Hang in there. I'm praying for you. Keep looking up.

Sent by Pat | 9:35 AM ET | 08-01-2006

I read your blog for the first time today and you made me think of friend of mine. She, too, had cancer and they gave her two years- she lived more then seven. Everytime the doctors told her they had no more treatments, she found the next new one. She fought to stay alive and lived for her children, husband and once told me her also her religion helped. I believe it was also her determination to try anything that would keep her alive and her will not to accept defeat.

You are very brave to share you journey with everyone and I will pray for you. Good luck I hope you win the battle and the war.

One more note my friend was very involved with an organization called Support Connection in Yorktown Heights, N.Y. that helps women with cancer and up until the last two years she walk in there annual three mile fundraiser.

Sent by Diane Brundage | 9:37 AM ET | 08-01-2006

Hello again. I just wanted you to know that I continue to read your extraordinary blog and I hope whatever choices you have to make for treatment turn out to be the best possible ones, whether they are made inadvertently or not.

May this crapshoot medicine pay off for you big time, Leroy.

Sent by Maris | 9:38 AM ET | 08-01-2006

Leroy, I read your news and my heart sank. I put my head down and cried. To quote you, "there are times all you can do is cry". Sometimes, I think, we have to give into this pain and cancer fear to find our strength again.

You are strong and courageous. You demonstrate this everyday to all of us who follow My Cancer. Whatever decisions you make will be the right ones for you.

My heart and prayers are with you and Ms. Singer.

Sent by Mary | 9:39 AM ET | 08-01-2006

I am sorry to hear about your news— it's really tough and the decision that you face is also difficult. I am a forty-two-year old father (two children aged 11 and 9), presented as an emergency twelve weeks ago with suspected appendicitis. Turned out to bowel cancer, with a tumour in my ascending colon - Stage 3b T4, N1, M0. I am now into my third cycle of chemo (Xeloda), and coming to terms with all of this. All your podcasts have been spot on— echoing many of my own experiences, thank you for sharing them. I have no platitudes to give you - what we face is tough. You are in my thoughts. Whatever decision you make is the right one - make it and let go.

Sent by Julian Evans | 9:42 AM ET | 08-01-2006

Here is my $0.02 (I also have lung cancer).

If you go back to the old drug that keeps your tumours in check, you can always go for the new ones later. It gives you that option. If you go for the new ones, and they fail, you are in a worse situation.

There are several new drugs that work well for bone mets, shrinking them, and one drug that two of my friends are on stimulates healthy bone to regrow where the lesions were.

Good luck.

Sent by Cathy W. | 9:43 AM ET | 08-01-2006

I'm so sorry to hear about the latest news. I have no words that will likely do much good, and my thoughts are with you as you make your upcoming decisions. Your blog had become a large part of my daily routine. I check it every morning when I get to work to see how things are going. Your thoughts and extraordinary grace under such pressure are inspiring to me. My, and our family's thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Bill Combs | 9:44 AM ET | 08-01-2006

Oh d—- it... I hate cancer. It takes and takes and takes...

It leaves you with no real decisions— just more rocks and hard places...

Whatever you choose know we will always be people who care about you.

Sent by Cherie Brown | 9:45 AM ET | 08-01-2006

I started reading your blog after my son shared it with me. My husband, his father, is living out his life now trying to fight an unseen enemy. He was diagnosed 2 1/2 years ago on April Fool's day (ha, real funny). He has a rare cancer called thymic carcinoma. It started in his chest cavity in the thymic gland. He has had three different rounds of chemo, radiation, and surgery to the chest to remove the mass as well as two different chemo pill regimines. Well, now he is in a similar spot as you. His cancer spread to his brain which was operated on two weeks ago. He came out of surgery smiling and talking with a horseshoe set of staples across his head. A sample of the tumor cells was sent somewhere in Arizona where for a mere $6000 it was gene-matched to several chemo cocktails. Two of them he already tried and the cancer continued to grow. He has to undergo radiation to the brain beginning next week and is in some pain in his liver because the cancer is there also.

He has done all that has been asked. He rarely complains, goes to work and tries to ride his road bike and hike as much as possible. He is getting tired now and yet he continues to live.

We are now at the place where hope remains but reality is hitting us in the face. The real problem here is how to have a balance. I haven't found it yet.

Sent by Val Martinson | 9:47 AM ET | 08-01-2006

I read your post today and it broke my heart. I am sorry and wish you strength in the decision-making days ahead. Whatever happens, please know how enormous your contribution has been/is being- this blog and your essays are touching, and helping a lot of people. Thanks.

