It was a beautiful spring day in 1981, back when I was working at a community hospital in Phoenix, Ariz. I had just gotten up from my day nap after a busy overnight shift. My doorbell rang and a nicely dressed young man asked if Daniel Mayer was there. As that is not my name—I’m Dan the tribe and not Daniel the prophet—I immediately said “No.” Realizing that he was just a messenger, I quickly reversed my answer and admitted that yes, that was me. He handed me an envelope and walked off. So started my voyage down the rabbit hole of being sued for medical malpractice.

Having never had any education about the topic of malpractice, I was reasonably petrified that, first, I had just been sued and, second, I may have made some horrible mistake that injured a patient. I carefully read the complaint that had just been served to me. The information was so vague that I could only surmise that the alleged malpractice took place four years earlier when I was a family medicine resident on my rotation in rural Maine.

I called my residency program. They recommended me to a defense firm in Portland, Maine, essentially a continent away from Phoenix, Ariz. The defense lawyer assigned to my case was excellent and educated me in the rules of medical malpractice and coached me through every step during the three-year process.

The first thing I learned was that I shouldn’t ignore the papers that I received. Those papers, called a summons and complaint, had to be answered within 30 days, otherwise I was tacitly admitting that I was guilty (i.e., negligent). Of course, the answer to this was clear, “I didn’t do it!”

I obtained the medical records from my residency program shortly after my first contact with my lawyer. The plaintiff, who was a 15-year-old camper at the time of the incident, alleged that I had performed a chiropractic maneuver that led to severe neck pain and prevented them from realizing their life’s ambition. On viewing the medical record, I was embarrassed by the brevity of my note—it was only about eight lines in total—and I had no recollection of the patient. There was nothing in the record about performing any maneuver on their neck short of palpation, which elicited pain. That’s all my attorney had to work with.

A few months later, I was served with another set of legal documents, the Bill of Particulars. This list detailed what the plaintiff alleged I had done that constituted malpractice. It was a comprehensive list of everything I did, didn’t do, or should have done. It felt like the worst day of my life. It was one thing to read about what a horrible error I had made, but it also said that I was a terrible physician and was reckless, too. According to the plaintiff, my behavior bordered on being downright evil.