Your bravery is a documentary on how to face cancer. My heart and my prayers go out to you.

Sent by Jim D. | 1:34 PM ET | 06-27-2006

I, too, have lung cancer, two types, hopefully one down and one to go... starting the only drug available for bronchio whatever, same as what killed Mrs. Superman. So far, I share your feelings about how this limits your life from what it was and what you were planning... goes to show you while we are actively living daily life, our minds seem to be living in the future. But not now. Look forward to you comments and hope to respond again. Yes, waiting rooms are full for chemo and oncologists appointments. The true diversity of California is found there.

Sent by Michael J Krisman | 2:28 PM ET | 06-27-2006

Nobody deserves this. But thanks for letting us in.

Sent by Andrea G. | 2:51 PM ET | 06-27-2006

I used to read your thoughtful, insightful and wonderfully candid NIGHTLINE Daily Emails and wonder, "Who is this wise and thoughtful news producer?" It got to the point where I looked forward, every day, to your commentaries on the days news or upcoming stories. I even wrote you a couple of fan mails — which seemed like an odd thing to do for a network email — but they were richly deserved.

I was more than a little dismayed to hear about your latest struggle. In some ways, perhaps, we are fortunate to have such a gifted reporter to brief us from the "frontlines" of this awful battle — but I know this is not a story you would ever choose to cover. And I am sorry it is you. It seems only to confirm the unsettling notion that life is totally random.

I simply wanted to add my best wishes, thoughts and prayers to those of everyone else.

Godspeed and Lchaim.

Sent by Tony Gittelson | 2:53 PM ET | 06-27-2006

Thinking of you during this complicated time. I haven't figured out yet how to handle loss or how to console those that are going through it quite right.

It is wonderful that you've decided to share your experiences with this. You have many avid followers, I'm sure.

Sent by Morgen | 3:32 PM ET | 06-27-2006

Today our mutual friends sent me an email forwarding your blog. I've got to tell you... I've really been having a hard time since we came home. See, I thought that I would just get up, leave my business, go try to help, and then come back, and pick up where I lefted off. I mean, you think you go do a good thing and help others surely good things will come from that... Wouldn't you think? But that's not what happened. I came home. Over night I went from one of the most sucessful agents in my office to no business at all. See part of real estate is feeding the pipeline. Who would think a couple of weeks would change that? Then throw in the fact that Katrinia killed the real estate market three months too early and you have a different kind of disaster. I was just coming back from a settlement where the sellers didn't show up... No pay day for me! I get this email to go to your blog. Here's the thing as I'm reading it... I again am reminded that your right, life is not fair to anyone. There really are no accidents in this life. God's timing is so perfect. Just perfect!! I sell houses, thats it...I don't split the atom or curing cancer. I sell houses and my whining has gone on long enough. Thank you for slapping me back into a reality that I couldn't even see anymore from my rear view mirror.

I read your blog and you know what I got out of it, other than the ulgy cry? That you are the same man from Mississippi... I have this view of you, this picture in my head, a snap shot. Your glasses are fogged up, your sweating from the stifling heat, your what was once a white T-shirt now dark brown, your calling someone who knows someone trying to help everyone! Love ya!

Sent by Cindy Winn | 4:50 PM ET | 06-27-2006

I understand the sadness at some point in the process — just about every emotion hit me. It is scary to contemplate death, especially one that is untimely and one's own. There's always still so much to see and do, even if it's just the ordinary day-to-day.

Cancer made me realize that there are no guarantees in this life I'm not protected by being a good person or living a healthy lifestyle. I've lost friends as young as fourteen. I savor the moment more than I used to.

I gathered all the information that my doctors had the patience to share, then researched some more, but very soon I learned to skip the statistics. Those are scary, and depending on my mood/mindset/energy level, I could interpret them in very different ways. So even if your prognosis isn't the best, there can't be a zero percent chance of survival. I saw that someone else recommended Bernie Siegel's "Love, Medicine & Miracles." That book was a tremendous help to me.

Thank you for sharing your story, thoughts and feelings. There are many people rooting for you out here.

Sent by Leslie | 4:54 PM ET | 06-27-2006

You're making all the right choices, Leroy. We're involuntary members of the same club. Now when someone asks me "How are you?", my answer is always, "I'm glad to be here!"

Not that every day has been a picnic. My husband's kidney cancer taught me how to be the caregiver and supporter of a cancer patient, when he was diagnosed in 2003. He is now doing just fine, thank you, with one kidney. We traded places last year when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After surgery, chemo, and radiation, I'm doing well, and getting on with life. All this has certainly taught us to separate the wheat from the chaff.

Heres to you, Leroy, and all others who have posted to this blog. Enjoy this day, and the next one, and the next one...

Sent by Jenny | 8:37 AM ET | 06-28-2006

Best wishes for your very important blog and for you. In the past few months, I got to know a co-worker who has cancer. She is the bravest, most courageous person I've met.

