Italian opera superstar Luciano Pavarotti, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in July 2006 and recently hospitalized with a fever, died at his native Modena home on Thursday. With him were his wife Nicoletta, four daughters, and his sister. He was 71.
Friends and family had hoped for a miracle for Pavarotti. Sadly, this was not possible. Though to have survived pancreatic cancer for more than one year is quite amazing. The disease is deadly in most cases and most survive for only months.
Pavarotti was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just before he was set to resume a farewell tour in July 2006. Instead, he headed for surgery. He never again performed publicly.
Italian opera superstar Luciano Pavarotti, hospitalized on Wednesday with a fever, is doing better and should be discharged within the next few days, according to his wife, Nicoletta Mantovani.
When my husband told me today that Merv Griffin had died, I was running on my treadmill, doing my part to pound out any chance that cancer will pay me a return visit. On my MP3 player the song 
I was hospitalized twice last year for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts. My first stay came at a busy time -- the hospital's oncology floor was full and there was no space for me. So I was admitted to the bone marrow transplant unit as an overflow patient and suddenly -- even in my very sick and compromised state -- I became the healthiest person on the floor. My white blood count was 700 -- sounded pretty bad to me -- but some of the patients staying on this floor with me had no blood counts because in order to receive a transplant, their own bone marrow is completely depleted in order to prepare for new bone marrow. Patients on this floor are considered pretty healthy when their counts reach 500. I was considered sick and was hospitalized at 700. Adults and children on this floor stay in rooms behind glass panels and with special -- and loud -- air flow systems that push germs out of the room. Visitors must wear gowns and shoe covers and must wash their hands before entering the rooms. Patients might stay on this floor for months at a time, receiving chemotherapy and preparing for their eventual bone marrow transplants. Some patient rooms are decorated and arranged just like home. Parents prepare rooms for children with play areas and craft areas and television areas. This floor is home to many sick children -- and this is what affected me most. For my five days on the bone marrow transplant unit, I gained an up-close and personal look at what many parents and children encounter when cancer derails their lives. It was so much more than I had to encounter. It must be quite an undertaking to prepare a child for this experience.
