It started with a pain and a follow up by her primary physician.  Sometime in APRIL 2003, the diagnose, tests, work-ups, x-rays etc. determined Ovarian Type 4-3c of the Cancer and finally the operation.  I feel like I am on a fast track. I’m watching days meld together. 

It’s been five days since the three surgeons, and a very long operation took place of 8.5 hours and she's doing as well as can be expected.  She's got color back, being weaned off the drugs and they'll try to get her up walking. 

And I suspect trying to throw her out, you know insurance companies. I guessed right.  No fooling around here. Drains out, some walking, some easy food and guess what, you go home or a rehab joint!  On the sixth day she came home, my choice. 

The good old mil-spec training kicked in.  We take care of our own, checking vitals, cooking and the occasional dressing change. My wife won't be going to rehab, I won't let her.  It had to be a miracle, all the prayers and well wishes do make a difference and being home with great friends and neighbors put a smile on her face all day and she feels better already.  She made it five years.   

This type is called the silent killer and she made it five years after the first surgery.  Thats about average for this type.  They never get it all, minute cells left missed by the surgery and chemo or radiation can miss, the tests were inaccurate... the outcome predictable.

She was my companion, confidant, support team, friend, sunshine, smiles and all the good things that life together offers.  It came quick, Ovarian Cancer 3/C is quick but not without a fight and the tools we had to work with at that time.  The first surgery supposedly took carE with removal of most of the cancer in organs and walls.  Five years later it returned.  I asked her on a scale of 1-10  how she felt?   She replied: "an 11". I took her to the ER at Morton Plant at Midnight.  

My worst fears, and four hours after arriving at the hospital, we had the news. The doctor in the ER said the CT scan showed additional masses and spots again, had re-established themselves, good sized masses into the lungs. They admitted her immediately and her  surgeon showed up the next day. 

He scheduled surgery after a week of needed fluids, a little building up and pre-care, plus our surgeon had a loaded schedule, they finally wheeled her into surgery. It was Good Friday and even this Jewish husband, liked the name of the day. But a tough tribulation to go through as this was her second operation. 

Hopefully, it really could be good this time.   But time and length of time tells you things, like complexity.  She went into a marathon eight hour operation to remove the Ovarian C cancer that had infiltrated south to north. They took out a lot. This is called “de-bulking”, a second time. There would be no third time.

It’s a cold harsh word, but needed for this is a nasty, virulent monster that has difficult attributes that defy some convention. Only surgery allows accurate appraisal of the tumor, an accurate diagnosis, and remove or de-bulk as much tumor mass as possible leaving less for the chemotherapy. 


The finest group of Doctors, Nurses and Technicians I have ever met with a true Empathic Patient Care Philosophy (EPCP). We had the fortune of being close to Morton Plant and there was incredible communication between Dr’s, Nurses and Patients.  It differed from my last visit to another hospital.  Bayfront and Largo Medical are not on my favored list.  ( Im making a strong case about Largo Med and the stupidity of the management at BayFront)  I can’t repeat what happened there as advised by my attorney…

Good caregivers are a blessing.  But they are few and far between but the best care is love based.  Many home health care providers really need to look themselves in the mirror.  They were hours late, sometimes failing to show, failing to call, forgetful, and incompetent.  

Another spent one hour of questions, all related to “ How they were to get paid”.  She took vitals which I was doing anyway.  Vitals and a 200.00 dollar bill, for two hours of nothing, enough  

My temper exploded, we went solo I told her to tell her boss you and her are both fired.   The second company the Dr. ordered was no better.  I had lots of first aid training, military, co-pilot on an air ambulance, routine classes when offered,  and physical therapy on higher levels, many times with different organizations and felt I could do it better.  






This is after her first and second operation for the removal of Cancer.  Sometime in May-June, it all seems to meld together but my baby takes it in stride and doesn’t complain. After what seemed like days of Dr. visits and tests, the Chemotherapy started.  I failed chemistry twice but I got a brush-up course on the web. Yes, everything you heard about it is true; basically a chemical dose of poisons. Some feel the cure is as bad as the ailment. Nausea, body aches, pain in joints and so forth. 