As in your case, to look at her, one would think she is healthy as a bull, but I know she swallows the pain, the discomfort, and she fights like hell for each day and for the rest of her life.

Thank you for sharing your experience. I hope it will help me to be a good listener and to understand what Jennifer is going through so I may be a better friend.

Sent by Rosa Shirley | 8:39 AM ET | 06-28-2006

I had my first cancer in 1994 at age forty-four. A small breast cancer with no nodal involvement, treated with lumpectomy and radiation. It was nearly ten years later that I was diagnosed with metastasis to bone, liver and lung. Even the first bout with cancer did not make me think, "Why me?", but instead, "Why not me?" The day of my diagnosis, my family physician suggested the book called "When Bad Things Happen to Good People." My instant reaction was anger, because I knew there is always "good in the bad" and "bad in the good." As my mother had said to me after my first cancer diagnosis, "In all things, give thanks."

My most interesting discovery has been that we all have the capacity for joy and fun in our lives, regardless of so-called "good health." The phrase, "At least I have my health," always puzzled me. Good health is not the prime ingredient for a good life. Recognizing what you have, the love in your life, and the wonder and joy of friends and relations are all you need. After all, as Warren Zevon said, "Life is fatal." So although it sounds nonsensical, cancer can be a gift too.

Sent by Nicki Ewing | 8:41 AM ET | 06-28-2006

I am passing this on from my non-computer savvy mom, :) and I hope this can be of some help. She wanted me to provide a few contacts that she knows of that you may want to call? The first is called the Burzynski Clinic at 713-335-5697 and they have a couple web sites.

The other group is called the people against cancer at 515-972-4444.

They have a newsletter.

Sent by Neshat Rowhani | 8:44 AM ET | 06-28-2006

I was diagnosed May 2005 with stage IV metastatic adenocarcinoma of the lung. I always worried about breast and colon but never worried about lung cancer. I thought I had a disk problem in my mid back... I did, but it was bone mets and a fracture of T2.

I have spent the last nineteen years in health care, the first ten at the largest cancer center in the US. I understood the word "metastatic" and I did not need a translation... my thirty-something physician seemed to think I did and was very exact about telling me any "treatment was not curative."

I am one of the lucky ones however. I am on a Phase II clinical trial with a drug called Tarceva. As it turns out, my tumor (God bless it) has a DNA mutation that the doctors here in Boston understand. For me, Tarceva has shrunk the tumor at least 80% over the last year and it is just sort of "co-habitating" with me now. My bones are stable but they hurt. Nothing to do about that.

I want you to know that the doctors dont know when we will die. I learned working at M.D. Anderson that Stage IV cancer patients can live and Stage I cancer patients can die. I am like you — I have traveled all over the world, have friends everywhere, and dont really have any particular desire to do anything special. But, I am not certainly not ready to call it quits. I love to eat and drink fine wine or margaritas, walk in along the shore, play with my sisters grandkids, look at antiques and piddle around. I have a long road ahead of me. My only real goal I would honestly say is to make sure that my sisters kids with whom I am very close, that their kids know me well enough to remember me before I die. I also want to make damn sure that I do as much advocacy and lung cancer awareness for non-smokers as I can.

I wish you the very best, Leroy. I hate this disease(s) and I am angry that anyone has to go through this. Like the pregnant young woman you saw, I see these young people and I get even angrier. There are 20 year olds being diagnosed with late stage lung cancer — all non-smokers. Can you imagine?

I look forward to your updates and may comment again!

Sent by Carol Sayles | 8:48 AM ET | 06-28-2006

I heard your story on the radio yesterday. I was moved by your comment about how difficult it was to tell some of your closest friends and how some cried and you had to comfort them. It reminded me of something that caught my attention recently. I was late for Mass and I had to stand in the back of the church. I happened to be standing under the eighth Station of the Cross. On the path to his own crucifixion, Jesus stopped to comfort some of the women of Jerusalem. I can not think of a greater sign of love than comforting others while you are suffering. You must have a great amount of compassion. I can't imagine how distraught your friends and family must feel at the thought of losing you.

Thank you for sharing this ordeal and I hope for the best for you and your loved ones. God bless you Leroy.

Sent by Bob O'Malley | 8:50 AM ET | 06-28-2006

As a past intern of yours from Nightline I am shocked and saddened at hearing your cancer has returned. I wish I could send you a gnome as a token of my gratitude of the wisdom you shared with us. :-) Thank you for all the time you took with us and the patience you showed.

I am glad that I was able to finally find you again after these three years. I am sorry to hear that you are sick again we recently went through an illness with my husband?s father. We will be praying for your return and I will be as loyal to your blog as I am to the nightline e-mail.