Sent by J. Read | 11:58 AM ET | 08-01-2006

I echo what Julian said— whatever decision you make will be the right one. Once you make, embrace it and know that you had a choice, you made it, and it was right for you. Day to day should be like this anyway, but when you know your time is limited it is even more important. You will find what works for you and what makes your days the best they can, forget all of the what if's or would of's.

May you find peace in your heart and mind.

Sent by Chris | 12:00 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Thank you for sharing your fight so bravely and eloquently. I'm trying to support my mother through her breast cancer battle — but she hasn't yet been allowed to fight because she has COPD, and they're not sure she can tolerate anesthesia. Please know how your insight bolsters my efforts to ask her doctors the right questions and stand beside her the best I can.

Sent by Wendy Rose | 1:20 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Leroy, I've continued to read and share your blog with others every day, and I put off coming this morning, fearing the news. I am just so sorry you are faced with this choice — all of us doing aggressive chemo use the word crapshoot a lot. I'm really hoping for you that however you roll this next pair of dice it does everything that's needed and wanted and more. And I remain so grateful that you are sharing this unwanted journey with us.

Sent by Leigh Hough | 1:23 PM ET | 08-01-2006

I am so sorry to hear about your latest test results. It's scary and exhausting to be faced with a whole new set of new life-and-death decisions when you're already doing all that you think you can do. Our paths through this disease are different for each of us, and the decisions we make are different from person to person. There is always some hope, though. The statistics and timelines are based on other people's biology, not yours, so you can be the person who beats the odds. A friend's sister was given grim news 25 years ago, and she's still alive. I know how hard it is to make such a complex decision under such stressful conditions. Whatever you decide, try to make the choice so that you don't have second thoughts about it, so you don't look back and say "what if?" I don't know that "good luck" is appropriate here, but I will hold you in my thoughts.

Sent by Maggie | 1:25 PM ET | 08-01-2006

"Or I could do nothing." Oh, please don't. Keep fighting, for yourself and for the rest of us who have an incurable cancer. Please know that you are a beacon for us, and as we fight off the side effects and the incessant bad news, we want to hear stories of strength, perseverance and human spirit. And you have given us all that and more. And at this difficult time we say to you, please don't give up— we are with you, legions of us.

Sent by David Larsen | 1:28 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Leroy,

I've been reading your blog from the beginning after I heard you on NPR. It is amazing reading. Today's message makes my heart sink.

I don't have cancer, but have been going to too many funerals for people who died of cancer way too young. I can't begin to conceive what it would be like to walk the path you are taking.

I remember your writings in the daily Nightline emails that added much to the show. I read this blog daily and have learned much from it. Thank you.

I don't recall you discussing faith or prayer, but you are in my prayers. I hope and pray that you beat the beast.

Sent by Geoff | 1:30 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Sorry to hear your bad news, hang in there. I'm sort of in the same place after a year of chemo and seven weeks of radiation. The tumor was too big to operate so I have run out of options and simply wait. I opted for palliative treatment and for awhile it kept things in control. Now it seems to be growing again. I have avoided another scan etc. but it must come soon so I do understand what you are going through. I am 81 but still going, drive, cook and keep going, one day at a time.

Keep up the blog, it really helps.

Sent by Mary Graham | 1:33 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Leroy:

I thought about your blog the other day. I was golfing with my grandfather who is severely debilitated with Alzheimers. He doesn't talk, doesn't register much reaction when you talk to him, and can't really hold his golf clubs anymore. Each swing was limp and the ball barely moved a few feet. It broke my heart. Here is a man who is 82. He's weak, yes. He's old, yes. But for the most part, he's healthy and not in pain. But the mind has long gone dark. So that brought me to your blog and made me wonder what is better? To have your mental faculties as your body struggles with illness or to live in relative physical comfort as the light upstairs slowly dims until everyone you know, including yourself, becomes alien to you. Reading your blog has left a strong impression with me and I kept thinking, "What would Leroy think?"

Sent by Adam | 1:36 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Dear Leroy,

I am reminded daily as I read your blog that the survival rate for each of our bodies is the same. We all have only the assurance of this very moment and it really doesn't matter how we look, but how we see. So I salute you now with my cup of coffee, Leroy, for your courage, humor and honesty. We're all in this together. And know that though our bodies tell us differently, I know well be allright with the assistance of grace and humor both of which you display so eloquently. With heartfelt gratitude to you for sharing with us your journey. My thoughts and love are with you.

