This article is by Mike Linton, CMO, Farmers Insurance.
There’s a saying that sometimes you are the windshield and sometimes you are the bug. Almost all business training is predicated on “driving the car” for growth, efficiency and speed: taking control of the situation and making choices. When I encountered cancer, I realized how much I had taken that control for granted and how few skills I had for dealing with being “the bug,” where decisions, timing, treatment, schedules and outcomes were usually out of my control. Over the eight months of treatment, I learned a lot of things, including the fact that wearing a surgical mask and wiping down the tray table and arm rests with a wet wipe will almost certainly get you your own row on a Southwest flight. But some of the most important learnings were the development of rudimentary coping skills for dealing with that loss of control.
After being diagnosed with stage 1 testicular cancer, which was rare for someone my age, I moved as quickly as possible through the cure process, thinking I would get the green light after each step. Since stage 1 represents the initial phase of the disease, I chose to mentally frame it as a massive inconvenience during which I’d maintain as much of my normal schedule as possible. It didn’t work out that way, as outpatient surgery was followed by nine weeks of chemotherapy which was then followed by major six-hour surgery along with a four-day hospital stay including the pleasure of having three IVs at the same time. There were also surgical complications that required additional procedures, but I’m finally on the mend with a positive prognosis. While I’m still reflecting on the experience, one of the things I totally underestimated was the difficulty in dealing with how powerless I felt throughout the journey and how poorly prepared I was for hearing that I would have to “take the next step” in the cure a number of times.
As a 57-year old, three-time CMO and board member, I was used to feeling in control of my destiny, and cancer was, by far, the most loss of control I’ve ever experienced. The medical community, the disease and the treatment take over your schedule, your body, and, hardest for me, the prognosis. While you can have a good attitude, learn about the disease and treatment and do exactly what doctors tell you, almost all of the decisions (once you pick a doctor) are made by someone else or how your body reacts to treatment. Unlike work, where you can shift resources, work harder or be a better leader, you are at the mercy of the situation with minimal, if any, alternatives. For example, I learned that it would take almost a full week to biopsy the surgically removed lymph nodes and tell me the follow on prognosis. There was no decision I could make, or alternative to consider. I was “the bug” waiting to hit the windshield or fly over the car. It was very difficult to stop trying to solve the problem and very different from the most difficult decisions I had faced in business. If you think your company might be acquired or that you might be fired, you can rewrite your resume, interview, move, or a number of other things. With cancer, you are stuck as you can’t move on to another body. If you aren’t careful, you can think your way to a dark place since the problem is very large and you are essentially incapable of solving it through personal effort.
The speed at which control was transferred was a shock. Trips, workouts, meetings, school gatherings and fun events didn’t just wind down, they often stopped without warning. I was unprepared for how many things stopped simultaneously and how little I was prepared to fill the gap of what felt like a series of “losses.” This was often complicated by the number of indignities required for treatment including innumerable blood tests, wearing those heinous surgical gowns, the array of anti-nausea drugs and losing my hair. Over time, there were three things that helped me cope.
Create Structure. The absence of structure and control meant my normally planned and (I think) exciting life had no resemblance to its former self. It was a desert which I ended up filling with as much structure as possible. That structure (even if it was listening to an Audit Committee Board call, putting in a few hours at work or planning out an article) allowed me to focus on things I could engage with versus thinking about things beyond my control. I spent a lot of time during chemo on calls which really helped me avoid focusing on the fact that the nurses wore plastic gowns to prevent any “accidents” from touching their skin for the drugs they were putting directly into my veins.
I developed a theory that the cancer, chemo and treatment would earn whatever they earned and that I would hold on to anything and everything they didn’t take. Unfortunately, they took quite a bit, but at least it felt like it was an ongoing fight versus a passive wait for external forces out to give that control back to me. Slowly, I realized that recalibrating success (a three-mile slow bike ride after chemo followed by keeping a meal down) was a requirement to seeing my minimalist structure in a positive light.
Enlist a Team. Most people think they have great friends and co-workers, and I’m no exception. I chose to be public about the situation (it’s hard to hide your hair falling out and weeks of short-term disability). This openness resulted in a lot of visitors, calls and advice and, in retrospect, helped me get through things much better. There was always someone to speak with about anything I felt needed to be talked about and for me talking helped. Reminiscing about past events, keeping track of the business results while recovering from surgery or focusing on something in the future like a New Year’s Eve Party temporarily pulled the focus off of the cancer. Folks were relentlessly encouraging, supportive and understanding, continually using words like “when you are back.” My wife was an ongoing positive force, and my friends and co-workers eased her burden by driving to appointments and bringing food, books and spirit lifting gifts over throughout the process. I still occasionally wear the Breaking Bad hat, but it has lost some impact now that my hair is back. I think the key learning is that people can’t help you if you don’t let them.
Seek and Celebrate Humor. While I’ve always liked and used humor, I realized it was actually a coping mechanism and a way of minimizing the power of the cancer and the treatment. Granted, it was minimal, but just like a little structure, it was the one of the few things I could do as “a bug.” One of my favorites was that chemotherapy parking was complimentary, a fact I always shouted out whenever I arrived along with the statement “It’s amazing what people will do to find parking in this city!” As discussed, even though I tried to let everyone know about chemo, it didn’t prevent folks from popping into the office upon seeing my newly bald pate and proclaiming “I love the new do! So Californian!” I always responded the same way with a “Thank you,” versus explaining everything.
So, what will I take back to work from this experience? In addition to a new view on what constitutes a tough challenge, I will also try to remember the ongoing effort required to change my mindset about “trying harder” and the energy required to see things through a totally different lens. In the beginning, I confused the goal of beating cancer, with the objective inventory of the skills I needed to deal with the situation and they were not the same. It was important to reframe success off of a new baseline versus looking at how much I had lost over an 8 month period. I’m hopeful that this perspective will let me look differently at certain business and life situations and objectively find the real skill sets and mental thinking required to achieve a positive outcome.
