I said to my wife, “Am I driving straight?” I felt as if I was weaving, not quite in control. I had been feeling dizzy and hearing clicking noises in my ears.
The mystery only increased over the next two years as I visited three different doctors. They stuck, prodded, and probed me–but no solution.
Meanwhile, I felt a growing numbness on the right side of my face. So one night I started Googling health websites (the thing they tell you not to do) and came upon this link: Acoustic Neuroma Association. I clicked it. It was like reading my diary. It couldn’t be: a brain tumor.
The next day I handed my doctor the acoustic neuroma information and said, “I think this is what I have. I want a brain scan.”
Two days after the scan, while on the golf course, I received the doctor’s call: “Mr. Hall, you were right. You have a 2.3 centimeter brain tumor.” (I sent him a bill but never received payment–just kidding.) My golfing buddies gathered around and prayed for me on the 17th green, and I went home to break the news to my wife. I had two children, two and four at the time. I was concerned.
Shortly thereafter I was in a surgeon’s office in Atlanta. The doctor said they’d do a ten hour operation; there was a 40% chance of paralysis and a 5% chance of death. The tumor was too large for radiation–or so I was told.
I didn’t like the odds, so I prayed more and went back to the Internet. There I located Dr. Jeffrey Williams at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. I emailed the good doctor, telling him of the tumor’s size. His response: “I radiate tumors this size every day.” He was a pioneer in fractionated stereotactic radiation, one of the few physicians in the world using this procedure (at the time).
A few days later, I’m lying on an operating table in Baltimore with my head bolted down, ready for radiation. They bolt you down to ensure the cooking of the tumor (and not the brain). Fun, you should try it. Four more times I visited the table. Each time everyone left the room–a sure sign you should not try this at home.
Each day I laid there silently, talking to God and trusting Him.
Three weeks later I returned to work. Seventeen years later, I have had one sick day.
I’ve watched my children grow up. They are nineteen and twenty now. My wife is still at my side…I’m thankful for each day.
So what does a brain tumor story tell us about audits? (You may, at this point, be thinking: they did cook the wrong part.)
1. Pay Attention to Signs
It’s easy to overlook the obvious. Maybe we don’t want to see red flags (I didn’t want to believe I had a tumor). They might slow us down. An audit is not purely about finishing and billing. It’s about gathering proper evidential matter to support the opinion. To do less is delinquent and dangerous.
2. Seek Alternatives
If you can’t gain appropriate audit evidence one way, seek another. Don’t simply push forward, using the same procedures year after year. The doctor in Atlanta was a surgeon, so his solution was surgery. His answer was based on his tools, his normal procedures. If you’ve always used a hammer, try a wrench.
3. Seek Counsel
If one answer doesn’t ring true, see what someone else thinks, maybe even someone outside your firm. Obviously, you need to make sure your engagement partner agrees (about seeking outside guidance), but if he or she does, go for it. I often call the AICPA hotline. I find them helpful and knowledgeable. I also have relationships with other professionals, so I call friends and ask their opinions–and they call me. Check your pride at the door. I’d rather look dumb and be right than to look smart and be wrong.
4. Embrace Change
Fractionated stereotactic radiation was new. Dr. Williams was a pioneer in the technique. The only way your audit processes will get better is to try new techniques: paperless software (we use Caseware), data mining (we use IDEA), real fraud inquiries (I use ACFE techniques), electronic bank confirmations (I use Confirmation.com), project management software (I use Basecamp). If you are still pushing a pentel on a four-column, it’s time to change.
Finally, remember that work is important, but life itself is the best gift. Be thankful for each moment, each hour, each day.
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