I got up Sun AM and surprisingly she had gotten up ahead of me and she made breakfast which is unusual because she doesn't function well when she gets up due to her condition. She's zooming around the house which really startled me. She said she was going to take a shower. Fifteen minutes later, I checked up on her.  Our neighbors arrived for coffee and bagels.

She didn't come out so I went in to check on her. I called to her in the shower and she didn’t respond. I grabbed the door open and she was laying on the shower floor in a pool of blood, delirious, partially coherent, but definitely not in her mind and saying she can’t take it anymore. 

I dialed 911 and tried to stop the bleeding, the Paramedics were enroute and screamed for my next door neighbor and she and her husband rushed right over. We were to have coffer and donuts, bagel etc with them.  She spoke with the paramedics with directions I applied first aid, all that I could…  

The paramedics showed up quickly and transported her to the TRAUMA center at BAY FRONT HOSPITAL, a LEVEL TWO TRAUMA center. Twice as far away as Morton Plant. I objected I knew that place, I flew enough patients on flight medical missions.  Pardon me more, in English… “ F*cking contracts based on money and not the best care”.  No one listened…



The trauma surgeon operated from sometime around 9:00 or 10:00, I could not see her till 3:00 PM. The trauma Dr. removed three additional masses (Cancer) from the abdomen. Dolly in addition had a herniated twisted colon and other complications. Dolly received two pints of blood. There were peppered masses throughout the lung cavity in the inner walls which showed on the last PET scan.  The Chemo is not working at this point.  We are done with Chemo.  and I realized she might not be coming home

Interference - By a chance of fate, or bad karma,  Hulk Hogan Celebrity Asshole Wrestler and “ Fake Entertainer”  was in the same hospitals trauma section with his son who minutes before had just caused a severe road accident injuring his passenger severely,  a young Marine who were in a hopped up Supra that landed in the top of a Palm tree after going street racing and airborne.  

Young Nick Hogan on something will survive but the young Marine will be in severe physical and mental incapacitation for the rest of his life.  The young and stupider than his steroid driven father, Nick Hogan was not that critically injured but not so good for the passenger.

The LegaL Statement:  In 2007, John Graziano,  a decorated Marine, was critically injured in a crash on Clearwater’s Gulf-to-Bay Blvd. while a passenger in a car driving by, Nick Bollea, son of famed professional wrestler Hulk Hogan (Terry Bollea), lost control on the rain-slicked street and hit a palm tree.    


I almost went off the rails.  My problem was with the Hospital and only grace prevented me from going ballistic. I couldn’t even get close to Dolly’s bed because the waiting rooms were filled with all of the TV reporters, big jerk-offs, the fans who think these steroid freaks are real…holding fellow Hulkster idiots hold a vigil for the son and young marine.

I went down to the office and demanded to see the Administrator.  I think the jerk was trying to get an autograph.  By agreement the rest is unimportant, words flew but I did not get arrested and he is still claiming ownership of his head.  I was ready to rearrange the bastards face. I am not a violent person, I am however fiercely defensive of family and militarily very proficient at creating chaos.

I had to learn from the nurses, what happened, the trauma Doctor never came out to see me.  they were;  loaded, at their limits with severe cases… Adding things up there was a total of 32 hours that Dolly was under the knife in the past four years…too much for anyone… I saw her after surgery last night in the ICU and she is quite well drugged because of the severity of the operation and the fact she has sustained a lot of damage.  

I know what it is and it is in the best interests for Dolly.  Hospice was on call.  Please, God, just let me do what I have to do in peace, this is not easy and if I could take her place, in a heartbeat, she is the only thing in this world I have deeply loved more than life itself. She taught me the meaning of the word...

She could not speak because of all the tubes and she circled the air with her finger, she wanted to write something. She wrote: "I love you and all those helping me". Then she wrote, “ The Chemo and all the drugs are killing me". I fell apart, I couldn't handle it anymore.  She can't breath without the re-breather. Several attempts were made to help her breathe and failed. The cancer was in the lungs.  

Her Dr. thought it was the proper time for her to go, as did most who were aware of her extended condition fighting Cancer for better than five years. The hospital Psychiatrist, the Chaplain, actually three of them tended to her, a Baptist, a Methodist, a Jewish Rabbi, and the Dr. of Palliative Medicine were involved. Professional medical care was given, and sophisticated symptom relief provided. 

