Leroy, this is pretty much the conversation I had with my oncologist at my last appointment. I have stage IV breast cancer which has, so far responded spectacularly to an aromatase inhibitor- Arimidex. We had a talk about how the many physical, mental and emotional assaults that I've gone through in the last two and a half yrs since diagnosis have left me with no emotional reserves. He counseled me to "buy some", because one day I'm going to need more. One day, we'll have an appointment, and the news won't be good...and I'll need to cope with that. However, there are other drugs that I haven't had yet that I can be switched to, and "they're finding all of these new molecules, and one day, one of them will be for you. Why not?", he said. So... when I go farther in my head than today, and wonder what will happen when I've gone through the two or three drug options that I know about now, I try to remember that "why not you?" ...and hope.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 9:39 AM ET | 07-25-2006

I have come to conclude that much like two women can undergo childbirth and have totally different experiences; such is often the case with cancer. I have had two bone marrow transplants and both experiences were very different. I have also found this to be true when comparing "war stories of cancer" with other patients.

As far as cancer is concerned, no one ever says it was fun, but in my case, I have found that you just deal with it and go on.

I believe that the hardest part of cancer is playing the "what if game." What if my cancer comes back... What if I die... What if I lose my job. What if I can no longer afford...

Two years into this battle I have found that my faith in God and the love of my family and frieds is what has sustained me. I have found that since the moment that I COMPLETELY handed all my fears to God, my life has been at peace.

All cancer patients will tell you that you they live one day at a time— such is the case with me. Tomorrow is promised to no one. Today I feel good today I have done more than I thought I would do. If it is a bad day I have learned not to focus on the way things are, but on the way things will be. Tomorrow is another day!

My words of advice to anyone dealing with cancer is to look for the good in your situation. Perhaps the family is drawn closer. Most likely there is a reprioritizing of ones values. Perhaps people come out of the wood work to share their concern. If by chance there is nothing good to be found in your situation then look for God's other face— Mercy.

"Surely Goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. Psalm 23:6

Sent by Richard Hinojosa | 9:54 AM ET | 07-25-2006

In the meantime, each of us with a computer can do a little to help with the research. Starting July 20th, there is a new project at the World Community Grid that is designed to use idle time on computers to research tissue microarrays in the hopes of finding new drugs to combat head, neck and breast cancers.

It works like this. Go to the site, become a member and download the grid agent to your computer. Then, whenever, you aren't actively using CPU cycles, the agent will kick in, grab a research task from the project, start calculating, and continue until you use the computer again, or until the assigned task is complete. You can become part of a team (I have joined one called Cancer Fighters) and track how many computer years your team has donated to the cause. It's a great idea!

Don (http://rtfax.blogspot.com/)

Sent by Don Spencer | 11:00 AM ET | 07-25-2006

The last two commentaries have been especially meaningful for me. Yesterday I had yet another (every 5-6 weeks) CT scan and I get the results tomorrow. I'm prepared for bad news since my tumor markers are increasing and, in my case, they have correlated closely with tumor size and number. My chemo has worked spectacularly but I had to have a break because it was also killing my bone marrow. The old saying "the surgery was a success but the patient died" comes to mind. Now I'm on a greatly reduced dosage which probably isn't working. My next option is a clinical trial but unfortunately only phase I trials are available to me. Phase I trials don't even try to determine efficacy just maximum non-lethal dose. But if it comes to that I'll do it. I'm buying time until there is something that works (without killing me in the process), and so I can be with my 3 young kids as long as I can. To their credit, my care team, has from day 1 presented my options as "buying time." I'll "buy" whatever I can and hope for more.

Sent by Holly Michaels | 11:25 AM ET | 07-25-2006

Leroy, How do you do it? Helps me to keep going too. I have esophageal, upper abdomen cancer. I started chemo Wednesday, July 19 and yesterday, July 24 they had to remove the pump because I could not tolerate the medicine. I'm not a wuss. I had chemo 10 years ago and completed it, but this time I just couldn't do it. I had severe diarrhea and constipation all at the same time, and no matter what I tried to eat, it just turned my stomach. I was on all the right drugs for the side effects, but I just kept feeling worse and worse. I want to beat this, but I just couldn't do the medicine. Tomorrow I go back to find out what they will put me on next time. I used to have a positive attitude; what happened to me? I don't want to die of course, but I'm so scared and confused.

