Latest news with #UniversityofToledoMedicalCenter
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
Woman unable to walk, sues hospital after surgeon operated on the wrong knee
A woman is suing her surgeon and the hospital that left her unable to walk or play with her children after they operated on the wrong leg. [DOWNLOAD: Free WHIO-TV News app for alerts as news breaks] Talia Foster, 33, of Toledo, is suing the University of Toledo Medical Center (UTMC) and the orthopedic surgeon that operated on the wrong knee in 2023, according to our CBS-affiliate WTOL in Toledo. Instead of operating on her injured left knee for what was supposed to be a routine ACL repair, Dr. David Sohn removed a healthy tendon from her right leg. TRENDING STORIES: Argument leads to deadly shooting in Fairborn, police say Former school staffer who pleaded guilty to sexual relationship with student sentenced to prison 6-year-old hit, killed by car in Harrison Township 'He never marked the right leg. It was just never discussed,' Foster said. Her surgeon confirmed the error in Foster's medical records: 'After harvesting the first of two hamstring tendons, I was notified that we had started operating on the incorrect knee. We stopped surgery and contacted patient's family (mother). I explained our error and asked whether she wished for me to proceed. She said yes.' Her mother, Barbara Foster, said she remembers the phone call with Dr. Sohn during the surgery. 'I'm still in shock like, 'Wait a minute.' He said, 'Well, since we already have this tendon out, should I go ahead and do the left knee?' He said, 'I don't want to waste the tendon,'' her mother said to WTOL. Our CBS affiliate, WTOL, cited the National Institutes of Health policy on wrong-site surgeries, stating they are rare but preventable through communication and compliance with surgical protocols. The Joint Commission has recommended a 'Universal Protocol,' since 2003 that requires site marking while the patient is awake and a two-minute 'time out' before surgery to confirm the procedure, site, and patient identity, as reported by WTOL. Foster's left knee, the one she was supposed to get surgery on initially, was visibly marked with the surgeon's initials. Foster said the hospital itself didn't realize the mistake initially, and it remains unclear how her right knee became the surgical target, according to WTOL. Foster said her doctors have told her the ACL surgery on her left knee was a failure, and she now suffers nerve pain in her right leg. She has sought treatment with new doctors to manage her ongoing pain, but it's just a temporary solution to try to ease 'the constant burning and pain,' she said to WTOL. Foster said she can no longer work after a decade of service as an employee at Stellantis. She's on disability and said she is unable to care for or play with her two-year-old and eight-year-old children. 'She said she'd rather cut her legs off. What good is having something when you don't have any stability in them? You're falling downstairs, you can't carry your kid. Who wants to live like that?' Foster's mother said. According to her doctors, Foster will need a full knee replacement on her left leg, and her right leg may never fully recover. 'Just being able to run with my kids, that's my best hope. Being able to have the stability I had before this. But it's hard to have that type of hope,' Foster said. Neither UTMC nor Dr. Sohn has commented, citing the pending litigation, according to WTOL. [SIGN UP: WHIO-TV Daily Headlines Newsletter]
Yahoo
12-04-2025
- Science
- Yahoo
Opinion - The science speaks for itself — but it needs an amplifier to be heard
A few years ago, I had a chance to bring Bill Nye into a story about the Great Lakes. He was running the Planetary Society — Carl Sagan's old post — and had millions of science-hungry followers. My pitch was simple: connect the public's fascination with space to the mysteries of Earth's own unexplored frontiers — deep freshwater sinkholes in Lake Huron, ancient ecosystems, and the links to alien oceans like those on Jupiter's moon Europa. It was a ready-made narrative bridge, and Bill was in. This wasn't hypothetical. I had direct contact with Bill's second-in-command. He was confirmed as interested. I brought the proposal to the head of communications at my office within NOAA. There was interest there too. But then, everything stopped. No call. No email. No follow-up. The moment passed. That missed opportunity wasn't just frustrating. It was emblematic of a larger, systemic failure in science: a persistent reluctance to prioritize communication, even when the cost is high and the stakes are clear. Today, scientists are losing jobs. Programs are vanishing. Budgets are being stripped to the bone. This isn't happening because the science is flawed. It's happening because science has failed to bring the public along. In the absence of clear narratives, bad ones take root. And as a filmmaker who works at the intersection of research and public awareness, I've seen what happens when the story isn't told. But I've also seen what happens when it is told, and told well. My film, 'The Erie Situation,' explored the causes and consequences of harmful algal blooms in Lake Erie — complex problems shaped by policy, pollution and power. In one scene, we featured a local man who frequently fell ill after spending time on the lake. That moment of human experience helped shift perception of the issue. And more than that, it shifted the course of actual research. The University of Toledo Medical Center credits the film — and their interaction with our crew — as the inspiration for launching a community health study on the long-term effects of harmful algal blooms. That same man is now part of the study. That's the power of storytelling when it's done right. Stories like this make science visible. They give people a reason to care. My friend Eddie Verhamme, a former president of the International Association for Great Lakes Research, understood this; he was instrumental in guiding our team through the scientific and policy dimensions of the algal bloom