Health officials in Carroll say knowledge is power, and starting Monday it can help people get the best health insurance possible for their dollar.

The Partnership for a Healthier Carroll County’s Access to Healthcare Leadership Team is hosting events throughout the week to help county residents with health insurance needs as part of cover the uninsured week.

Those who are uninsured or underinsured can attend to learn more about their health insurance options.

Barb Rodgers, director of health planning at Carroll County Health Department, said the team has met monthly to brainstorm ways to improve problems in that core health area.

“There are plans out there for folks who don’t ever realize they’re eligible,” Rodgers said.

Other people qualify for state health insurance programs but need help tracking down a provider, she said.

During this week last year, 132 showed up for enrollment events, she said. About one-third of those people had applications processed the day of the event, one-third of people were processed after the enrollment event and the remaining third weren’t eligible for services, but were referred elsewhere.

There will be at least three people at each enrollment session available to give advice and work with individuals. Depending on the resources each individual needs, meetings should take between 30 minutes to an hour, Rodgers said.

Louis Yeager, executive director of Catastrophic Health Planners, said people often don’t realize the programs that are available.

People with limited insurance can also find out what options they have to buy additional health insurance, he said. Those who are self-employed can get advice about insurance options at the event.

There are a number of choices out there, but people need to figure out if certain sacrifices they will have to make will be worth the benefits.

“There are options, but they’re not all perfect,” Yeager said.

More people have been visiting Catastrophic Health Planners, he said, especially working class people. The number of clients has grown to about 250 each month.

Catastrophic Health Planners Inc. is a nonprofit dedicated to helping clients through the obstacles posed by catastrophic health problems, according to its website.

It’s important for people to know that free services are also available to help with preventative care, Yeager said.

Organizations assisting with the enrollment events provide these services year-round, Rogers said, so people can learn how to take charge of their health care all of the time.

By Alisha George

Reach her at 410-857-7876 or alisha.george@carrollcountytimes.com

“Strawberry or vanilla?” Lou Yeager asks a cancer patient leaving his office.

“What tastes better?”

“Well, neither really,” says Yeager, setting up his client, not with a milkshake order but with an Ensure booster program that will deliver the nutrition supplement free of charge. “Some people can only take food through liquid. And they can’t afford the money, so we give it away.”

He know from experience.

Yeager, 57, was diagnosed with terminal cancer almost 25 years ago. But instead of admitting defeat, he used his time in chemotherapy treatments to talk to patients, finding there was a broken system — one he needed to do his part to fix.

“Because of the controlling type of person I am, I literally took over the infusion area. I mean ‘took over.’ I started scheduling patients, getting there at 6 a.m., wouldn’t leave until 8 p.pm. And then I’d go with my IV pole from chair to chair, asking people what they needed,” says Yeager.

In 1991, he founded Catastrophic Health Planners, knowing a crucial part of the treatment process was missing — that of meeting the financial, legal and family needs that arise during times of personal disaster.

“Patients were saying ‘I’m having financial problems,’ ‘I’m having legal problems,’ ‘My family just won’t talk anymore; they don’t know what to say to me, I’m dying.’”

Yeager is not a social worker. Not a doctor. He has no medical training or counseling education. He is simply someone who discovered first hand what needed to be done and decided to do it.

“The day I started I basically gave up and said, ‘God, you have to figure out where the money is coming from because I can’t do it all,’” says Yeager.

CHP brings in around $300,000 a year — not nearly enough, according to Yeager.

“I could use a million, million and a half just to take care of Maryland’s issues. But unless a miracle happens, it’s just not going to happen. We don’t have that image that we can show a little child that’s sick, we have a whole family that’s sick that needs help.”

Yeager’s office sees more than 250 clients a month, working with people who are suffering from disease and abuse or are victims of crimes and accidents. There is no case too big or too small.

“A catastrophic event to me is clarified by the following thing: If you’re a truck driver and you break your leg, that’s pretty catastrophic to you. We have no requirements about you have to be rich, poor, whatever. If you have a need, we’re here for you. We will do whatever we can for you,” says Yeager.

CHP has partnered with the Greater Baltimore Medical Center, where Yeager visited for treatment. He travels there once a week to meet with patients who are unable to travel to his offices in Westminster.

“I feel very lucky that we have him here. I feel lucky for our patients, and also for us,” says Donna Lewis, manager of Oncology Support Services at the Greater Baltimore Medical Center. “If you don’t have resources to offer them we feel like we’re letting them down but there’s a whole new dimension that he adds to our services.”

“He’s worth his weight in gold for what he does for his patients. I’m a nurse and a counselor and I think that when you work in oncology in particular there are patients that you see over and over again. With more people surviving cancer these days we aren’t dealing with survivorship issues so much now. A lot of the problems are financial issues,” says Lewis.

According to a recent study (http://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2010-06/wfub-ccp061110.php) published in Cancer, a peer-reviewed journal of The American Cancer Society, 2 million cancer survivors did not get needed medical services in the previous year because of concerns about cost.

Their stories are often heart-wrenching, and finding the money to help is not easy.

Last month at GBMC, for example, Yeager met with a young woman who was diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer. She had called doctors, social workers and oncologists to a meeting, searching for help and not wanting to give up.