It was just about seven o’clock. People were going home to loved ones. I was going home to an empty home and a torn heart.  I kissed her good-by, told her I loved her, promised no one would ever hurt her again, I closed her eyes and I will hear her labored breathing the rest of my life.  


  Had I stayed I would have taken the place apart with rage… 

She got the scheduled pain knockout relief and a few hours later… It was over.   Dolly passed at 9:18. The hospital officially called my cell at 10:30.  I already knew, I also knew I was bitter and in a bad mood about how things were handled, it was better that I had gone home, my neighbor who had accompanied me drove me home.  Had I been there, I don’t know if I could handle the rage.


At 12:30 in the middle of the night, the Medical examiners office called me to tell me they were taking her body for examination. It seems she came in through the TRAUMA side of the hospital and was listed as having an in-flicked wound. 

That was where the stoma was from the colon bypass. She had caused a wound in the area of her STOMA.  She was fixing her attaching point for the bag when she passed out.  Thus the scissor was in the shower.

That one minute that Dolly succumbed to hopelessness, deprived oxygen, resulting in her mental state not being right means they have to do a complete autopsy.  

As if five major and two minor surgical operations and procedures, (one less than three-four days ago) and now tearing her body apart over thirty-two combined hours of surgery, office and hospital visits too numerous to count, and very taxing Chemo, almost twenty weeks of poison, exams, and check-ups weren’t enough to kill her. They have to hurt her again.  

This time not over my dead body… I had it with the hospital, the Administration, the whole Hogan affair and  I was going out of control…into war mode, fueled by rage and depression. The only time I ever felt that was when someone was shooting at me, called war

They made the call from information given from the paramedics.  The medics had found a scissor in the shower.  Thats how you cut to size the connector for the bag to the stoma, you frickin idiots

The Medical examiner told me they had not contacted any of the Drs. that had seen Dolly or knew of the condition of lowered blood levels , reduced hemoglobin, severe shortness of breath and knowing the drugs weren’t working.  I told them to do their frickin job…

With her dying hand Dolly wrote about her love and how the drugs were killing her. She had to give up, there was no fight left in her. In her mind there was nothing left to look forward to except maybe a little peace.

The Cancer won and the law part of the medical machine took the wrong corner in the battle. 12:30 at night I made my case to the examiner.  I got nowhere.  This is a travesty beyond anything I have witnessed in my life.  There is no dignity left here;  no compassion; nothing to learn medically; her organs will never go to another because the Cancer had spread. I screamed, because no one had paid attention to what I tried to tell them when she was admitted? 

I had all her medical records and history and would bring them down to them. I was told they would solicit them on their own.  In all my years covering stories and seeing how people react to things, I never understood what it took to go off the deep end.  Now I knew

I am wounded, deeply hurt,  totally irrational, exasperated, full of venom and extremely dangerous.  The fighter in me starts to come out.  I will admit I even went as far as to grab my weapon, and two thirty round clips.  I was going to take things into my own hand. I wasn’t going to let them hurt her again even if it meant doing something I might regret the rest of my life.

“ I had told her  no one would ever hurt her again" and even if it meant my life I didn't care.  To me it was another mission.  I was going to stop them…

So I get on the phone in the middle of the night and call her doctors.  I called my attorney, I called the board members of the hospital where I had done stories about, anyone I thought would intervene, like the administrator of the hospital board and two judges I know... I got through to a few…especially a few folks I worked with at the paper…  

Almost walking out the door locked and loaded, the phone rang and it was the Coroner or his Assistant. He advised me there was a 24 hour hold for evidence on Dolly and who was I?  He said I don’t know who you are but we got calls from everybody but the governor.

I said calmly, don’t worry he’ll be calling shortly… and plainly her situation, gave him the info and added I am the Grim Reaper if anyone touches her… before the medical papers arrive, have a gurney ready if you cut her, he said is that a threat, I said no.  Catching my breath, finally I said it was a promise.  