crisis. Without his trust and collaboration, the story wouldn't have reached the public in the way it did. That kind of vision should be the rule, not the exception. But far too often, researchers and institutions still treat communication as a side task — a luxury, or worse, a risk. The assumption is that science will speak for itself. That assumption is wrong. We are living in a moment where science is being actively undermined. Where institutions are being dismantled. Where the public is told that their scientists are either elites or frauds. In this environment, silence is not neutrality — it's surrender. If you're a researcher, here's what I'd ask you to consider: Value your story. And value the story your work is telling — especially if it feels obscure, complex or niche. You're doing it for a reason. It's more than a paycheck. It's a problem being solved. A question being answered. A risk being reduced. Somewhere, your work will affect someone's life, livelihood or health. That story needs to be told. So learn to tell it. Or partner with someone who can. Learn to speak to people who don't speak your language. Who don't trust your institutions, because if you're only speaking to your peers, you're preaching to a shrinking choir. And if Nye ever offers to help amplify your science, for the love of science, just say yes. David J. Ruck is a documentary filmmaker who formerly worked for NOAA's Office of National Marina Sanctuaries. He currently produces educational films for the federal government through his small business, Great Lakes Outreach Media, and is an independent producer working with Detroit Public Television, where he was awarded Best Independent Producer in 2024 by the Michigan Association of Broadcasters. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
The Hill
12-04-2025
- Science
- The Hill
The science speaks for itself — but it needs an amplifier to be heard
A few years ago, I had a chance to bring Bill Nye into a story about the Great Lakes. He was running the Planetary Society — Carl Sagan's old post — and had millions of science-hungry followers. My pitch was simple: connect the public's fascination with space to the mysteries of Earth's own unexplored frontiers — deep freshwater sinkholes in Lake Huron, ancient ecosystems, and the links to alien oceans like those on Jupiter's moon Europa. It was a ready-made narrative bridge, and Bill was in. This wasn't hypothetical. I had direct contact with Bill's second-in-command. He was confirmed as interested. I brought the proposal to the head of communications at my office within NOAA. There was interest there too. But then, everything stopped. No call. No email. No follow-up. The moment passed. That missed opportunity wasn't just frustrating. It was emblematic of a larger, systemic failure in science: a persistent reluctance to prioritize communication, even when the cost is high and the stakes are clear. Today, scientists are losing jobs. Programs are vanishing. Budgets are being stripped to the bone. This isn't happening because the science is flawed. It's happening because science has failed to bring the public along. In the absence of clear narratives, bad ones take root. And as a filmmaker who works at the intersection of research and public awareness, I've seen what happens when the story isn't told. But I've also seen what happens when it is told, and told well. My film, ' The Erie Situation,' explored the causes and consequences of harmful algal blooms in Lake Erie — complex problems shaped by policy, pollution and power. In one scene, we featured a local man who frequently fell ill after spending time on the lake. That moment of human experience helped shift perception of the issue. And more than that, it shifted the course of actual research. The University of Toledo Medical Center credits the film — and their interaction with our crew — as the inspiration for launching a community health study on the long-term effects of harmful algal blooms. That same man is now part of the study. That's the power of storytelling when it's done right. Stories like this make science visible. They give people a reason to care. My friend Eddie Verhamme, a former president of the International Association for Great Lakes Research, understood this; he was instrumental in guiding our team through the scientific and policy dimensions of the algal bloom crisis. Without his trust and collaboration, the story wouldn't have reached the public in the way it did. That kind of vision should be the rule, not the exception. But far too often, researchers and institutions still treat communication as a side task — a luxury, or worse, a risk. The assumption is that science will speak for itself. That assumption is wrong. We are living in a moment where science is being actively undermined. Where institutions are being dismantled. Where the public is told that their scientists are either elites or frauds. In this environment, silence is not neutrality — it's surrender. If you're a researcher, here's what I'd ask you to consider: Value your story. And value the story your work is telling — especially if it feels obscure, complex or niche. You're doing it for a reason. It's more than a paycheck. It's a problem being solved. A question being answered. A risk being reduced. Somewhere, your work will affect someone's life, livelihood or health. That story needs to be told. So learn to tell it. Or partner with someone who can. Learn to speak to people who don't speak your language. Who don't trust your institutions, because if you're only speaking to your peers, you're preaching to a shrinking choir. And if Nye ever offers to help amplify your science, for the love of science, just say yes. David J. Ruck is a documentary filmmaker who formerly worked for NOAA's Office of National Marina Sanctuaries. He currently produces educational films for the federal government through his small business, Great Lakes Outreach Media, and is an independent producer working with Detroit Public Television, where he was awarded Best Independent Producer in 2024 by the Michigan Association of Broadcasters.
