In 2000, 15-year-old Vanessa Young’s doctor prescribed Prepulsid for her stomach ailment. The drug was presented as safe by both Vanessa’s doctor and the manufacturer. Shortly after taking it, she died. Shattered by grief and anger, Terence Young began a long fight to find out why. This fight became a larger one, as Young determined to battle the industry to make sure this kind of tragedy never happened again. The truth, as he would discover, is that every year thousands of people die as a result of complications from prescription drugs. And most of the companies that manufacture these drugs simply don’t care. Death by Prescription is the unforgettable story of a father's fight to find justice for his dead daughter, and a wake-up call to the millions of innocent people who are potential victims of pharmaceutical companies that put profits ahead of patients.

1) A Night of Terror

March 19, 2000

Gloria and I had been out shopping. It was a typical cloudy Saturday afternoon in March. Our fifteen year old daughter Vanessa was somewhat of a home body, and that Saturday she stayed home to listen to music, talk on the phone and bake cookies. We had just renewed her prescription for Prepulsid earlier in the afternoon. Her problem of throwing up after meals was under control, but she felt the pills helped her, and had been taking them that week when she felt bloated. Her symptoms didn’t occur all the time, but on and off, perhaps related to stress or social pressure we were told. Our family doctor, Dr. Mittler, had directed Vanessa to take Prepulsid as needed to help move food through her system. We took the problem quite seriously like any good parents and watched her closely. Dr. Mittler had never mentioned any safety concerns with Prepulsid. We viewed it like a kind of super Rolaids. Like any popular teenager on a Saturday evening, she was making plans to go out, something that normally required some negotiations with her mother and me.

Our other daughter, Madeline, age seventeen, was out with friends. Our son Hart, age thirteen, was in his room. That afternoon Vanessa had called to say she was baking cookies and asked when we’d be home. Of course she said “I love you Dad.” Sometimes that was her sole purpose for calling. We arrived home after six, a little tired and ready for dinner.

I sat down in the front room, my study, to read the weekend paper and Gloria went upstairs. Vanessa came down to greet me.

Everything from that moment on is a kind of slow motion blur to me, more like a gripping nightmare that won’t go away than reality. It has been replayed over and over in my mind, like we were in all a horror movie. She wanted to ask me something. I remember saying to her “Not now, Vanessa,” so I could consider the inevitable request to discuss her curfew until after dinner when I was refreshed and in a better frame of mind.

I see it all now in slow motion: she jumped up to head back upstairs and in mid-air fell back, hitting the back of her head on the carpeted floor with a thump, as if she had been pushed by a giant invisible hand.

Immediately I rushed to her, thinking perhaps it was a joke that went wrong, asking her if she was okay. She was limp, silent, motionless and pale.

A feeling deep inside me told me something was terribly wrong. This was not just fainting spell, and Vanessa`had never fainted before. The first aid training I’d had years before kicked in and I put my index finger to her carotid artery. I could feel no pulse, no beat, nothing.

‘God, what is happening?’

Maybe I was too nervous and just couldn’t find a pulse. Maybe my fingers were in the wrong place. Maybe I forgot exactly where to check. No, they were in the right place. I knew I should remain in control, but I was being overwhelmed by horror. What was happening?

“Gloria!” I shouted upstairs. No answer.

“Hart! Call Uncle Ted!”

Gloria came running down the stairs following Hart, terrified by my tone. Hart had a frozen, confused look of fear on his face, I guess because I had shouted the telephone number at him. I still fear a terrible ache when I remember what I was forced to put him through. He was only thirteen years old. I fumbled for my cell phone and dialed the number.

Uncle Ted is my oldest brother, Dr. J.E.M. Young, a surgeon in Hamilton, Ontario, a half hour away. I was so thankful. He was on the phone immediately. Thank God, I breathed in relief. I tried as calmly as I could to tell him what had happened. I could hear my own voice as if I was in a dream. Ted was calm, professional. “If there is no pulse, call an ambulance. Give her mouth to mouth resuscitation.”

I shouted again at Hart to go over and get our neighbor two doors down — Anna — a nurse. I prayed she was home. Perhaps thirty seconds had gone by. How long can someone live without breathing? Ridiculously, I remembered a number of eight minutes from a book I’d read in high school. A human brain can live eight minutes without oxygen before it starts to die. But I also knew the brain can live longer if it gets oxygen. Gloria had called an ambulance. The paramedics were on the way. The phone was ringing. Commotion. I had begun giving Vanessa mouth to mouth resuscitation before Hart was out the door.

From that moment on I focused on trying to pour the life back into Vanessa, and prayed.

I blew into her mouth while holding her nose, and turned my head to listen for the air to come out, hoping she would start breathing on her own. Her chest rose with each breath. But she was not breathing on her own. Come on Vanessa. Come on sweetheart. You can do it. You can’t leave us. Breathe in. Breathe! This can’t be happening. God, where are you?

The phone was still ringing.

Anna burst into the room and within seconds was on my cellular phone with Ted. Then she was beside me. She checked for a pulse and asked me to stop. She attempted to revive Vanessa with CPR — pushing on her chest to try and start her heart. It wasn’t working. Anna is calm but I can tell she is frustrated. How long has it been? I wonder. Anna stops the CPR. I start mouth to mouth again.

I screamed in my mind, “God where are you? Please don’t let his happen!” Scenarios played through my mind like a movie. Vanessa would start to breathe and sit up and hug me. The paramedics would get her heart going. She would be fine. Tomorrow we’d laugh about this. Then, a reversal. She would die on our floor. Our lives would never be the same. Our lives would never be the same.

No. Nothing had changed. I continued blowing into her mouth and holding her nose, then letting the air escape. Where are the paramedics? Why is this happening? Anna tries CPR again.

Then they arrived. Some relief. It had not been over eight minutes. She could still be fine.