Your comments really hit home today. In 2004 I asked the doctors how long I had. They hemmed and hawed — but I pressed. I have young children, I said, I need to know. Still hemming and hawing — I'm not God, one said.

This, after they said my life expectance was less than 6 months.

Finally I said, "Do you think I will make it to Christmas?" The doctor said "this one or the next one?"

"ANY ONE!!!" I said.

"This one maybe," he said," 2005, I don't think so."

I have no idea why I am still alive, but Leroy every day, especially every Christmas, I am so glad to be alive. It really is one day at a time. At the beginning I wondered if I should make funeral plans or retirement plans.

I had no idea that the uncertainly would continue so long. Hopefully, our uncertainly will continue for a very long time.

Sent by Cathy Wilder | 12:28 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I know what you mean. I however don't think in terms of my birthday but rather my kids which are well spaced throughout the year. I got diagnosed in October and given a 6-9 month prognosis if chemo doesn't work. 12 it does. I'm at 10 1/2 months now initially responded then had to have lower doses and eventually a 6 week break to get blood counts back up. Since then "mixed response" according to tumor markers (1 up 1 down) next CT 9/5.

Anyway... I knew I'd make it to my son's eighth birthday end of November. Next goal was my daughters 6th at end of March, then my oldest boys 11th at end of July. Im pretty sure Ill make the 9th November one (and also my 46th that same month). But what about my beautiful daughter's seventh? These are my small goals.

Despite being very positive and not sharing the absolute gory details she asked me last week if I would still be alive at her next birthday. What could I say its seven months away and much could change. But of course I told her the truth that my doctors and I are doing our best. But when my 11-year-old son asked if I would be alive to see him graduate middle school in three years (he starts next month) I had to tell him that it was unlikely. Too much honesty? I don't know but all of the experts advise on being truthful with kids in age appropriate manner.

This is why I hate the whole fighting analogy. I am fighting with everything I have but despite the best efforts of myself, my wonderful team of oncologists, nurse practitioners, infusion nurses and science I will in all likely hood succumb to this monster sooner rather than later. Will this make me a loser? I'd hate to leave that legacy for my children. I want them to know that I am being dragged away kicking and screaming from them and won't go until every last option is exhausted. However some things are just not in our control and that is not being a loser!

By the way... I've heard some people complain about their treatment at hands of less than caring doctors, hospitals and cancer centers (infusion units). I just want to come out on the other side. Im being treated at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston and can't say enough wonderful things about the doctors, nurses, medical assistants, receptionists and volunteers. These people are truly dedicated! Yesterday my NP saw me at 7:30 am, came down to infusion during my 8 hour chemo to chat with me and my Dad and finally sent me a lengthy email at 8:40 in the evening answering a few questions I had. Every one of the people I mentioned knows my entire family by name, never fails to ask about the. At every reception and/or nurses station the Christmas card photo of the kids and dog is still posted. The kids are always encouraged to visit and are treated like royalty! They actually love going to DFCI! Yes the waits are lengthy sometimes (I've decided appointment times are mere suggestions) but when it is finally my turn I get their undivided attention! When I needed an emergency transfusion the day of my daughter's sixth birthday part I got hysterical until everyone promised me that I would be transfused and on the way to the party in a few hours no matter what. They went into high gear and came through in record time! And if I do have to wait, DFCI is bright, clean and cheery with free bowls of fruit, snacks, fresh coffee and refrigerators stocked with water and soda everywhere. Volunteers bring free newspapers and bestsellers around and there are TVs and Wi-Fi at every infusion chair and bed! And of course they are one of the leading research institutions in the world!

Sent by Holly | 12:40 PM ET | 08-22-2006

Every day is a gift. That is the lesson I have learned from my pancreatic cancer. I hope to make it to my next birthday. Ill be truly amazed if I make to the one beyond that one. 60 isn't even in the picture. Whenever people say, "I hate being old" or "Don't get old," my response is, "Consider the alternative." Well, now I am living the alternative. And I try to focus on the living part.

