Beyond Forgetting

Katy wrote in yesterday with a great question. She asked if I ever forget that I have stage IV cancer.

For a few brief moments every day, I think that I do forget. A good movie, a good book or meal -- those can make me forget. But it always comes back. The pain or discomfort is a nasty reminder that all is not well inside my body. That rarely goes away.

This doesn't mean the cancer has won. It hasn't, at least not yet. I remember that I have cancer in the same way I remember that I had back surgery not too long ago. But that's not all I remember. I remember that I am 52 and have lived a full life. I remember that I am still shocked that I am 52.

I remember the people who are walking this road with me. I remember the things they have taught me. I try to remember to still laugh at things, because the world is still a pretty funny place.

To get back to Katy's question, except for a few moments each day, I never really forget that I have cancer. It's part of my life now, part of who I am.

I can live with that. I have learned so much, been given so much. To forget that I have cancer would be to forget part of who I am.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:03 AM ET | 05-13-2008 | permalink | comments (19) | e-mail post

Whose Move Is It?

What happens now? I guess the next thing on the agenda is to figure out what the next thing on the agenda is.

Most likely we'll do what we always do when there's no obvious course of action. We take more scans. Of course, in my case, after all the surgeries and the radiation, new scans won't show much. My body may keep some of its secrets.

I've been pretty aggressive through all this, attacking the cancer whenever and wherever we can. It seems strange to think that we may slow down a little, that we may have to slow down until it becomes clear what is happening. I guess that means letting the cancer make the next move.

I'm not wild about that. I like keeping the disease off balance. I like to make those tumors worry about what's coming next.

But let's be serious. We talk a lot about living with cancer. I think that's the stage I'm going into right now. I'm going to have to live with my cancer. That may be a little nerve wracking, wondering what the cancer is doing, wondering what each random pain might mean. Waiting for new symptoms to appear.

But until that happens, until we see a new target, I guess that will be the plan. I'm going to have to learn to be patient.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:05 AM ET | 05-12-2008 | permalink | comments (40) | e-mail post

One Case Among Many

There's one cancer case that concerns me more than any other. My own, of course. That's pretty obvious. But I continue to wonder how doctors and nurses are able to handle so many cases when the outcomes are negative. How do they come to work day after day, knowing that they are going to lose most, if not all, of their patients?

I have asked many of them how they do it, and they all have different answers. But I still don't understand.

Over the last couple of years that I've been treated, I've become close friends with some of my doctors and nurses. We get together socially sometimes. We don't talk about cancer too much, but it's inevitable that it will come up. I wonder if, on those occasions, they ever forget that I am a stage 4 cancer patient, and that most likely the cancer will kill me.

At the same time, I wonder if any of my other friends ever forget it. Probably not. Still, it must be incredibly difficult for them emotionally. All I can say is, Thank God they are able to do it. Because if they couldn't, we wouldn't be able to fight this by ourselves.

I hope everyone in cancer world has a good weekend. We all deserve it.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:05 AM ET | 05- 9-2008 | permalink | comments (51) | e-mail post

A Full-Time Job

I am reminded every day that we have built a community of support, and also a community of wisdom. All the comments about depression gave me something to think about.

A number of you talked about the difference between depression and sadness. I think I would add fatigue to that mix as well. I think it's not so much that I'm depressed, it's that I'm worn down.

Being a cancer patient is hard work. And you're on the job 24/7. There are no breaks. You don't get weekends or holidays off. If you don't feel it physically, you live with it mentally. It can be unrelenting. I think that's what I've been feeling.

Boxers get that break between rounds. Football players can catch their breath in the huddle. Sometimes those few seconds can make all the difference in the world, can mean the difference between victory and defeat. I just need a time-out.

Except there are no time-outs in this game. Somewhere deep down in yourself, you have to try to find the strength to just keep going. Sometimes I find it, sometimes I don't. And if you don't find it one day, maybe it will be there the next. But it's hard. Probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:14 AM ET | 05- 8-2008 | permalink | comments (61) | e-mail post

How Do You Deal with Depression?

Laurie asked me if I was depressed. And I answered, "Yes." Sometimes this all gets to me. It wears me down. I get tired of feeling uncomfortable. I get tired of the pain. I get frustrated that I can't just move around the way I used to. So, yeah, I get depressed.

I don't really know how to break out of it. I'm not anxious to take any new medication. What would make me feel better would be feeling better. If just one of the side effects went away, even for a short time, that would help tremendously.

In the meantime, I think all I can do is keep fighting. But I'm open to suggestions. What do you all do when depression raises its head? How do you all fight it?

-- Leroy Sievers

7:20 AM ET | 05- 7-2008 | permalink | comments (157) | e-mail post

For Now, Ignorance Is Bliss

I wonder what's going on inside me. It's been a couple of weeks since we finished the radiation. Am I cancer-free around my spine? Was the radiation successful in sterilizing that area? Or did some cancer survive, and is it growing as I write this? There's really no way to know, at least not yet. After radiation, you have to wait a while before scans will be of any use.