Sent by Sheron | 1:39 PM ET | 08-01-2006

I don't have adequate words to express my compassion for you at this difficult time. Please don't forget alternate therapies, like acupuncture and Eastern herbalism, which may relieve some of the discomfort (physical, mental and emotional) you are in at very least.

Sent by Marsha | 2:04 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Some days, I cry for my wonderful husband with cancer, sometimes I cry for me, and today, I have tears for you and Laurie.

Are we cursed or blessed when being faced with decisions such as this...

When the time comes you will know what to do and your decision will be the right one for you - you can do this!

Sent by Janet | 2:38 PM ET | 08-01-2006

I was so sorry to hear your news. It all seems so unfair. I am thinking of you and hoping the decisions that you make are successful. Thank you again for sharing. It is a great service and a testament to your strength and your commitment to your life's work.

Sent by Kami | 2:39 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Some days I cry for my wonderful husband with cancer, sometimes I cry for me and today I have tears for you and Laurie.

Are we cursed or blessed when being faced with decisions such as this...

When the time comes you will know what to do and your decision will be the right one for you — you can do this!

Sent by Janet | 2:39 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Going off to the hospital for a needle biopsy of my liver, with my heart broken in several pieces because I had seen an x-ray of my liver in my oncologists office and I knew that strange spot had to be metastasized cancer, my friend Lynda met me at my door. She came over to give me a hug and then looked clearly in my eyes and said with great conviction: "Get your s—- together!" That blew me away and after I cried and ranted and raved, I did. For me, this was almost seven years ago. "My s—-" was a second opinion, and another round of chemotherapy. It worked. I'm still here. So I hope my mother can't hear me from the grave as I give you my advice: "GET YOUR S—- TOGETHER."

Sent by Nancy O. | 3:19 PM ET | 08-01-2006

I have been searching all day for just the right words to express my sadness and I'm at a loss. I'm facing a similar situation with my husband — having to choose "where to go next." Will we make the right decision? What is the right decision?

I know that you don't like to be referred to as courageous — but you are whether you like it or not.

I just want to thank you for this blog — it has helped me enormously. I look forward to it each day. Whatever decision you make it will be the right one because you are smart, sensitive and yes, courageous.

Sent by Jeri Magid | 3:21 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Have you heard of Dr. William L. Fishcher? He is the author of the book, How to Fight Cancer and Win. It has information on the successful treatment and prevention of cancer an other related health problems. Please read this book. It provides hope and may be the answer to your prayers.

Sent by Elaine Torigoe | 3:24 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Your latest news has been on my mind, especially with your decision of the next path to take. I encourage you to take a deep breath, talk with Laurie, your physicians and others whose opinions you value and discuss your options. Your choice will be the best one you can make for that moment with the current facts such as your current ability to enjoy and live each day, your pain, and how any treatment may or may not restrict your ability to enjoy each day. There are no rights or wrongs with whatever you decide. When a decision is made, don't look back and second guess what might have been with another decision. You appear to be living so fully these days. I hope that you receive even a fraction of the support from your daily blogs as we the readers take from reading them. My prayers and thoughts are with you and all the others with cancer.

Sent by Leslie | 3:33 PM ET | 08-01-2006

Leroy,

I wouldn't know what to do either. What a choice to have to make, and there is no way to know if there is a right or a wrong choice.

The worst we've had to deal with is prostate cancer which at least has a decent cure rate if caught early.

This is one of those that make people look sideways at you I'm sure, as they do not know what to say to you. I don't either, but I think about you daily and wish you inspiration.

Sent by Susan Sawatzky | 10:36 AM ET | 08-02-2006

I also had tears in my eyes when I read this mornings post — to be sick as a dog from the treatment and not know if it's working or to stop and let the cancer take over. I can't think of a good option. Difficult doesn't begin to cover it. It's a decision you and Ms. Singer must make. I would only say that when it's made, don't second guess your decision. There will by enough regrets without adding to them. Know my thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Chris | 10:43 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Aloha Leroy,

My wife has been reading your blog every day. I know that you're thoughts and insights have been very helpful to her. You are a very strong and brave man. Never give up, never give up, and never ever ever give up. Giving up is easy so fight.

