You asked for comments about what helps us get through the days. Two things that help me are reading the Bible and prayer.

Sent by Greg Sheryl | 6:58 AM ET | 08-09-2006

I agree, prayer.

Sent by Cathy Wilder | 7:05 AM ET | 08-09-2006

I stumbled upon your page quite by accident, and read every entry and forwarded it to a friend. I related to your decision making process of what to do in terms of treatment.

I do not have cancer, but Hepatitis C, and was on treatment, chemo in nature, twice. Once for six months and again for forty-eight weeks (I liked it so much the first time... I just had to do it again). I was on a clinical trial at Mayo and after the first course of treatment it "looked good," but the virus returned and I was faced with the decision to retreat or not. The trial protocol determined a six-month hiatus so I had time to puzzle it out.

I so wanted to do the "right" thing. I asked anyone who would comment, and realized in short order that it is a personal decision. My answer came one cool quiet morning when I was trimming the roses. A very quiet string of thought wafted into my mind. As I was trimming those roses back, short, the thought occurred to me that I, too, was like the roses. In cutting back the branches, and leaves that looked so healthy, I was actually allowing for further and greater growth of the plant later. From that moment on I knew I would move forward whatever the outcome.

You asked for tricks and what got me through, well here you go.

Some days it was fluids— I was so dehydrated all of the time. Just the feel of liquids entering my body: bliss

The chicken and dumplings (sans dumplings) my husband made for me, it was the only food I could keep down and filled my heart because of the love he put into it.

Before my illness I never watched TV, but during the worst days of treatment, I watched Northern Exposure and ER reruns (who knew). Before treatment I somehow functioned under the illusion that I would catch up with my reading, but I simply couldn't concentrate to read. Some shows I simply couldn't stomach, and I found that if I was feeling able to "go and do" and I turned on the TV. I was cheating, and living life by observation instead of participation.

When the body aches and cramps were upon me, my husband would give me a massage and it just helped to sooth the ache or I would lay deep in the bath water up to my neck... At times, I took it a moment at a time.

Towards the end when I was so sick, I would recite in my head: "God is with me and will never leave me"— a mantra of sorts.

I had difficulty sleeping and I referred to night time as "the hours of the damned." My mind would attack me with all sorts of negative and hopeless thoughts and I felt powerless to do anything about them? That?s when I began to play spider solitaire, free cell, and tri-peaks on the computer at night. We also acquired some great online puzzles with the sound of a summer night (crickets and such). It was soothing and helped to shut off the internal complainer and fear monger of the late night variety.

Friends— who could accept me as I was— the good bad, and very ugly. Some people were not comfortable and fell away others were very comforting via cards, calls, visits.

I had a rabbit, Bunn Bunn, and when I felt most alone and ratty, I would pet and snuggle that rabbit. I gave up my pride?. picture this: a 54 year old woman with grown children "snuggling" a fat black and white rabbit, it was very comforting :)

Finally, I find myself redefining me in light of each new day.

The person I was has to go, so I can concentrate on who I am, and what can I do today.

Some days are sweet and other days require: right foot, left foot, breath...

Hang in there— you are in my thoughts and prayers.

Sent by Carol Gustafson | 7:09 AM ET | 08-09-2006

When I was going through chemo, and having terrible headaches, I would just take time to be myself in my bedroom. My husband would call it my "cave"— dark and quiet. You just have to let the bad days go, and know that good ones will be coming soon. And if I needed to cry, just did it. But not for long, cause you cant see the future through tears. God Bless.

A cancer survivor.

Sent by Jane | 7:18 AM ET | 08-09-2006

When I was going through chemo, I ate a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches.

The thing that helped me was exercise. I think if you can find any way to move your body, even if it is just walking to the corner and back, you will feel stronger and in control. My mantra was that I had to move my body in some way everyday.

Also I read a lot of novels. I couldn't bring myself to read nonfiction — cancer is depressing enough, and I didn't need to read about how messed up the world is — but fiction I inhaled.

So if you are feeling up to it, swing by Politics and Prose where they make a mean grilled cheese sandwich and they have a great fiction department.

Sent by Deborah | 8:13 AM ET | 08-09-2006

I am a thyroid cancer survivor and for me it has been all about the simple things in life we sometimes miss. Like the birds singing in the morning, and the sight of the flowers and a hummingbird hovering near me as I sit on my porch while I hear the water flow from the creek. It's trying to find something to be thankful and grateful for every day. I can remember one day all it took was the smile and a hello from a total stranger as I was walking by her. I never forgot that feeling and I try to do the same for others in the hope it may lift their spirits like it did mine that day.

Sent by Chris Debottis | 8:16 AM ET | 08-09-2006

I can only imagine what it must be like to go through chemo... but I wanted to leave a comment anyway, as you asked for any and all.

Two things that have always helped me in hardship, either physical or emotional, are music and my dogs. I can sit at the computer and go through song after song from my past, from the present, and hours will fly by. I find myself in the moment and emotion that I heard that song in and forget where and how I am.