Sort of forgotten in all the craziness of the last few months are my lungs. Last time we looked, there were new small nodules that are most likely cancer. They were too tiny to do anything about. They were too tiny even to worry about. But that was a while ago. Have they gotten bigger? Have they multiplied? We'll have to take a look pretty soon.

I guess I've been living under the umbrella of "ignorance is bliss." I needed a break. So even though I know that the Beast is hiding somewhere inside me, I haven't had to confront it directly. That day will come soon enough.

But in the meantime, I'll try not to think about any new cancer. Who knows? If I ignore it, maybe it will just go away.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:33 AM ET | 05- 6-2008 | permalink | comments (33) | e-mail post

Pins and Needles

Neuropathy. That's the official name for it. It's that tingling in your feet or hands, and the bad part is, it may not go away. Neuropathy is actually a pretty common side effect from chemo. I got it in my hands and feet from the drugs. Luckily though, after I finished my chemo the tingling did go away.

Well it's certainly back now. I've had it in my lower legs and feet since my last surgery. I guess the best way for me to describe the sensation is that it's like your feet are constantly falling asleep. It moves around too, from feet to ankle to calf. There's really not a lot you can do about it, other than grit your teeth and try to ignore it. That only works sometimes.

It may go away, or it may be permanent, we just don't know. The only way we'll find out, I guess, is if I wake up one day and it's gone. In the meantime, like I said, I just have to put up with it. It's not really painful, it's a different kind of sensation. It can make it a little difficult to walk. Did I say it was annoying? That's probably the best description.

For all of the high-tech miracles that make up modern medicine, there's still a lot left up to hope. We do what we can and hope for the best. So that's what I do each day. I hope that today's the day the tingling will stop.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:45 AM ET | 05- 5-2008 | permalink | comments (55) | e-mail post

Our Cancer

You all are amazing. The responses to the "finish this sentence" blog just blew me away. I was at physical therapy today and my therapist asked me what I got out of all your responses. It was a great question, and I've been thinking about it all day.

My first response was that I didn't do it for me. I write about myself every day. My feelings, my pain, my thoughts, my cancer. Key word in that sentence is "my."

I wanted to break that up, if only for a day. I wanted to encourage all of you to talk about your feelings, your struggles, your pain, your cancer. Key word is "your." And you responded as you always do, with eloquence and wisdom and humility.

Your notes reminded me again of just how much knowledge we all have gained, although at a very high price. But now I think I know how to answer my therapist. What did I get out of it? I was reminded that no matter what happens, no matter how tough things may get, I am not alone. We are traveling this road together.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:03 AM ET | 05- 2-2008 | permalink | comments (49) | e-mail post

Life Goes On Around Us

Today hasn't been an easy day. I've had a fair amount of pain. And nothing I do brings much relief. I guess it's just one of those days. When you are this uncomfortable, you really can't concentrate very well. It's hard to think about anything besides the discomfort. So I try to keep moving, from the bed to my favorite chair and back. I nap. And I do try to think of other things.

None of that seems to be working today. So I'm sitting here at my computer feeling a little sorry for myself. But as I sit here, I can hear one bird singing outside. I have no idea what kind it is. But there's something about its song that makes me feel better. I know it's simplistic, maybe even a little corny, but sometimes that's all it takes.

It hasn't made the pain and discomfort go away. That would be a miracle. But it's a reminder that no matter what's going on with the disease, life goes on around us. That bird has stopped singing now, it may have flown away. But for a couple of minutes, it made me smile. And on a day like this, that's invaluable.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:14 AM ET | 05- 1-2008 | permalink | comments (58) | e-mail post

Searching in the Dark

I'm sleeping better these days. I'm not sure why, but I'm certainly not complaining. For a long time it seemed that I was awake all night -- every night. I might have grabbed an hour here or an hour there, but not much more. I had watched every movie my cable system had to offer. I used to dread the night.

It's in those dark hours that you are truly left alone with your thoughts. There's no fooling around then, no kidding yourself. That's the time for honesty. I don't spend that time feeling sorry for myself. I'm way past that. I don't ask, "Why me?" That's been asked and answered. No, I listen to the house, the noises it makes. I listen to the world outside, wind or rain or calm. And I wonder what's going to happen.

I know what my doctors say. I know what they expect to happen. I know what could happen, the best and worst case scenarios. But as I try to look ahead into my future, I can't really see anything that will give me a clue. It's like the old eight balls always seemed to say: Answer hazy, ask again later.

Maybe that's why I'm sleeping better. I don't know what exactly I should be worrying about, so I might as well sleep. The future will reveal itself when it's time. I guess I can wait.

-- Leroy Sievers

7:16 AM ET | 04-30-2008 | permalink | comments (45) | e-mail post