Sent by David Best | 10:47 AM ET | 08-02-2006

I am so sorry. Ten years ago my two year old went through two years of chemo. I found the scans horrowing and hopefull the anticipation and fear the days before were the worst. I am so sorry. Two years ago my mother lost a violent battle with cancer. Last month my daddy died of cancer. Mother fought daddy didn't it was a choice I let them make. My comfort was they felt good about their choices. We also had very frank and open conversations about the dignaty of dying. When cancer takes you you leave the Earth as you came in — hairless, toothless and naked. There is no easy answer. Mother fought to show my daughters she could. Daddy didn't want to put us through it again. Either way it is okay. Any choice you make is the right choice in my little mind. I read every day and you are so cool! I find comfort in a book called Our Greatest Gift by Henri Nouwen. When I was in college I remember calling daddy and I was searching for the reason of life, and he said to leave this Earth a better place than when I came. I live by that. Best of luck and prayers.

Sent by Robin McBride | 10:51 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Hang in there Leroy. Don't know if you've read The Anatomy of Hope but it was a big help to me and my family in tough times, and I passed it along to a friend who recovered from his cancer.

Sent by Paul Heltzel | 10:53 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Leroy,

What a bummer! Listen, if it were me, I'd go for the new combination of drugs. Why did they stop the other drugs and put you on only one? Was it the side effects or were they not working? Why one drug? What do the doctors say? Please don't do nothing, get out the big gun drugs, hang tough and go for it. We're all pulling for you.

Sent by Ruth White | 11:15 AM ET | 08-02-2006

I just wanted to let you know how touched I have been by your honesty as you battle this horrible disease. I too have faced the tough task of choosing a treatment path for my own cancer, which I was diagnosed with three years ago, when I was 21. After getting multiple opinions and reading everything I could, I just decided to go with my gut and take a leap. At some point, we all just have to jump. With all the uncertainties and loss of control that cancer throws our way, there is something empowering about making a choice, whatever that choice may be. And then you fight like hell to make it the right one. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Sarah | 11:21 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Hey there Leroy! Peace be unto you, in your daily life and decision making. There are some matching organizations where you might be able to talk with someone else who has a similar type of cancer, treatment, etc. Cancer Hope Network 1-877-467-3638 and the R A Bloch Foundation 1-800-433-0464

I work in health care, and am not affiliated with either org, though we refer to them often. While each person can respond differently to chemotherapy, it might help to talk to another who had been on one you are considering.

Sent by Sharon | 11:24 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Aloha Leroy,

Today is my first time reading your blog and I cannot begin to understand what it is like to be in your shoes and face what you're facing. You are a very strong and brave man to have put your very personal struggle online. My wife has been reading your blog every day since she was diagnosed with breast cancer earlier this year. Your blog has been a comfort and an inspiration to her. Never give up! Giving up is easy and that's just not your style.

Sent by David B. | 11:25 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Life is so very unpredictable. One thing for sure, we all go home; some sooner than others.

My son went home this past year, at 38-years-old, lung cancer. I am a survivor of cancer. No one ever knows what will happen.

Have a hot fudge sundae and enjoy the sunsets and sunrises while you can.

I hope you can feel better in any decision you make.

Sent by Colleen Woodward | 11:31 AM ET | 08-02-2006

May you find some measure of peace in all your days. Fighting to live doesn't just mean taking more medicine at the same time, the decision, as hard as it is, is YOURS and the only one "right" for you. My prayers are with you and Ms. Singer as you travel this difficult road. With great affection and empathy, I have been there.

Sent by Sandra Yudilevich | 11:38 AM ET | 08-02-2006

I'm sorry.

Sent by Beth | 11:40 AM ET | 08-02-2006

I'm sitting here in my office with tears in my eyes. True courage is looking death in the face and going forward anyway— whatever the context, whether in a war against cancer or any other kind of war. Although I have not yet had to deal with such a decision, I have known men and women in your shoes to choose either path, that of further chemotherapy and that of no chemo, and optimizing the time they have left with their family and friends. I believe that each of us knows deep inside what is the best choice. Whatever decision you make, you have the support of a large network of people you have never even met. Please know our thoughts are with you.

Sent by Kitty Jungkind | 11:43 AM ET | 08-02-2006

My sister-in-law turned me onto your blog a couple of weeks ago, and I look forward to readng it every morning. It truly has been an inspiration to me in my fight against this deadly disease. Thank you for sharing.

I was diagnosed with colon cancer stage 4 that had spread to my liver and lungs. This was almost one year ago and I am doing quite well. Through surgery, radiation and lots of chemotherapy, we have been able to "pen" those little a——— tumors up. I am not out of the woods yet but my body has been reponding quite well to the therapies.