“The oncologist explains the whole scenario to her and she patiently looks at me and says, ‘What are they trying to tell me?’ Because I’ve been close to death a couple of times and because I’m not very politically correct, I said, ‘If they give you chemo, you’re going to die. And if they don’t give you chemo, you’re going to die. Put your robe and slippers on. I’m going to get you a hall pass, and I’m going to take you over to hospice, and I’m going to give you a tour of an absolutely wonderful place; it’s your house on steroids.’”

After giving her a tour of the facilities and convincing her that she would be better off in hospice because of her exposed wounds, Yeager took her and put her in bed. But the work didn’t stop there.

CHP had to take care of legal issues as well because the patient’s children were not related to her spouse. “We took care of the guardian issues so that when she passed away, he wouldn’t lose custody of them,” said Yeager. “And, that’s what we do.”

Yeager’s cases are not all about cancer and they sometimes do cross state borders. Yeager tells a story about a young teen robbed of $3 when on spring break in Florida. The criminals set her on fire, causing devastating damage to her face and limbs. Because she left the state of Florida to come home to her family following the incident, she wasn’t eligible for the fund the state gives to victims of criminal activity.

“Shame on her, at 17 she wanted to be at home with her parents. Because she came back to Maryland, she wasn’t eligible for any benefits. It took us six months to find a surgeon who would put her face back together again,” says Yeager.

For his dedication and service, Yeager has received numerous awards, most recently the Greater Baltimore Medical Center’s 2010 Making A Difference Award by the Sandra & Malcolm Berman Cancer Institute.

But to Yeager, the awards to him are misplaced; they symbolize something deeper. “All they do is hurt me,” he said holding back tears. “You shouldn’t get awards when people are dying. “The awards should go to the people who are fighting the battle. I’m just a player, you know? I’m just trying to make a difference. How do you get an award for helping somebody die?”

While Yeager’s cancer is in remission, he still battles severe health issues due to damage caused by his cancer treatments. “I have heart damage, liver damage, thyroid damage, prostate damage. I have this thing called hemochromatosis, which will eventually kill me. It’s iron overload; your organs fill up with iron and eventually stop; they stop moving. It’s a drawback. So with the hours that I have available, I continue to sort of figure out what we can do.”

The average person in Yeager’s situation might give up. He says, “You just take one step at a time I guess there are some nights you go home that you cry and the rest of the world looks at you like you’re crazy.”

Why does he continue? “I survived death. It’s my only answer,” says Yeager. “You don’t do this because you think you’re going to get rich. I guarantee it when I become retirement age, which is right around the corner, I may regret that I’ve dedicated 20 years. I’m not going to have a pension, but it’s a decision that I made 20 years ago that I’m willing to pay the price for… I won’t know until the game is over.”

By Valerie Bonk

Lou Yeager of Finksburg recalls the day about 20 years ago when he got the diagnosis. He was 33, and he and his wife, Franca, had been married just six months.

“I went to a hospital,” he said. A doctor walked into the room and asked, “do you want a cup of coffee?”

Yeager said no.

“Well, you’ve only got six months to live,” the doctor told him flatly.

It was cancer.

Doctors told Yeager that if he went through chemotherapy and radiation treatments, the lymphoma would diminish at first, then return with a vengeance.

“I went out and bought fancy cars, and thought I wouldn’t live long enough to pay for them,” Yeager said.

“Oops,” he said. “Who’d think that 20 years later, I’d still be here?”

Yeager’s struggle as a cancer survivor may have been a financial “oops,” but it proved to be a saving grace for others.

Now 57, he founded and runs Catastrophic Health Planners, a nonprofit that helps patients navigate the health care system and deal with financial, psychological, social and legal catastrophes that often accompany cancer diagnoses.

“I’m just a janitor — I’m just cleaning up social messes,” Yeager said. “We all have baggage.”

That baggage can be debt, divorce, legal problems, depression and other issues, Yeager said.

“If I can take care of the psycho-social part, hospitals can take care of what they do best, which is medicine,” he said.

Yeager’s work has led the Greater Baltimore Medical Center to award him its 2010 Making A Difference Award, given through the hospital’s Sandra & Malcolm Berman Cancer Institute.

According to an Oct. 1 release from GBMC, Yeager was given the award for “his efforts providing … cancer patients with free financial guidance and assistance in navigating the complex health care world.”

Currently, CHP helps 250 patients each month in four states, with a fifth operation soon to open in Florida. The nonprofit has offices at GBMC, but also helps patients at Mercy, St. Agnes and Mount Sinai hospitals, as well as other medical organizations, Yeager said.

He founded CHP in 1993, and said he’s still surprised by people’s situations.

“Every time you think you’ve seen the worst case scenario, you see something worse,” he said.

Yeager has a seeming endless collection of anecdotes.

In one case, he met a patient who was living in a condemned building in Baltimore, but also operated an “araber” — a horse-drawn produce cart.

The man’s one concern was that, while he was getting treatment, would his horse be fed? Yeager contacted a Carroll County farm about providing hay for the horse and, after the first delivery, the farmer pledged to keep supplying the hay.

CHP helps patients file for Social Security disability benefits, sets up wills and trusts, and organizes finances to pay for travel, living and medical costs, and other assistance.

Donna Lewis, manager of GBMC’s oncology support program, said Yeager’s contribution to supporting patients is “worth its weight in gold.”

“Lou’s wealth of knowledge and ability to access resources, combined with being a cancer survivor himself, allow him to truly empathize with an individual’s experiences,” she said.

