Here’s a pop quiz. You’re a nurse. You’ve just used an insulin pen on Patient A. Do you: (a) use the same pen on Patient B or (b) grab Patient B’s own pen? If you picked (a), please put down the syringe, because you have apparently never heard of a little thing called the germ theory of disease, which has been settled science since roughly the era of gas lamps and top hats. And yet, in Griffin Health Services Corp. v. Novo Nordisk Inc., 2026 WL 2140889 (D. Conn. Jul. 24, 2026), the court ruled that a jury needs to debate whether this risk was actually obvious to a hospital and its nursing staff. Spoiler: there was nothing left to debate. The CDC saw it. The FDA saw it. The Institute for Safe Medication Practices saw it. At least one of the hospital’s nurses literally asked the question out loud and got the right answer. Everybody saw it. The only place where this obvious risk somehow became a genuine jury question is in this opinion.
First, the facts. The manufacturer designed and sold prefilled insulin pen products used at the plaintiff hospital’s facility. The hospital’s own competency checklist, that nurses had to master before using the pens, included an instruction to return the pen to the patient’s individual medication drawer — which, if followed, would have prevented sharing altogether. Id. at *1. The manufacturer’s representatives ran five training sessions for the hospital’s nurses, but those sessions were voluntary, not mandatory, and did not reach all nurses. Id. The hospital’s own CEO testified that “strict” adherence to medication administration policy is “not possible” — a stunning admission for an institution now trying to blame someone else for its nurses sharing needles. Id. at *4. And it gets better (worse). When a nurse specifically asked a manufacturer trainer whether the pen could be used on more than one patient — she was told no, they cannot be shared due to the risk of cross-contamination. Id. at *2. So a nurse asked the question. Got the right answer. And some nurses at this hospital shared pens anyway. The hospital’s response to this fact pattern was to sue the pen maker.
Let’s talk about what the plaintiff hospital’s theory actually requires you to believe. It requires you to believe that the manufacturer had a duty to tell trained medical professionals that you should not stick a needle-adjacent device into one patient and then jab it into another. This isn’t esoteric medical knowledge. It’s Infection Control 101. Reusing anything that has touched a patient’s bloodstream on another patient is a bad idea for the same reason double-dipping your chip is rude — except with double-dipping, nobody ends up exposed to hepatitis.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have been sounding this alarm for years in blunt, unambiguous language: “Never use insulin pens for more than one person,” because “blood may be present in the pen after use,” even when the needle is changed between patients. Ctrs. for Disease Control & Prevention, Considerations for Blood Glucose Monitoring and Insulin Administration. The Institute for Safe Medication Practices flagged the exact same cross-contamination risk from insulin pens back in March 2008 — and the court’s own recitation of the record notes that a 1998 study in the journal Diabetes Care had already identified the risk of biological material becoming trapped in insulin pen delivery systems, and the FDA and CDC both issued their own alerts on the subject in 2009 and 2012, respectively. Griffin, 2026 WL 2140889, at *2. In other words, this was published and republished information in the same professional literature that hospitals are supposed to be monitoring as part of, you know, being a hospital.
Despite the obviousness of the risk, the Griffin decision denied summary judgment on nearly everything. On design defect, the court found the insulin pen, like any prescription medical device, is “inherently unsafe,” meaning the manufacturer’s duty is to properly warn of dangers, and held that “a reasonable jury could find that [the hospital] was unaware of any risk, and that [the manufacturer] failed to warn or train users on the dangers of contamination.” Id. at *5-6. Read that again. A hospital. Unaware. Of the risk of cross-infection from reused injection equipment. After the CDC, the FDA, and the Institute for Safe Medication Practices all told anyone paying attention exactly what would happen.
On failure to warn, the court applied Connecticut’s learned intermediary doctrine — sort of. It first found that a genuine dispute existed over whether the manufacturer provided any warnings at all, then hedged by adding that even if the doctrine did apply, plaintiff’s claims were based on failure to warn the hospital itself, in the person of its doctors and nurses, who function as the learned intermediaries. That’s curious given that the evidence was that the manufacturer’s representatives affirmatively told trainees not to share the pens, explained the cross-contamination risk from backflow, and handed out package inserts containing the same warnings. Id. at *6. The court brushed this aside finding there was conflicting record evidence on the point. But that doesn’t change the fact that the underlying legal theory — that manufacturers must anticipate and spell out an infection-control risk this fundamental — should never have survived on the “obviousness” ground alone.
