They called me Dr Death
He spent 15 months in jail, wrongly convicted of killing a patient. Now cleared, after an MoS investigation, there’s one thing he still can’t forgive...
IHAD tried to prepare myself mentally but I had no bag. I wasn’t suitably dressed: I was in a suit. Now I was locked in a tiny cubicle, being hurled from side to side as the van lurched around corners. I felt sick, physically and psychologically. ‘If you treated animals the way we treat prisoners on their way to jail, animal rights groups would be incensed.’
Consultant surgeon David Sellu is describing the worst day of his life – November 5, 2013 – when he was transported to Belmarsh in London, one of Britain’s toughest high-security jails, to start a twoand-a-half-year sentence for killing a patient.
His exemplary 40-year career, his professional and social standing, his family’s financial security – all were wiped out by the Old Bailey jury’s verdict that he was guilty of gross negligence manslaughter in causing the death of James Hughes, 66.
Last week, 16 months after this newspaper exposed how vital evidence that might have cleared him was hidden from his trial, the Court of Appeal quashed his conviction.
But the damage is done. His career is in tatters. The ‘degrading’ trauma of being locked up 22 hours a day with rapists and murderers has taken a heavy toll.
His story is a shocking indictment of the ‘blame culture’ in Britain’s hospitals, with increasing numbers of healthcare workers thrown to the legal wolves.
‘I feel no jubilation, only a little relief,’ said Mr Sellu, 69, speaking exclusively to The Mail on Sunday at his London home. ‘I can’t sleep properly. I’m on beta-blockers to stop my heart racing. I feel like a pariah. I’ve had to cope with headlines that called me “Doctor Death”.
‘The Crown Prosecution Service knows they made a hash of this case. My hope now is that they will think twice before trying to criminalise others working in healthcare.’
Mr Sellu was born to rice-farmer parents in Sierra Leone. His wealthier aunt offered to pay for him to go to school in Bo, the nearest town.
He won a scholarship to study in Britain and entered Manchester University medical school in 1968.
Once he qualified, he took up posts in Manchester, London and Southampton. In 1981, he married Catherine, an intensive care nurse. The couple have four children.
Mr Sellu’s reputation grew and in 1993 he was headhunted to become an NHS colorectal consultant at Ealing Hospital. Later he also worked part-time at the private hospital where Mr Hughes died – the Clementine Churchill in Harrow, owned by healthcare giant BMI.
He also spent months as a volunteer surgeon in his birth country.
When the police started investigating Mr Sellu, they searched for evidence that the death rate among his patients was abnormally high. There was none and many colleagues gave glowing testimonials about his skill.
Mr Sellu first saw Mr Hughes – a building firm boss from Northern Ireland – on February 11, 2010. Five days earlier, Mr Hughes had been given a replacement knee, but had developed pain in his abdomen.
Mr Sellu saw him as a favour to the surgeon who did the op because, at a private hospital at night, there was no one else, other than a junior resident medical officer.
Mr Hughes had a perforated bowel – a life-threatening condition. But Mr Sellu was not able to operate until the early hours of February 13. By this time Mr Hughes was critical and did not recover consciousness.
‘I’m very sorry for his family,’ Mr Sellu said. ‘There were reasons for the delay in operating that had nothing to do with me – for example, no rota for emergency anaesthetists.’
An inquest into Mr Hughes’s death opened in October 2010 but the coroner ordered a criminal inquiry.
Mr Sellu was interrogated. ‘They were looking for discrepancies so they could say I was a liar,’ he said. ‘They had a crime and a suspect and were trying to prove their case.’
But as this newspaper revealed last year, a crucial document was hidden: a report by senior BMI staff compiled after Mr Hughes’s death.
This found there were ‘inadequate’ procedures at the hospital when routine cases became emergencies.
Mr Sellu was charged with manslaughter. He could no longer work.
In 2012, his six-week trial began. The secret report was never shown to the jury. When it came to sentencing, Mr Sellu said: ‘I felt the handcuffs go on my wrist. I looked at my family. There was a lot of sobbing.
‘I was taken down to the cells and my barrister said I had nothing to worry about and would be in an open prison. They took me to Belmarsh.’
There was further humiliation to come: a strip search. ‘It was totally degrading,’ Mr Sellu admitted.
He was taken to a cell with three other prisoners and two sets of bunks with almost no space between them. The shared toilet was open – ‘the stench was the first thing I noticed’ – and they were locked in the cell for 22 hours a day.
‘I was on the top bunk, freezing, with one tiny blanket. I barely slept at all,’ he said. ‘I was terrified. I had been warned not to let other inmates know I was a doctor because they might have assumed I was some kind of Harold Shipman [the GP who murdered more than 200 patients] and sought retribution.
‘My family could not send books. All I could do 22 hours a day was sit on my bunk or try to sleep.’
After a month, Mr Sellu was moved to high-security Highpoint jail in Suffolk, where conditions were better, and in the months before his release in 2015, to an open prison. He served 15 months.
Last week, the Court of Appeal said the judge failed to tell the jury how only truly exceptional negligence could rank as manslaughter.
Yet cases of healthcare workers being accused of criminal conduct are increasing, with at least three convicted in the past two years.
Mr Sellu said two things helped lift his morale after being convicted. One was this newspaper’s investigation, the other a campaign by his Ealing colleague Jenny Vaughan, a consultant neurologist. Her petition gathered 3,000 signatures.
Mr Sellu said: ‘The potential consequence of my prosecution is that in cases where a patient may die, a surgeon might walk away rather than operate – because that will be safer for the doctor.’
Mr Sellu still has to face the General Medical Council but said: ‘I don’t want to go back to surgery. I’d like to do some teaching. Above all, I’d like to restore my good name.’
‘I can’t sleep properly – I feel like a pariah’