned why he didn't call a resuscitation team more often. And Community urged him to be more generous in dispensing epidurals to laboring women in pain.

But Morgan says he felt better able than most to care for distressed newborns.

And he maintains that it should be the doctor's call - not the woman's - whether medications are used. Epidurals, he says, can interfere with labor, adding that he needs the patient's cooperation to push. "I can't have her paralyzed," he says.

Morgan is derisive about "defensive medicine" - doing procedures partly to guard against negligent complaints.

"One of the real problems has been that doctors have to worry about being sued, and . . . I tend not to practice that way," he said in his state deposition.

"Unfortunately, I'm being reviewed by people who practice that way, and I'm being critiqued by a hospital which is very sensitive to adverse publicity."

Morgan says he was even told, "You can't be different."

Dollars and deference:

Yet through it all - rising malpractice claims, nurses' incident reports, internal hospital scrutiny - Morgan kept working.

And Community Hospitals continued to market him.

Until 3 1/2 years ago, when the hospitals removed him from the service, Morgan remained on Community's telephone physician-referral line.

To Lori Rollins' malpractice attorney, Bruce Kehoe, the reason for Community's deference toward Morgan is clear.

"It's money," he said. "Deliveries going through the door."

Morgan boasts that he once had "by far" the largest obstetrical practice in Marion County. And he says he brought in up to 300 deliveries per year for Community.

He says he was for years Community's top-producing obstetrician, "if you want to look at medicine in those terms, and I assure you that hospitals do."

But Morgan says the hospitals soured on him when patients' complaints appeared in news stories.

Community Hospitals rejects suggestions that either fear of bad publicity or Morgan's big practice affected its actions toward the physician. A doctor's qualifications to be on staff are judged by panels of other private physicians who do not benefit from the success of that doctor's practice, the hospitals say.

And while not disputing Morgan's contention that he was a high-volume obstetrician, the hospitals add: "This was many years in the past."

The scrutiny grows:

Morgan's practice began to unravel in 1995.

Care that he rendered to three patients would trigger more malpractice claims. And there were additional incidents, publicly revealed for the first time in the attorney general's complaint.

Morgan, the complaint said, failed to properly resuscitate or treat three struggling newborns.

In December 1995, Community East took action to deny renewal of Morgan's obstetrical privileges and ordered him to undergo a physician-assessment program in Colorado.

But months later, Community reappointed him with conditions.

Morgan had to obtain a physician adviser to discuss his cases, and rectify deficiencies in his patient charts.

Community also ordered Morgan evaluated for disruptive behavior.

Morgan reduced some of his pregnant patients to tears when he scolded them about weight gain or did not answer their questions. His demanding manner also intimidated some nurses.

One former patient who sued Morgan for malpractice, Kimberly Cole, says her nurses at Community East seemed "scared to death of him."

Some made unsettling comments about Morgan.

"Listen," one nurse told Cole and her husband, "you don't know this doctor."

Particularly concerning to some nurses was Morgan's habit of laying newborns on their mothers' abdomens after delivery. Morgan says the technique warms the babies and bonds them with their mothers.

He contends that concerns arose when nurses at Community North jumped to the wrong conclusion that some unresponsive babies needed urgent treatment.

Morgan says newborns sometimes look worse than they are. They don't need resuscitation, he says, just a bit of stimulation. After that, he says, it is perfectly safe to give the baby to Mom.

Morgan rejects the "disruptive" charge as a "tag" that a Community Hospitals administrator hung on him.

And he asks sardonically how he could have had such a large, thriving practice if everyone hated him.

Morgan certainly has defenders:

Beth Bowles of Indianapolis credits the physician's quick action with saving her oldest child's life. Her son Chris was born with a hole in his lung and could not breathe. So Morgan "immediately went to work on the baby," Bowles said. Chris today is a normal, healthy 9-year-old.

Nancie Hicks of Cumberland recalls how Morgan, as she was going under anesthetic for a surgery, held her hand and comforted her.

And Elizabeth Abbott of Indianapolis recounts how during one hospital attempt at labor, Morgan let her remove a scratchy fetal monitor strip from her abdomen so she could sleep.

Abbott calls it a "shame" that such a caring doctor isn't still delivering babies.