When I haven't been able to gather the energy to do that, just having one (or both) of my dogs by my side is immensely comforting. They can sense when you are sick, in pain or just unhappy, and have an uncanny ability to give just the right look, nuzzle or cuddle. I don't know if you have pets, but this always helps me get through whatever is going on.

Sent by Matt Ratzer | 12:31 PM ET | 08-09-2006

During chemo, when I was feeling kind of chancy, I would only eat white food, a hangover from when I was pregnant many years before. Somehow, I convinced myself that anything white would stay down and keep me nourished. I lived on baked potatoes, rice, chicken noodle soup and crackers. My family feasted on all our friends' favorite meals which were delivered every night. We're from Mississippi and comfort food abounds. I existed on white foods and survived.

I do wonder why you don't have a port for your chemo? I know mine eased the administration of the chemo which was 24/7 Monday through Friday. It also cut down on the number of needle sticks.

Keep going. We're all praying for you and Laurie.

Sent by Chris | 12:34 PM ET | 08-09-2006

When I was being treated with Oxaliplatin, I took great pleasure from Cracker Barrel's chicken and dumplings. When enough days had passed after a treatment and I could eat cold things again, I had mass quantities of sweet, syrupy shaved ice. I would send my husband out late at night to get Icees from a convenience store. Food and drink were what I focused on to keep from thinking too much about my cancer and the poisons I was letting them put into my body.

I walked on my treadmill every day. Some days I had to stop after five minutes and other days I walked for miles without fatigue. I felt that the cancer had not beaten me if I could still get up and go for a walk, no matter how short. While I walked on the treadmill, I tested my mind with crossword puzzles and word games. I knew that the chemo was affecting my memory, but if I could prove to myself that my cognitive abilities weren't completely shot by finishing a crossword puzzle, I felt relieved.

E-mail from friends became incredibly important to me. It gave me a link to the outside world and provided me with opportunities to forget, just for a little while, how sick I was. On really bad days, my e-mail friends tolerated my whining and complaining. This reduced the amount of whining and complaining I did to my family and, for that, they were grateful.

I cried every day.

Soon, I will start another round of chemotherapy because my cancer has spread. I am better prepared this time, having had experience with chemo. But each time can be different and produce unique side effects, so I am afraid. Right now, fear is my strongest and most constant emotion.

But I am already checking out all the convenience stores to see who has the best Icee flavors.

Sent by Sandra Locus | 12:39 PM ET | 08-09-2006

Laughter, food, good drink and a state of denial.

A friend of mine bought me all 6 seasons of HBO's Sex in the City. Each episode has something to make me laugh or smile. I only watch TV that makes me happy or movies that make me smile or laugh.

Strangely enough, I got a dog. Being around a puppy was tiring, but the new life and excitement kept my mind off cancer.

Food. Comfort food. Casseroles, mashed potatoes, pizza? but I always felt better eating some of these foods. Right after a chemo session it was cantaloupe and pineapple.

I enjoy a glass or two of wine every night. I am sure everyone will gasp! When I am feeling good, it is my last vice. Unless my Doctor says no way, I will continue with my glass of red wine. It has antioxidants, you know!

There are a few songs that I feel are empowering, but so many are depressing.

Find that little place called denial. It is really wonderful there. Come and join us for a visit and stay a while.

Sent by Janis F. | 12:43 PM ET | 08-09-2006

To get through the day, I focus on two things: my brain and my body. The body is the easier of the two. I exercise as much as I can: walking, watering the garden (weeding when they take over), rough-housing with the dog, deliberately moving and stretching parts that otherwise wouldn't get any attention. And, like you, I eat what I want to eat. The brain and the emotions are the harder to placate. I tend to worry and churn, so if I can stay distracted, that's the key. I go to work, part time, in the morning when I have the energy I read (just finished McCullough's John Adams, and it was so good, I'm starting all over again), and I talk to people endlessly, and not about my problems, but theirs. I love movies, and watch one a day — almost anything to stay distracted. I plan trips that I may not take. I read the Internet and then I Google items that I wonder about. I sleep. And then I talk some more — with my wife, who has been my rock through this mess — about anything and everything. And through it all, I focus on the happy things that make me smile and laugh. And why not?

Sent by David Larsen | 12:49 PM ET | 08-09-2006

You asked what gets each person through tough times. This is a true story that has a few details to provide before the main item.

1. In 1987, Emily Perl Kingsley wrote Welcome to Holland to describe her experience of having a child with a disability. (Her son has Down Syndrome). (Read her entire description at http://www.nas.com/downsyn/holland.html) Briefly, she describes the longing, planning, fantasizing, and saving to plan a greatly desired trip to Italy. Finally the departure day arrives, the plane is boarded and the traveler can barely wait to debark and begin their Italian trip. The plane lands, and as you exit the plane the flight attendant says "Welcome to Holland" to which you say, "I don't want to go to Holland. I don't know the language. I don't know where to go. I haven't planned on going to Holland." You are told, there will be people to help you with the language, and to give you directions and to assist you however you need.

2. Several years ago my young friend's two?year-old son was diagnosed with leukemia and went through chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant with all the ups and downs involved.