Leroy, I know that whatever choice you make is yours and yours alone. And, Im sure itll be the right one. Be strong and let those little a——— tumors know who you are.

My sister-in-law turned me on to this neat quote that holds so true to my heart. It's by the auther Jim Wallis:

"Hope is believing is spite of the evidence and watching the evidence change".

God's peace and blessing for you and your family.

I will say your name daily in my prayers for healing.

Sent by Lisa Majors | 11:46 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Oh Leroy, I am so sorry. As a stage IV cancer patient who is currently in remission, I fear the day that I will come to that cross in the road also. I pray to keep it away but in the back of my mind, try to prepare for it. What do you do? I have no idea, other than to fight it. May God give you and your doctors the wisdom to make the right decision. I will be praying for you, your blog has meant so much to me. Please stay strong.

Sent by Sherryg | 11:47 AM ET | 08-02-2006

I can feel the weight of your words jump off the page. I feel so sorry for your bad news.

Thank you for sharing this very difficult time with us. Your words have made me a more courageous person because of the example you set. I too have been down the cancer, surgery, and chemo road.

This blog is part of your legacy. Your words will live on in my memory and the memories of many others, for a long time.

I hope you are able to find peace with yourself and the situation. We are all here for such a short time. It's ultimately about living a good life and not about constantly fighting for it. Trust your inner voice, make your next treatment decision,and dont second guess yourself. There is no right or wrong.

You are in my thoughts.

Sent by Mel | 11:51 AM ET | 08-02-2006

Thank you for sharing and "talking about IT." Our journey is different. It is a journey with my daughter who is eight-years-old, nine on Friday. She has acute myelogenous leukemia. And so does her new best friend who is also eight.

I like your headlines. I have experienced all those things.

I am a physician. A pediatrician, in fact. My husband is an obstetrician. We (physicians) are not immune from the devastations of cancer. I will try to share with you what my daughter is experiencing through her eyes and her heart and her understanding if you would like.

Here is something that helped me:

EXHORTATION OF THE DAWN

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!

Look to this Day!

For it is Life, the very Life of Life.

In its brief course lie all the

Verities and Realities of your Existence.

The Bliss of Growth,

The Glory of Action,

The Splendor of Beauty

For Yesterday is but a Dream,

And To-morrow is only a Vision

But To-day well lived makes

Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,

And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.

Look well therefore to this Day!

Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!

-Author unknown. From the Sanskrit, The Salutation of the Dawn

Masterpieces of Religious Verse, ed. James Dalton Morrison, p. 301 (1948). Attributed in some sources to Kalidasa, Hindu dramatist and lyric poet of the fifth century, A.D.

Sent by Margaret Sherman | 12:49 PM ET | 08-02-2006

I just finished reading your blog and other posts since you first found out you had cancer, again, in January. It's brave of you to share your personal battle. As I read your words, I kept thinking about something that a late friend told me about death. She said it's not the fact that you are going to die or how you die that matters, it's how you pass over from this life to the next. I've been thinking about that a lot lately as I watch my father-in-law struggle with lung cancer and my own father on his slow journey to death. The difference between the two is that my father-in-law, Richard, has and is spending every moment living his life to the fullest. Even when the chemo and radiation was sucking the life out of him, he found the energy to go camping with his family over Memorial Day weekend earlier this year. And during his break over the Fourth of July, Richard enjoyed every minute with his family, fishing into the wee hours of the night, roasting marshmallows for smores for his grandkids or grilling burgers for dinner. While my own father has spent his entire life trying to die. That might seem like a cold statement, don't get me wrong, I love my father heart and soul. But ever since I was a small child (I am now 35 and he is 67) I have watched my father slowly drown himself in alcohol, only to allow himself a few moments above the surface to bask in the joy of life that surrounds and desperately tries to reach him every day. Like the few hours he allowed himself to spend at his grandsons first communion or the brief moments he spent actually listening to another small grandchild talk to him about playing a video game. Or the ten minutes he allowed himself to really connect with two other human beings (one being myself, the other a medicine man from our tribe) who were praying for his soul.

So, I say to you: It's not the fact that we are all going to die, or even how each of us dies, but how we pass over, in darkness or in the light.

Sent by Lisa Spellman | 1:10 PM ET | 08-02-2006

I am so sorry to hear that your cancer has spread. I was hoping you would hear better news but as we all know there very rarely is good news where cancer is concerned. The one thing I believe is you cant give up the fight. I don't think the doctors know all the answers and as long as you can you must keep believing that you can fight this. It may sound trite, but there is so much that they do not know about this dreaded disease and they cannot possibly predict all that is going to happen.