That’s what really bothers us about the design defect and failure-to-warn rulings — the court never squarely grapples with the obvious-risk line of learned intermediary cases that should have controlled this outcome. That line of authority doesn’t just say a warning can be less detailed when a risk is well known — it says there is no duty to warn of a risk at all once it is within the knowledge of, or obvious to, the average learned intermediary. This brings us to the second, equally basic principle the court seems to have simply skipped past. Prescription medical product manufacturers do not have a duty to instruct healthcare professionals on how to practice medicine. We’ve discussed both issues many times, and the caselaw on them is not close. Courts applying the learned intermediary doctrine have rejected, over and over, the argument that a warning must explain to trained professionals things they already know from their training. Sharing an injection device between patients is precisely the kind of “obvious risk” that this line of cases says a manufacturer has no duty to spell out, because it is “within the knowledge of or obvious to the average learned intermediary.” Stahl v. Novartis Pharmaceuticals Corp., 283 F.3d 254, 266-68 (5th Cir. 2002) (see more authority here).
This is not a situation where the manufacturer is asking a court to assume some obscure clinical inference on the physician’s part. The specific, exact risk — cross-contamination and bloodborne pathogen transmission from reusing an injection device on more than one patient — had already been described in the peer-reviewed literature, flagged by multiple healthcare authorities, all before and during the years these pens were in use at the hospital. That is about as close to “universally known in the medical profession” as it gets. If the risk is universally known, the absence of a more explicit warning cannot be the legal cause of the resulting harm — a causation problem the Griffin court does not meaningfully address before sending the design defect and failure-to-warn claims to a jury.
Instead of confronting that body of law head-on, the court treated the “obviousness” of the risk as just another disputed fact for the jury, rather than as the threshold legal question — whether the risk was, as a matter of law, already within the knowledge of the average learned intermediary. A court that takes the obvious-risk doctrine seriously does not need a jury to tell it whether a nurse should already know not to reuse a blood-contaminated injection device on a second patient. That is precisely the kind of case this doctrine exists to take away from the jury, and it is the doctrinal gap that, in our view, is the real defect in this decision — not any close call on the summary judgment record, but the court’s failure to ask the right legal question in the first place.
Then there’s the “wrongful conduct” doctrine — what we usually call in pari delicto — which the manufacturer tried to invoke on the theory that the hospital was profiting from its own violation of drug-sharing statutes. No dice, said the court, because the doctrine only bars recovery for a plaintiff’s knowing participation in a criminal act, and none of the statutes the manufacturer cited actually covered insulin, since insulin is not a controlled substance. Griffin, at *4-5. Fair enough as a matter of statutory construction. But it’s still remarkable that a hospital’s institution-wide failure to enforce its own infection-control basics, gets no legal consequence at all, while the manufacturer that affirmatively told people not to share the pens gets dragged to trial.
If you thought it couldn’t get more galling, the court also let punitive damages go to the jury, reasoning that the manufacturer knew of similar issues at other hospitals. But punitive damages are supposed to punish conduct meaningfully worse than ordinary negligence, and it’s hard to square that with the facts here. Comparative fault isn’t a defense to strict liability, but a jury weighing “reckless disregard” ought to be allowed to reckon honestly with which party actually controlled whether its nurses shared needles day to day. That party wasn’t the manufacturer.
For dessert, the hospital lost roughly 150 completed nurse interview forms from its own internal investigation into the pen-sharing incidents — documents that presumably would have shed considerable light on how widespread and how known the risk was among its own staff. The court declined to draw an adverse inference because there was no evidence the documents were destroyed or altered rather than simply misplaced. Id. at *11-12. Losing 150 witness statements documenting your own staff’s compliance failures, and then asking the manufacturer to eat the evidentiary consequences of your own paperwork problem is a lot to ask a reasonable jury to swallow.
We opened with a pop quiz, so let’s close with the answer key. Anyone who picks “reuse the pen” flunks basic infection control, whether they’re a first-year nursing student or a hospital defending a summary judgment motion. The germ theory of disease is not proprietary information belonging to medical device manufacturers; it is the shared inheritance of every trained healthcare provider since Pasteur. And a manufacturer that told trainees, in person, not to share its product, does not have an additional obligation to hold the hospital’s hand and make sure the hospital enforces its own policies. There really was nothing to see here, except apparently to the court, which decided a jury still needs to argue about it. Griffin kicks to a jury a question that shouldn’t have needed one— whether a hospital’s failure to train, monitor, and supervise its own nurses on a century-old, thoroughly-alerted infection risk can be laid at a manufacturer’s feet. We would love to see a “reasonable” jury actually buy that. We’re not holding our breath.






