Is death the price of heroism?

The commitment is for life. And that's exactly what you have to be ready to give. But, in all the calls over a career of firefightering, the one life Alan Barber couldn't save was his own. The veteran firefighter gave twenty-eight years to the department.

"He was the happiest when he would have that adrenaline rush," remembered his wife, Carol Barber.

"I could see him, just 90 miles per hour, and that's when he was happy. He was so happy at the fire station."

Carol never fully understood why her husband had to do what he did. But she knew he absolutely had to do it.

"I can't tell you why these guys live on the edge like they do. Because they do, they live on the edge."

Still, she accepted the firefighter's life. And for all the fires he faced and the risks he took, the worst he ever showed - was a bum knee.

"We'd laugh all the time because I'd say to him, 'You're going to outlive me by 20 years,' and never in a million years, never did I think that something like this would happen to him."

Only once or twice did a midnight call wake Carol up, like the Princess Anne High School fire. Fourteen years later, she remembers every detail.

"When it burned, Alan was on that call. And it was a hot fire. And they called and told me that they were taking him over to Bayside, just to get some air."

Like the school, Alan would recover. But years later, he would pay with his life for a career spent inhaling smoke and soot. The pain in his knee spread to his hip and his body. Doctors started running tests before finding the cause.

"They were just chasing it. It was at that point where it had already gone from the lung to the bone. And that's how they found the cancer."

This is one alarm the Virginia Beach Fire Department, and departments across the country, can't afford to miss. Alan lost his eleven-month fight with cancer on November 6, 2008, one of three Virginia Beach firefighters to die of cancer in six months. Two more are now fighting job-related cancer and there are more cases coming. How many - no one knows.

But is death the price of being a hero?

"You know that you're taking an inherent risk when you're taking this job and it's not always walking into a burning building and the building falls down on you," said Captain Jack Carnell, a long-time friend and co-worker of Barber's.

"It might be ten years after you retire that you come down with some type of severe cancer from some fire you went to twenty years ago."

The loss of one firefighter is one too many and Carnell is part of a fire department trying to cut the risk of cancer and safeguard the crews. Firefighters now breathe oxygen long after the fire is out into the investigation and cleanup process, when white smoke pours out of a building instead of flame.

The smoke is cold, the danger of severe burns is gone, but cancer-causing cyanide and carbon monoxide are still here, and the risk of exposure increases.

"A lot of times people will be exposed to things during the overhaul, when you're really not thinking about it, because there's really not a fire burning," said Carnell.

In recent months, departments have recognized by state law that cancer is a job risk of firefighters, and it's presumed an occupational disease. While the department's Safety Office says the link between firefighters and cancer exists, no one knows how bad the problem is. With so many veteran firefighters working for years with older equipment and less stringent safety standards, departments fear the cost of cancer has not been fully paid yet.

For Carol Barber, her husband's risk was worth the reward - 25 years spent togther.

"I think that he truly, truly loved his job and I don't think he would change a thing."