Whatever Moves You
In My Blood: Antibiotics, Lisinopril
On The Stereo: Tennessee Whiskey, Chris Stapleton
I know this trail might be difficult to follow, so allow me to catch up on a portion of our personal history so that the medical side will make a little more sense.We were refused lung surgery in Toronto, as it was the belief of the insurer that I was beyond help. The damage looked to be beyond repair in the lower left lobe and the right lower lobe also had issues. So, I presume, the cost was deemed to be too steep for the expected outcome. The doctor advised that some exercises could be incorporated into my daily routine and those might help prolong my life. This was a real life example of government controlled health care. Interestingly, when the doctor was telling me how necessary this operation was needed, I was not at all in favor. It was another unfortunate impediment to my burgeoning life. Now that I was told that I could not have the operation, I was irritated and distraught. I was thirty five years old and not in charge of my own life.
Now we jump ahead to Tuscaloosa in 1995, where we moved to work, find new friends and, hopefully settle there the rest of our lives. Remember, we sought medical help there, and were passed on to the University of Alabama in Birmingham, where they also believed that my possibilities of a few more years of life were nigh on impossible, due to the emergence of cancer - specifically melanoma . I was then forty nine. Despite my now advancing age, they provided me with extensive chemotherapy treatments and significant surgeries on my scalp and they also removed the lower lobe of my left lung. The very lung that my Canadian doctors refused to treat. Blue Cross of Alabama. Private health care. An enormous break for us.
We later retired from my company and moved to Fort Myers. I was stubbornly reluctant to move, but Kath did not want to stay in Tuscaloosa. I had retired from a company to which I had committed considerable effort, time and care. And I loved every element - the employees, our customers and our suppliers. I was a shareholder and managing partner, and when we sold the business, I did very well, financially. Kath had played a most contributory role in our success. She had hosted parties, corporate dinners and entertained clients, customers or associates almost every day of the week.
However, later in my career, I was again in another chemotherapy program. I was suffering some brutal side effects and fighting fatigue. Despite that, I had not missed a moment of work while I took treatments, and only a select few people even knew of my illness. We were the most profitable business unit of our owners, Performance Food Group, a publicly traded company. Our parent company had decided they wanted to move on with a younger management team. People, whom I had employed were by then, anxious to move up, and were complicit in my departure. In fact, while I was on a business trip, out of the country, the new boss moved into my office. Cool. Very cool. No one had yet informed me that I was to be replaced. But the deal had been made.
What was most hurtful to me, was that I was not given any opportunity of a proper retirement. I was blessed to have given Jack Matthews, his family and his business partners, the trip of his life to Ireland as a thank you for all he had done for our business. PFG executives tagged along on that trip. And I made sure that our founder, Bob Keith and his bride, and some friends, cruised to Alaska and saw the wonders of Denali, for his retirement. I was only the second President and CEO, and with a negotiated settlement, was ushered quickly and quietly out the door. I would have liked the opportunity to say a proper goodbye to those that had played such an integral role in our lives. And to thank them. I did not need a lavish trip, just some time with friends, and perhaps some small thanks for my contributions to the company's growth and success. I would have been fine with that. No one took the time to discuss with me how I would like to leave. They offered me the opportunity to stay on as Chairman. I would keep an office in an out of the way area. I would have no management responsibilities. My only and last real task would be to fire the staff of one of our technical divisions. PFG wanted us to use their marketing technology, which was grossly inferior to ours, and not designed for our particular business. They wanted me to be the bad guy. My salary, which was significant, would continue.
I could not and would not agree. We were at that time, in Boston, in the throes of our annual meeting, which I had organized, and I was told that I was not allowed to participate. There were about a thousand people attending - customers, suppliers and employees, spouses, and I was left on the sideline.
Some of our dearest friends, one a supplier, knew of my situation, and chose to sit with Kathy and me at our table at the opening dinner. A simple act in a complex situation. Deserving of a million gratitudes. I stayed for the entirety of the meeting and, when it ended, we all returned home. My years of service or my imminent departure were not acknowledged.
Kath was devastated. She just could not handle the hurt. We had always tried to do the right thing - in business and in life. And thanks to my benefactor, Bob Keith, we were always supported and expected to do just that. We never advantaged one of our constituents over the other. Our suppliers, customers, shareholders, and most importantly, our employees, were always given the respect and dignity they deserved. Our goal was to keep the needs of all of our stakeholders in balance.
For me to be treated so shoddily at the end, after all we had contributed, was incomprehensible to Kathy. I was disappointed, no doubt, in much of what happened, but PFG did agree to a fair and reasonable settlement, so that I might leave with a pay-out and my health care covered until I was eligible for Medicare. For that I thank them. Everyone is an employee of the moment. That is the reality.
I was preparing to sign a release and I phoned her and knew that she was clearly upset. That was an understatement. She was sobbing and barely able to carry on the conversation. She was heading to an appointment and I told her not to get behind the wheel of her car. I would chauffeur her when I got home.
She crashed her car into a retaining wall while driving out of our driveway. In her defense, the driveway was long, and steep and curvy and tree lined. She was not hurt, physically, but her good heart had been broken. The damage to the car could not compare. I had never seen her, or anyone, as inconsolable. Her pain lingered for weeks. She was fragile and teared at the slightest provocation. I thought she might never be happy again.
With that background, you might better understand her unwillingness to stay in Tuscaloosa - one of the finest places we have ever been and the place that both if us still call home. As much as we had done no wrong, and that our dear friends would know only what we deemed to tell them, she did not want to leave our house and could not bare even an accidental glimpse of the people who, in her mind, had so badly treated her husband.
