Thursday, May 22, 2003 | 11:07 a.m.
When the University Medical Center Trauma Center closed its doors last July in the wake of the medical malpractice crisis, Metro Police officer Enrique Hernandez told his wife, Leean, "I better not get shot today."
Relatively new to the area, the 27-year-old former Marine and rookie cop didn't even know where the trauma center was, but its reputation as one of the busiest in the nation made him and fellow police officers well aware of its need in Southern Nevada and surrounding states.
On Dec. 11, Hernandez learned the location of the center when he was dispatched there to serve as a translator for another officer who had a Spanish-speaking arrestee at the center. The next day Hernandez became a patient at the center after he was shot six times by a man he had chased into a building east of downtown.
Nevada Highway Patrol Trooper Bobby Kintzel, who was struck by a speeding sport utility vehicle in April 2001, visited the fallen Hernandez in the same unit where he had spent several months recovering from life-threatening injuries.
On Wednesday, Kintzel and Hernandez, who have both returned to light duty for their respective law enforcement agencies, were at UMC for the seventh annual Trauma Survivor Luncheon to thank the doctors, nurses and others who saved their lives. The event is held as part of Trauma Awareness Month activities.
For the center's staff, the day of the survivor luncheon "is our happiest day to come to work," Dr. John Fildes, the center's director, said.
Kintzel said it was a much happier day for him than his time as a patient.
"I came in with a 2 percent chance to live, which means I was going to die," he said. "I had five serious injuries and brain damage. Two years later, look at me now.
"This is the best trauma center in the nation. Without it I'd be six feet under a sign that reads 'Rest in Peace.' "
Cynthia Robinson had similar praise for the center. After she was in an Aug. 9 auto accident she "was given zero chance to live" because her "aorta had been ripped," she said.
"I should have bled to death. This place saved my life," she told the staff Tuesday.
Hernandez, Kintzel and Robinson are among the many whose lives have been saved at the trauma center. It is third-busiest among 67 surveyed nationwide in 2002 by the Chicago-based American College of Surgeons' National Trauma Data Bank. The center's 11,439 patients in 2001 had a 95 percent survival rate.
Because it is a Level 1 trauma center, it is required to maintain round-the-clock staffing, and while it was closed for 10 days last summer about 100 seriously injured people had to be sent to other hospitals, Fildes said.
The state's medical malpractice crisis took root in December 2001, when the largest medical malpractice insurance carrier in Nevada, the St. Paul Insurance Companies of Minnesota, pulled out of the market.
In April 2002, Gov. Kenny Guinn created a state-underwritten insurance fund to help surgeons, baby doctors and other physicians facing skyrocketing insurance premiums, but some doctors still could not find reasonable rates, forcing the trauma center to close amid staffing shortfalls. It reopened after a special legislative session was set to address the issue.
"Today we are operating with about 15 percent less staff," Fildes said. "But the doctors, nurses and others who have remained are committed to providing the same level of care. Their work is extraordinary."
Leean Hernandez said it goes beyond just medical care for patients.
The center's staff got Leean in to see her husband the day he was shot and they provided counseling about what to expect. She said that enabled her to accept that her husband had suffered life-threatening injuries and helped her begin to assist his healing process.
"The trauma nurses really prepared me well for what to expect not only at the hospital but also for when he came home," she said. "A person doesn't heal right away. It is a long process."
Hernandez still does not have full use of his right arm which is wrapped in a device that keeps it immobile. He goes to physical therapy five days a week and hopes to be back on full duty within a year.
Tana Wisniewski, a registered nurse and clinical manager at the trauma center, said sometimes it is more difficult addressing the concerns of the family than the horrific injuries of the patients.
"To avoid getting emotionally involved we initially treat the injuries and not the person," she said. "But then when you visit with the family and they show you photos of how the victim looked before the incident it can break your heart.
"I had to tell Bobby's wife that based on similar accidents he was not going to survive. I am so happy he proved me wrong. We have a job to do, and the focus of that job is to get them healthy and out of here so they can get home to their families."
In Hernandez's case, he was unconscious for six days while the community watched, gave blood and waited intently. But the trauma center was able to send him home two days before Christmas to Leean and their infant daughter.
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