Sent by Jennifer Campbell | 10:06 AM ET | 06-28-2006

Two and a half years ago I left my urologist's office with the news I had a malignant bladder tumor. No tests, he knew by looking at it that it was malignant. He took out the small tumor as an out patient no other treatment. Pathology confirmed it was cancer. Two years later another tumor, again malignant, appeared. Doctor recommended taking it out in the office. I said okay, and within ten minutes the procedure was over. Six months later I had four more cancerous tumors. He mentioned something about seeding from the previous extraction. Everything always seems like no big deal to my doctor. Which I guess is good for me. This time the tumors were removed in the hospital, I was given a chemo bladder wash and six weeks of what is called BCG treatments once per week. My understanding is they put a live virus into you bladder which your immune system attacks, killing the virus and cancer cells. It is supposed to keep your immune system on full alert in your bladder. Made me feel like I had the flu, and at times I urinated some blood. That is the short of it. I have three kids and I know there are many with a worse prognosis than I have but a day does not go by that I do not think about it. What if it gets worse, how will my wife and kids get along without me, who will protect them and make sure all problems are handled? I had a hard time dealing with the thoughts in my head at first but my wife came through handled many things until I could get myself back on track. I found out she was much stronger than I had ever thought. Actually I think in some areas she is much stronger than me. Strange, I was always the strong one that nothing bothered. I always tell people I am fine and I am, at least I think I am. But it seems like a strange question, I have cancer I really dont know if I am fine. I remember asking people that same question before I was diagnosed and I wanted to hear them say they were doing well that they were winnig the battle. I guess this gave me assurance that if I ever got cancer that I would know people who beat it and therefore it would not be the end of the world for me and I also would or could beat it. Now the question is being asked of me and I have a good prognosis although no one has given me any guarantee. Even my doctor, who gives me the impression that it is no big deal never said to me Anthony you will be fine in a couple of weeks, months, years or decades. So I tell people I am fine and doing very well so they can prepare mentally as I did. No one wants to hear that there is something lurking in the wind that they could get and not eventually beat. I truly think people feel very bad but inside thier head they are saying I am glad I am not in that position. It is a whole new world to live in. I am no longer the wild free spirit that I was. I am much more cautious, somehow I have let my personality get older. I just turned 50 but never felt like I was more that 25. I want to be care free again but know that will never happen, I will never think of things the same way. Strange, I find myself caring about other peoples problems or conditions even though I dont really know them. I want to fix them but obviously don't know how. I am glad to have the life I have and be with the people I am with. I have become a better person not the same person with different thoughts, I have become a different person.

Sent by Anthony Sorce | 10:09 AM ET | 06-28-2006

I have a question for you and for all who read your blog. Why is it that when someone has lung cancer and tells others about it, the first thing others ask is "Did he/she smoke?" It seems like if they smoked, people feel that they deserved or asked for this horrible disease. If one did not smoke people have compassion for them. I think this is outrageous! Smoke or not, no one deserves to have cancer.

Sent by Ruth White | 10:12 AM ET | 06-28-2006

I was introduced to your blog in a college course, and immediately was drawn to your story. My father died of cancer 15 years ago, and to this day, I still have a hard time thinking about cancer, imagining what my father must have gone through, and worrying that one day, I myself might contract the disease. I think of my father differently now that I am older (I was 11 when he died), I think of what his final years, months and days must have been like. I try to imagine what he was thinking or feeling, and it is extremely painful! Your blog is helpful, because I can understand the emotions he was going through and can only hope that he maintained the same level of courage that you do. Thank you for what you are doing, you are making a difference!

Sent by Lynda | 2:13 PM ET | 06-28-2006

What a perfect description of cancer treatment. I have just finished my first course of treatment for colon cancer and am left with the questions:

- Is the cancer gone?

- Are the next five years going to feel like 10 while I wait for a clean bill of health report?

- How many years before I get another form of cancer?

Trying not to think about the questions is impossible. I am not obsessed by the questions, as I know that only time will tell, but I find myself wondering about them just the same. In the beginning, I said, "I am going to live like I dont have cancer." Now I realize that I should be living like I do have cancer so that I do not waste a minute being upset by trivial things and instead am savoring and valuing all the things that are important.

Thanks for the blog and the articles — I realize that I need to communicate with others who have cancer or have had cancer to affirm that my feelings and thoughts are normal in this situtation.

Sent by Judy Van Hishout | 2:22 PM ET | 06-28-2006

Both of my parents died of cancer. When they were going through it, it didn't seem the time to discuss or analyze the kind of observations that you are making about your struggle with the disease. I was afraid it would be too painful for them or for me. Yet since then I have often reflected on their situations and wondered what they would have said and what they were thinking. Somehow reading your column is providing me with some feedback on those questions and giving me some solace. Thank you for sharing.

Sent by Kami | 3:32 PM ET | 06-28-2006

I have a strong family history for cancer, a gene mutation, and assume it will get me. I am sixty and my plan is to ignore the diagnosis and not do any of the treatments. I don't want to go through the stuggles or watch my children have to do the same. Do you know others who actually stick to a decision like this once they have gotten the diagnosis? I want to believe I can do it.

Sent by Janet Roberts | 8:23 AM ET | 07-23-2007