by Dave Liniger
At headquarters, no one outside of a very small group of top officers and the board of directors knew what was really happening early on. By mid-February though, Margaret shared my condition very openly and honestly with all of the officers, so they would know how serious my situation had become. She held off on making any further statements until we were certain about my prognosis.
MARGARET KELLY
Dave is the kind of man who wants to take care of everyone else when they are sick. He wants to be the hero. Now he had to be dependent on other people. For him, that was tough. But for the people who could actually go and do something for him, it was a way to pay him back.
I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. I had holy water from St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican that I wanted to use to bless him so if he passed, he would go in peace. It was rare to get a moment alone with Dave when he was in the ICU. One of his kids always accompanied his visitors to his room. This time, I wanted a private moment alone. At this point, he wasn’t my boss so much as a friend who needed way more than anyone there could give him. I spoke to John about my intentions, which he graciously honored. When I sat next to Dave, I used the water to make a cross on his forehead and I said a prayer. I knew there was someone who had the power to heal Dave and He wasn’t wearing a white coat or stethoscope around His neck.
I reminded Dave that even in the rare moments when there was no one else in his room, he was never really alone because it was my belief that God was always with him. Dave and I have never really seen eye to eye on our religious beliefs. I prayed for Dave every day. I knew it would take a miracle for him to survive.
In addition to running our company in my absence, Margaret came to the hospital to visit as often as she could. Our relationship goes beyond chairman and CEO—we are really great friends. Margaret had been through her own personal health crisis a few years back and I was right there by her side every step of the way. I never let her feel alone during a single hospital stay, and now, even with a very full plate of her own, she was returning that same compassion. She sat by my bedside doing whatever she felt was right to keep me feeling as normal as I could, from clipping my fingernails, which the hospital wouldn’t do, to combing my ever-growing partially blonde but quickly graying hair. I was beginning to resemble Howard Hughes in his really reclusive years. I hadn’t appeared this much like a hippie since the early days of founding RE/MAX and even then, it wasn’t my best look. Margaret is a much more religious person than I am and was curious about my near-death experience when I flatlined. She kept asking me if I saw any bright lights or long tunnels. I told her I didn’t see anything like that.
“Well, was there anything dark in the distance?” she asked with her usual wit and humor. I didn’t respond for fear my answer might incriminate me.
Even though the real estate press had picked up on my illness pretty early on, they were polite enough to never publicly say a word. They knew what was happening, but had the decency and respect for Gail, my family and me to allow us to have our privacy. Some members of the real estate press are my close friends, so they came by to see me without ever allowing anything to be printed in one of their publications.
The local newspapers and television stations looked the other way too. Someone approached Junior in the hospital and asked him how I was doing. Uncertain how he should answer, he simply responded, “On the record or off?”
“Junior, we’ve kept your daddy off the record the whole time. I am genuinely concerned, so that’s why I’m asking.”
“To be honest, it’s touch and go. We don’t know what’s going to happen.” Junior spoke the truth with the hope that it would sway the reporter to let it go.
“We think the world of your father, so you tell us what to do and we’ll do it.” In a world where tabloid media is so prevalent, it was a breath of fresh air to find a community of journalists with so much editorial integrity. I will never be able to express my appreciation for their decency and their respect of my privacy, as well as for giving me the opportunity to heal without being under their microscope.
Throughout my stay in the ICU, there were horrible moments of humiliation and lack of dignity no one wanted to make public, especially the loss of my ability to go to the bathroom on my own. I didn’t have the mobility or strength to use a bedpan, so my hospital bed became my toilet. When I was conscious enough to tell someone I had to go to the bathroom, they would roll me on one side and build a makeshift commode out of plastic bags that fit around my rear end. When I was done, they’d wash and clean me. I assure you this was not a pleasant experience for anyone, especially the technician who was assigned to me at that particular moment. From my perspective, it was embarrassing as hell. But what choice did I have? It was what it was. Even if the humiliation was slightly dulled at times by the pain medication, I will never forget the experience of praying that I wouldn’t crap the bed.
The nurses and technicians were always kind and never made things more uncomfortable for me than they already were. They’d lay a pillowcase across my groin and act like they didn’t notice all of my body parts hanging out as they gave me bed baths. I played dumb, often pretending I wasn’t really naked. But of course, I was.
MARY
I stopped in to see Dad and asked him if he wanted me to stay for a bit. I promised I wouldn’t talk! He was able to nod his head, “no.”
I didn’t take it personally. In fact, it was progress.
Before I left, he began talking to me about his arm. I asked if he was in any pain? Again, he nodded, “no,” and then lifted his left arm from his hand to his elbow up on his own. He raised it again, and this time, moved his left leg as well. Though he still couldn’t move the upper part of his arm to his shoulders or his right arm or leg, this was tremendous progress.
“You see, Dad? The doctors were right! They said you’d be able to move your arms again—you just needed time.”
Dad nodded his head, “yes,” before dozing off to sleep.
