CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter VII

Good fortune smiled at me and mybusiness steadily grew and in less than two years it was necessary for me to hire someone. The Internal Revenue Department had concentrated investigations in my old hometown of Woodbury and a section known as Center Hill Lake region. I began working this section at the request of some old friends and due to the courtesy shown me by most of the Internal Revenue Agents, my successes resulted in it begin necessary in spending about half my time in this area.

I built a log cabin at the foot of a mountain in DeKalb County and when working this area, we would stay there. I became more and more attached to farm folk. I particularly liked to set around the molasses mill when they would work all night and the men would gather to tell strange stories that they always knew really happened because they knew whom it happened to. There was one old fellow that I enjoyed more than most. He had read a great deal and even through he had no education, he knew a little bit about everything. His heart was so big that he would stop in the road to allow a rog to jump to safety. When it would come time to carry his hogs to market, he would go out and talk to them and tell them how sorry he was that it was necessary to have fed them so well and take them to be slaughtered.

I became so attached to country life that I enlarged the log cabin into a comfortable country home, and gave my Nashville accounts to my employee and moved permanently. My wife was very definite in her objections, but, as always, accepted the move. Our son began school in Smithville, Tennessee, in August of 1957 and from then until 1968 were years that were comfortable and happy. I had managed to get myself elected to the county court and became quite active in various civic affairs. My son had begun to be active in athletics and we became avid high school sports fans.

I had been requested by local doctors to spend part of my time managing a small hospital in town. One morning, I went to their office explaining to them that I felt very badly and that the evening before I had a sudden spell of weakness. They ran an E.K.G. and immediately called an ambulance and sent me to Nashville where I was placed in intensive care. They wouldn’t let me wait for my wife to go with me, and I was sent down without an attendant. O the way down there I kept thinking that no one should die alone, so I got up and made my way to the front of the ambulance and asked the driver if I could set with him. When we got to the hospital, I thanked the driver and jumped out of the front seat, went into the hospital and stood in line at the admitting desk. I thought we were going to have another heart patient when the lady asked me if she could help me, and I told her my doctor had sent me there with a heart attack. They lost no time in getting me into a wheelchair and up to intensive care. My health improved steadily, and in about two weeks I was back recuperating in my old hospital among my friends.

After I had begun to assume some of my old duties, the doctors’ office called and asked that I meet with them in their office. A corporation was being formed with headquarters in Nashville to be privately financed and dedicated entirely to health care. The corporation had offered to build a new hospital in our town if the doctors would close up the old hospital and support it. They had recommended that I be employed as administrator and the corporate officers had asked that I be sent to Nashville for an interview. This was in December of 1968 and at the time the total corporate structure consisted of four or five dedicated men, three or four hospitals and an old residential building with one secretary. And may I without going further say that in the years to follow, I was never asked for any reason to ever sacrifice patient care.

I had always felt loyalty to anyplace that I was employed, but here was something new added to be a part from the time the first spade of ground was turned until the facility was completed. My staff, my hospital and my corporation became such a part of my life that I resented any and all criticism. The corporate growth became fantastic. It operated hospitals all over the world and maintained the reputation of providing quality health care.

In the beginning I was embarrassed when salesmen called because I knew very little medical terminology, and I very quickly learned that you could get into trouble trying to fake it. But in a surprisingly short time; I began to look forward to their visits and began to feel that I had finally found what I had been looking for all my life.

My son graduated from high school and had entered Vanderbilt University with the expectations of preparing for medical school. My wife said that I was a hospital administrator, and our son was going to be a doctor, and to make sure that she knew what was being said; she decided she would go to a practical nursing school. I would have never had the determination that she exhibited in finishing school. Most of the students were younger and did not have to adjust back to study habits that she had not found occasion to use in thirty years. But finish she did. Again, like my wife she insisted she be given the eleven to seven shift because she was needed there, and she did not want the employees to think she was given special privileges by being offered other shifts. During the months to follow, I spent most of my nights at the hospital. About three o’clock in the morning, I would go to all my night employees, find out how they liked their eggs, don my apron and invite them all, a few at a time, for an early breakfast. Of course, you don’t ever know what is being said when you’re not around, but this close association never seemed to destroy and employer-employee relationship.

One evening while at a medical meeting in Chattanooga, Tennessee, I was visiting with a doctor friend of mine in his room. The room was was hot and I had removed my coat and since it was late in April, I was wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt. While I was talking to the doctor, I noticed that he kept watching my arm. After a few moments he said, “Tommy, how long has your muscle been twitching?” Not really having noticed before the muscle in my left arm was twitching ever so slightly as your eyelid will sometimes do, I replied that I hadn’t noticed, and that I didn’t know how long it had been doing that. He suggested that I go see a neurologist as soon as possible. When I returned to Smithville, I called a Nashville neurologist and made an appointment to check into the hospital for tests. These tests were EMG’s and spinal taps. The spinal taps left me with such a headache that I really wasn’t too concerned with the diagnosis. I left the Nashville hospital with the doctor trying to tell me that a headache after a spinal puncture was imagination. After I got back to the hospital in Smithville, the report came in and since I was the administrator, I took the liberty of reading it. I forgave him in regard to our little argument when I saw the referred to me as courtly instead of obese. His diagnosis was amytrophic lateral sclerosis. Until this day, I don’t know whether I consciously rejected the idea or whether I really didn’t actually understand the seriousness of it. My brother and nephew, who both are doctors, suggested that I get a second opinion. There was a friend in our corporate office who knew a neurologist at Mayo Clinic and suggested that I go there. My wife and I flew to Rochester that weekend. Being in Rochester is a fascinating experience. Sitting in the coffee shop at the hotel, it is unusual to hear English spoken among the customers. This place truly is the assembly place of the world’s ills. We checked into the admitting desk of Mayo Clinic and were given an identification slip to the Neurology Section. Upon presenting this to the girl at the esk, we were requested to report back Monday morning.

Monday morning we were given to understand that I would be examined for nothing except my reasons for being there. I began a series of tests that were so intensive that by Friday I was completely exhausted. My wife and I returned to the lobby for the Neurological Department and awaited a call to the office of the Director of my neurological team. I must admit that upon being called, I waited in the doctor’s office with apprehension. His first words were, “The diagnosis was correct.” I asked what my prognosis was and he said, “Zero.” “How much time do I have left?” “From one to three years.” During this exchange, apprehension left me; and I thought to myself that this was the second time around. I had faced death before and when I was told that my time was limited, I was left with a strange feeling of inevitability. I could only feel sorry for my wife who must face the increasing responsibility of a dying man.