We moved at an awful time. 2006. The housing market went bust. Of course, we had bought our new place at an inflated price and eventually sold our Tuscaloosa house for half its original cost. The total financial loss to us was staggering. But Kath and I held firm to each other. As fragile as our life was during this most unfortunate time, I realized that the roots of our love had grown even stronger through this whole mess. For all she had given up to follow me on our journey, I had to commit my future to her well being. It was one of the only times that I willingly made a very bad financial decision to solve an emotional marital problem. But for me, certainly, love trumped money. Her needs deserved my attention. My full, complete, and undivided attention.
In my old business world, things became strangely interesting. Our parent company declared bankruptcy within two years after that meeting in Boston. They were acquired by Blackstone at ten cents on the dollar. In spite of PFG's constant demands for higher contributions from AFFLINK, they had been unable and ineffective in the management of their own core business. PFG's peripheral businesses were immediately disbanded, with the exception of AFFLINK. We had been a most profitable business, and contributed a considerable amount of ongoing cash. So it was in Blackstone's best interest to let it continue to operate. The new company management required that their customers pay a higher fee and a substantial number of their more profitable customers resigned to form another competitive group. People and times do change.
We were now in the grip of late summer, 2013, with my head oozing, continuously, aggravatingly and at times, disgustingly. Dr. Correnti had offered no help, so we kept moving forward with our normal lives. That, for us, meant seeing doctors and dealing with cancer issues. I had continued seeing Dr. Ritrosky, our plastic surgeon in Fort Myers, to have skin cancers excised. Surgeries with him were too plentiful to list, and had not been as life threatening as those we have been discussing. They included two skin grafts, and surgeries to my neck, legs, head, stomach, and arms. We were on a first name basis and I was well-known to his staff. They all, including the doctor, were kind and compassionate caregivers.
On August 19th, we were in his clinic to complete the surgical removal of a lymph node, which had been treated previously by radiation. That procedure was performed through Riverchase Cancer Specialists, and they had claimed my neck was cancer-free, despite my still having a golf ball sized growth and considerable pain. Dr. Ritrosky was able to rid me of the lymph node and put me back together again. The radiation had not been at all effective. We took the opportunity, while we were there, to ask him to have a look at my head wound and offer an opinion. We explained Dr. Correnti's position that it would heal, given enough time. He did not contradict that belief, but suggested that we keep seeing Dr. Correnti and keep him apprised of the wound status. He did not suggest that he would or could do anything to help.
On August 22nd, I had a PET Scan, prior to my visit to Dr. Hart, on the 26th. The news was not good. Just as we had been told in Birmingham, I needed to get on some type of treatment. Cancer was showing itself in multiple internal organs. The cellular growth was increasing, and we were again at a critical stage. Dr. Hart recommended we start on a new chemotherapy treatment. We were to discuss the options further on our next appointment.
Fall was most definitely upon us. September is our hottest month here in the south. We continued with our regular regimen of golf, exercise and hanging with our friends. Temperatures hovered in the 90's. We visited Dr. Correnti on the 9th, and he cleaned the wound again, and advised us to keep the area clean and, although it was taking more time than expected, the wound would eventually close on its own. We continued with regular cleaning and continual leakage. The drainage fluctuated between seeping small drops of clear liquid to spilling noticeably ugly goop. We continued watching, cleaning, making messes of our pillows, and moving on.
On August 26th, we had a lengthy meeting with Dr. Hart, my new oncologist. Results from my blood work and scans were not promising. My cancer was cranking up again. He recommended an infusion schedule for me, at Florida Cancer Specialists, with Yervoy, an immunotherapy drug, every three weeks. Before we started, he proposed that I try to gain entrance into a clinical trial, being conducted at Moffitt Cancer Center, in Tampa. He had been reading good things about the early trials and he arranged a meeting for me, with the trial's management group on September 6th.
Our meeting with the clinical study group, in Tampa, went reasonably well. They would consider adding me to the list of test subjects, so long as several conditions were met. The first was an extensive interview process and the subsequent signing of innumerable pages of consent. Basically, the agreement stated that I would be handing all control of my cancer treatments to Bristol Myers Squibb, and they, in turn, would try to cure my cancer. If I got sick or died during the test period or thereafter, I would have no recourse. The possible side effects were listed and it was noted that there may be more added as the test progressed. Good deal, right? We had survived attacks of cancer for the greater part of my life. We were not likely to survive another. And now this. We hoped for acceptance, knowing that much could still go wrong.
On Sept. 16th, we had another meeting and situational review with Dr. Hart. On the 18th, we traveled again to Moffitt for further discussion. Nothing seemed to be easy. Long days and no decisions.
Sometimes we simply needed a break. So on the 21st, we invited the Kerrs to Aspen, for a week of golf and mental rehabilitation, which we all seriously needed. Next week I will tell you the rest of this story.
For those of you who, like me, have been battling cancer, you already know how taxing it can be. The trip is grueling. Our options, sometimes, are not what we would prefer. My last two oncologists were of the same, consistent opinion, that they might be able to slow the cancer from killing me, but that I was destined to die, nonetheless. One way or the other, I was going to be like Elvis, and "leave the building". This opportunity to live, if the trial proved successful, no matter what the cost, was my choice to make. I had been too close to death, too many times. Most recently, with the AVM threat. And that was not even cancer.
The second requirement for my acceptance into the trial, was a current biopsy from an internal cancerous site. That, I did not have. There were a number of my organs showing cancer growth. So each was a possibility. Of course, none were easily reachable, and the procedure was predictably risky. Finding and agreeing which site to tackle, was up for debate. A surgeon was available to operate as soon as were ready. We headed home to consider our path. At least we had a path. Not that long ago, we had been planning for my death. We still had a chance.
"The Kerrs". Next week.
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