3. I told my friend this story, using it to give her hope and confidence that while not in her intended "Italy" she would learn her way around Holland. When we spoke she would often ask "What country are we in today?" or would say that "someone needed to call the travel agent since we were so far off the beaten path" and we needed some help. Often these exchanges were humorous even when the situation and times weren't.

I encourage you to find fun and funky ways to see the tiniest of details of what is happening around you each day and to experience each as fully as you can for that day. Laugh, cry, see the wonder in a child with a toy, a baby animal, a smile shared between friends, the perfect sunset or holding hands with a loved one. Enjoy each and every moment you can. Remember the couple you spoke of with their marbles and let each and every marble count!

Sent by Leslie | 5:49 PM ET | 08-09-2006

Oddly enough, what got me through was my "new laptop... a used one that I'd gotten via a good friend who won it in our company's lottery for 200 used laptops for $50 each. My brother set it up on a hospital over-bed table that he'd converted with wiring, speakers, a wooden top, electrical outlets and an angled spot for the computer. I found breastcancer.org and its chat room one lonely winter day when I couldn't drive, was depressed and isolated AGAIN after my fourth surgery in 11 months. I found a whole community of fellow travelers who "got" what I was going through, and who helped me with lonely hours, and some of whom I could help with information, because Im a nurse. I don't know what kind of mental shape Id be in without having found them in such a needy time.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 5:52 PM ET | 08-09-2006

While I appreciate and respect others beliefs in a higher being, I am not a religious person and depend on my own strengths and bag of tools to get me through my bi-monthly chemo treatments for Stage IV breast cancer that has moved to my bones. I have found guided imagery a wonderful way to relax my body and mind and escape from the side effects if only for a short time. My social worker/therapist practiced these images with me during our sessions and then audio-taped them for me to use at home. You can also purchase these on the internet — Bernie Siegel is a wonderful source, but you can search for many other tapes that are out there that deal specifically with going through chemo. These images helped me turn around the negative impact of the chemo (as a poison that is hurting your body) to a positive image of an elixir that is actually saving your life and killing the "bad guys" inside of you. I also have found pink quartz to be a soothing stone for me. It is ice cold when you first hold it and then warms as it absorbs your body heat. It is lovely and soothing to hold in your hand. I also go to a massage therapist and receive a gentle (not deep tissue) massage every other week. I have used this mantra, taught to me in a meditation class (also held by my wonderful therapist) that goes like this:

"May I be filled with loving kindness?

May I be well.

May I be peaceful and at ease.

May I be happy."

Repeating it when I am feeling stressed helps me feel balanced and helps me breathe.

Finally, have you ever considered having a mediport installed for the administration of chemo? I have had one for several years and I can't imagine going through treatment without it. Virtually no pain other than a teeny tiny prick and absolutely NO pain after the treatment (as you are experiencing in your arm and hand.) The port is inserted in your upper chest by an interventional radiologist, outpatient, low dose anesthesia, and a healing of about a week. Then you forget about it and don't even know it is there. I highly advise it.

I hope this helps, Leroy. I too, love Oreos, ice cream, smoothies (when you can tolerate cold food again) and lots of DVD movies at home. Wishing you all the best and thanking you again for your daily blogs.

Sent by Elena Widder | 5:56 PM ET | 08-09-2006

How to cope? I have a favorite verse from the Old Testament that has been with me for a long time — definitely pre-cancer, but it takes on a whole new flavor now.

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you plans to give you hope, and a future."

I thought I had a canker sore on the underside of my tongue almost two years ago, but it turned out to be a squameous cell carcenoma (I still probably don't have the spelling correct for any of these words except "cell"). I had it surgically removed in November 2004, than received 24 radiation treatments focused on my tongue. I now deal with dry mouth (lost a few salivary glands along with my lymph nodes on that side) and very few taste buds. But, I'm still here and follow-up visits with all of my doctors' show that I'm cancer-free to this point. So, I really don't have much to grouse about!

In fact, I'm almost embarrassed when I talk to other cancer survivors and hear their stories. My cancer was detected early (proved to be Stage 1) and dealt with aggressively. I don't ever want to repeat this course of treatment, but a week in the hospital and 24 radiation treatments doesn't stand a candle to what you and many others are going through or have gone through. And, let's face it, not too many people "champion" the cause of oral, head, and neck cancer. While we do have our own ribbon (white with a red stripe in the center), its not something you see everywhere. And many head and neck patients are dealing with far greater consequences than I am (no voice box, can't eat solid food, etc.). So, I just keep counting my blessings.

I did hear your segment on Talk of the Nation last week and really enjoyed it. It led me to your blog, which I have enjoyed reading, too.

Thanks for being a voice for so many people! I've added you to my prayer list and will encourage any energy I can your way.