Sent by Stephanie | 12:42 PM ET | 08-22-2006

Happy Birthday, Leroy! May you have many wonderful days!

You may well have heard of this blurb on a magnet I have on my fridge: "Every day is a gift. That that is why it is called the present."

May each and every day be just that for you and bring you many unexpected delights to celebrate!

Sent by Maria | 12:44 PM ET | 08-22-2006

Some of my parent's siblings died of cancer so I always feel some low grade anxiety as I wait for the other shoe to drop. But the shoe didn't drop where I expected it to.

That's why we were completely unprepared to hear about cancer in my two-year-old niece and my sister who had just gotten married and had a baby. I thought youth and falling in love and getting pregnant granted you immunity from cancer for at least 30 years.

So celebrating my nieces 3rd birthday last month was a milestone. And although my sister is still in the thick of treatment, her birthday next month is a victory. Today is a victory.

Sent by Grace Talusan | 1:44 PM ET | 08-22-2006

My line when I hear this is always, "It sure beats the alternative." I have a hard time helping friends with the "age" issues at this point. Everyday is precious. Although I admit I sometimes will feel sorry for myself most of the time I try not to waste the time I may have left. I want to enjoy every minute possible. Your blog is one of the things that helps me through the day. Thanks.

Sent by Dona OSullivan | 1:48 PM ET | 08-22-2006

Wow. With my 40th birthday looming in the very near future, I needed that. Thank you for reminding me to be grateful.

Sent by Beth Nelson | 1:49 PM ET | 08-22-2006

"Every birthday is a gift?"

How about, "Every day is a gift." In our pre-cancer days we just didn't take the time to realize this but, boy, we sure do now. A fifth grader sung this to me during my chemo:

Yesterday is history

Tomorrow is a mystery

Today is a gift

Thats why they call it the present.

Sent by David Larsen | 1:51 PM ET | 08-22-2006

Dear Mr. Seivers,

I had no idea who you were, or even what Nightline was — I had to Google it. I'm one of those 18-25-year-olds who ignore network news in favor of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report with healthy doses of the New York Times and The Onion for balance. I found myself connecting to what you were saying precisely because my life is in such a different place than yours is now. I studied bioethics in college and grad school. No matter how much research I did or how many hours of ICU observation I logged, it was impossible to connect to patients as people, rather than diseases. I spent so many hours in the library researching, that diseases were abstractions, epidemics, crises, and numbers. In the time I spent in the hospital, students were never allowed to speak to patients. Even though I saw cancer patients, COPD patients, Alzheimer's patients and caregivers of all sorts, the context of a hospital unit never allowed for the sort of insight into the experience of being sick that your blog has offered me. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to learn from you.

Sent by Janet | 4:08 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 49 and finished chemo just before my 50th birthday. My 40th birthday had been a bit of a trauma, but I was so relieved to reach 50 that I had none of that anxiety. I was so glad to be alive. 51 was pretty darn wonderful, too!

Instead of dreading the aging process, I look forward to each birthday, to each new milestone, to each day. I can handle the physical aches and pains, the gray hair, the wrinkles. Life is precious.

Sent by Maggie | 5:49 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I discovered your blog several weeks ago and heard you on Talk of the Nation. You are making a real contribution. Thank you.

In January prior to my 68th birthday I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I was "disappointed" because I have always thought of myself in excellent health and physical condition. I have elected to "wait and watch" since I feel good and am symptom free. The first six month PSA test was "stable."

In choosing my course I told the doctor that "quality of life" was most important to me. The death rate for human beings is 100 percent and I am no exception. I hope to live long enough to see my five granddaughters and two grandsons grow up. I am planning and investing for their college educations. I will continue my daily seven mile hikes (while I listen to NPR) and afternoon workouts for as long as I can.