Michael Schwartzburg, a spokesman for GBMC, said patients find out about CHP’s services through an oncology support program, the hospital’s care management department and staff referrals.

Path of compassion

In their Finksburg home, Lou and Franca Yeager are raising their two children — Michael, 12, who attends Shiloh Middle School and Mariana, 10, who attends Sandymount Elementary School.

But Yeaher recalls that 20 years ago, having children seemed pretty unlikely to him.

In 1986, he had an associate’s degree in law enforcement from Essex Community College and a bachelor’s degree in accounting from then-Towson State College. He was six credits away from finishing a master’s degree in business administration at Johns Hopkins University when he received the cancer diagnosis.

Yeager survived to receive a bone marrow transplant in 1991. Then, over the three years, underwent daily blood transfusions.

As he went through those treatments, he would walk from chair to chair, with his IV plugged in, talking to other patients getting transfusions.

“I cam to find out everybody had similar problems,” he said, noting stories of dire medical conditions, lost jobs and desperate finances.

Now, he helps others get out of the woods when it comes to surviving health care’s psycho-social issues.

But Yeager will probably never be out of the woods in his own health.

As a result of the bone marrow transplant that saved his life, he now has hemochromatosis, a condition that means he has 10 times more iron in his blood than is normal.

The condition can damage his organs, he said. When combined with his weakened immune system, Yeager’s medical outlook is uncertain.

“We gotta let God work that out,” he said.

What he does know is that he takes great pleasure in helping others — and he appreciates the help that others give him as well.

“We’re very fortunate,” he said, noting that people donate cars and other items to CHP, and many foundations also donate money. “We’re very effective at getting things done, and the money keeps coming.”

But Yeager doesn’t ever want his organization to be solely about fundraising. If it comes to that, he said, he’ll stop.

“I basically made a vow 20-some odd years ago,” he said. “When money becomes an issue, we’ll just close up — because this is about helping people.”

By Jay R. Thompson

Reach him at jthompson@patuxent.com

By Maria Blackburn

Lou Yeager doesn’t use chemotherapy or radiation to help patients and their families cope with cancer.  Instead, he mows their grass, helps file their wills, feeds their horses and stands in line for them at the Social Security office when they need to file for their disability benefits.

Yeager, 47, is not a doctor or a social worker, but the Finksburg father of two who knows intimately how a serious illness or accident can affect a person’s life.  As the founder of the nonprofit Catastrophic Health Planners, Inc., Yeager, who learned he had cancer in 1986, makes it his mission to help people who are ill get the personal, legal and financial help they need.

‘Legal issues, financial issues–all this baggage is a normal human condition,’ said Yeager, who underwent a bone marrow transplant and blood transfusions as part of his successful cancer treatment.  ’When a catastrophic event comes along, it highlights every problem in life.  Now instead of something being a minor event, it’s major.’

Some people need help filling out insurance claims.  Others need assistance with estate planning.  And some people just need someone to talk to.  Yeager either helps people himself or refers them to a volunteer in the business community for assistance.

Craig Noppinger, a financial planner for AXA Advisors in Baltimore, has worked with Yeager’s clients for six years.  His company is one of the nonprofit’s largest donors.  ’When people get diagnosed, they feel abandoned,’ Noppinger said.  Catastrophic Health Planners ‘fulfills a need,’ he said.  ’It’s an outlet for people to get information.’

‘It’s filled a big hole for people with tremendous needs,’ agreed Linda Reardon, a former social worker at Greater Baltimore Medical Center and current director of community relations for Sunrise Assisted Living in Towson.  She has referred patients to Yeager for years. ‘You need somebody who knows the system and who can help guide people through.’

The concept sounds simple.  And it is.  However, it’s also somewhat unusual.  Although many charitable organizations are designed to help people who are sick, what’s different about Catastrophic Health Planners, which is based in Finksburg, is that it doesn’t specialize in one disease or offer just one kind of service.

Yeager, a slim man in pressed jeans and running shoes who talks fast and rarely sits still, estimates he has helped 4,000 to 6,000 people since he started the nonprofit in 1993.  His clients have ranged from a dying Baltimore man who needed hay for his horses to an 86-year-old named Esther who wore bobby socks and needed help recovering from chemotherapy.

Last month, Yeager assisted a Westminster 18-year-old with spina bifida who uses a wheelchair and needed a car to commute to Carroll Community College.  The student, Chris Hutchinson, doesn’t have his driver’s license yet, but he’s already planning outings to the movies and Baltimore’s ESPN Zone in the 1993 Ford Escort station wagon.

‘Lou is paying the way for the future of a young man,’ said Alice Hutchinson, Chris’ mother.  ’He does a lot of good for people who can’t do themselves.  He’s really been a blessing to our family.’

He used money donated to his organization to pay for the car.

Hospitals and other health care providers should offer these service to families, Yeager said.  ’The problem is the system falls short.  Everyone takes care of their own back yard.  What we’ve been able to do is make up for everything else that hasn’t been provided for.   We get involved in making sure things happen.’

‘I could make a difference’

Yeager says he draws no salary for the job.  He added a paid office assistant hired through a temp service this year.  Yeager’s family lives on the salary his wife, Franca, makes as a configuration manager at AAI Corp., a defense contractor.  As a cancer patient at GBMC, Yeager volunteered in the hospitals’ oncology support lab and provided help and moral support to patients who were undergoing treatments similar to the ones he endured.  ’I realized I could make a difference,’ he said.

