Joe's battle with cancer was short from our perspective. We were totally unaware of the cancer that had metastisized inside of him. He did not complain of feeling ill or tired. Our first awareness began with a cough... a very persistant cough that would not go away. We had been celebrating our wedding anniversary at the beach in Daytona. He was coughing bad for about three weeks with no let up. He told me that when we arrived back in town he was going to see a doctor. He felt that he needed antibiotics since he could not shake what he thought was bronchitis.

When he went to the doctor, Joe was told that he had walking pneumonia and given Zithromax. The medication only made him feel worse. Zithromax is an antibiotic that you take once a day for five days; however it keeps working for the following five days even though you are not ingesting it. By day eight, Joe was feeling very sick, and there was a gurgling sound in his lungs.

He went to the emergency room. They treated him with a nebulizer breathing treatment. They also gave him a different kind of antibiotic because he now had pneumonia settling strongly in his one lung. The strange thing is they sent him home from the hospital. Within two days he was close to death. He was gurgling bad and his heart was pounding furiously. We rushed him to the emergency room. His blood pressure was 60 over 30. His heart was encased with fluid. They tapped 27 ounces of fluid from around his heart and another 20 ounces over the night. The doctors informed us that we had made it to the hospital just in time. Otherwise, Joe definately would have died.

The doctors felt that the fluid was caused by the pneumonia. But within two days they were speaking differently. Now they suspected that he had cancer. They were presently checking the heart fluid for cancerous cells. They felt what was suspected to be pneumonia on x-rays was really a tumor in his right middle lobe of the lung. We were so frightened.

Then they confirmed their suspicions. They told us that Joe had primary lung cancer that they feared had metastisized. The fluid showed positive for cancer cells. The cat scans showed a tumor in his right lung. Also, there was a small 1.5 cm tumor on his liver. His lymph nodes were enlarged. They wanted to do a broncoscopy. We feared them prodding around near a cancerous lung tumor. We wanted Joe moved to Shands Hospital to get a second opinion.

After much aggravation we secured the move to Shands. We were relieved to get away from the doom deliverers who had frightened us so. Joe was transported to Shands; however after testing, Shands pronounced the same dreadful diagnosis. One good thing was that Shands did not feel the need to do a broncoscopy. The doctors suggested that Joe undergo chemotherapy. They said that the chemo would not cure this cancer but would provide Joe with quality of life. I wish we would have clarified what the doctors meant by that statement. We were so confused and pressured to rush into chemo because cancer is so quick spreading. We didn't have time to do any research for ourselves. We would be greatly sorry about this over the next few weeks.

Doctors feared that the cancer could have traveled to the brain and settled in the bones. Joe underwent several hours of agonizing chemotherapy. He went into a fetal position during the process, which used the drugs Taxol and Carboplatin. Surprisingly though, after the chemo, his cough improved a slight bit. His cough would prove to be the most debilatating factor of the cancer. A constant nagging, gurgling cough...ever present, ever crippling.

Doctors did an MRI and found a 1.4 cm tumor on his brain, which later turned out to be benign. Tests also showed that the cancer was not in his bones. This was good news compared to everything else that was happening. More good news...Joe could go home. He had been in the hospital for a little over a week. He was glad to get out and looked forward to going home. They released him, but not without more bad news. Joe would not be able to go back to work, not now or ever. His prognosis was terminal; he had three to six months to live. We were in shock. I left my teaching job of ten years to take care of him at home. With each day he grew weaker. However, he never once complained. He did not wallow in self pity. His heart grew ever stronger in the Lord. We cried because our love for each other would be undergoing a terrible seperation. We cried out constantly to the Lord asking for a healing. Many people, several hundreds, were praying for him.

Fourteen days after the chemo, Joe felt confident that he would not lose his hair. I did not have the heart to inform him that this could still occur during the next seven days... which sadly enough, is exactly what happened. Joe was looking emaciated, and his hair was continually coming out. It was an increasingly difficult time for him, and for all who loved him. However, we had strong faith that the Lord would see us through this horror and bring a miraculous healing.

Joe was having difficulty putting on any weight. He was steadily losing weight and it was becoming hard for him to eat. Thank God for all our supportive friends from both of our employments and church. God bless them for their loving and caring hearts. They tried to provide for our needs during this time. We were trying to get nutritious food into him hoping to boost his immune system. He was taking nebulizer treatments six times a day. Soon he would require oxygen. He was still able to walk a bit, but that too would soon prove to be a past luxury. All the things that one takes for granted were failing for him. And then came the heart failures, the 911 calls, the ever increasing trips to the emergency room. Hospice did not inform us that nitroglycerine would help his heart. They also did not tell us that his pneumonia was returning. They did not inform us that he needed antibiotics. Like mercy killers, they only wanted to make sure that his passing would be easy. We were ill-informed, which shouldn't have been allowed. Joe should have had the right to decide if he wanted to treat what was happening to his body aggressively or not. Hospice had no right to steal that freedom away. And Joe so longed to live, he desperately did not want to die.

Not only that, but I believe that Hospice would have overdosed Joe on morphine if it weren't for the fact that Joe had no desire to rely on pain killers. He took morphine sparingly. One evening Joe was having a difficult time breathing. He would knock the nasal canal for oxygen out of his nose, and then awaken gasping. My mother and I watched over him through the night praying ferverently in fear. In the morning his breathing had calmed, and he awoke with a smile on his face. He happily informed me that there was nothing to worry about. Everything would be okay because he had discovered the secret of his breathing and its cycle. At first I wanted to believe him, but then he began talking strangely about measuring his lifeline as he wound the plastic tubing from the oxygen around his hand. He began to make no sense and looked frightened. I told him to close his eyes and rest. I feared that either the morphine or a lack of oxygen was effecting his brain.