Sent by John McCrillis | 6:19 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I am going on Thursday with my 50+ year old friend to get results of her PET scan from her oncologist. Also to make sure that she understands what her doctor tells her and to ask why he is not pushing ahead with chemo when at the initial appointments he made such a big deal about chemo being a "must do." I wish I could take her to someone who would treat her like a person...who deserves more than just "we just don't need to do it for now." and lets her stew in her fears. I want for her to see many more birthdays she at least wants to have some sense of what is ahead of her. She watched her father and sister die "horrible" deaths full of pain and anguish. And she is afraid that that is what is in store for her.

Take care and be well.

Sent by Sandra Yudilevich | 10:37 AM ET | 08-24-2006

This morning the sight of a woman in a wheelchair reminded me to thank my blessings (I have chronic pain) and so have you... thank you.

Sent by Yvonne | 10:39 AM ET | 08-24-2006

I agree so much with Maggie's comments. I also was diagnosed with breast cancer at age of 49. So by the time 50 came around, I felt truly blessed to be celebrating it. Cancer truly changes your outlook on life and living. Keep up the good work, all us survivors!

Sent by Jane | 10:41 AM ET | 08-24-2006

Leroy,

I turned 50 last April and it was a very special birthday in that I really didn't think I was going to see that one. With all the friends I have lost of late, I am struggling with that feeling that you so eloquently dubbed survivor guilt. Even when reading the comments to your blog, I am truly overwhelmed that we can't gain ground faster against this horrible disease. Equally alarming is that I survived the treatment... that has been around for about 30 years. Where is the progress for oral cancer, or any cancer?

Sent by Ed Brown | 10:50 AM ET | 08-24-2006

I've recently turned 65. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer when I had just turned 60, so I'm extremely pleased to reach this landmark. I've actually never felt any of the regrest or twinges of aging, no matter what birthday. I like the age I am and would certainly love to celebrate more birthdays, but I'm thankful for the time I have.

Sent by Juanita Helms | 10:53 AM ET | 08-24-2006

I remember your Nightline e-mail summaries, Leroy, and thought they were the most touching, engaging notes I'd ever read about the news, world issues and everything. You brought it all home, up close and personal to us because you made it close to you. I recognized your notes before I got to the bottom of the page. I wish you many more birthdays and lovely days full of people who care about you so much. I'm one of them.

Sent by Lee Karbaumer | 11:45 AM ET | 08-24-2006

Leroy, I have a new outlook on turning 70 next June. "Because every birthday is a gift." I do wake up each day and thank God I am alive, healthy and able to take care of my grandchildren, age 9 and 11. Since I listened to you on NPR, I say a prayer for you each day. You are providing a wonderful service to millions of people.

Sent by Carol OShea Haber | 12:24 PM ET | 08-24-2006

Dear Leroy,

I have been reading your blog ever since I accidentally discovered it in July. I've told my high school ESL students about your blog and even teach them English by using some of your essays. To my students, your blog is much more than any other online essays to learn English. Neither is it anything to learn some medical terms. Your words are so sincere and inspiring that you have guided me and my students to contemplate many issues in life, such as the purpose of living, the attitude toward humanity and the duty to the society. We don't regard you as a patient, but a fighter. The strength in your voice is encouraging to us, too. Personally, I value the wisdom in your words most, especially the statement: "every birthday is a gift." Sometimes I feel sad when you mention the nausea or other weakness after the chemo, but later your upbeat tone lightens my day. I believe that your blog has made a profound influence to me and my students. And we all hope that you can make it to see your 60th birthday and beyond.

Sent by Jennifer Chen | 2:31 PM ET | 08-24-2006

My Father was just 64 when diagnosed with leukemia, and died a year later, as predicted. In Feb, I was diagnosed with esophageal cancer a week after my 64th bday. Yes, Bdays matter, especially when you intend to ski free at 70, and continue on from there. They are telling me I have about 14 months total, and I think that is bologna.

Sent by Tim Andersen | 3:10 PM ET | 08-28-2006