It was amazing to see the pride in his face and the joy in his eyes because he could move of his own volition.
ADAM CONTOS
Although Dave was showing small signs of improvement almost daily, the infection was still inside his body. It wasn’t clear yet if another surgery would be required to remove the remaining sepsis, but based on the amount of pain Dave was still in and the length of time the infection had now been in his system, the probability was high that they would need to go in a second time. The infectious disease doctor said the best-case scenario would be twelve weeks of antibiotic therapy from the date of his first surgery, February 16th through the middle of May. He would have to continue the antibiotics for months to come, if not longer.
Dr. Molk’s main focus was on getting Dave to start moving his body so it did not deteriorate any more than it already had. The biggest threat at this point was developing bedsores from being immobile. If that were to happen, Dave would likely have a harder time fighting off the infection. Even though his nurses were rolling him over every couple of hours, a bedsore had started to appear on his lower back. Although the doctors could clean and dress it, they couldn’t do much more to keep it from getting worse until Dave was more stable. His best prevention would be getting strong enough to move and eventually getting up on his own. The sooner Dave could move, the better.
By February 22nd, I was showing improvements in every area, including my kidneys and limited mobility. I was able to move my left leg and lift my left arm off the bed, bending at the elbow. My progress may have felt slow, but given the fact that my body had been in shock from the virus and I had been in the ICU for nearly a month, it was actually quite a spectacular improvement over what they originally predicted. I wasn’t out of the woods by any means, but I was certainly taking the necessary steps along the right path. It had been only a week since my surgery, but the doctors were actually talking to my family about moving me—in time—from the ICU into a long-term rehabilitation facility such as Craig Hospit
al, the same place where Gail had recovered from her accident twenty-nine years earlier.
Before I got sick I never gave much thought to the meaning of happiness or freedom. I was certainly an upbeat guy—and appreciative for all of my blessings. Every day since Vietnam had been a gift. I have always valued life and fought for freedom. I never took it for granted because I understood how quickly things can change. My life experiences brought me to this place of acceptance without questioning the reasons why. I am a very pragmatic individual, someone who chooses not to lose sleep over the inevitable challenges that come our way. My philosophy has always been to approach challenges head on. What’s done is done. There’s nothing you can do about it now except deal with the situation by accepting your circumstances.
George Bernard Shaw once said, “Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” I created every corner of the life I was living before I got sick, and now I was faced with the notion of recreating myself in a new light—one which I never gave an ounce of energy to until now. I can’t deny that there were many nights during my hospital stay when I lay awake wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life because for the first time ever, I felt helpless, vulnerable and worst of all, dependent. My mind was impaired, my body still weak and unable to move, and my ability to reason through potential solutions was limited at best. It was frustrating and I was becoming discouraged by my feelings of despair.
By February 27th, my kidneys had recovered well enough for me to be taken off dialysis. I was very happy to get that news, as it freed up even more time in my day to focus on getting stronger and improving my movement. I spent the better part of that afternoon watching the Daytona 500. Having owned my own NASCAR team, there was a connection to the event that kept me extremely lucid throughout the day. I was still having challenges talking, but there was no doubt that I enjoyed watching the event with Junior, who shares my passion for racing.
Although I seemed to be slowly improving, my doctors were still quite concerned about the infection, so one of my infectious disease doctors ordered two MRI’s. The first would look closely at the top of my neck and the second at my lower back to check on the healing of my spine and the effects of my limited movement. Each MRI would take two hours to complete, but it would give my doctors an accurate picture of where I was at.
After seeing the results of the MRI’s, Dr. Prusmack explained that there was still a fair amount of pus in the lower region of my spine that he wanted to drain. Doing this would take additional pressure off of that area. In addition, the abscess in my neck had become smaller but it also appeared to create some excess scar tissue. Operating would allow Dr. Prusmack to clean up the scar tissue and provide more room in the neck area of my spine. He thought the excess scar tissue might be the reason I couldn’t move my arms above my elbows, and although this surgery would be as delicate, if not more complicated, than the first, it was worth a try.
Dr. Prusmack and Dr. Barry Molk warned Junior that the surgery was risky. Since my health was still quite compromised and I had begun to run a fever again, there was a good chance that I wouldn’t make it through. And if I did, there was an even greater probability that I would be paralyzed for life. Unable to make the decision for myself, my family and friends weighed the pros and cons together just as they did for the first surgery.
As Junior was listening to the doctors’ opinion, Rudy Zupetz, the golf pro from Sanctuary, happened to come by for a visit. It was still early. Junior was lying on the sofa in my room.
“Hey, I brought you some orange juice,” Rudy said to Junior. After hearing about the severity of the situation, Junior looked over at Rudy and said, “What do you think, Rudy?” Of course, he was just yanking his chain.
“I have to go!” Rudy said, as he quickly turned and walked out of the room. He wanted nothing to do with making that kind of decision. Who could blame him?
Naturally, Junior reached out to Gail, his brothers and his sister before agreeing to let the doctors do the procedure. They had a very sophisticated and mature understanding of what was going on and kept it that way.
