Matt Del Workman, Joy Michele Deaton and Marty Lynn Wafford v. Durant H.M.A., LLC, d/b/a Alliance Health Durant and James McKeehen, D.O.

Let’s get one thing straight: people don’t sue hospitals for fun. They don’t file lawsuits after a loved one dies in the ER unless something went very wrong—or at the very least, they believe it did. And in Bryan County, Oklahoma, three siblings are now staring down a hospital and a doctor, saying, “You didn’t just fail my dad. You killed him.” That’s the bombshell at the center of Workman v. Durant H.M.A., LLC et al.—a case that starts with a man walking into an emergency department and ends with a family burying him the same day, convinced he never should have died.

Meet the Workmans: Matt, Joy, and Marty—three adult siblings who, up until April 7, 2025, still had their dad, Albert. He wasn’t just a name on a birth certificate or a distant memory. He was there. Present. A father who, by all accounts in the filing, was alive and in need of medical attention when he showed up at Alliance Health Durant, a hospital owned and operated by Durant H.M.A., LLC. The kind of place you go when something’s wrong, when you’re hurting, when you trust that the white coats know what they’re doing. That trust, according to the plaintiffs, was shattered in a matter of hours.

Because here’s what allegedly went down: Albert Workman arrived at the emergency department needing care. We don’t know from the petition exactly what brought him in—was it chest pain? Difficulty breathing? A fall? The document doesn’t say, and maybe that’s intentional. But what it does say is damning: Dr. James McKeehen, D.O., the physician on duty, treated him. And then, shortly after that treatment, Albert Workman was dead. Same day. Same hospital. Same doctor. The plaintiffs aren’t whispering about misdiagnosis or bad luck—they’re drawing a straight line from Dr. McKeehen’s actions to their father’s death, using the legal term we all know but rarely say out loud: negligence.

Now, let’s unpack that word, because in the world of civil court, it’s not just an insult. It’s a legal claim with teeth. When you sue for negligence, you’re saying: “This person had a duty to act reasonably, they didn’t, and because of that, someone got hurt—or worse.” In this case, the duty was clear: Dr. McKeehen, as a licensed physician, had a responsibility to provide competent medical care. The allegation? He failed. And not in some minor way—this wasn’t a misread lab result or a delayed prescription. This was a failure so severe, the family claims, that it directly caused Albert’s death. That’s a heavy accusation, especially in medicine, where outcomes aren’t always predictable. But the petition doesn’t mince words: “Defendant James McKeehen, D.O., negligently provided medical care… directly and proximately causing Mr. Workman’s death.” Boom. No hedging. No “maybe” or “possibly.” They’re pointing a finger and saying, “You did this.”

And here’s where it gets legally spicy: the family isn’t just suing the doctor. They’re also suing the hospital, Durant H.M.A., LLC, doing business as Alliance Health Durant. Why? Because of something called vicarious liability—a fancy way of saying, “You hired him, so you’re on the hook too.” The petition argues that Dr. McKeehen was acting as an employee, agent, or at the very least, someone the hospital let patients believe was representing them. That last bit—“ostensible agent” or “apparent agent”—is a courtroom classic. It means even if the doctor wasn’t technically on the hospital’s payroll, if he was wearing a badge, working in their ER, and treating patients under their roof, the hospital can still be held responsible for his screwups. And let’s be real: when you walk into an ER, you don’t care if the doctor is independent contractor #47B. You think you’re getting care from the hospital. So if something goes wrong, you sue the whole dang system.

Now, what do the Workman siblings want? Money? Yes—but not just for the funeral. They’re asking for damages covering “grief,” “loss of the parent/child relationship,” “loss of companionship and parental care,” and the “unnecessary pain and suffering” their father may have endured. They also want burial expenses covered. What they don’t specify is a dollar amount. No “$2 million,” no “$50,000.” Just a broad demand for “all other damages recoverable under the law.” That’s actually pretty common in Oklahoma filings—lawyers often leave the exact number vague early on, saving it for trial or settlement talks. But make no mistake: this isn’t a small-time claim. Even without a number, the emotional weight is enormous. We’re talking about the loss of a father—the kind of loss that reshapes holidays, silences family group chats, leaves empty chairs at dinner tables. And yes, while money can’t bring Albert back, in the eyes of the law, it’s the only tool available to acknowledge that loss. Is $50,000 enough? $500,000? A million? Honestly, none of it feels like enough. But the system demands a price tag, so one will eventually be assigned.

The family also wants a jury trial. That’s significant. It means they don’t want a judge quietly deciding this behind closed doors. They want twelve of their peers—neighbors, maybe even people who’ve been to that same hospital—to hear the story, weigh the evidence, and say whether they agree: did Alliance Health Durant and Dr. McKeehen fail Albert Workman? That jury demand is a power move. It’s saying, “This isn’t just a legal dispute. It’s a story that needs to be told.”

So what’s our take? Look, medical malpractice cases are never simple. Doctors work under pressure. Medicine is imperfect. People die, even with the best care. But the most absurd part of this whole situation isn’t the lawsuit—it’s the fact that we even need these lawsuits to hold hospitals accountable. That a man can walk into an ER alive and leave in a body bag, and the only way his family can get answers is by dragging the institution to court. That the burden falls on grieving children to prove negligence, to relive their loss, to hire lawyers and demand a jury, just to say, “Wait—something wasn’t right here.” It shouldn’t take a lawsuit to get transparency. It shouldn’t take a trial to get honesty.

Are we rooting for the Workmans? Honestly, we’re rooting for clarity. We’re rooting for the truth to come out—whatever it is. Maybe Dr. McKeehen made a tragic error. Maybe the hospital was understaffed. Maybe Albert’s condition was so severe that nothing could’ve saved him. But the family deserves to know. They deserve more than a death certificate and a bill. They deserve an explanation. And if the system failed Albert, they deserve to see someone say, “We’re sorry. We messed up.” Until then, they’ll keep fighting—in court, in public, in memory. Because that’s what families do. And if this case teaches us anything, it’s that sometimes, the most powerful thing a child can do for a parent is make sure their death wasn’t in vain. Even if it means going to war with a hospital. Even if it means turning grief into a legal petition. Especially then.