I pray the people at the hospital do what is needed and get the records to the examiner on time. They certainly didn’t impress me while I was there.  My blood was boiling, I planned to intervene and stupidly I meant it.  Now they were on a clock and I was on ten cups of coffee.  It was and still is the most critical time of my life when a decision meant I might not walk away from something, I was willing to pay that price. 

The day drags on and I have a house full of friends, and my neighbors who were there when she fell in the shower and dialed the 911 while I held her,  the doorbell rings. 

A knock on the door, and it is a Police Detective from my district. He is following up on a request from the Examiner to interview the household.  ( I believe my threats and promises might have spurred him on)  It’s because again of the trauma side and policy.  Possibly my act or threat of taking the Coroner to the point of him needing a Coroner, life might have prompted it too.  

When he saw some items in house, some medals and statues, of my work with the military and civilian efforts, I think he believed me.  My neighbors were with me.  He was very courteous  and simply asked to see where it had occurred.

This too is routine.  Like on COPS they have to visit the scene. My neighbors who witnessed the entire event, the scream while we were having coffee,  the 911 call,  and helped me in the shower with her and Dolly’s friends all answered the questions. They were there, first hand witnesses and my neighbor is a retired officer and they expressed grief at her loss and total disgust at the treatment we were receiving.  

The officer/detective from the Largo Police Department was the first to show humanity.  He apologized for the intrusion, he was kind, understanding and compassionate.  He carefully explained this step was part of the law.  He found absolutely nothing wrong, as there were two witnesses at the time she went down, and he immediately contacted the Examiner that this was not anything that needed this attention, and suggested heavily they drop the issue. 

Before noon, about an hour or so later,  the State Assistant Examiner called and said Dolly was ready to be picked up by the funeral home.  They had held off on the autopsy, no autopsy and a genuine graceful apology for any hurting that may have occurred, I thanked them profusely and smiled and broke down.

I had kept my word to her. “ No one will hurt you anymore, baby”.  To this day, I still feel the same,  when asked would I have done something, the answer is yes, she was more than my life.  I had the tools and I have enough training… love and anger, they say are closer than you think, I would have done something stupid but it didn’t matter… If it meant anything I would have died for her, and to keep her from more trauma, yes I would have and could have.  


I loved my wife and when more decisions had to be made:  We did them together:  It’s a simple choice, years ago and in our wills our choice was cremation. I will take her to the secret place we loved and visited in the National Park between Gatlinburg and Cherokee when the trees turn colors and a cool breeze floats through the mountains. 

I will intern her in a place where thirty years ago, in a late winter snowstorm, I told her I loved her in this spot and she affirmed her love for me. I have the pictures of that day and that place. I will bring her home soon...   This is what she loved and missed seeing the past five years while not feeling well. This was the promise I had made. I will bring you home and I will always love you baby…. 

Tradition, Jewish tradition sometimes involved burning the deceased shoes so that no one shall walk over another's path.  Dolly always had the heart to help others.  Just plain old love for those who need a helping hand, warranted the next move.  So I combined my tradition and her help for others, it would be the Dolly way.

All of her clothing, shoes and handbags were donated to CASA house for Abused Women and Children.  With help from Billy, a friend.   We delivered them within in 48 hours. She was a major supporter and fundraiser for CASA House and never mentioned her name.

That was Dolly's legacy, always thinking of others.  Her doll collection, nothing fancy but LOTS of THEM, like Baby Beanies over 60 and stuff were carefully delivered to the All-Children’s Hospital in St. Petersburg so that no child shall be without, there were between fifty-five to sixty plus all new, all in plastic and some individual dolls.

The armed guards (some kids are there because of abuse) asked me what I was delivering. Toys - That didn’t fly when the two of us, a white guy and my friend billy is Black are carrying black leaf bags at 9: 00 P.M. walking into the Children’s Hospital.  I showed him ID, and asked if he would get the charge nurse.  A friends wife had clued her in we were coming.  We dropped Beanies on all floors with kids, the nurses handled it and we left.  My 2nd mission objective accomplished

The third mission Fruit, Food and Flowers, More than I could ever use or eat and would of gone to spoil.  So I dropped them off at the Nurses stations that took care of Dolly both at Morton Plant and Bay Front. The staff at both hospitals did their best. They asked, “ what patient was it for"?  And I said,  “ it doesn’t matter, it was for the staff and patients to enjoy for helping my wife”.