He fell asleep for a short time, but then awoke gasping for air. He told me to call 911, which I did. I was home alone with him, so 911 contacted my neighbor Anna to come over and assist me until they arrived. Joe gasped that he loved me and then began reciting the Lord's prayer with such fear in his eyes. He knew he was dying. I told him I would pray it aloud for him. I crawled up on all four very near to him and began to pray. I tried to keep it together for his sake. Slowly he took fewer and fewer breaths. And then none at all. I called to Anna that he was gone and wondered aloud where the ambulance was. The words were hardly out of my mouth when they arrived.

They removed him from the house. I was in shock. I was still in my nightgown. I quickly got dressed. Anna and I went to the hospital. I could not believe he was gone. The hospital would want to know our arrangements. I pulled a page from the phone book. We never had made arrangements. That seemed like giving up.

When we arrived at the hospital, they said that we should wait in the consultation room, but then another receptionist wanted us to go to room seven. They argued between each other. Each time my hopes rose and then dashed. I knew he was dead, but room seven sounded hopeful. Finally, they announced that we were to go to room seven. I shouted triumphantly, "He's alive!" That was the best moment in my entire life. I was so amazed that he was still with me. What tremendous hope I had.

We ran to room seven. The ambulance workers had brought him back to life. He was on a ventilator and getting meds for his blood pressure, but his heart was going on its own. It was the best gift I was ever given. I just kept talking in his ear. Mysteriously we had discussed what to do if this situation ever arose. Joe had told me as long as there was brain activity, to never give up and keep talking to him. I kept my promise. Everyone tried to tell me that it was hopeless, but after three hours Joe began to take some breaths on his own. He was transferred upstairs to cardiac intensive care. They manually kept him breathing during the move. I feared losing the ground we had made, but the transfer was successful, and I was relieved.

The doctor asked me what to do if Joe went into cardiac arrest. He expected Joe's heart to fail at any moment. He tried to get me to sign a living will . However, that was not Joe's wishes. We had been previously asked to sign a "Do Not Rescuscitate" order several times, but Joe always declined. Joe wanted everything possible to be done to keep him alive. I explained our wishes to the doctor. He seemed perturbed. Joe's heart did not give out for the next seven days. He also responded to my voice. The hospital insisted on keeping him in an induced coma, but he would respond whenever the medication wore off. The hospital also kept pressuring me to pull the plug. How dare they...I quickly secured a lawyer.

But then that fateful day arrived. On the seventh day, Joe's blood pressure was low and his blood saturation was low, too. I kept talking to him. He seemed to improve when he heard my voice, but only for a short time. At change of shift, the nurses asked me to leave. Visiting hours would resume in an hour and a half. I hated to leave. I will never understand hospital procedures. I feared his not hearing my voice. I tried to assure myself that everything would be all right and run to do the necessary food shopping. The supplies were getting low, and I had little ones at home.

While grocery shopping, I was consumed by the need to rush back to the hospital. I left the store in a hurry to drop the groceries off. Halfway home, I saw a blast of fireworks. I wondered if it was real or just a figment of my imagination. I feared it might be a sign that Joe was dying. I tried to shake the thought, but felt the ever present need to beg God to spare him. I drove ninety miles an hour. The front door was open. I knew something was wrong. I ran into the house. It felt like a nightmare. My mom was at the phone. I screamed, "Who is on the line?" I knew in my heart it was the hospital, and then it was confirmed. Joe had gone into cardiac arrest. They had brought him back to life, but didn't know if they would be able to hold him for long.

I rushed to the hospital and ran across the parking lot and upstairs to where Joe lie. He looked like an infant and very old man rolled into one. It is hard to describe. I knew then that I must not keep talking to him. It was time to let go. God had given us this week as a gracious time in which to break our soul ties, but Joe was living on borrowed time. I kissed him and told him that I loved him. I stood back and spoke to the hospital chaplin. I nervously realized that in two minutes the machine would take Joe's blood pressure. It now read 75 over 30. It was the longest two minutes, and then the machine revealed his pressure to be 60 over 15. I cried out, "Oh honey..." because I knew. I couldn't stop watching his heart rate. It remained strong for about two minutes. Then it began to regress one number at a time, until it flatlined.

They couldn't revive him. This time he gave up the spirit. They permitted me to see him one last time. He looked so peaceful. He looked healed. I told him that he should go with God now. His healing was different from what we had expected. It was not in this world. But God permitted me to see this glory, Joe looked like his old self before the cancer. I wanted to linger at his side, but I knew his spirit needed to go to be with God. I tried to take a mental picture so as to always have him with me. It was hard to say goodbye. The next months would prove to be even more difficult.

When I left the hospital it was raining. It seemed appropriate, like the whole world was mourning.

There was a bitter coldness in the air that fall and winter after his passing. I could feel it both from within and without, a stabbing pain in my heart which cut right to the bone. You see when one dies they are gone forever from our perspective, and they are terribly missed. It is hard to get out of bed each day and continue on. All your hopes and dreams are shattered. However, if we can keep a memory alive, then our loved one is not altogether lost to us.

Death is a terrible seperation of spirits, which now must exist apart from each other in different realms. One day, we will hopefully unite, which will be a blissful reunion. But for now in our sadness, we must be content with keeping our loved ones memory alive and being thankful for how they blessed our lives. One day, hopefully, the pain will subside and then there will only be the joyful memories to share.

This website is dedicated in honor of Joe. I hope it helps to keep your loved ones memory alive and provides some comfort to you in your grief. He would have so greatly desired that.