On the evening of March 7th, Dr. Prusmack opened me up for the second time. Mary, Junior and Dr. Barry Molk were there to support me. They’ve told me it was a very scary time for all of them, but they were equally excited because if I came through the surgery without a hitch, it meant I was making progress. Somewhere deep in their hearts, if this surgery went well, then perhaps, magically or by design, I would be cured. They sat in the ICU waiting room sweating bullets for two very long hours.
Gail, Margaret and Adam were at the annual RE/MAX R4 convention in Las Vegas, so they were kept apprised of my condition through emails and phone calls. Since I couldn’t be there to give the opening speech, Gail gave it in my absence. Believe me, I would have much rather been in Las Vegas than in an operating room that day.
Since Dr. Molk was on staff at Sky Ridge, he had access to all areas of the hospital. He was able to monitor the surgery throughout my time on the table. When the doctors finished, he broke the good news to the gang that I had come through the procedure and was comfortably resting in my room.
He said that a significant amount of the infection had been removed from the upper part of my neck. My doctors hoped this was the source of the paralysis on the right side of my upper body, but couldn’t be sure until a little more time had passed.
My lower back showed good progress from the previous surgery, which meant the antibiotics were working. I am sure this news came as a huge relief for everyone there, as they had been sitting on pins and needles, waiting for hours.
Shortly before my second back surgery, Margaret and Gail sat down with the family and explained that we needed to tell the whole company something. They didn’t want the false rumors to grow even larger. It just wasn’t fair to anyone to allow suspicions to incubate. I was still too out of it to speak on my own behalf, so they decided that Margaret should make a brief statement to our membership. The statement was to be neither promising nor alarming. They didn’t want to scare anyone because there was the possibility that I would bounce back, but they also didn’t want to make it seem like everything was all right when I was struggling daily to stay alive. My condition was constantly changing. Just when the doctors thought they had one problem under control, another popped up. But the time for the talk had come.
Margaret called a meeting with the three hundred or so people who work at RE/MAX corporate headquarters in Denver to tell them what was going on without going into all of the gory details. She explained that I had some complications from a serious back condition and was in the hospital recuperating from surgery. The news was hard to hear, but no one said a negative word. I got nothing but unconditional love and support.
When visitors arrived, my kids did an excellent job of greeting them. They made everyone feel welcome and appreciated, and yet also shielded me from being seen in such a vulnerable state. I really was a gruesome sight, and a shell of the man the good people of RE/MAX had come to know over the years. My family didn’t want a visitor’s last memory of me to be a decrepit, decaying man in a hospital bed. They wanted my friends and colleagues to think of me strong, healthy and fierce, like a lion. Even though I didn’t get to visit with so many of those who stopped by, I will never forget their desire to be there or their unwavering kindness and support for both my family and me.
I spent the next couple of weeks on heavy-duty antibiotics and slowly began to stabilize. I was still considered critical, but not nearly as critical as I had been in the weeks leading up to the second surgery. Being kept on the critical list had its advantages, though. The biggest one was that I could still receive around-the-clock care. If my condition had been downgraded, I wouldn’t have had the same kind of monitoring.
Dr. Barry Molk continued to come by daily, encouraging me to fight the good fight.
“You’ve got a lot of staph left in you, Dave, which means you’ve got a long road ahead and I need
you to be strong. Can you continue to fight for me?” He’d ask this in a very inspiring way that always made me want to say, “Yes.”
A few weeks later, Dr. Molk came by my room around 11:00 at night. He and I had a very good exchange that resulted in me laughing for the first time in months. He left my room feeling “cautiously optimistic” about my recovery—the first real positive sign my family was given that I might actually beat this thing.
While I was recuperating, Junior showed me a bit of the opening session from the RE/MAX convention that had been uploaded to Facebook. I did my best to watch and understand why I couldn’t be there, but it became a bit confusing for me. For a moment, I thought I was at a hospital in Las Vegas and could easily be taken to the convention in my hospital bed. I was clearly disconnected from my reality, but remember being so proud of Gail for staying strong and carrying on without me.
Throughout this experience, I worried about Gail more than myself. Night after night, she went home alone. She ate her dinner by herself, slept in an empty bed and did her best to keep a stiff upper lip. Even though I was still alive, from my perspective she was living the life of a widow, something I never considered before this happened. She inspired me every day in her own recovery, perseverance and determination, and she continued to inspire me now more than ever. For the first time in my life, I understood what it was really like to stand in her place—to face a life that wasn’t the one we had planned with a willingness to adapt as a means to survive.
FROM THE DESK OF MARGARET KELLY
2/27/12
Hello everyone,
I’d like to take a moment to share some news about Dave Liniger.
Here’s what’s happened over the past few weeks. Dave was feeling severe back pain, so he went to the hospital to get it checked. Doctors confirmed a problem in his back and also found a wider-spread infection, which needed to be addressed before anything else was done.