I have written before. My husband is the one with the cancer and I am the one sharing his journey, trying to help and support and comfort him. I also am the one encouraging him to fight even when he doesn't want to. I know your partner wants the same from you. I have found your blog inspiring and so, so helpful. I look forward to it every day.

I just want you to know that I am pulling for you.

Sent by Amy Wile | 1:31 PM ET | 08-02-2006

You just have to keep fighting! As a good friend, whos also HIV+, told me when I was diagnosed 15 years ago, "you just keep on living." That thought helped me through the darkest days of chemo two years ago, when I was diagnosed with lymphoma. Keep fighting and living! Youre a true inspiration to so many people.

Sent by Larry Benfield | 1:35 PM ET | 08-02-2006

I am so sorry. As for the decision you must make about your treatment, I think your heart will tell you. I think you know what you want to do. And, as others have said when you make the choice, do it and go on. My father stayed with me while he was undergoing chemo and several rounds of radiation for lung cancer. It was really tough going on him. And terrifying for me and my children-the side effects, the nausea, the weakness. It was awful. I didn't know what to do for him so I made each day as "ordinary" as I could. We shared meals, watched TV and had discussions about the kids or my looming divorce. And we laughed. My dad loved my big orange cat. They both were diagnosed terminal. The two of them played together, shared food out of the same plate, picked on one another. I'll cherish the memory of the two of them enjoying each others company for the rest of my life; two dying souls having a wonderful time together. My dad told me that those moments of simple joys made it all worthwhile. I miss my dad. Grab those simple joys if you can. They will mean a lot to you and to those around you. Good luck.

Sent by Robin Jenkins | 2:27 PM ET | 08-02-2006

I have just received the same scan results, and the need for a decision, as you have. I refuse to give up, and told my Oncologist that I prefer to go back on the old drugs that kept my situation "under control" and wait before trying another "new" drug. I know my side effects will be worse, but I feel I made it through before, and can do it again. You will make the right decision. Just don't give up and do nothing. I am angry with this lung cancer and will keep fighting and know you will too, no matter what treatment course you take. Hang in there!

Sent by Dee Bilicki | 2:42 PM ET | 08-02-2006

I finished my chemo for metastatic breast cancer on Monday. I have mets in my spine and lungs and like you, have no idea where to go from here. I have follow up scans next week and know that there are all these choices and decisions I will have to make never really knowing what would be best for me. Despite the fact that i have fought this illness with strength and courage, of late, I envy those who die of sudden death. No suffering, no pain, no fears, no hurt, no waiting, no tears.

As you and I go through this difficult phase my thoughts and prayers are with you my friend.

Sent by Aisha Zafar | 2:43 PM ET | 08-02-2006

This is your war, make a battle plan. You know the deal; you've been given the crappy plan of attack. It's no choice, but what can you do? We love you, you have been a total experience for so many and inspiration. Thank you, good luck with your pronouncement to your cancer.

Sent by Jenna | 2:45 PM ET | 08-02-2006

Hello again, Leroy,

I am so sorry about the bad news. I just want to say one thing right now that I hope will make some sense to you. In my cancer journey I've been discovering that curing and healing are not the same thing. As the writer Deena Metzger said, "Healing in this time is, in its best sense, a political act. You have a right and responsibility to fight for your whole life, not just your physical life. Heal the life, the life heals you." Whatever cure does or does not happen for you, Leroy, you are healing your life, and in telling your story, helping so many of us out here to heal ourselves. When you talked the other day about war and death, you were acting as a healer. Every ounce of energy, even when you're sick and tired, you've put into these columns is an act of wholeness. You have used the violence of cancer, the poison of chemo, as energy to support those of us trying to make sense of our own pain. And you've given our families and loved ones a touchstone that we couldn't. I think of you as a medicine man. Thank you again for each and every word.

Sent by Pat Benson | 5:53 PM ET | 08-02-2006

I'm so sorry about the results you have just received. I will be having my fourth treatment this morning. I will not have scans until October unless some of the aches and pains I am having indicates it should be done sooner. At that time I may or may not be faced with the decisions you are going to have to make. I just want you to know that reading your commentary each day and the comments that are sent in help me so much in this phase of my life. You are such an inspiration to so many people. During your struggle I hope you realize that your life example is helping so many in our struggle with the unknown. When I read about the things you are doing and the life you have lived, I doubt that you very rarely say I wish I had done something else. Even though we have to face very difficult decisions when we have cancer, I am thankful that I have been a window, however short or long, to be at peace with my self and to let my family and friends know just how important that are in my life. I tell them everyday instead of waiting until tomorrow. No one but you can make the decision you are faced with. Just remember that you have so many people that you have never even met are right there with you. We all support you in this fight because you have become an important part of our family and we want what is best for you.