The idea for forming the non-profit came in 1991.  Yeager, then a manager at AAI, was in bed awaiting a bone marrow transplant.  The defense industry was in the midst of downsizing, and Yeager knew he could face a layoff.  He decided to change careers.

‘One-stop shop’

‘My goal was to provide a one-stop shop for patients to support their quality of life,’ he said.  He wanted to provide all services for free.  Over the past decade, however, Yeager has come to realize that some law firms, financial planning companies and other businesses were unwilling or unable to provide their services for free.  As a result, he also serves as a negotiator to get clients the lowest price possible.

Volunteers like Joe Feeney, a financial advisor at American Express Financial Advisors in Towson, said Yeager’s commitment to his work is inspiring.  ’Lou believes in what he does 110 percent,’ Feeney said.  ’He has a tremendous energy to help people that are in situations he has been in.’

‘We’re just glad he’s there,’ agreed Laurel Brown, who coordinates the Family Links program at Carroll County Human Services Programs and has referred about three dozen people to Catastrophic Health Planners for help in the past four years.

Catastrophic Health Planners has gone from assisting one or two clients a month to about 100 patients a month, Yeager said.  Donations have increased from less than $25,000 a year to more than $50,000 this year, he said.

Plans to expand

One percent of his funding comes from former clients and their families, Yeager said.  The rest comes from donations from such businesses as AXA Advisors, American Express and PNC Mortgage, he said.  ’I just beg and grovel, and it just shows up,’ Yeager said.  He said he does not accept money from current clients.   Yeager is in the process of opening an office in Towson.  There, he hopes to provide counseling and resources to people being treated at GBMC and St. Joseph Medical Center.

It will open, he says, as soon as the donated furniture is delivered.

By Amy L. Miller, Staff Writer

Louis E. Yeager wants to help the medical community care for the whole person.  He knows that a positive patient surrounded by a supportive, calm environment often heals quicker than others.  For people who have terminal illnesses, it could mean the difference between life and death, said Mr. Yeager, a Finskburg resident.

‘Doctors are extremely aware about psychosocial effects on disease,’ he said.  ’There are so many things that affect a patient’s recovery.  But very few [medical teams] want to add additional staff to deal with it.  If it doesn’t relate directly to a patient’s condition, there’s not much they can do.’  Mr. Yeager, president of Catastrophic Health Planners, feels he has the solution: Rather than force a patient to run from agency to agency finding the help they need, his new, nonprofit group will do it for them.

‘When you’re not feeling well, the last thing you want to do is drudge from organization to organization,’ he said.  Mr. Yeager said he knows that from personal experience.  In 1986, he was diagnosed as having cancer and was given six months to live.  He made his own rounds of the support agencies.  Recounting his battle, Mr. Yeager still seems angry about the ordeal.  His blue-gray eyes flash darkly, punctuating his words as he relives the diagnosis, the chemotherapy, the bone marrow transplant.  ’Imagine being locked up in a room for three to four months, watching the seasons change, [being] extremely sick from high levels of chemotherapy to burn off the bone marrow,’ he said.  ’I was dependent only on human ability to keep me alive.’

The night before his marrow transplant, Mr. Yeager discerned that his grandmother had died, news his family had tried to keep from him for days.  Soon afterward, hospital nurses began to hang shock pads, tongue depressors and other medical implements on the walls in preparation for the next day’s procedure.  ’I was dealing with the trauma [of his grandmother's death], of being violated for three months, was bleeding internally and then, adding insult to injury, they began to hang things on the wall like a circus,’ Mr. Yeager said.  ’They said it was just precautionary, don’t worry.’

‘But they had forgotten the most important part: That there was a person sitting there with a mind inside dealing with the emotional problems of death.’

Transplant anticlimactic

The transplant–a syringe full of bone marrow was pumped into him through an IV tube–was anticlimactic, he said.  ’My wife sat across from me, and when the doctor started the process, she walked out of the room crying,’ he said.  ’I asked, “Does she know something I don’t know?”  We had done all that work, planning for the future for this one moment and it was going to be over one way or the other.’

Again, he said, he felt as if the medical team had not dealt with his family’s, or his, emotions.  ’They had taken care of me physically, but not taken care of the whole patient,’ he said.  ’That was my wake-up call.  I said, “If you survive this, maybe you can make a difference and make sure somebody doesn’t go through this.”‘

CHP is the fulfillment of that promise, Mr. Yeager said.  During the two years he was on disability from AAI Corp., a defense contractor in Cockeysville, the former project manager researched his concept.  When Mr. Yeager was laid off earlier this year, he incorporated CHP and began actively marketing his idea, he said.  He is awaiting word on his nonprofit tax status.

Comprehensive help

Patients enrolled in his program would have a comprehensive support system, ready to fulfill needs not directly serviced  by the medical community, Mr. Yeager said.  Members would not need to have a life-threatening illness, just one that could change their way of life.  ’You can’t compare having a broken leg to cancer,’ he said.  ’But if a truck driver breaks his leg, it could have the same effect on his family as someone with a terminal illness.’  If a person needed to apply for Social Security payments or enroll in a hospice program and didn’t feel well enough to do so, Mr. Yeager or an associate would take the information and stand in line for them, he said.

