Ex-Pinellas physician preparing for federal prison
Posted over 14 years ago by Stanley F Whittaker
Days from reporting to federal prison, Kevin Denny says he is afraid, but optimistic about his future.
"I never thought in my wildest dreams at 54 I'd be going to federal prison camp," the former Pinellas County physician said. "I've had about every award and accolade possible in medicine, but I never thought convict would be one of them.
"I'm paying the price for what I did," he said. "I understand the need for punishment."
Denny will report Tuesday to the camp on Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Ala. He will serve almost six years for the crime of prescribing addictive drugs, including oxycodone, outside the scope of professional practice.
In other words, Denny knowingly gave prescriptions to drug addicts. In some cases, he traded the prescriptions for cocaine, his own drug of choice.
His 30-year medical career is over. He lost his car and his 3,000-square-foot home in Tierra Verde. And, he says, he nearly lost his life to addiction.
Speaking in his attorney's office, Denny said his biggest fear is what will happen to his wife, Rose, who has multiple sclerosis.
"I'm her man. I'm her guy," he said. "I take care of her. She couldn't get out of bed; I carried her to the bathroom. I gave her shots of interferon. ⦠I took care of my wife. Now I can't."
Denny is one of a growing number of doctors prosecuted for prescribing pain medicine to drug addicts. Experts say most doctors prosecuted for such crimes are motivated by money. But Denny's crimes were rooted in his own addiction.
"I wasn't doing this to run a pill mill," he said. "I actually thought I was helping people when I was doing this. That's the craziness of addiction."
When he was arrested last year, Denny tested positive for cocaine, marijuana and benzodiazepines, a class of sedatives. As a condition of his release from jail then, a federal judge ordered him into residential treatment â a mandate Denny now says saved his life.
Denny says the seeds of addiction were planted when he had his first experience with LSD at age 15. But they didn't sprout until four years ago, after his wife became ill and was paralyzed for a while. In the intervening years, he said, he drank and smoked pot, sometimes binging.
He was depressed because of his inability to make his wife better. "Here I was a physician who was able to do so much for so many and, you know, I had a gift with medicine. But I couldn't do anything for my wife."
The father of four struggled to care for his wife and still run his practice.
So, he says, he reached out. He called the doctor who was managing his practice and said, "I can't do it. I need help." The response, he says, was, "You need to do something because your productivity is declining."
"Something died in me that day," Denny says.
"You know, as an addict, we make excuses. To me, that tilted the scale where it was easy for me to say, 'I'm going to get lost. I'm going to numb out.' I just didn't care anymore after that. And I've always cared. It's what I've done."
Denny said he stayed in his house for about six months. Eventually, former patients contacted him, and he started making house calls. Some came to his house. Then they started referring friends. Ultimately, the addicts started coming, looking for prescriptions.
Already drinking and smoking pot, he started using cocaine to fight his depression.
Denny's daughter Megan stopped talking to him for three years because she couldn't stand what he had become.
"I watched my dad go down a spiraling hole of depression," said Megan, 20, a junior at Florida Gulf Coast University.
They fought because she didn't want him at her high school graduation, but he went anyway.
"I was embarrassed," she said. "He looked dead. His skin was pale white. His eyes were drooped down. It was disgusting. He just looked sick."
Denny said he knew how to spot addiction in others. "But the person we look at in the mirror, we don't recognize. We don't see those signs in ourselves. And once you do, it's kind of too late, because at that point, what is one to do? Raise your hand and say, 'I'm an addict, take my license, take my life, take my practice,' or do you try to struggle through?
"I thought, 'Tomorrow will be different. I'm going to make a change; I'm going to try to do better.'"Denny says he was afraid to seek professional help because he worried about losing his medical license.
That's a common, but unfounded, fear among medical professionals who struggle with addiction, said Scott Teitelbaum, division chief of addiction medicine at the University of Florida.
Physicians who turn to a state Professional Resource Network are evaluated, and some may be told to stop practicing for a time in order to protect patients.
But 80 percent to 90 percent of doctors who seek treatment through the network return successfully to their practices, Teitelbaum said. Those who don't get help can face catastrophic consequences.
Just like Denny. He'll never practice medicine in Florida again.
"If somebody would have intervened and gotten him help, the choice might have been taken from him," Teitelbaum said. "He would have hated it at that time, but I think â nobody has a crystal ball â his life would have been a lot better."
Instead of seeking help, Denny got worse. He used $100 to $150 worth of cocaine a day, four or five days a week. He started selling things to pay his bills. Then he stopped paying his bills.
In May 2009, Denny was arrested by the Drug Enforcement Administration. The charges carried up to 40 years in prison, but he reached a plea deal with prosecutors.
The judge delayed the start of the prison sentence so Denny could accompany his wife to experimental medical treatments.
Denny says he has been clean for 17 months.
Megan Denny says she has her father back. He won't be able to go to her college graduation, but she sees him on the right path.
"I watched him basically rise from the dead," she said. "It was the person I knew; my dad when I was young. It was someone who had life in him. ⦠I couldn't ask for anything else."
When he is released from prison, Denny hopes to return to helping others, either by counseling addicts or joining an international medical charity to provide care in developing nations.
He knows he should have sought help before losing everything.
"The reason I wanted to talk is if I can help one person or even one doctor or anybody say there is an alternative, that if you're struggling, get help now because it's not worth it worrying about losing stuff or worrying about losing a license because that's not living," he said. "It's a kind of a hell on earth. It's a life of quiet desperation, a shame."