Sent by Barbara Ryan | 6:10 PM ET | 08-09-2006

When I was in the throes of radiation combined with chemo I lived off of Netflix movies. My brother gave me a gift subscription and it was the best thing ever. I didn't feel well enough to read. I slept a lot! And I knit. It was something I could do while I watched the movies with my husband and it helped me feel like I was being a useful human being instead of just a lump. Once the radiation was over and I started to feel a bit better, I found reading fiction difficult. I just couldn't relate. I wish it could have taken me out of myself, but it didn't. There was a book that I found myself drinking in little sips. Kitchen Table Wisdom by Rachel Naomi Remen. She is a cancer counselor. I loved it, and intended to move next to her other book, My Grandfather's Wisdom. But, I find since I have gotten a clear scan (my first, one and only), that I can't pick it up. I think I am denying my mortality, which, I must say, is an odd thing for a cancer patient to do. The other thing that helped me get through all this is the cancer support group at The Gathering Place here in Cleveland. It was sort of like this space where cancer patients can talk about their disease and know that the others understand. Except face to face.

Sent by Stephanie | 6:35 PM ET | 08-09-2006

What got me through the three years, four months our son was treated for leukemia? Prayer, the Bible and visits from our newly ordained Lutheran minister. After one visit when Evan was really sick with a virus and his oxygen saturation levels particularly low, Pastor Nathan came to visit. When he left, Evans O2 levels were back up to 100%. Sure, most people could say it was just coincidence. I say it was God.

Sent by Denise Meeks | 7:46 PM ET | 08-09-2006

Please know I TRULY love you, Leroy. Anything having to do with nature helped me, ocean, birds, flowers, esp. trees. I would go into the bathroom, get into the shower full blast, and SCREAM. My family would be downstairs and never heard me. I would walk out of the bathroom as if I played some great trick on someone!! Emily Dickinson's poem, "Hope," got me through each day. Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. And sings the tune without the words, and NEVER stops at all. Most of all, I would ask God to just wrap his arms around me tightly.

Sent by T. Cahill | 9:26 AM ET | 08-10-2006

My wife passed away on Valentine's Day this year— lung Cancer. I will never forget walking into the kitchen when she was opening a package of Zingers (chocolate snack cakes, not recommended for anyone older than twelve). "These Are delicious!" she said. I was shocked at her sincerity and gusto. Was it the steroids? Your blog is must read for me, hang in there.

Sent by Gregory Nowicki | 9:27 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I would spend days in a semi-sunny spot in my hammock (it was autumn) reading and hugging a small dog stuffed animal one of my friends brought me while I was in the hospital. I would spend hours just petting my (real) dogs and corresponding with friends. When I needed to lock myself up in the house and cry, I would. But the most important thing I did was write in my journal. Some days I would have one entry, others five. I would just write whatever I was feeling, whether I could make sense of it or not. Looking back on those words now I see how hopeful and determined I was and it gives me strength to face new challenges — I made it through those darkest days, I can make it through anything.

I can only imagine how much your blog helps those newly or continually engaged with cancer. Keep up the good work.

Sent by Chris | 9:41 AM ET | 08-10-2006

This, from Annie Dillard's For the Time Being, has been helpful to me lately:

The more we wake to holiness, the more of it we give birth to, the more we introduce, expand, and multiply it on earth, the more God is "on the field."

Birds singing, flowers, front porches, strangers, and grilled cheese sandwiches have all definitely awakened me to holiness. And its a comfort to think that it doesnt take grandiose things to get God on the field.

Sent by Margaret Krumm | 9:43 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Reading fantasy/science-fiction like Charles de Lint, the Dune series and Enders Game.

Sent by Natalia | 9:45 AM ET | 08-10-2006

What gets me through the day? When I'm feeling really low, I put on a Bogart movie. Casablanca, Maltese Falcon, In a Lonely Place. Bogart has a way of staring down losing odds and somehow managing to get through the day. Thanks again for your blog.

Sent by Adam Miller | 9:47 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I would say to the cancer, "OK, bastard, you have done your damage but I will not give you one more second of taking from me. I will not let you ruin one minute of this day, and I would dwell on anything other than the cancer. I would force myself to dwell on life."

Sent by T.C. | 9:52 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Reading funny non-fiction books gets me through my dark days. Also, I came across this incredible musician by the name of Jagjit Singh. He is a well-known Ghazal singer whose voice is incredible humbling and melodic. I don't understand the lyrics, but the sound/music itself is mesmerizing enough to appreciate his talent. I think you would also enjoy it.

Sent by Sandi | 9:54 AM ET | 08-10-2006

What's keeping me going is looking in my little girls' eyes and knowing that she needs her mother around to help her grow— she's only eight. Before I was diagnosed, I PROMISED her that I would always be here for her and would take care of her until she was grown. She would tell me that she was going to live with me forever. I fight back tears thinking of this because I know my chances are not that good of even seeing her graduate, but I promised her I would. But it's the fight from knowing that I would do absolutely anything to see her grown up that I am going to leave this life with, as they say: I'm going to leave nothing on the table. If it gets me, it will because there was nothing left of me to get. I have also gotten much closer to God than in the past— he's probably getting tired of hearing from me by now. I am working on getting my faith stronger, there has to be something else, there has to be a heaven, if theres not, what meaning would our life have been. I've never done anything that set the world on fire but I have always been a good, loving mother to my two kids. It's for those kids that I reach down and draw strenght when I am hurting so bad I don't want to get out of the bed. I'm their mommy and I want to stay their mommy— I feel I've earned it and I damn well will fight for it.