Hang in there.

Sent by Sandra Smith | 10:08 AM ET | 08-03-2006

You are so brave. I'm sorry for the bad news. I don't know if you have a wife and kids, but they must face the future alone, if you don't survive this ordeal. That task seems impossible but suddenly all changes into a new life without you. As long as you able, be present to them in every way possible to make their memories of you even more beautiful. Those are the precious gift of your love for the rest of their lives. I wish you success with the path you choose to maintain your quality of life and nobody gets extra points for enduring pain, unnecessarily. God bless.

I went the distance with wife Nancy and ovarian cancer, but it won out. Dr. Rick Montz of Johns Hopkins gave us hope for over a year but both he and Nancy left within a few months of one another. After one's own suffering, then, there are the survivors.

Sent by Jerry Cook | 10:15 AM ET | 08-03-2006

As another reader/listener said, hang in there. If you were well enough, I'd say stop taking the drugs and take a long trip to a place where you really want to go, and eat and drink and try to be as merry as you can. But it doesn't sound as if you're well enough to travel, so just take as many drugs as you can that make you feel good ... and try to enjoy yourself. It may not be the best advice, but nobody else seems to be offering it! You are one brave dude. Good luck, mate.

Sent by Tom Krause | 10:16 AM ET | 08-03-2006

I feel like I have been given a set of directions for life. I am a nurse who counsels newly diagnosed breast cancer patients but, like most, I struggle every time to find the right words to say, the right time for a "therapeutic silence", the right moment for a hug or touch of the hand. Regardless of my personal ineptitude on any or all levels, I feel thankful for all the things my patients give me in return and they don't even know it. It is the same thing I selfishly get from your blog: hope, strength, knowledge, compassion. These are the same things I hope they come away with when their tears let up for a little while. I wish all these things for you in amounts almost more than you can bear. Thank you.

Sent by Tia | 10:17 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Mr. Seivers,

I've been listening to you on the radio and reading your diary. I was diagnosed with breast cancer almost one year ago. I'm going in next Thursday for my first mammogram since my diagnosis and I am so afraid that... well, you know. Now I read that your test results were not good. I am so sorry sad and so sorry. It is like were on one side of the river and all of those who don't have cancer are on the opposite sides. We can see them, talk to them, hear them but we aren't with them anymore. I just wanted to tell you that you are in my prayers and don't give up. You've got more air in there to have them punch and you've got more strength to pop back up. Its a strange state were in now isn't it — everyone knows that they are going to leave this physical world but you somehow never give it any thought until you're told "you have cancer." Well, we do and we won't give up easily. I know I will read your writings for a very long time. You are very brave to share your fears and innermost thoughts. The decision you make today is the best decision knowing what you know — don't second guess yourself. Try not to what-if yourself — it only makes you more crazy — trust me on that one.

It's good to share this side of the riverbank with someone like you.

Sent by Maureen Hafford | 11:00 AM ET | 08-03-2006

I was so sorry to hear about your latest shock. Was it Woody Allan who said "Im not afraid of death, it's the dying that scares the hell out of me?" For some strange reason, (some of it genetics) I've known quite a few people who have died of one kind of cancer or another. Many of them never had any pain.

It seems strange to even say this to someone I don't know, but as I battle or learn to live with my cancer, I've found it easier to talk about death and dying.

Sent by Patricia Buchanan | 11:02 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Dear Leroy, our love for you deepens every day. It is so touching that as you go through your own struggles, you remain so aware and caring towards the needs of others, including the many thousands you are reaching through your blog. Please don't give up your hope.

Sent by Loraine | 2:56 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Hated reading your August 1st entry. I do not know all of your details but I offer you support through my prayers. I wrote a while ago about my bladder cancer which has come back twice over the last two years. Most recently in April of this year. I mentioned that I was more concerned than I felt my doctor was. You mentioned your concern over stopping or taking only one chemo drug. Not sure why I am writing about this. But why does it seem chances are taken with a cancer patient's life. Why not go full speed until someone can tell you you're ok. I read your blog daily. I will never not think of the cancer I have had and hopefully it will not come back again. I have set up google alerts to search on cancer and get an email every day on the latest drugs and other information on what is going on in the researh world with cancer treatments. Just a piece of info. I won't tell you not to worry. I take adivan to sleep at night. 1 mg tablets 2 each night. One thing I do believe is that progress is being made daily, in almost every area. This is what I hope for and hold on to.

