Chuck Pagano has served as a beacon of hope and inspiration to people far beyond the confines of the Colts' locker room. (2:15)

INDIANAPOLIS -- On the third floor of the Indiana University cancer center, a 38-year-old man sits in a leather recliner, fighting for his life. He wears an unflattering mint green hospital gown that seems too big for his frame. His thin, black hair stands defiantly atop his head. It has yet to begin falling out. But it will.

The calendar on the back of the bathroom door says it's the middle of December. The final countdown to Christmas has begun. But in this room, for now, there are far more important things to worry about than holiday cheer.

Six weeks earlier, everything seemed normal. Didymus Academia was watching television that night in his family's home in Muncie, Ind., when he heard the new coach of his favorite football team, the Indianapolis Colts, deliver a moving postgame speech.

Until that moment, no one had seen or heard much from Chuck Pagano since the coach left the Colts in September after doctors revealed he had acute promyelocytic leukemia, a rare cancer of the bone marrow. After more than a month of chemotherapy, Pagano's hair was thinning. His body looked frail. Yet the words coming out of his mouth were powerful. He spoke of living not "in circumstances" but rather "in a vision." His, he said, included dancing with two more daughters at their weddings and winning the Vince Lombardi Trophy. (His oldest daughter is already married.) The players standing around him nodded in approval.

A TV camera caught the scene, and it was shared with the world. Eventually, it found a screen in front of Academia, a married father of 10- and 11-year-old girls.

"It touched me like everyone else," Academia says. "When he talked about dancing with his daughters you want to see him dance at those weddings. I felt sad for him.

"But I had no idea."

Academia pauses. He gazes out the window to the street below. It's a dreary, gray afternoon. Students hustle to class, bundled with hats, scarves and parkas. In his room, the temperature is climate-controlled perfection. After a brief silence, Academia turns back and begins to tell the rest of his story.

Chuck Pagano and Colts owner Jim Irsay wave to the crowd during the game against Buffalo on Nov. 25. Bruce Arians has been the interim Colts coach. Sam Riche/MCT

The first day Larry Cripe met Chuck Pagano, the doctor walked right past the coach. The mistake was understandable. Cripe isn't much of a football fan and didn't know a thing about Pagano. A day earlier, he had been told that his newest potential patient was the coach for the hometown Colts. He pictured someone else.

"Some sort of big, gruff, jewelry-laden guy," Cripe said. "Ditka. Belichick. Someone like that. Instead, here is the relatively diminutive guy in a Colts sweatshirt and jeans and a cup of coffee. He just seemed like a regular guy."

Janeen Rhodes donates during a blood drive. She refuses to take off her #Chuckstrong bracelet until the coach is back on the sideline. Wayne Drehs/ESPN

That's how Chuck Pagano has always liked it. Substance over style. Results over appearance. Pagano grew up in Colorado the son of a longtime high school coach and played college football at Wyoming. His 29-year coaching résumé has kept moving companies in business, with 14 stops ranging from the University of Miami to Boise State, from the Oakland Raiders to the Baltimore Ravens. Each step along the way, he built a reputation as a man with a presence, a man whom players follow. Players, coaches, training staff -- they marvel at how Pagano treats the building janitor with as much respect as the star quarterback. And how he never forgets a name.

"Wherever he goes, he puts a smile on someone's face," said Colts defensive lineman Cory Redding, who also played for Pagano last season in Baltimore. "It may not be the cleanest language. It may not be, you know, politically correct. But he gets his point across in a way that makes you feel warm, accepted and loved. He's a great man. He lives his life right. And he just has this presence about him. People gravitate towards someone like that. I'd do anything for the man."

These were the characteristics Colts general manager Ryan Grigson was seeking when he hired Pagano in January. The team had just finished 2-14, its worst record in 20 years. There were decisions to make about quarterback Peyton Manning and the No. 1 pick in the NFL draft. And there was a fan base to re-energize.

Enter Pagano. From the moment he accepted the job, saying to Grigson, "Let's hunt," he talked about trust, loyalty and respect -- words he put on a wall under the horseshoe at the Colts' training facility. He talked about serving others, helping the community and winning football games. And when someone needed a pick-me-up, Pagano would be the first one there with what would become a familiar refrain. "I've got your back."

The Colts' bye came in the fourth week this season. For most players and staff, it was time to head home and be with family. For Pagano, it was time to see the doctor. As far back as training camp, he had noticed unusual bruising on his body. And lately he had been experiencing fatigue. A blood test with the team physician revealed something was seriously wrong. Pagano was quickly referred to Cripe, a leading oncologist with the IU Simon Cancer Center. Cripe took one look at Pagano's blood under a microscope and knew.

"He was very ill," Cripe said. "It went from, 'Maybe we can let you go and start treatment in a couple days,' to, 'You're not leaving this place, we're starting treatment in 30 minutes and here's what this is all about.'"

Acute promyelocytic leukemia, or APML, is a rare form of leukemia in which the body's bone marrow produces abnormal white blood cells. Pagano's prognosis was favorable; the disease had been caught early. According to the National Cancer Institute, 90 percent of patients with APML survive more than five years. Chemotherapy would start that day. Pagano would be hospitalized for six to eight weeks. After that, he likely would need at least two more rounds of outpatient chemotherapy before he could return to coaching. If he could return to coaching.

The next four days, Cripe explained to Pagano and his wife, Tina, were critical. Once treatment began, the coach was at risk of infection, lung failure or even bleeding to death.

"Those first four days are always troubling," Cripe said. "Anything can happen. Nothing would have surprised me. He could have died. He was a very sick man. I told him in that first hour, 'Look, I don't know who you are, but I'm not an idiot. I know how important you are to this community. But I'm going to forget about that.' He told me, 'That's fine. I'm nobody important.'"

Five days later, at Pagano's request, Cripe headed to the Colts' practice facility, where he stood in a room full of players, coaches and management and explained exactly what was going on.

"It was like someone sucked all the air out of the room," receiver Reggie Wayne said. "You couldn't hear anybody breathing or anything. I mean, that's our general. That's our leader. And when you hear what he's going through it took me some time to process it. I struggled in practice for a while."

After talking to the team, Cripe then spoke at a news conference. He, Pagano and the hospital public relations staff had discussed at length what sort of information they did and didn't want to reveal. In the end, Pagano decided there would be very few secrets. Although Pagano himself wouldn't speak and did not talk for this story, he trusted the doctor to share his story with the world. Maybe it would help someone.

Mickey, seen with her family, celebrated five years of remission earlier this year. Wayne Drehs/ESPN

For the past four weeks, the room Didymus Academia has called home is as luxurious and convenient as any inpatient oncology floor could possibly be. Hardwood floors. A comfy recliner. A leather couch. And a direct line to room service, which Academia's wife, Aimee, calls each day to order two peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches on whole wheat toast.