Sent by Ruth White | 11:52 AM ET | 07-25-2006

Oh today I, like so many of us, ride it out waiting for a cure. Today was made easier; a telemarketer called to tell me I had won a trip to FL. I told her I was unable to go because of my chemo schedule. She whispered to me "I'm in the back and I am going to say a prayer for you." She then proceeded to pray a short but obviously meaningful prayer. I am struck that if a telemarketer can hold out hope for me, then I can hang on longer for that future cure.

Sent by Cherie Brown | 3:40 PM ET | 07-25-2006

I am a cancer survivor.

My attitude has been, right from the get go, to accept and understand the problem, find the best solution(s) to the problem, take care of the problem and always move forward.

I want to let people know that it's okay to have cancer and feel good about yourself the whole time, both before, during and after treatment. Maybe your glass is only 1/16 full, but, at least it's got something in it, and it's up to the person to continue to fill that glass with a positive attitude. Dispose of the negatives, they are useless, and keep dripping the positives in your glass. I couldn't breathe through my right nostril, so I met with an ENT in 02/2005. He examined me and said, "You have a polyp as well as a deviated septum, they both obstruct air flow."

I ASKED WHAT I SHOULD DO. He said, "Remove the polyp, repair the septum." On 3/9, the operation was completed. On 3/14, my ENT called: the polyp contained leiomyosarcoma, a very rare, extremely aggressive and fast-moving cancer.

I ASKED WHAT I SHOULD DO. He said to call UCLA Medical center. On 3/16, UCLA's Dr. Abemayor confirmed my cancer and scheduled me to meet with the Tumor Board on 3/23. The Tumor Board (20 cancer specialists: oncology, surgery, radiology, etc.) concurred that I had cancer.

I ASKED WHAT I SHOULD DO. I was told: OPERATE! On 4/12, my 3-hour operation included: 1. a 2" incision down my nose, from the corner of the right eye to the nasal lobe. 2. a 2nd incision inside my mouth where my right upper gum joins the cheek. 3. the temporary displacement of my right eye from its socket. 4. wide margins cut around the nasal wall where the polyp had been.

On 4/16 I left the hospital and was back at work on 4/18. On 4/21 my surgeon said I was doing very well but I needed radiation to be certain the wide margins had not missed any cancer cells.

On 5/18 (my birthday) my radiation began. I had 33 treatments, ending 7/06. The surgery and the radiation stopped my normal physical activity, so I gave myself a goal and a present: I ordered a brand new mountain-bike, requesting delivery when my radiation was done. The bike arrived before the radiation was completed; it drove me nuts just sitting in my garage, but it made me vow to become as strong as possible as soon as possible.

On 7/12 I began riding. And I'm still riding. My quick and complete recovery was due to: 1. accurate diagnosis, treatment and medical response. 2. good physical condition prior to both operation and treatments. 3. positive mental attitude: What's the problem? How do we fix it? When do we get started? What's next? On 10/4 follow-up, a PET-CT scan was done. Both my surgeon and radiologic oncologist told me: 1. You're doing extremely well. 2. Your scans are clean as a whistle.

My right nostril is still swollen with: slight mucus leakage, a scar, the need to flush my nose every day and a lack of sensation. But given the alternative, I'm pretty damn lucky, knowing the speed with which the cancer was detected and treated. If my story gives a hint of hope to anyone involved with cancer surgery/treatment, then I'll feel even more fortunate. Final comments: 1. Let the professionals do what's medically best for you, and 2. To quote Monty Python: Always look on the bright side of life.

My name is Mervyn Kopp. I'm 72. I'm a cancer survivor.

Sent by Mervyn Kopp | 5:27 PM ET | 07-25-2006

I just want you to know that my son survived cancer when he was one year old. (He is two and a half years now). Hang in there!

Sent by Volkmar Gaussmann | 9:38 AM ET | 07-26-2006

This is the first time I have come to your blog, and I am not sure of the etiquette here. I wanted to let you know that the radiation machine that you wished could be invented (to do focused radiation on the lung as you are breathing) does exist. It is called Cyberknife. We have it at the hospital where I work (Mercy Medical Center, Des Moines, Iowa). I am not an expert so I would refer any questions about it to someone else, but it is a very exciting technology.

Sent by Marty Boesenberg | 9:41 AM ET | 07-26-2006

Great show, very enlightening.

My mother died of inflammatory breast cancer (IBC) two years after diagnosis. It is very aggressive with a poor prognosis. My own female gynecologist had never heard of it, nor had my mother's doctor unfortunately. How can you diagnose something you've never heard of?

How about a show on this lethal but seemingly unknown cancer.

How many people in your office have ever even heard of it?

Sent by Monique Pousson | 1:37 PM ET | 08-04-2006