Community Hospitals officials privately judged Morgan's clinical skills "of acceptable quality." They concluded that some of the malpractice claims and other complaints may arise from "Dr. Morgan's aggressive, self-proclaimed `ahead of his time' and nonconventional approach to the practice of medicine."

Also: "Dr. Morgan's narcissistic and defensive personality, and his poor documentation of (patient) histories" might explain the large number of complaints.

In April 1996, Community Hospitals officials had one more worry.

They fretted about whether Morgan's medical judgment was clouded by his "strong desire to minimize the number of C-sections that he performs."
Another baby dies:

When Morgan saw Lori Rollins in 1997, he bragged about his low C-section rate.

And when the expectant mother said she suffered nerve damage while delivering her first child and had her second by Caesarean, Morgan told her flatly that the C-section had been unnecessary.

Anxious to avoid more surgery, Rollins this time agreed to a vaginal birth.

There was every indication that the baby would be healthy. But hours into Rollins' labor at Community East, her uterus ruptured, expelling her unborn child into her abdomen.

Again - as with Joni Anderson eight years earlier - Morgan had the patient on Pitocin.

And again, he was not at the hospital to monitor her.

Morgan arrived to perform an emergency C-section.

Comatose, the newborn weighed 10 pounds, 11 ounces - outside the generally accepted 10-pound weight limit for a vaginal birth after Caesarean.

For years, Morgan had put little credence in prenatal projections of babies' weights. And in fact, ultrasound estimates can be off by as much as 15 percent.

But other doctors say the imprecision is all the more reason to be cautious when considering whether a women should have a VBAC.

All VBACs carry a slight, increased risk of uterine rupture.

Rollins says she never was warned of the danger, a charge Morgan denies.

Robert James Rollins III, deaf and blind, suffered seizures and had to be fed through a tube. Two and a half months after his birth, to the cries of "Baby Obbie, Baby Obbie!" from his 2-year-old sister, Robbie died at home in his crib.

Morgan, in his state deposition and his interview with The Star, denied all wrongdoing.

He says he got to Community East and was "ready to operate" less than 10 minutes after being alerted to the problem. But he contends he was prevented from operating immediately. Rollins, he says, was medically unstable and not "anesthetically ready."

At first, Rollins thought it all was a tragic mistake.

But then she sought treatment for an illness at a Community Hospitals MedCheck clinic, where, she says, a doctor looked at her baby and informed her that Morgan had been investigated and sued many times. Later, Rollins says, a Community East office worker told her that Morgan was trouble.

So well-known were Morgan's practices and problems to some local obstetricians that when questioned by Bruce Kehoe, Rollins' malpractice attorney, they quickly surmised who the defendant was. Kehoe says the doctors responded, "You don't even have to tell me any more."

It horrifies Lori Rollins that so many people knew about Morgan.

And did so little to stop him.

Day of reckoning:

On March 17, 1998, Kehoe filed a complaint against Morgan with the attorney general's consumer protection division.

The letter, also sent to state and local medical groups and the Indiana Health Professions Bureau, expressed the Rollineses' outrage at learning of Morgan's long malpractice past, and their alarm about the lack of decisive action by agencies paid to protect the public.

Ten days later - 17 years after Morgan committed his first documented act of negligence - Community Hospitals officials wrote Morgan that they had summarily suspended his staff privileges.

Among the reasons given: failure to comply with requirements regarding his physician adviser.

Morgan and Community disagree over the status of the suspension. The matter is under appeal.

But regardless of the outcome of that proceeding or of his upcoming state medical board hearing, Morgan feels the end of his career is near.

He sees no future in either practicing or teaching.

He says this ordeal has caused him to seek treatment for depression and contributed to the breakup of his marriage. Bills are depleting his retirement savings.

Other regrets? Morgan cites one: "I had a belief . . . that if you do what's right that you will be vindicated."

But now Morgan must fight just to keep his license.

At his disciplinary hearing, he will face his accusers: angry, heartbroken women who say they put their trust - and young lives - in the wrong physician's hands.

Checking doctors:

To find out whether your doctor has had malpractice claims, call the Indiana Department of Insurance at (317) 232-2401 or 2402.

Here is part of the news article with the victims pictures whom are mentioned above:

Please read my story about what this doctor put me, my son and my family through!!!