Sent by Sherryg | 10:02 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Hi! I like to listen to a band called The Verve. The music is bittersweet and reminds me of life. Also, my two little children absolutely catapult me through my day. I also hold on to the hope that I will paint lots of cool pictures and make money off of them to help dig me out of the debt hole.

Oh, and lately your blog helps me out.

Thanks!

P.S. Oreos are AWESOME. Chocolate rules!

Sent by Kelley Jackson | 10:03 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I've been feeling cruddy, no reason other than the usual stuff you deal with in life— job burnout, a wretched boss, the loss of a beloved pet, a prolonged heatwave, middle-aged angst. Then I came upon your blog and the comments, and you have all now added a broken heart and a smattering of Catholic guilt to the mix. I am humbled by the courage and the strength you all have shown. You will be in my prayers.

Sent by Barbara Brown | 10:04 AM ET | 08-10-2006

When things are at their worst, I picture myself sitting on God's lap being rocked and comforted the way my daddy comforted me as a child.

I listen to classical music or sing praise songs in my head.

Books on tape, especially funny books, are helpful. Barbara Johnson is my favorite.

I pray, and think about all the other people who are praying for me, too.

I wear really loose clothes and eat whatever appeals to me. Good nutrition can be saved for the days youre feeling better.

Sent by Paula Howry | 10:30 AM ET | 08-10-2006

When I was on chemo, I loved eating tangy foods, like a nice Italian sauce or vinaigrette on a salad. I needed the stronger taste to cut through to my chemically altered tastebuds.

I also carried, very superstitiously, a tiny angel encased in Lucite (and shaped like those malted milk ball eggs we get in an Easter basket), and I don't particularly believe in angels... or maybe I do, since I still carry it to this day.

What I don't understand is why you don't have a port catheter in your chest that would alleviate the arm problem when receiving chemo? It is a simple surgery (done with a local). It allowed me to knit or read while I was getting the infusions.

Oh, and one last thing that I forgot to mention— I laughed every day. I surrounded myself with humor (funny friends and funny movies). It helped me forget for awhile.

Sent by Mel Sebastiani | 10:32 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I sent a link to your post to my mom this morning. She's a two time breast cancer survivor. Here's her response: "Considered a reply but my days after chemo were sleep and vomit. I can't relate to what he is going through had the mercy of sleep."

I was fifteen when she was going through chemo, and for the three days that she spent in bed, I didn't have the mercy of sleep.

Maybe you could get through the day by getting out of your routine, or trying a random idea - go to the library and read the first book that you see on the shelf, ask the reference librarian about the craziest question they've ever been asked, listen to a radio station that you normally wouldn't, read a teenagers blog, visit a church of a different faith than yours, go here for loads more ideas.

Something different, anything different.

Sent by Cindy | 10:34 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Hi Leroy, I'm a girl from Shanghai, China. We had a man here in China who also wrote about his time combatting cancer, he updated his everyday feeling on the web, and his courage really moved and inspired us Chinese people. Talking about tricks I do in my everyday life, well, I love yoghurt and fruit, and I enjoy mixing different food together to create really novel and marvelous tastes, such as yoghurt plus banana which is the simpliest as well as among the tastiest. I also love sesame paste,and I would mix it with small red bean, I wonder if your people enjoy that, which is also known as love pea here in China. Well, I do believe courage is not the absense of fear but the judgement of being more important than fear. We should not only fight those fights we can win in our lives, but also those fights that need fighting. So keep fighting, my best wishes to you. Hope to hear from you.

Sent by Ma Linda | 10:40 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Dear Leroy,

Like a voyeur, I have been reading your cancer blog each morning, and I've been inspired by your tenacity and open heart, but most of all, your vulnerability. While it is easy to pretend you're okay and to handle all of this with your head held high, it is exponentially harder to expose your fears and doubts.

I don't have cancer.

I just have a life, with all its heartaches, doubts, loneliness and loss. Me and everyone else looking in on your private struggle to make sense of it all can only sit here at our computers, wishing we could take just a little of your pain away, hoping for a fairy-tale ending. Because maybe if you can survive this, we all have just a little more hope.

I am outrageously unqualified to be weighing in on this subject, but as an artist, I take all my vulnerabilities and, like a haunted house, I expose them for the world to see. They lie hidden in each sculpture I create, ready to be discovered by someone new who will attach their own meaning.

I would say that you have already found your way to cope. In addition to the Oreos, you have the ear of the nation. You are an artist with a canvas that gets added to every day, stroke by painful stroke, and you have made a huge impact on all of us. The picture isn't yet complete, but it will most certainly go down in history.

Keep writing.