Patients interested in the latest medical research on their conditions, or seeking financial information, could request student interns working for Mr. Yeager search for it.  More complex problems would be handled by planners, accountants and lawyers in Mr. Yeager’s network who are experienced in dealing with catastrophic illness, he said.  People who just need a helping hand or someone to talk to could find that through CHP, too, he said.  ’Sometimes the patient and his wife are having terrible arguments over things like “He doesn’t put the dishes in the dishwasher” or “She isn’t doing the laundry,”‘ Mr. Yeager said.  ’These arguments cause terrible anxiety.  When it comes down to it, the arguments aren’t about these things, but that two people couldn’t say they love each other.’

Mr. Yeager said he doesn’t intend to replace the many patient support programs already in place.  He just wants to be a clearinghouse, a one-stop shop for patients to find out everything they need to know about their illness and planning for the future.  ’I'm not reinventing the wheel,’ he said.  ’I'm just streamlining the process so the patient doesn’t have to do the work, we will.’

Survival and change

But surviving cancer has changed him, Mr. Yeager said.  While writing strategic, financial, and business plans with AAI, Mr. Yeager said, he was most interested in career advancement.  ’Prior to this, the bigger house, the vice presidency, the larger car and the trip to Europe were my goals.  It’s amazing how something like this changes your life and your values.  Your family has to deal with you on a different plane.  You’ll never be the same person.’

Now, he wants to help other people, make the world better and live life from day to day, he said.  One of his greatest desires, to become a father, is an impossibility after his intensive chemotherapy treatments.  ’People ask me, “Aren’t you concerned about being laid off?” said Mr. Yeager.  ’It doesn’t even rate.  It’s not a concern, compared to all I’ve faced so far.’  His wife, Fran, still works for AAI.

Faithful followers

Mr. Yeager’s idea and enthusiasm already have attracted several faithful followers.  A five-member board, representing aspects of patient care Mr. Yeager wants to address, is assembled.  Maurice Offit, a lawyer; Melvin Berman, an accountant; Abrial Fox, a financial planner; Susan Fields, a human resources representative; and Dr. Ruth Kantor, Mr. Yeager’s oncologist, are CHP‘s board members.

‘I think it’s a terrific idea,’ said Mr. Offit, who taught Mr. Yeager’s business law class at Towson State University in the early 1980s.  ’From Lou’s standpoint, he’s one of the few people that beat the odds and he offers a unique perspective on what people need.  The key factor is taking control of the situation rather than being controlled by it.  He certainly did that, and personally, I think he can help others to do that as well.’  Mr. Berman, who joined the group through Mr. Offit, said Mr. Yeager’s enthusiasm brought him in.  ’He is one amazing phenomenal individual that beat cancer,’ Mr. Berman said.  ’He’s very sincere and has a true desire to let people know that if they get a catastrophic illness, it’s not the end of the world.  I was impressed with him at the first, and that’s why I’m involved.’

Mr. Yeager said payment for his services would come from a major hospital willing to incorporate this ideas into their patient support program.  Currently, he is negotiating with Johns Hopkins, Greater Baltimore Medical Center and the University of Maryland hospitals to have his program included in their patient support services.  ’I don’t care if they steal my idea or let me do it myself,’ Mr. Yeager said.  ’But we need a change.’

Skepticism

Representatives from each hospital said they had received proposals from Mr. Yeager, but were hesitant to say they had negotiated with him.  University of Maryland and GBMC officials declined to comment specifically on Mr. Yeager’s proposal.

‘I’ve met with him one time,’ said James Zabora, director of patient and family services at Hopkins.  ’Our contact has been limited to one meeting, a letter to him and a letter back to me.  I assured him that during November we’d get together again and see if we had some common ground.’  Mr. Zabora said he doesn’t want to discourage Mr. Yeager, but said he is concerned that CHP‘s founder isn’t aware of the enormous task before him.  His fear is that Mr. Yeager’s dream will become another little-used program with few successes.  ’I don’t want to do a disservice to this man.  He is really trying to do something to benefit people,’ said Mr. Zabora, noting that their philosophies of patient treatment are very similar.  ’But I firmly believe that we don’t need more programs if those that we have currently aren’t being fully utilized.’  For example, his work with the American Cancer Society has shown that people in lower-income areas often don’t call cancer hot lines for information.  ’We know by the zip codes that in those areas’ there is a higher incidence of cancer, Mr. Zabora said.  ’We know they are there, but they aren’t calling for information.  How do you deal with that problem?’  The group’s current solution is to encourage church groups and community centers to offer the same information.  ’We think they might be more willing to use the information if it was coming from someone they know rather than a distant hospital or a 1-800 number,’ he said.  If Mr. Yeager could reach the people he hopes to help, Mr. Zabora said, the volume of requests might overwhelm him.

‘He talks about having a 24-hour hotline, and I asked him how he will do that,’ Mr. Zabora said.  ’He said he and his wife would do that, and I told him that hotline work is a “monumental” undertaking.  The American Cancer Society’s hotline in Maryland–equipped with research directories and resource material to answer questions immediately–received 10,000 calls last year, he said.  ’That’s 30 phone calls a day,’ Mr. Zabora said.  ’I love his energy and I love his commitment and dedication to doing something for cancer patients and their families.  But I’m not sure if he understands the time commitment involved with the type of things he wants to do.  When I was talking to our public relations person here, I said “I wish  we could channel his energy into making something happen that may be more beneficial to patients and their families.”‘

Mr. Yeager admits that medical professionals seem to scorn his work.  Regardless of the obstacles, he said, he is determined to succeed.  If an established patient services program will not accept him, he will strike out on his own to solicit $100-a-year memberships from doctors, lawyers, accountants and financial planners to provide support for their clients, he said.  ’I just want to work with one patient at a time,’ Mr. Yeager said.  ’I can’t change the world.  I can’t cure everything.  But if my organization helps one person, then I know I’ve been successful.’

