Strategic Discipline Blog

My journey through Acute Myeloid Leukemia continues with the second segment from CANCER CURED - Chapter II Life Insurance.

(See CANCER CURED – What do You Feed? CANCER CURED - Fear Not - TURNING POINT, CANCER CURED – What is Worry?  CANCER CURED - Texting – A New Environment, For Chapter I )

"Courage is not limited to the battlefield. The real tests of courage are much quieter. They are the inner tests, like enduring pain when the room is empty or standing alone when you're misunderstood."

-- Charles Swindoll

Climbing Steps

“Why is it taking so much effort to climb these steps?” I wonder. I struggle to keep up with my middle son Josh as we locate our seats at Carver-Hawkeye Arena. It’s February 23, 2012. The game between the Wisconsin Badgers and the Iowa Hawkeyes is a birthday gift for Josh, who will turn 17 on March 2.

Although I work out frequently and bike for 35 minutes on my stationary bike 2-3 times a week, I’m surprisingly winded. I feel like my legs are encased in cement, a sensation like nothing I’ve felt before. I don’t feel tired as much as puzzled. I’ve never been sick, beyond a cold here and there. Outside of my diabetes diagnosis three years earlier, I’m in good shape, despite being a few pounds overweight. I shouldn’t have any issues physically.

Finally, we reached our seats.

It is a mild February day by Iowa standards—overcast, drizzle, temperature never higher than 34 degrees yet never lower than 32.

I temporarily forget about my being winded as we watch the game. A three-point shot by Jordan Taylor closes the contest, the closest margin the Badgers can attain during the second half. A neck-and-neck performance throughout the game, it never feels like it for Josh and I, Badger fans through and through! Iowa beat the #16-ranked Wisconsin Badgers 67-66. The final score doesn’t represent how well Iowa controlled the game. Iowa’s victory never felt in doubt. Being from Wisconsin, Josh and I left disappointed.

As we drive away, my thoughts return to the sensation in my legs. For the past few weeks, I’ve been struggling to keep my blood glucose in the appropriate range, despite eating fewer carbs and staying away from sugar. After several trips to diabetic training to meet with medical clinicians, I scheduled an early morning appointment with my physician, Dr. Richard Kozney Jr. for 9:30 AM Friday, at Iowa Health System. It’s 2 days away.

Friday morning, I go to my appointment. I take a series of required blood tests and return to my home office to work.

About 4:30 that afternoon, Dr. Kozney calls, “Doug you need to get to the hospital immediately!”

“Why?” I ask.
I’ve only been to a hospital once for an Achilles tendon tear several years earlier. I can’t imagine why I need to go now.

Dr. Kozney’s response is urgent, “Doug, your blood work came back, and you’re anemic. Normal blood counts for a man your size and weight are 14-16. Yours’ is 5.6.”

Michelle and I quickly head to St. Luke’s Hospital Emergency Center.

Everything becomes a blur. I’m taken to a room to start blood transfusions immediately in the ER. Nurses pick and probe both my arms to find a vein for the IVs. One nurse tried three times on my left arm. Finally, she asks someone else to secure the IV. I haven’t any idea how serious this is. I think, “Whatever this is, I’m going home later today or at worst tomorrow morning or afternoon.” I didn’t know at the time that my whole life would soon revolve around the University of Iowa Hospital, which is less than a tenth of a mile from the arena where I had just attended the Wisconsin-Iowa game with Josh.

That night, I was extremely restless. It is difficult to sleep.

As the night passes into the morning, I’m interrupted every two hours. Hospitals are not for rest, I discover! Nurses continue to plunge needles into both my arms for blood transfusions to raise my blood counts. Many times, through the course of the night and morning, a nurse can’t find a suitable vein. I feel like a human pincushion.

Dr. Zenk’s Diagnosis

The next morning Josh, Noah, and Michelle visited me in my room. Around noon, Dr. Zenk arrives in a somber mood.

