Last Sunday afternoon landed me smack in the middle of an interesting (at least to me) intersection.

Because we both were working on different ventures in different locations and had to miss the Friday night soiree of the century, my husband and I delivered some Spiderman accoutrement to our four-year old grandson to augment his already impressive collective of Spiderman cars, clothing, racetracks, fastest-shoes-on-the-planet, and now, beach towels.

Post-visit we were out tootling around when we ended up in a conversation with someone we had never met about drug sales.

Legal drug sales. The kind of drugs that save lives.

The seller in question is a born and bred rural Kentucky guy. In his early twenties life took an unexpected turn. A baby was on the way, so he dropped out of school and went to work (responsible rural Kentucky guy).

Years later he made it back to school and got his degree at the now ripe old age of thirty-something.

He wound up in pharmaceutical sales for a large company (one whose name you would know if I could remember it). And he’s still at it, even though he’s older than we are, which means legitimate retirement age.

The drug he sells is for a handful of patients in the world. People who suffer from an aggressive, multiple mutation form of leukemia that is tough to cure. He knows the people he calls “his” patients by name and location. Knows where they are in their treatment. Knows when he loses one.

The whole time we were talking I was thinking about my sister-in-law. She was beautiful, brunette, funny, could belch like a truck driver, and had the sweet sense of humor of someone you like to have around.

And we lost her way too young (forty-one) to, you guessed it, leukemia. I can’t remember her diagnosis but I know she had two kinds. Aggressive. Thirty-five years ago they joined forces to do their untimely number on her.

We said goodbye to our sales rep and turned the corner to see a red pickup truck in our driveway. Guess who it was?

Our brother-in-law, who lives ninety miles away. The patient partner who lost his wife thirty-five years ago to leukemia, come to town to see his daughter and grandchildren, but stopped to see my husband.

Laughter, backslapping, a few jokes, then he pulled out of the driveway en route to a family lunch. And I was thinking about drugs, disease, and losing people we shouldn’t have to lose. Not yet.

Later, I went for a walk. Before I had gone even half a mile I came across two enterprising young fellows selling lemonade.

I’m always a sucker for young entrepreneurs and believe it or not, had a little cash in my pocket (something which never occurs). I bought a cup and had another conversation.

This time about an eighth grader’s choice of reading material.

I was drawn to the cover immediately because I could tell it was non-fiction. What eighth grader willingly chooses to read non-fiction?

This one does.

I said, “Oh, hey! Isn’t that about the drug people?”

He smiled in the affirmative. I asked how it was and he said “Pretty interesting,” and I thought, yeah, I’m sure it is. Very interesting, and, most likely, frightening.

I bid them farewell and headed off on my way, thinking again about drugs and disease and the people who sell those drugs.

I know enough to know the Sacklers are considered evil.

I know enough to know they may very well be.

And I also know I wish my sister-in-law could have had that drug thirty-five years ago.

Would it have targeted her disease? I don’t know what I don’t know about drugs and disease and how it all works.

Should the rest of us pay the price for a drug that only impacts a handful of people worldwide?

Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

Should drug makers make money? Yeah, some. Billions? Probably not.

Should the decision makers make better decisions about how that world of drug research, manufacture, and sales is regulated? You bet.

But I know one country boy from Kentucky who has made a good life and cares for every single one of the people who use his drug.

I know of one girl from small-town Kentucky I wish had better drugs a long time ago.

And, I know two kids out making some money on a sunny Sunday afternoon with big plans to contribute to our local economy when they buy “clothes and hats and maybe some shoes”.

At least one of those kids is a thinker and a reader and a doer, and that gives me a lot of hope.