Sent by J.D. Hansen | 11:02 AM ET | 08-10-2006

In response to your question about how we all cope, I have to admit (feeling somewhat guilty about it) that I have not had chemo in eight years. I had ovarian cancer and had six months of chemo in 1998. I am thankfully cancer free still. But I do remember those days. At night, when I think about it I can almost recreate the feelings I had at the time. The most important thing to me at that time (and this might sound silly to many people) was my cat. I have had my cat, Edgar, for fourteen years. I have no children or husband, or even boyfriend (but do have men and women friends). But, silly as it may be, Edgar was by my side the whole time (except in the chemo room, of course). I knew that if something happened to me she would be lost. I knew friends that would take her in, but no one could replace her "mother". She needed me, and that made me get up each day and go on with my life. I suppose other people say these things about a child or lover or parent. But Edgar did not care if I lost my hair, did not care if I was crabby, did not care if I suffered from neuropathy and ached for three days after each treatment.

Silly, isn't it? I credit Edgar with helping me through cancer and two back surgeries. And so I put up with the cat hair all over my clothes and bed, with her recent litter box mistakes, with the fact that I really am allergic to cat hair and have to take prescription allergy medication. But, we do what we have to do. And if my help came from a cat, a person, or a tree, it didnt matter in the end. I think the trick was that she (yes, Edgar is a she) was dependent on me, where I did not want to be dependent on anyone else. I got to give back.

Sent by Pat Grossman | 11:05 AM ET | 08-10-2006

When I was in chemo and didn't think I would make it, I got great comfort from some very basic Zen techniques which helped me focus on the here and now. Even when I was in pain, if I simply focused in the pain, observed it, was with it instead of fighting it, I became much calmer. I took on an approach of "so this is what it feels like to have your feet go numb... interesting." I can't fully explain it, but it helped me be in the here and now. In some ways I miss that gift of being in the here and now when I was in the full on fight. I am not Buddist, but I learned that according to Buddists, the source of sorrow is our attachments. That seemed to go against what I thought was valuable, but it is so true.

Some other tips:

Read "No Such thing as a Bad Day"— I can't remember the author, but he was a former advisor to Jimmy Carter. I hate to say it, but I needed to read about people who had more cancers than I and came out ahead.

When I was really sick, I did water colors- I am not an artist, but just blending colors together was soothing.

I am now almost five years out from the end of my chemo. They didn't think I would be here.

Thanks for your blog.

Sent by Carol Vander Meer | 11:07 AM ET | 08-10-2006

When I was going through chemo and radiation (stage 3 inflammatory breast cancer), I would wake up in the morning and look for things to make me laugh. I love to watch "Imus in the Morning" on MSNBC - he is very irreverant and funny. I also don't agree with many of his opinions, so he fires up my thinking process as well.

Chemo made me lose my sense of taste for most food. A friend gave me a big box of Godiva chocolates that I thought was a waste of money until I tried one. I could taste dark, semi-sweet chocolate! A few of my favorites also overcame my flattened taste-buds- green olives & Fritos! A good excuse to eat junk food is always a positive thing.

Even if I didn't feel well, I told people who asked that I was "doing good." I didn't feel like I was lying, but helping myself, because it made me feel better to alleviate someone elses concern. Strange but true.

I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading your musings. I wish I had known about you when I was undergoing treatment (I finished in October, 2005) because so much of what you have to say is very familiar! Thank you.

Sent by Ellen Macaulay | 11:07 AM ET | 08-10-2006

One of my favorite CDs is "The Melody At Night, With You" by Keith Jarrett.

It always leaves me feeling calm.

Sent by Cindy | 11:10 AM ET | 08-10-2006

When I was doing chemo and radiation, I always carried a sea-heart in my hand or pocket as a physical reminder of hope. The sea-heart is a smooth, hard, burgundy-purple heart-shaped seed about an inch to two inches wide. They fall from the vines into rivers in Central and South America, then float into the Caribbean. I found mine on a beach in Miami after a violent storm.

Knowing that the seed in my hand had floated for more than a year, through hundreds of miles in blistering sun and raging storms was a physical reminder to me of hope, which gave me courage for the day.

I am hoping for the best for you now.

Sent by Kathleen Scott | 11:14 AM ET | 08-10-2006

After my last chemo this week, I will try to get back to health by diet and exercise. I look forward to a more beautiful and stronger me. Having something to look forward to is nice. During the chemo days, I have been doing whatever I wanted— eating, sleeping, saying no and speaking out, watching cable series on DVD (Lost and Six Feet Under!), telling myself it's okay to do just enough (and I've kept working). Family and friends who care keep me going. I need hugs, so I give hugs. There's no denying the clock of chemo controls your days. But the good days are really good. May you feel good as often as possible.

Sent by Ann Strange | 11:15 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I do not remember where I read this, but it was an article written by someone who was going through the same ordeal as you. His solution was to focus on the power of laughter. The author or the article credited his successful remission to his change in viewpoint.

The man, who wrote the article, had cancer and was having a very difficult time. During one of his visits to the doctor's office, he read an article on the power of laughter. The article he had read gave a detailed account on the benefits of laughter and the the effect laughter had on ones thinking and immune system. One of the things he did, as suggested in the article, was to only watch shows that would make him laugh. He also said that when he was feeling really down, he would laugh anyway, another tip from the author of the article. His whole focus became one that looked on the bright and funny side of life, I know a cliche, but for him it worked. He won his "war on cancer".

