She lent her courage - and more - to save him.
A new marriage, a crisis, and a second chance at life
By Ed Hille
Inquirer Staff Photographer
Steve Cannizzaro and Anna Cruz were introduced at a party by his sister-in-law
in March 2004. "It was like a whirlwind," Anna said. Almost from the beginning,
he wanted to get married, asking her again and again.
Two people who had made mistakes now had a shot at a second chance.
But the future had its own complications. Some medical tests revealed that Steve
had a low white blood count. Doctors suspected cirrhosis of the liver, and
advised him to see a specialist.
He paid no attention. He didn't want to trouble Anna, so he didn't mention it:
"I wasn't really worried."
A week later, he coughed up blood. Food poisoning, he thought, though he did
visit the Frankford Hospital emergency room. To his surprise, he was admitted
right away.
"They put me on a whole bunch of medicine. . . . I kept telling myself that 'I'm
healthy. I'm going to get through this.' I thought I was going to live to be
70."
On Oct. 7, the couple married in City Hall. He was 53; she was 50. They spent
their honeymoon in Puerto Rico and in November visited friends in New York.
Steve remembers waking up in their Manhattan hotel room about 5 a.m. He was
thirsty, so he drank a glass of water.
Soon his stomach became upset, and he began coughing up blood. He and Anna both
refer to this as the "episode."
That "episode" marked the beginning of a six-month nightmare, of scary news and
dire choices that changed their lives and tested their new love.
Anna wanted to get Steve back to Philadelphia, so she alerted the Hahnemann
University Hospital emergency room, and then made the trip south in 55 minutes.
More "episodes" followed. Steve needed a liver transplant. Every year, 18,000
people are put on waiting lists for the 5,000 livers available from deceased
donors. On average, 1,700 on the list will die waiting.
Doctors said this was Steve's best hope for survival.
Steve had two options: Wait for an organ from a deceased person, or hope that a
live donor would step forward.
As months went by, bringing more "episodes," Anna couldn't stand seeing her
husband so sick. She was going to take that step herself.
Steve didn't want her to. "I didn't want her to suffer. She just took control
and said, 'I'm going to do it and I don't care what you say!'
"I thought she was crazy. . . . I love her . . . but I still think she was
crazy."
On a beautiful Sunday in March 2006, Steve and Anna threw a party for family and
friends, then headed to the hospital, where they hid their anxiety behind jokes
at check-in. Once admitted, they went to the 19th Floor, which is reserved for
transplant patients.
"I just wanted it over with," Anna said afterwards.
At 5:30 the next morning, Anna kissed Steve and whispered, "We're going to be
fine." Then she climbed onto a waiting gurney.
Steve Cannizzaro grew up in South Philadelphia, where life taught him to be
tough. His parents divorced and remarried. He shuttled between households, never
fitting in, always feeling abandoned.
In school his only interest was sports. He dropped out and joined the Army. On
leave, he got into trouble and was jailed for assault. "I didn't back down from
anybody," he said.
Discharged in 1970, he started driving a truck for a vending company. After work
he played whatever sport was in season.
For the next 30 years, little changed in Steve's life. There was hard living,
failed relationships, five estranged children, and a short temper.
Then he began to suffer health problems. In 2004, he developed diabetes and then
cirrhosis.
Anna's family lived at 18th and Wallace Streets. Her father fixed appliances and
played baseball. Her mother was a homemaker. When Anna, the youngest of seven
children, was 10, her father died, sending the family onto welfare.
At 18, Anna married Julio Cruz, a technician for KYW-AM (1060) and a softball
team manager. They had three children. Anna worked at receptionist and clerical
jobs at Hahnemann University Hospital, and then later for The Inquirer.
In 1994, Anna and Julio broke up. Two years later, Anna met a younger man. "He
was a gorgeous, blue-eyed, pony-tailed guy. . . . He was in Mannequin II. . . .
He did voiceovers."
He was also a drug dealer. When he asked her to store his "inheritance," she
complied.
In 1998, Anna was charged along with him as part of a drug ring in Manayunk and
spent nine months in prison. The Inquirer fired her.
When she returned to Philadelphia, Anna was determined to get her life on track.
She resumed secretarial work and started a cleaning service. She got involved
with the Pennsylvania Prison Society and joined a support group to help female
inmates.
But she was single in a world of couples and "this close to moving to New York
when I met Steve."
The Hahnemann transplant team consisted of four surgeons supported by doctors,
nurses and technicians, working around the operating table for more than eight
hours.
Dr. Burckhardt H. Ringe was in charge. Like a conductor, he led his "orchestra"
through surgery's complicated score.
Armed with high-tech tools, Ringe resected Anna's liver with a high-pressure
stream of saline solution. Minutes later, Dr. William C. Meyers, chief of
surgery, closed Anna's wound, and after eight hours and four minutes of surgery,
she began her recovery. Sixty percent of her liver had been removed.
Steve was waiting, anesthetized, in an adjacent operating room, and over the
next six hours and 11 minutes, Ringe transplanted part of Anna's liver into his
abdomen.
Two days later, both patients were alert, and Anna was wheeled to Steve's side.
On Day Seven, she was released, but Steve's white blood cell count was still
high. The next day, however, Ringe decided he'd heal better at home, and Steve
was on his way back to Anna.
Fast-forward one year. "They are in excellent health," said Ringe, who monitors
the couple's progress. The fear of organ rejection is past, and the aches and
pains have subsided.
It took about six months for Anna to feel normal. "Steven was back to full life
very early after his surgery," Ringe said. "He is an excellent example as to how
it can go."
Steve quit his delivery job and began helping a friend do landscaping. "I like
being outside," he said. On the weekend, he cleans apartment buildings with
Anna. For fun, he bowls, plays softball, and rides his motorcycle.
On weekdays, Anna works as a receptionist at PMHCC, a health-care provider in
Center City. After work, she drives up Broad Street to her second job, Cruz
Cleaning. At 7 p.m., she's home with Steve.
Being an organ donor has made Anna grateful for her health, and she has become
an advocate for the procedure: "I tell my story to everybody." She helps raise
funds at the Gift of Life foundation. "Steve and I are living proof that it
works," she said.
"I don't know where I'd be without her," said Steve.
Anna added, "We feel more connected than ever."
And then she joked: "I told him, if he ever leaves, I want my liver back!"