"I never thought in my wildest dreams at 54 I'd be going to federal prison camp," the former Pinellas County physician said. "I've had about every award and accolade possible in medicine, but I never thought convict would be one of them.
"I'm paying the price for what I did," he said. "I understand the need for punishment."
Denny will report Tuesday to the camp on Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Ala. He will serve almost six years for the crime of prescribing addictive drugs, including oxycodone, outside the scope of professional practice.
In other words, Denny knowingly gave prescriptions to drug addicts. In some cases, he traded the prescriptions for cocaine, his own drug of choice.
His 30-year medical career is over. He lost his car and his 3,000-square-foot home in Tierra Verde. And, he says, he nearly lost his life to addiction.
Speaking in his attorney's office, Denny said his biggest fear is what will happen to his wife, Rose, who has multiple sclerosis.
"I'm her man. I'm her guy," he said. "I take care of her. She couldn't get out of bed; I carried her to the bathroom. I gave her shots of interferon. ⦠I took care of my wife. Now I can't."
Denny is one of a growing number of doctors prosecuted for prescribing pain medicine to drug addicts. Experts say most doctors prosecuted for such crimes are motivated by money. But Denny's crimes were rooted in his own addiction.
"I wasn't doing this to run a pill mill," he said. "I actually thought I was helping people when I was doing this. That's the craziness of addiction."
When he was arrested last year, Denny tested positive for cocaine, marijuana and benzodiazepines, a class of sedatives. As a condition of his release from jail then, a federal judge ordered him into residential treatment â a mandate Denny now says saved his life.
Denny says the seeds of addiction were planted when he had his first experience with LSD at age 15. But they didn't sprout until four years ago, after his wife became ill and was paralyzed for a while. In the intervening years, he said, he drank and smoked pot, sometimes binging.
He was depressed because of his inability to make his wife better. "Here I was a physician who was able to do so much for so many and, you know, I had a gift with medicine. But I couldn't do anything for my wife."
The father of four struggled to care for his wife and still run his practice.
So, he says, he reached out. He called the doctor who was managing his practice and said, "I can't do it. I need help." The response, he says, was, "You need to do something because your productivity is declining."
"Something died in me that day," Denny says.
"You know, as an addict, we make excuses. To me, that tilted the scale where it was easy for me to say, 'I'm going to get lost. I'm going to numb out.' I just didn't care anymore after that. And I've always cared. It's what I've done."
Denny said he stayed in his house for about six months. Eventually, former patients contacted him, and he started making house calls. Some came to his house. Then they started referring friends. Ultimately, the addicts started coming, looking for prescriptions.
Already drinking and smoking pot, he started using cocaine to fight his depression.
Denny's daughter Megan stopped talking to him for three years because she couldn't stand what he had become.
"I watched my dad go down a spiraling hole of depression," said Megan, 20, a junior at Florida Gulf Coast University.
They fought because she didn't want him at her high school graduation, but he went anyway.
"I was embarrassed," she said. "He looked dead. His skin was pale white. His eyes were drooped down. It was disgusting. He just looked sick."
Denny said he knew how to spot addiction in others. "But the person we look at in the mirror, we don't recognize. We don't see those signs in ourselves. And once you do, it's kind of too late, because at that point, what is one to do? Raise your hand and say, 'I'm an addict, take my license, take my life, take my practice,' or do you try to struggle through?
"I thought, 'Tomorrow will be different. I'm going to make a change; I'm going to try to do better.'"Denny says he was afraid to seek professional help because he worried about losing his medical license.
That's a common, but unfounded, fear among medical professionals who struggle with addiction, said Scott Teitelbaum, division chief of addiction medicine at the University of Florida.
Physicians who turn to a state Professional Resource Network are evaluated, and some may be told to stop practicing for a time in order to protect patients.
But 80 percent to 90 percent of doctors who seek treatment through the network return successfully to their practices, Teitelbaum said. Those who don't get help can face catastrophic consequences.
Just like Denny. He'll never practice medicine in Florida again.
"If somebody would have intervened and gotten him help, the choice might have been taken from him," Teitelbaum said. "He would have hated it at that time, but I think â nobody has a crystal ball â his life would have been a lot better."
Instead of seeking help, Denny got worse. He used $100 to $150 worth of cocaine a day, four or five days a week. He started selling things to pay his bills. Then he stopped paying his bills.
In May 2009, Denny was arrested by the Drug Enforcement Administration. The charges carried up to 40 years in prison, but he reached a plea deal with prosecutors.
The judge delayed the start of the prison sentence so Denny could accompany his wife to experimental medical treatments.
Denny says he has been clean for 17 months.
Megan Denny says she has her father back. He won't be able to go to her college graduation, but she sees him on the right path.
"I watched him basically rise from the dead," she said. "It was the person I knew; my dad when I was young. It was someone who had life in him. ⦠I couldn't ask for anything else."
When he is released from prison, Denny hopes to return to helping others, either by counseling addicts or joining an international medical charity to provide care in developing nations.
He knows he should have sought help before losing everything.
"The reason I wanted to talk is if I can help one person or even one doctor or anybody say there is an alternative, that if you're struggling, get help now because it's not worth it worrying about losing stuff or worrying about losing a license because that's not living," he said. "It's a kind of a hell on earth. It's a life of quiet desperation, a shame."
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