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!"  

An audio slide show chronicles the surgery and recovery. Go to http://go.philly.com/liver  

Contact staff photographer Ed Hille at 215-854-2855 or ehille@phillynews.com.

Reprinted by permission.