Take what resonates for you from this story. I wish you the best. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.

Sent by Jeanine VanDeVort | 11:16 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I don't have cancer, but my dog does, and I read your blog daily and you've asked for input, so I'll try my best to contribute. I don't have any inspirational tips or tricks, just some thoughts on ways to pass the time until you feel better.

During bouts of illness, in particular a summer spent with mono, I managed by watching Cubs' baseball on WGN. It's on all the time and it didn't upset my stomach because it was so lacking in drama (they rarely won back in the early 90s). I enjoy comedies, so the seasons of TV shows like Curb Your Enthusiasm, and Arrested Development are good ways to while away the hours while you are laid up feeling puny. For me this has been a nice way for me to spend some time with my dog sleeping at my feet or cuddled up next to me. Incidentally, seeing a dog face cancer is eye-opening. She seems incapable of feeling sorry for herself or getting down its inspiring to see her act like she just doesn't know she's sick.

As for making it through, is there something you can plan? I always find that is a great way to occupy my mind, to be hopeful about and look forward to something while giving me a project to research and organize. Whether it's a trip, a party, a house renovation project, a holiday meal, a day at the lake, making a scrapbook, a drive to a neighboring town for lunch and shopping, or just cleaning a closet... anything really, it doesn't matter what it is - just something for you to focus on and accomplish and enjoy.

Sudoku, spider solitaire, crosswords, and other games are also good ways to pass the time.

Take good care :-)

Sent by Carri | 11:19 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I thought of you when I read this. Don't know if it's of interest to you or not. Hope you don't mind me sending it.

Sent by Kelly | 11:20 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Suffering from chronic, clinical depression is not the same as cancer, but it's what I know so, for what it's worth...

I attend to practical matters, do the small things, connect with other people, accept what small pleasures come my way. I remind myself that my suffering, no matter how compelling it may seem to me, is small compared to that experienced by many others. And yet I do not belittle the real challenges that life presents to me. I can only strive to manage my life as best as I can.

I think the simplest and most important thing is distraction. I would suggest, if you are not familiar with it, reading Bertran Rusell's "Conquest of Happiness."

Finally, for me, the most compelling tale of persistence in the face of unimaginable suffering is the tale told by the survivors of the plane crash in the Andes— it isn't a pleasant story and yet many lived through it and came to have wonderful, powerful lives.

A couple of proverbs, of my own devising:

-A wise man does not dwell upon his own suffering.

-Happiness and health naturally intertwine a profoundly unhappy man is never completely healthy, and a genuinely happy man is never completely ill.

Oh, you mentioned talismans. I carried a small, smooth stone in my pocket for many years during some of the worst times?it was something of no intrinsic value, but it felt smooth and comforting in my hand. I also keep a small table in my home, near the front door entryway, for objects of spiritual importance to me. Family photos, memories of important times, symbols of what are important to me. I keep it strictly for spiritual purpose—it is never used even momentarily for anything trivial like setting down a drink or a place to put my mail. It is deeply comforting to me. I think it anchors me and reminds me that how I feel is not everything I am.

Take care.

Sent by Timothy Badonsky | 11:22 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I have read your blog since it was posted on the NPR web site. I have often wanted to send a posting but shied from it because how can a person such as myself know what going through cancer feels like? Since you did ask, I have recently focused my attention on things I had no interest in, mainly modern art. Music I would have normally not wanted to listen to I've played and purchased. I feel my life is now richer from doing so.

If you're not into rap music, find a Tupac cd to listen to and see what you've been missing out on. I'm sure your tired of the same old news from Iraq, Israel, government policies and even news about cancer in general. After reading your blog I can tell you spent a productive time in the arts and read the finest books. Maybe it's time to put that a side since your already almost an expert on it.

I do hope this helps, and wish you the very best on things that are yet to come.

Sent by Arturo | 11:23 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Dear Leroy, thank you for sharing your very personal experiences.

Regarding your request for coping strategies: Although I swear by Milano cookies and Law & Order reruns, the only thing that has been consistently helpful to me is the Buddhist philosophy of being present in the "now." The belief is that much of our pain comes from fear and anxiety about our efforts to revise the past and/or control our future. However, none of us has the power to do either. Time spent in anguish over the past or future is just a waste of the living that is available right now.

Staying focused on what you are experiencing right now is truly living. Your blog is a means of achieving that goal. And it is also a great help to many, many people. You have given them a connection.

Staying present in the "now" is a tough concept. And even tougher to put into practice. But the moments I have been able to fully appreciate it, I have been at peace.

I wish you all the best.,

Sent by Karen Newsome | 11:25 AM ET | 08-10-2006

I just happened upon your page while I was looking for something else entirely, but it struck a chord with me. I have not had cancer, but was very ill for nearly a year with another condition that led a doctor to tell me to get my affairs in order. With a snap of his fingers, he said, "you could go like that." This was thirteen years ago, but until I got better care and a more optimistic prognosis, I lived for six months with the constant thought that I could die that day. It's an unfamiliar, bewildering place to be, a place that challenges your very sense of identity. It can be a lonely place, too. I'm cheering for you, though, and wanted to share a couple of things with you that helped me.