Lou Yeager was diagnosed with small-cell nodular lymphoma in 1986.  The cancer had already spread throughout his bone marrow and lymph nodes.  His doctor gave him six months to live and told him to go home.

But Yeager refused to curl up and accept the prognosis and has battled the disease for close to two decades.  He’s undergone chemotherapy and radiation treatments and a bone marrow transplant.  He lives each day with the possibility that the cancer could return.  ’No matter how bad I feel, I know there’s always someone who is worse,’ he said.  It is this attitude that kept Yeager from dwelling on his misfortune, and in 1993 led him to establish Catastrophic Health Planners.

His organization was set up to help people who suffer a catastrophic event and are unprepared to handle all the stress that accompanies the event, including family, social, financial, legal, and medical issues.  The self-described type-A personality said that the idea that individuals facing tragic events may not have the tenacity that he did inspires him to do everything necessary to help them.  ’An unexpected illness or tragedy takes a lot of effort to overcome.  It pushes you to your limits,’ he said.

In appreciation for all he has done for the community, Yeager was honored with the first-ever Janet Neslen Award on May 21 [2003] at the Wakefield Valley Golf and conference Center during the annual ‘We’re On Our Way’ event.  The award was established this year to recognize an individual or organization that has done something extraordinary to facilitate access to health-care services in the community–a description that fits Yeager to a tee, said Tricia Supik, executive director of Partnership for a Healthier Carroll County, the organization sponsoring the award.

Disparities in health-care services do exist in this country.  There are people who can’t afford health insurance at all, and there are those who suffer catastrophic health problems, such as a terminal illness or major injuries, where the costs exceed their insurance coverage, Supik said.  Yeager was 33 and a newlywed of six months when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  That was the moment his journey began, he said.

He went home, fired his doctor, and began to search for answers elsewhere.  He searched for opportunities–not to save his life but to prolong it, long enough for a cure or an effective treatment to be found, he said.

Over a five-year-period, he underwent innumerable chemotherapy and radiation treatments, and in 1991, he was offered a bone marrow transplant, which at the time was a fairly new procedure.  ’They practically kill you,’ said Yeager in describing the process designed to save him.  In preparing for a bone marrow transplant, his existing immune system had to be destroyed.  The bone marrow, which is responsible for producing the blood cells that fight off infection, had to be killed off.  In Yeager’s case, any good bone marrow blood cells were wiped out along with the cancerous ones, making his immune system nonexistent.

He spend six months in an isolation room, he said, receiving daily transfusions just to keep him alive.  ’I saw the seasons change sitting in that one room,’ he said.  He would let his wife visit only on the weekends, trying to spare her the stress most caregivers experience during these times.

The transplant did get rid of the cancer, but after all the years of chemotherapy, his body was suffering the after-effects.  He suffered heart, liver and prostate damage.  And the effects of the transplant left him with a rare blood disorder that created a dangerous amount of iron in the blood, again leaving his immune system compromised.  Yeager said he takes it day by day.  He does some long-term planning, but as soon as he gets an ache or pain, he said he thinks to himself, ‘Oh, my God, it’s probably bad news again.’  From October 2002 to January 2003, he was sick almost every single day, and battled pneumonia.  But he was not deterred.  His priority was to keep helping others through his organization.  His organization provides educational development, support, and referral services.  It teaches people how to empower themselves during their difficult times, make good choices and find the necessary resources.

Yeager said sometimes he and his many volunteers roll up their sleeves, get in there and just do things the afflicted can’t do for themselves.

The organization provides everything from handicap accessible vehicles to financial assistance to advice on legal problems to mental health support.  Individuals are referred to the program from hospitals, hospices, and state and local governments.  Its services are not limited to cancer patients but extend to any victim of a violent crime, sexual assault, child molestation or any debilitating disease.  Yeager said his organization accepts anybody, as long as they are under a physician’s care, and all services are provided free.

The organization started opening its doors in Finksburg on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and today it averages from 150 to 250 patients a month.  It has an additional office in Bel Air.  Yeager said that he was completely overwhlemed by receiving the community service award and prefers to focus on the work, not the recognition.  ’The reward is living,’ he said.

Yeager, 50 now, still lives in Finksburg, is still married to the same woman and has a 5-year-old and 3-year-old.  He doesn’t see himself slowing down.  ’You have to kill me to stop me,’ he said.

Reach staff writer Maria Tsigas at 410-857-7886 or mtsigas@lcniofmd.com

From Carroll County Times, Sunday, June 18, 2000

Lou Yeager is a talker.  Ask anyone who knows him.

As founder of Catastrophic Health Planners, Inc., a nonprofit organization that helps people who find themselves in difficult situations, his conversational abilities are vital.  In addition to talking with those who need help, he has to build relationships with those who can provide that help.