Impassively, Dr. Zenk announces to me and my family: “It appears you have Acute Myeloid Leukemia. The treatment will require you to be in the hospital for a year or more. You will be unable to work during that time. And that’s only if you survive.”

Josh is 16 at the time, and Noah is 13. The room falls silent.

It doesn’t take long for the news to sink in for me.

My thoughts race to what the cost of a long hospital stay means. Fear grips my mind. I’m the sole provider for our family. The cost of cancer treatment will be extremely expensive. How much will my insurance cover? Can I even afford to continue to pay for our insurance while not being able to work? What will my family do without my income?

Immediately I feel the sting of what this will mean to Michelle, Joshua, and Noah. Whether I live or die, attempting to pay for my treatment is going to bankrupt my family. I had taken out an $800,000 life insurance policy that Michelle was reluctant I purchase. It dawns on me, “I’m better off dead than alive to my family!”

Dr. Zenk is still present in my room. I break the silence. “Why don’t you just shoot me now!”

Dr. Zenk pauses for a long time before responding, “That’s never the best solution.”

After Dr. Zenk leaves, my self-pity, fear, anguish, and complete desperation deepen. I rant and rave to anyone in the room and at times, to myself, moving into a deep, dark tunnel of isolation and anger.

Mostly I swear and curse in anger and frustration, primarily at myself. I’m afraid and helpless. I lose myself in my self-pity. “What are we going to do? Oh MY GOD, how the hell are we ever going to be able to survive this if I can’t work? This can’t be happening; I can’t afford to be unable to work!” I’m angry at myself, the world, and anyone who will listen, and I scream and curse as if the louder, the more vulgar and obscene my words, the better I’ll feel or the more this hurt will disappear.

I’ve always prided myself on being prepared. I know from my successes and failures in life that when I prepare, I rarely fail. At this moment, though, I have not had any opportunity to prepare, and I’m only aware of my disgust and disappointment in myself.

If I were watching myself, and able to disconnect, I would remind myself of Mark 3: 28-30 “Truly I tell you, people can be forgiven all their sins and every slander they utter, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven; they are guilty of an eternal sin.”

I cannot disconnect, of course. I’m so despondent, so discouraged and upset at my inability to have predicted this, to have been prepared to protect my family and myself, that I continue to hurl blasphemy and contempt at myself! If I had a video, I could imagine it would show everyone shrinking away from me. Only I’m not even conscious of anyone even being in the room with me. When you curse yourself, you don’t need anyone to help you. I couldn’t imagine anyone who loves me finding anything attractive in this moment, or my having any redemptive value.

How long this goes on I can’t recall. For my family, it must be interminable. I can feel and see them move away, become detached, recoiling from my rant and pernicious behavior.

Finally, Josh says, “I can’t believe you’re even saying this Dad! This is so far from what you’ve ever taught us!”

(Later when I remember Josh’s words, it helps me to regain my normal attitude, to focus on a solution instead of wallowing in my self-pity.)

I wish I could tell you his comment is enough to right my ship, to get me thinking more positively. Instead, I stay depressed for most of the day and evening. I simply refrain from making my thoughts audible. The boys and Michelle leave around 4 PM. It’s a beautiful sunny day outside, but my room feels dark, damp, and desolate. I’m consumed with the lingering thoughts: “How can my family survive this? Why didn’t I pay for disability insurance? How much of our savings will be eaten up by this? What will be left, if anything, when this is over? What am I going to tell my customers? How can I survive this and keep my family whole?”

Chapter II continues the next blog: Texting – A New Environment

Challenge your team, your business, yourself. I’m Doug Wick, here to challenge, inspire, and ignite purpose and passion in your business!   To create an environment where everyone is inspired to give their best, contact Positioning Systems to schedule a free exploratory meeting.

Growth demands Strategic Discipline.

Dr Zenk's prognosis struck a fearful tone.  A trip to the University of Iowa Hospital awaited.  An opportunity to discover a new environment and new thoughts.  Next blog I share another segment of Chapter II – Life Insurance – Texting – A New Environment

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NEXT BLOG – CANCER CURED – Texting – A New Environment