It's time to bring her home: It started by air from St. Petersburg, Florida to Chattanooga Tennessee via Allegiant Air.  Beautiful day for flying and things went smooth. Its tough for me, I owned my own plane, and being a pilot stuck in the back is uncomfortable for me. 

We landed in Chattanooga and I headed for the reserved rental car which was not there. So they bumped and upgraded me to a larger car which they did have after I threatened to seek another supplier of fine automobiles.  I headed toward the mountains and then I noticed the sun was leaving and clouds had started rolling in. 

Six hours later it was rain, some sleet and snow depending on the elevation. So much for my friends advice about the summer like conditions.  Things change very fast this time of the year in the mountains. 

I called friends and changed days and times to meet.  Going solo with some adverse advise from local friends I trekked in the snow dust not as far as I wanted, but found the path we knew to a familiar fast moving creek alive with power and movement, unusual since the drought has effected this area too.  I knew this path, I had told her I loved her in this spot. It is the place in the picture above. The exact spot by the larger rock below her hand.

This spot was OK because of the weather closing in and because it was a spot Dolly and I had visited before. In this comparable pristine park, I released the knot holding the contents of the bag, smashed the urn, and as they say “ashes to ashes, dust to dust”. I returned her to her  “Earth Mother” though the water…



Life is just a series of events some planned and
some coincidence, the rest unexplained… Call it divine intervention

I watched her ashes divide and take their own path in the stream as it rambled downhill. It was mixing the spirit with the power of the mountain.  It was snowing, raining and drizzling with flurries just as it was almost thirty years ago when I told her on this exact place I loved her, uncanny but the same day I planned that, The circle was complete with time and weather. 

I slipped and landed on my bottom, hand and feet up to wrists and calf’s in the frigid water.  She was telling me to go now, the job was done...  My feet and hands were freezing.  I had completed my walk-a-about or personal journey, the Native Americans spoke about and so do the Australian Aborigines.  The rest of the trip was uneventful, actually ahead of schedule trying to hook up with friends and always seeming to be on the wrong side of the mountains and the weather from them. The passes were closed and it’s a hundred miles around, the long way it seems.  I needed to be alone Sunday, until I hopped on the bird to return home… 

Dolly was born into a Methodist family, and survived being married to me (I’m Jewish) for thirty-two plus years. Both of us were not religionists, those who profess too much.  We dealt in actions not words.  Not for one-second in thirty-two years in any way did the difference of Christian and Jew ever enter into our relationship.  It was who can we help

We did things together.  Love that’s pure isn’t polluted by human weaknesses and the demands of controlled religionism.  But the two of us though my writing casually researched into other cultures, not to change or adapt but to understand.   Because knowledge is understanding. 

There are those those who believe in the true miracles of Gods rationalism and the beautiful world he created. We read about and looked into the other beliefs, not searching for an act of conversion but just to understand literally  “ How the other half lives”.  In a sense our religion relied on each other, not a statue, nor any religious symbols created by man.

The basic tenants of most Native American philosophy is very similar to basic Jewish philosophy, which simply put is   “the Art of Living”.  Follow the traditions.  It is  respect for the land and many books have been written on the subject about these ancient and aboriginal similarities from the various regions of the world.  Traditions, customs, what’s the difference?

It paralleled the work I have studied with Asian peoples and other indigenous groups from Alaska to South America.  You just have to dig.  It’s more about the strength of the big mountains and volcanos than the big bang and pillars of salt.   

Not that man made hypocrisy of the artificial story tellers, secret rituals, Swiss bank accounts, fancy DVD's and printed matter, slick coiffures, bottles of holy water from the city tap, mumbled false pretense and superficial enhancement, guilt and fear motivation, golden TV studios, Rolex's, and strange headdress or is that a hairdo? 

Add a few Gulfstream G4’s, now 65 million dollar G650’S, A GIFT FROM TAX EVASION, pedophilia, abuse and the latest incantations, Prosperity Divinity.  I believe one day GOD will deny hiring any of these folks as his spokesperson since he did mention a rule that states "NO FALSE GODS NEED APPLY” and he will refer them to Mr. Mestophilies who is always recruiting.  ( And doing a bigly, incredible, great, wonderful job, just ask T-RUMP, his main supporter and T-RUMPS best friends)

It was the Algonquin's who said,  "That beneath the clouds lives the Earth-Mother from whom is derived the Water of Life, who at her bosom feeds plants, animals and men”. 