Yeager is also known for his sense of humor.  The man can make a joke out of almost anything.  But when asked about his family, the Finksburg man was nearly speechless.  The minutes of silence before he finally spoke seemed endless.  ”I don’t think words…,” he said, his voice trailing off as he reached for a box of tissues just out of his grasp.  ”I don’t think words can do it justice.”  Yeager, 47, never thought he’d have the privilege of being the father of Michael, 2 1/2, and 12-week-old Mariana.

Yeager was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 1986, only six months after marrying his wife, Franca.  The cancer had spread all through his body.  ”You don’t plan too far,” he said, “’cause you don’t want to get your hopes up–’cause you don’t want to let anyone down.”  The doctors told him to go home and die.  ”Your whole life changes,” Franca said.

Not until after the diagnosis had Yeager been concerned with having children.  He was a man driven by his career.  He wanted to see how far he could ascend the corporate ladder.  His end goal was to be the president of some huge corporation, raking in the dough.  ”He was very much into material things,” said Criag Noppinger, who worked with Yeager at AAI Corporation, a defense contractor based in Hunt Valley.  ”After he was diagnosed with cancer, he was definitely a changed man–the material things didn’t matter.”  Yeager worked in the Missile and Robotics Division at AAI Corporation, where he would do a number of things, from marketing to financial planning.

Shortly after his diagnosis, Yeager was dealt another blow.  A shift in the defense industry caused layoffs.  He was one of those affected.  After eight years of service at AAI Corporation, Yeager was out of a job.  Faced with a terminal illness and unemployment, he spent his days wondering what to do.  He knew he had choices.  He said he remembered thinking either he could explore those choices or sit back and wait to die.

“How do you go on after someone tells you you’re going to die?” he said.  He recalled sitting on the deck at his home one day after the diagnosis, his head in his hands, his head on his knees.  He was looking at the ground, feeling sorry for himself.  He observed an ant carrying a dead insect away.

“It was the first time of my life I realized that there was a world going on around me,” he said.  ”I just hadn’t stopped long enough.”  Yeager figured his death was near and he didn’t challenge that, but after watching that ant struggle with its load, he resolved to find out how to improve the quality of the life he had left.

After a bit of searching, he found two doctors, one in Maryland and one in Pennsylvania, who could help him with his health.  He probed doctors and medical institutions for any available information about cancer treatment and alternative and experimental treatment options.  But, most important, Yeager said, he focused on doing such things that had meaning, such as spending time with his wife.

He was overwhelmed by the amount of information that was available, but what really floored him was how difficult it was to retrieve it.  People on the other end of the phone were telling him what he needed to do in order to get the information.  ”They’re telling you you have to do all of this stuff–and you’re dying,” he said.  ”No one ‘got it.’”  No one seemed to understand that he was sick and could not travel here, there and everywhere to get what he needed.

In 1991, five years into battling his illness, the idea for Catastrophic Health Planners was born.

“People shouldn’t have to drive all over town,” he said.  Yeager thought that the resources should be made available to those in need, and in the comfort of their own homes.  He thought that someone should do the running around for them.  He wanted to help people who had to deal with terminal illness and who needed help with things such as financial planning and wills.  He wanted CHP to act as a resource for people faced with dire circumstances who didn’t know where to go to get help.

Yeager figured that if people could have the peace of mind of knowing that all of the business had been taken care of, they could spend their last days at peace, content to remember.

He said his happiest days are spent listening to terminally ill patients talk about sunsets, family gatherings–the pleasant things about life.  ”The joy I get out of helping people in a tough situation–it’s neat,” Yeager said.  Even though the idea for CHP was in place, Yeager wasn’t physically ready to put it into motion.  He spent his days in continual illness.  He remembers vomiting a couple of times a day in response to his illness and chemical treatments.

Then there was the chronic fatigue, the bruising–it wasn’t a pleasant time.  But through all of that, Yeager was determined to live a normal life, working and volunteering at GBMC [Greater Baltimore Medical Center], where he was a patient as well.

In 1991, he had to have a bone marrow transplant.  He had to go to a Fairfax, Va., hospital for it.  He spent six months there, three of them in complete isolation.  But during the time when he was allowed to receive guests, he was touched by people who traveled to see him.  ”It was like being in a different country,” he said of being in the Virginia hospital.

After working 60- and 80- hour weeks, Dr. Earle Flick, veterinarian and owner of Route 140 Veterinary Hospital in Finskburg, would travel at least once a week to see Yeager.  Flick recalled meeting Yeager around 1986 when he brought his cat in for treatment for cancer.  Then, Flick worked in Owings Mills.  A friendship materialized and they remain friends to this day.  ”I just did that because I loved him,” he said.  ”The Lord gives you that kind of desire.  I was motivated to go to the hospital and give him some encouragement.”

That’s just the kind of support that Yeager wanted CHP clients to have.  He wanted them to feel as if someone cared about their struggles.  Yeager spent the next one-and-a half years getting blood transfusions every day.  He would go to GBMC for that.  He remembers walking around the hospital pushing his IV pole, trying to find a way to be useful.  He didn’t want to sit around.

Finally, as his health was improving, Yeager went forward with his plans for CHP. In May 1998, CHP was no longer an idea.  The organization was incorporated.

“Taking Care, Taking Control”

A great seminar for cancer patients and their families, friends, and caregivers!

