Sarah Beckwith v. Dusti Tatum, DC

Let’s get straight to the wild part: a woman is suing her chiropractor for $75,000 because, allegedly, she walked in for an adjustment and walked out with more than just a popping spine—she walked out with a lawsuit. And not just any lawsuit, but one packed with accusations of medical malpractice, cover-ups, and what sounds like a full-body betrayal by someone whose job is supposed to fix backs, not break them. Welcome to Crazy Civil Court, where the necks are stiff, the stakes are high, and someone may have skipped the informed consent form.

Meet Sarah Beckwith—a regular resident of Miami, Oklahoma (yes, Miami, not that Miami). She’s not a celebrity, not a TikTok influencer, just a woman who, like many of us, probably Googled her back pain and decided to try chiropractic care. On the other side of this legal ring: Dr. Dusti Tatum, a licensed chiropractor operating out of Delaware County, and her business entity, Lake Health and Chiropractic, PLLC. Now, before you imagine some shady back-alley spine-cracker, let’s be clear—this is a legitimate clinic with a PLLC, which stands for “Professional Limited Liability Company,” aka the legal way to say “I’m a real doctor, I promise.” Dr. Tatum isn’t just some wellness guru with a massage table and a dream—she’s state-licensed, incorporated, and presumably wears a white coat when she’s not cracking vertebrae. But according to Sarah Beckwith, that license may as well be a participation trophy, because what happened next sounds less like healing and more like a horror story narrated by your spine.

The timeline starts around October 2024—spooky season, fittingly—when Beckwith began treatment under Dr. Tatum’s care. The petition doesn’t spell out exactly what kind of treatment she was getting (no dramatic “she tried to realign my soul through my sacrum” details), but we do know this: at some point, things went sideways. According to the filing, Dr. Tatum allegedly failed to do something pretty fundamental in modern medicine: tell her patient what might go wrong. That’s right—Beckwith claims she was never informed of the material risks involved in her treatment, nor was she given a rundown of alternative options (like, say, physical therapy, medication, or just lying on the floor and accepting your fate). In legal terms, this is called a failure to obtain informed consent—a big deal in medical ethics. You can’t just go poking around someone’s nervous system without explaining that, hey, there’s a chance you might make it worse. That’s like a mechanic replacing your brakes without mentioning the car might explode. Technically, it could work—but if it doesn’t, you’re gonna be mad.

And Beckwith is mad. Because, she claims, had she known the risks, she would’ve chosen either a different treatment or no treatment at all. Instead, she got whatever Dr. Tatum dished out—and it allegedly left her with “conscious pain, suffering, and disability.” That’s the legal way of saying, “I’m in pain, I know I’m in pain, and I can’t do the things I used to do.” She also claims she’s had to pay medical bills and lost money because of it—economic losses, the filing calls them, which sounds boring until you realize it means she might’ve missed work, racked up doctor visits, or had to hire help because she couldn’t bend over to pick up her own socks.

But here’s where it gets spicy: Beckwith isn’t just accusing Dr. Tatum of making a mistake. She’s accusing her of reckless disregard—a legal phrase that’s basically the medical version of “you knew this could go wrong and you did it anyway.” That’s a serious claim. It’s one thing to say, “Doc, you messed up,” and another to say, “Doc, you played Russian roulette with my spine and lost.” The petition even alleges that Tatum’s actions were “intentional and without just cause or excuse,” which—yikes. That’s not negligence. That’s bordering on “should’ve known better and didn’t care.” And because of that, Beckwith isn’t just asking for compensation—she’s demanding punitive damages, which are not about covering her bills, but about punishing the defendant. It’s the legal system’s way of saying, “We’re not just reimbursing you—we’re also slapping them with a fine for being jerks.”

Now, $75,000 might sound like a lot for a chiropractic visit gone wrong—especially when you can buy a used Tesla for that. But let’s put it in context. If Beckwith is truly disabled, even temporarily, and has ongoing medical needs, that number isn’t outrageous. Chronic pain, physical therapy, lost wages, emotional distress—those add up. And punitive damages? Those are meant to sting. They’re not awarded in every case. You don’t get them for a typo on a medical bill. You get them when a court says, “This behavior was so bad, we need to make an example of you.” So while $75,000 isn’t life-changing money in the grand scheme of medical lawsuits, it’s definitely not chump change for a chiropractic adjustment. It’s the kind of sum that says, “You didn’t just hurt me—you disrespected me.”

And that’s the real story here. This isn’t just about a bad adjustment. It’s about trust. You go to a chiropractor because you believe they know what they’re doing. You assume they’ve taken an oath, passed exams, and won’t do anything that could wreck your nervous system. But Beckwith’s claim suggests that Dr. Tatum either didn’t follow standard protocols, didn’t care, or thought, “Eh, how bad could it go?” And now, instead of healing backs, she’s defending one in court.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t that someone got hurt at a chiropractor—those clinics are basically full-contact wellness centers. It’s that informed consent—a cornerstone of modern medicine—seems to have been treated like an optional add-on, like heated seats in a car. “Would you like risks with that? Only $5 extra.” That’s not how this works. You can’t just crack bones and hope for the best. And if Beckwith is telling the truth, then this isn’t just a case of “buyer beware”—it’s a case of “doctor, where’s the warning label?”

We’re not rooting for anyone to get rich off a lawsuit. But we are rooting for accountability. For every person who’s ever been talked into a treatment they didn’t understand, for every time someone said, “Don’t worry, it’s safe,” and it wasn’t—we’re here for the receipts. And if Dr. Tatum really did skip the fine print while playing Jenga with Beckwith’s spine, then maybe, just maybe, she deserves to feel a little legal pressure of her own. After all, in the world of civil court, the only thing worse than a bad adjustment is a bad attitude about it.