November 3, 1994 - 3am to 9am

.... I slowly walked towards Izzy's room. It's dark with a November chill in the air. In my heart I know what I had missed. As usual, I was unable to walk with the gait or stride of a normal man. Instead, I brace myself walking from wall to wall, chair to chair, and counter to counter. But I make it.

I'm standing over a lifeless body of a great man. I want to touch and hold him once again, but I can't. I haven't the strength nor the balance to do so. However I do manage to lay my kiss upon his forehead. I feel his warmth quickly leaving his body, and I want to cry out to God for one more year, day, moment with him.... but I can't.

I am dying.

And we will be together soon enough.

So, I am numb at this point and unable to feel my limbs. I balance myself against the bedpost and watch as the undertaker zips him up in the "death bag." I'm sure I will be handled in the same sterile and professional manner. Yet my own prognosis is waiting on me at 9am at the Medical College in Augusta, GA.

I haven't time for the sorrow of a loved one... I must start my own march to Hell.

I felt every bump and curve on the road of my three hour journey that morning. Luckily I was not driving my own death wagon. I don't remember talking that day.. but I am sure I did.

I can't imagine talking about anything beyond the obvious.

I really don't remember my approach to the hospital. I do, however, remember the sound of the sliding glass door. As I gazed at the distance to the elevator, at this time assistance was needed to walk... in the form of a wheel chair.

The next few moments are a rushed haze... but I do recall a nurse calling my name. In the blink of an eye, all of my vitals were drawn and I was in an exam room, waiting.

I guess I expected the doctor to gaze at me and offer a definite diagnosis... and I was prepared to accept any diagnosis, but in my heart, that diagnosis was only a death sentence.