Sent by Anthony Sorce | 2:59 PM ET | 08-03-2006

As I read your blog, I'm reminded of the horror of the words— you have cancer. For me, it's breast cancer but caught early... even so, it's kind of surreal. I don't "feel" bad. I think what you are doing with your blog has touched many people... and we all remember we are human and in this race together. I'd like to share this with you- the author is unknown.

"What Cancer CANNOT Do"

Cancer is limited

Cancer cannot cripple love

Cancer cannot shatter hope

Cancer cannot erode faith

Cancer cannot destroy peace

Cancer cannot kill friendship

Cancer cannot destroy memories

Cancer cannot silence courage

Cancer cannot invade the soul

Cancer cannot steal eternal life

Cancer cannot conquer the spirit

Cancer is limited...

God Bless you on your journey and all those who are dealing with cancer.

Sent by Susan Anzicek | 9:55 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Mr. Sievers,

There is a treatment center you may look into in case your present treatment fails to stop the cancer. First of all, see www.cancercenter.com. I have followed them for about 10 years, and their average patient survival rate is about double most other cancer hospitals — basically they combine orthodox treatment with nutrition and other things. They are a very respectable "alternative cancer treatment" center. Also, check out www.cancermed.com — this is Dr. Bryzynski, and in past years, hes been controversial, but everything I've read about him, indicates he has better success at treating brain tumors better than most any other place I know. I should add that I'm not connected with either of these places; I've just done a lot of research on cancer treatment regimens. Good luck!

Sent by Milton Ammel | 12:00 PM ET | 08-04-2006

Leroy,

Thank you for giving your lucid voice to this process. My mom went through this process but couldn't discuss anything about it. At first I didn't want to — couldn't — read your blog. But something kept bringing me back. I appreciate your insights. They lighten my burden about not being able to talk to my mom during her cancer or help her understand much about it. Thanks.

Sent by Amy | 12:52 PM ET | 08-07-2006

I say, definitely do something (not nothing), and I?d do the one that hurts the least and lets you give the tightest hugs to your family, and allows you to retain the most appetite for purposes of continued wine and cheeseburger consumption (that?s just me).

You?ve been changing my life in small yet such profound ways that I must humbly confess that I sort of "forgot" this could happen. Sure, the impetus of all this collective discussion was/is cancer, and maybe the compelling and universal concept of death was initially the pull for me, but there have been so many LIFE- (not death-) affirming aspects of your sharing this journey. Living, breathing, vital insights, humor, whatever ? it all has seemed to seep through and drown out the technical context of "cancer" and "death." Even just the feeling of connectedness we get to feel to each other, as strangers, knowing that we are all on the 'Pulling for Larry' team. I took my eyes off the ball of sickness and death.

I'm humbly catapulted back to the cold reminder that you are, indeed, sick ? and I'm a little ashamed for "forgetting," in some sense. It's all well and good that the rest of us get to stay around with our lives touched, but you may have to check out, so what good does that do you? It's probably even annoying. I just want to say thank you, thank you and please don't drive yourself nuts over which choice will move the line backward or forward or how much. Thank you for continuing to let us be with you in this. Your life is certainly changing mine in some way a little beyond words and not really relevant for you right now, anyway. Thank you.

Sent by Allison Brewer | 7:01 AM ET | 08-09-2006

Sorry to hear the sad news. I will certainly pray for you. There is nothing outside of God's power.

Sent by Vincent R | 9:24 AM ET | 08-10-2006

At twenty years of age and perfectly healthy, as well as knowing no one in my family with cancer, I would like to say that your upbeat, insightful, and above all courageous posts and podcasts you provide to thousands of us makes me so thankful for every day that I can go out and live without living in hospitals and going through truly horrible treatment. Your bravery has shown me so much as I have listened through over the weeks please know that you are an inspiration to all of us, directly affected or otherwise.

Sent by Mike Edwards | 11:17 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Our God is still in the healing business. I have been healed before and know others that have. I dont know why some are and others are not. If I were in you situation I would get on the First Plane to Kenneth Hagin Ministries Healing School. It last a week. For more info call 800-54-faith.

Sent by Barry | 2:27 PM ET | 08-14-2006