She scheduled an 11:30 a.m. surgery Wednesday to remove the brain tumor and told Tafoya they should marry first.

"I wanted to go into the surgery and come out to my husband," she says. "He could be my strength."

Monday, he picked up a marriage license.

During an angiogram, she mentioned to a nurse her plan to marry in the hospital, and word spread.

Invitations zipped out by text and Facebook message.

One hospital staffer offered a veil, another to play the harp, a third to do Amos' makeup. The gift shop would deliver floral arrangements and the caterer trays of fruit. They reserved a patio planted with wildflowers. Amos' 13-year-old niece baked a layer cake. The couple's friend, Jessie Sponberg, agreed to perform the ceremony. Hours beforehand,

lent a gown.

***

Surgery, in which a portion of Amos' skull

will be removed to reach the tumor, is expected to take five or six hours. Days or longer of intensive care will follow. Rehab will require months of work.

Doctors still must determine what type of cancer has reached her lungs and how best to treat it.

None of the friends or family visiting her room Tuesday could forget any of that. Neither could Amos or Tafoya.

Still, as wedding plans swirled, they radiated joy.

"I know that I will always have him and he will always have me," Amos says a fraction of a second before Tafoya completes their shared thought with "that we will grow old together. That's all I ever wanted."

***

Amos slipped out of her turquoise hospital gown

and into a floor-length, strapless, white number. She replaced the gray, no-skid hospital socks with satin slippers.

Ringlets spilled down from an up-do. A delicate tiara fit like a halo and a long, sheer veil draped over her shoulders.

She eased into a wheelchair nurses decorated with garlands of paper hearts and ribbons.

Tafoya, in a lavender shirt, tie, jacket and slacks, pushed her down the hall, into the elevator and toward a second-floor patio, where rows of chairs filled with family, friends and St. Vincent staff members.

About 5:30 p.m., the wedding march played.

Amos and Tafoya sat facing each other. She bit her lower lip to keep welling tears in check and reached across to wipe away his.

"Jon," their friend, the officiant, asked, "do you have this woman ... in sickness and in health ...?"

He did.

"I, Jamie, take you, Jon ... to have and to hold from this day forward. ..."

The kisses were too many to count.

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