Jim Davis

On Camera: Jim and Dot Davis talk about hope.
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For 35 years, they've done everything together. They met, fell in love, shared a happy life and retired to a town fittingly called Celebration, Fla. In Celebration, they kept on doing everything together, once-in-a-lifetime things like planning a new community church, and everyday things like baking coconut cakes and playing the piano. They were even diagnosed with terminal cancers, together.

"I was 62 years old and never had a sick day in my life," says Jim. "Never missed a checkup, never had a problem. Never had a PSA score over one. Then, in August of 2001, my doctor found a lump in my prostate that he suspected was cancer. I was sure there was a mistake."

A biopsy confirmed a late-stage, highly aggressive prostate cancer with a Gleason Score of seven out of a possible 10.

"It was terrible," Jim says. "My father died at age 62 of colon cancer that had spread to other parts of his body. Now, all Dot and I heard was that even with immediate surgery, I only had six to 12 months to live."

"We were in shock," says Dot, "and terrified. There were so many tears, but also determination. We didn't want to sit around and wait. We didn't want to look back and say, 'Gee I wish we had used that year to its fullest.'" So Jim and Dot took on the disease that threatened to take Jim's life.

"I didn't want just anyone doing the surgery," says Jim. "I took some time and read books about prostate cancer. I wanted to know what was happening. I wanted to get a second opinion. My cousin urged me to see a urologist at Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, so I called for an appointment."

Five days later, Jim and Dot were sitting in the office of Michael Wehle, M.D., a Mayo Clinic urologist. "I had inquired how experienced he was with this kind of surgery," says Jim. "I learned he did these procedures every week, and it was reassuring to know I was seeing a surgeon with that kind of experience and skill in prostate cancer."

Comprehensive Cancer Center

The more Jim and Dot learned about Mayo Clinic, the more they believed Jim now had a fighting chance. Mayo is designated as a Comprehensive Cancer Center by the National Cancer Institute — the first multicenter clinic in the United States to receive this designation for its entire cancer program. As a result, Mayo patients benefit from more than 250 nationally recognized clinical trials for cancer.

Mayo's integrated cancer research program is dedicated to helping identify safer and more effective drugs as well as immunologic and gene therapies. The clinic is at the forefront of diagnosing and treating cancer of the colon, rectum, breast, prostate and lung, as well as lymphomas and multiple myelomas. Its researchers are known for breakthroughs in the treatment of brain tumors, sarcoma and melanoma and for creating new hope against deadly cancers of the kidneys, ovaries, blood, liver, pancreas and neuroendocrine system.

The Fight for Life

"Dr. Wehle confirmed the diagnosis of prostate cancer," says Jim. "However, he did not agree with the prognosis of six to 12 months to live. So, when he asked when I wanted to have the surgery, Dot and I both said yesterday, and I put away my books on prostate cancer. I no longer needed to be in charge."

The day before surgery, Jim had a thorough physical with Kathleen Rowlett, M.D., a Mayo internist. She found a tiny variation between his current electrocardiogram and one done a few months earlier. She sent him directly to Cardiovascular Diseases for tests.

"At Mayo, seeing another specialist simply means walking down the hall or taking the elevator to another floor," says Jim. "You don't have to wait and worry for weeks. The staff makes the appointment, updates your records and makes them immediately available by computer. Nobody goes around carrying huge files of disorganized papers. Patients have enough concerns without the stress of paperwork and endless questions on every visit."

The results from Jim's heart tests were back before the end of the day, and he was cleared for surgery.

The next morning, the cancerous gland was removed, and tests showed no evidence that it had spread. "I didn't even need pain medication during recovery," says Jim.

At his two-month checkup, PSA tests found no cancer. At six months, Jim went in for another PSA test. "As soon as Dr. Wehle came in the room, I knew something was wrong," Jim says. "The test showed evidence of cancer. To be certain, Dr. Wehle ran it again, with the same results. But when a biopsy and CT scan showed nothing, we waited a few weeks, and then repeated the tests. This time, they found it in my spine and ribs. This time, even I knew the prognosis."

What Jim didn't know was that one by one, eight Mayo physicians and surgeons would join the fight for his life.