Saturday, February 30: “Trials and Triumphs”

1. Lou Yeager, Founder, President and Executive Director, Catastrophic Health Planners: “Cancer’s Other Costs”
2. Frenchettia Payne, cancer patient, survivor and advocate: “The Road to Recovery”

Saturday, February 20: “Treating Body and Soul”

1. Hunter Groninger, MD: “Reducing Symptoms, Regaining Independence”
2. Linda G. Fischer, Chaplain, Outpatient Oncology: “Restoring Your Spirit”

Saturday, March 27: “Transitions for Life”

1. Jocelyn M. Lutkus, RD, LD: “Eat Your Way to Health”
2. Dorelle Laffal, NSPA, CPT: “Everyday Fitness for a New You”

Time and Program Format:

8:30 am       Continental Breakfast and Check-in

9:00 am       Session One

10:00 am     Questions and Answers

10:15 am      Break

10:30 am      Session Two

11:30 am      Questions and Answers

Registration

Contact Lorna DeLancy, community outreach coordinator, at 202-877-3915 or by email at lorna.delancy@medstar.net.  You may also register online at www.WHCenter.org/livingwell.

Driving Directions, Metro Information and Parking

All events are at the National Rehabilitation Hospital (NRH) Auditorium, on the Washington Hospital Center campus.  102 Irving street, NW, Washington, DC.

Visit WHCenter.org and click on Hospital Maps & Directions (click here).  Parking is free in the Blue Garage.

Lou Yeager said he deals with a lot of sadness and depression in his work.

“What we see here is the human tragedy.  My friends are sick people,” he said.

Yeager founded Catastrophic Health Planners, a nonprofit with an office in Westminster that helps Americans from all over the country deal with bills, insurance and any other concerns when they face a major health crisis.

“We see mental health, child molestation–it’s not just cancer,” Yeager said.

For Carole Strumsky, her catastrophe was cancer.  In 2007, she had already had emergency surgery to remove a disk in her back and have a titanium cage implanted.

“I was in a walker when they diagnosed me with lymphoma,” said Carole Strumsky, who has lived in Finksburg with her husband Charles since 1979.

After Charles retired, he got a part-time job, but he and his wife had to purchase their own insurance.

Carole said the fees were very high although she didn’t want to reveal the cost.  Despite Charles working part time, during Carole’s illness he needed to take time off to help care for his wife and go with her to doctor’s appointments.

“The bills got bigger and bigger,” she said.  ”We found ourselves in a spot that we didn’t exactly create.”

Carole found out about Catastrophic Health Planners in the summer of 2007, from a friend who had used their services before.

Before going to see Yeager and his organization, the Strumskys prayed.  She didn’t think there were services available for her or her family, because she had a roof over her head and her husband worked.  She thought people had to be on welfare or living on the street to get assistance.

“He’s worked hard his whole life to be a good provider,” she said of her husband.

Just a phone call away

In addition to Yeager’s wealth of background, Carole Strumsky said she was taken by the empathy and compassion she found in Yeager and his staff.

“I love his motto: ‘You are not alone,’” she said.  ”We felt alone by our circumstance.  He explained things we didn’t know about the system.”

The Strumskys were also inspired by Yeager’s personal story.  Yeager himself has gone through a catastrophic health event.  In 1986, he was diagnosed with small cell nodular lymphoma.  He was given six months to live at the age of 33.

Instead of accepting his six-month prognosis, Yeager sought other professional opinions.  He had a bone marrow transplant in 1991 and then a blood transfusion every day for two years.

While in the hospital receiving his transfusion, Yeager would go visit with other patients to learn what their struggles were and then see whether he could fix them.

Out of that, CHP was born, officially getting its start in 1993, and despite Yeager’s health struggles, he and his staff managed to help out as many people as possible.

Today Yeager has offices in Westminster and just recently opened another in Florida.  He said his organization sees about 250 clients a month.

Despite surviving more than 20 years since his diagnosis, Yeager still has health struggles and said doctors predict his cancer will return.

He said he does see a lot of cases, and in some instances he can’t help everyone.  He tries not to judge whether people deserve help.

“You better not be judgmental.  You better help people because you want to help them, because we all make mistakes,” he said.

He recalled dealing with patients who didn’t have health insurance because they were trying to save for retirement.  He recalled a patient who had cancer and didn’t get it checked out until the tumor broke the skin.

“She didn’t know about free services.  She didn’t go to the doctor because she didn’t have health insurance,” he said.

He said that even though such patients should have gotten themselves to a doctor, it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t help them.

“You made decisions about where you were going to put your money,” he said.  ”I’m going to try to figure out a plan regardless of your bad decision.”

Yeager said that for most of his patients, the struggles are cyclical.

“You start getting co-pays, you don’t have enough money for food,” he said.  ”In the meantime, you’re sick as a dog.”

Someone to lean on

Carole Strumsky said Yeager helped her get through her cancer diagnosis.  She applied for early retirement, but she and her husband still pay for their independent insurance.

She said that along with his information and connections, Yeager was able to provide a support system, someone to lean on.

“A support system is vital in these circumstances,” she said.

Despite having to deal with chronic pain in her back and another emergency surgery, Carole Strumsky said working with Lou in 2007 helped her and her husband out tremendously.

“What Lou helped us with at the time has had lasting benefits,” she said.

Reach staff writer Erica Kritt at 410-857-7876 or erica.kritt@carrollcountytimes.com.

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