We spent many vacations on the trails there and my wife's last wishes were to be returned to the mountains, a place we always spoke about and the place I told her I loved her. And that place was one that he created that enriched the soul by it's sheer majesty and beauty. 

The Smoky mountains and the closeness and spiritual history of the Cherokee Nation was such a place. And I found the water of life.  The picture of her by the rocks is that place.  It was a gnarly day, getting worse and I told her we need to start heading down and back to the hotel. We had a three mile hike downhill in snow.   She wanted to hug the tree you see in the background. I asked why?

She said that tree was a survivor, its still here even though they had a blight.  It’s growing sideways out of the mountain at the top of the picture.  It’s a special tree that God cared for.  All the other trees fell before it.  And being at the top put us closer to God.   It was starting to snow in this picture and the day I buried the ashes in the stream,  it was snowing too.

The plains Indians, the Lakota, Nakota and Dakota also known as the Great Sioux Nation are descendents of the original inhabitants of North America. The Sioux were against placing the deceased in the ground. It would trap their souls forever. At first they used trees or scaffolds to elevate their dead, then they used above ground boxes, later adapting to the white way of burial. That's why I didn't bury the ashes..... They have a story… 

Long ago when the world was young, an old Lakota spiritual leader was on a high mountain and had a vision. In his vision, Iktomi, the great trickster and teacher of wisdom, appeared in the form of a spider. 

Iktomi spoke to him in a sacred language that only the spiritual leaders of the Lakota could understand. As he spoke Iktomi, the spider, took the elder's willow hoop which had feathers, horse hair, beads and offerings on it and began to spin a web. 

NOTE: In Lakota mythogy Iktomi is a spider-trickster spirit, and a culture hero for the Lakota people. Alternate names for Iktomi include Ikto, Ictinike, Inktomi,Unktome, and Unktomi. These names are due to the differences in tribal languages, as this spider deity was known throughout many of North America's tribes.

He spoke to the elder about the cycles of life ... and how we begin our lives as infants and we move on to childhood, and then to adulthood. Finally, we go to old age where we must be taken care of as infants, completing the cycle. 

"But," Iktomi said as he continued to spin his web, "in each time of life there are many forces -- some good and some bad. If you listen to the good forces, they will steer you in the right direction. But if you listen to the bad forces, they will hurt you and steer you in the wrong direction." 

He continued, "There are many forces and different directions that can help or interfere with the harmony of nature, and also with the great spirit and-all of his wonderful teachings." All the while the spider spoke, he continued to weave his web starting from the outside and working toward the center. When Iktomi finished speaking, he gave the Lakota elder the web and said...

"See, the web is a perfect circle but there is a hole in the center of the circle." He said, "Use the web to help yourself and your people to reach your goals and make good use of your people's ideas, dreams and visions. "If you believe in the great spirit, the web will catch your good ideas -- and the bad ones will go through the hole." 

The Lakota elder passed on his vision to his people and now the Sioux Indians use the dream catcher as the web of their life. It is hung above their beds or in their home to sift their dreams and visions. The good in their dreams are captured in the web of life and carried with them...but the evil in their dreams escapes through the hole in the center of the web and are no longer a part of them. They believe that the dream catcher holds the destiny of their future. 

When seeing old photographs of the Sioux, notably you will see very serious expressions on the faces.  It is not solely to the seriousness of the times but also to the feelings that photography was a serious matter.  To be photographed was an awesome experience, and demanded dignity. They knew about the power of capturing a moment of time. 

I have been blessed as a photographer to share many moments of time and keep those images alive in my mind. Thank you all for all your support, the cards and e-mails have been a great help. I apologize if the injection of humor here and there might offend some folks in what should be a very solemn part of my life, but for thirty plus years a bright smile and face has been laughing at my jokes both good and bad and that’s what's kept me going. 

I love you baby, rest in peace....

Al Jacobson