Team Medicine

Jim and Dot were in for a long siege. They couldn't make all the 350-mile round trips from Celebration to Jacksonville, so they made a home away from home at The Inn at Mayo Clinic. "We could walk from our room to our appointment in an enclosed corridor, then come back and rest between appointments," says Dot.

There would be a lot of appointments.

One of Mayo's defining strengths is multispecialty team medicine. Just as parts of the human body work together to function as a whole, Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville is a group practice of 342 specialists and scientists who work together, pool their knowledge and employ treatments and technologies often not available elsewhere.

The first was Winston Tan, M.D. an oncologist who put Jim on a course of hormone therapy and intravenous medication to help his bones stay strong. Within a month, the cancer was under control. However, the cancer in Jim's spine had damaged two vertebrae, causing compression fractures.

The team expanded to Craig Collie, M.D. a radiation oncologist. "Radiation is a frightening word," says Jim, "but Dr. Collie explained it in a way that eased our fear. His primary concern was that the compression fractures would collapse and cause paralysis."

Dr. Collie brought in David Miller, M.D., a neuroradiologist. The team agreed to repair the fractures with kyphoplasty, a new procedure, then begin radiation to kill the cancer.

"I lay on my stomach for three hours during the surgery, and when I awakened, my right arm and hand wouldn't move. Dr. Miller ordered an MRI. He wanted to rule out a stroke, and he spent five hours at my bedside, observing and providing reassurance."

The next morning, Dr. Miller called in neurologist Frank Rubino, M.D. "An entourage of residents came with him," says Jim. "He also ruled out stroke and confirmed Dr. Miller's suspicion that a stretched nerve in the shoulder was the likely problem. Dr. Rubino prescribed procedures for the nurses to check hourly and assigned exercises for me to do. They worked. I began two weeks of radiation therapy for 13 inches of my spinal column. During all of it, my Mayo doctors and nurses rallied to remind better days were ahead."

Against All Odds

At last, in January 2003, new tests showed the cancer had gone into remission, and the longed-for day of celebration had come. Jim and Dot had cried all the tears, endured all the fears, and steeled themselves against the goodbyes. They had come through it all, together.

Relieved of the immediate threat of losing Jim, Dot made a call to her doctor in Orlando about an X-ray concerning inflamed cartilage in her chest. "My doctor came to the phone and asked if my husband was with me. I motioned Jim to pick up the extension, and together we heard the X-ray showed a mass in my right lung."

It was a cruel irony. On the day of reprieve from one death sentence, they were handed another.

"We left the Inn and went straight into the clinic for help," says Dot, who was 63. "We couldn't believe it. There is no history of cancer in my family. I have never smoked or been around anyone who smoked. How could this be?"

Within 24 hours, Mayo Clinic physicians ordered tests that revealed the mass was non-small cell lung cancer. Sanford Finck, M.D., a thoracic surgeon, removed the entire middle lobe of Dot's right lung, a portion of the lower lobe and the associated lymph nodes. Dr. Finck, one of seven Mayo physicians involved in her care, also had to break the news: Dot had a Stage IV cancer.

"He was compassionate but honest," says Dot. "And once again, Jim and I wept together. Jim kept saying no, no, no. Statistically, I had about four more months to live. But Mayo was not ready to let me concede. They gave us the courage to face the coming weeks of chemotherapy treatments. We knew God would be with us, and Mayo would be with us."

God was. And Mayo Clinic was. Against all odds, Dot came through the chemotherapy, regained her strength and is feeling just fine, thank you.

"I don't know where you could find a staff of physicians, nurses, technicians and other specialists with the competence and caring of the Mayo staff. They have the best medicine," Dot says. "They treat us like we matter."

Here's to Life

So here's to Jim and Dot, who are once again living life in Celebration. Although Dot does have one lingering concern. You see, she is a tall, graceful and slender woman.

"I only weighed 117 pounds when this began," she says. "I told my doctors I hoped I wouldn't lose a lot of weight during chemotherapy."

As it turned out, Dot gained six pounds. "And I have nothing to wear," she says.

And she laughs. And she and Jim go on, together, baking coconut cakes, playing hymns on the piano, visiting family and, at last, welcoming friends and neighbors to their new church, the United Parish of Celebration.