The best medicine was funny movies and TV shows. Monty Python movies were the best for me, but at the time, Seinfeld was also good. I also liked the old classics. These all kept me distracted from thinking about my pitiful self, even tho I'm a real snob about TV, it helped me immeasurably. Settle into the couch with a remote in hand and just revel in it.

Massages. Massages. Massages.

Also, on the bright side, being in this otherwordly state where I felt so apart from my "normal" life — and everyone else's life — brought into focus the truly important things: the people I love, quiet time, the sounds and the beauty of nature. I put bills, laundry, work, the insurance company, the more banal social commitments, yada yada , in perspective. Heres the interesting thing. As I got healthier again, I tried so hard to maintain that special state of mind, that sense of whats important and whats not, that weird but special place where this illness had put me. But alas, I have felt myself slipping right back into "normalcy" — getting aggravated when the house is a mess and the laundry piles up, or the bills, etc. In a way, I long for that state of mind I had when I was nose to nose with the precariousness of life. I retain just enough of it to know how special it is. So try to isolate that sense of specialness and savor it. I hope you can hold onto it, and whatever other gifts this challenge sends you — there WILL be gifts I promise, after this is all over.

Best wishes to you.

Sent by Heidi | 11:26 AM ET | 08-10-2006

Sorry it is so rough for you right now. I?m going through chemo also and have found exercise to be the best ?trick.? Upon returning home from surgery a few weeks ago, I committed to walking for at least ten minutes every two hours. It helped reduce both pain and nausea. Sometimes we get the biggest benefit by exercising when we think we feel too bad to exercise. Hope it helps.

Sent by Jerome Frank | 12:09 PM ET | 08-10-2006

When I had my recurrence, it was Anderson Cooper. My husband and I could not linger over dinner as we always had— too emotional. Anderson was there with his humor and his one in a million style of reporting. Belleruth Naperstek?s meditation for relaxation and wellness given to me by my chemo nurse. Reading, when my brain finally functioned again. I traveled vicariously through books. I have a needlepoint project for each chemo. I?m counting on filling the house with pillows. This last time it was Oreos for me too. Chocolate ice cream, macaroni and cheese, a chocolate cake my friend makes for me. Speaking of friends. Lunch with them every Friday. One of those great times when you laugh and actually feel normal. Figure skating when I can. Being in the garden. The people in my life who totally support me, pray daily for me and believe that I can keep going. Ive had four different chemos, been bald three times so Ive had some practice. I "collect" stories of long term survivors. I figure if they can do it, I can. God willing, as my beautiful Syrian oncologist always says. Thank you for what you are doing. It means so much to so many of us.

Sent by Susan Edwards | 12:12 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I agree that the Bible and prayer are very important. I?ll add that I?m enjoying a long novel about London through the ages (just as I enjoyed rereading the Chronicles of Narnia last winter/spring). I have stage IV melanoma, which isn?t at all good, but very few tumors at present, waiting to start fourteen days of GM-CSF shots + 5 days of chemo pills. Reading, freinds, family and humor have helped so much in the past two years. Thanks very much for your blog and NPR interview!

Sent by Eunice | 12:14 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Maybe because it is summer— my comfort food is fresh room temperature fruit, peaches, necterines, giant strawberries... but my all time favorite is giant, big cherries.

I used to try to listen to music but I would find it cut me off from my fellow warriors. Now I move the lounge chair over by the window, ask others if they want to sit by the window in the sunshine and move them too. Then sometimes we all just sit there watching nature— the hummingbirds, the butterflies, the birds, and the mountains. Sometimes we talk among ourselves about what is going on. It is nice to help newbies with their fears and suggestions.

We are a room full of strangers each on a similar voyage... I like for us to join together. We should be friends.

Sent by Cherie Brown | 12:16 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Two years ago, my grandfather?s colon cancer came back. It came back worse this time and there was nothing the doctors could do after the chemo and radiation did not help, so they sent him home. My grandfather never showed fear or anger or that he had given up. Instead, I noticed that his surroundings grew more positive as more energy was drained from his body. He always had artwork that my younger cousins made for him hanging near his bedside and cards from friends and family nearby. I am not sure if it gave him hope or peace or finality, but I have since followed his footsteps. I surround myself with happy memories: pictures, postcards, funny articles, and then the tough times dont seem as bleak. I?ll be thinking of you and your family. Thank you for your courage and honesty; it is really inspiring.

Sent by Hillary | 12:17 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I pretty much indulged in whatever direction my "wants? headed. It meant eating whatever I wanted to in order to keep weight on (this tended towards the heavy fat comfort foods like mac and cheese, which I ate almost daily). So go for your comfort food, whatever that is and worry about weight gain and cholesterol later!

I also watched many movies on tv— I couldn?t focus on books, so my guilty pleasures became Sex in the City (don?t know that you?d care for that one), Six Feet Under, Deadwood, even America?s Funniest Videos... things that didn?t require much focus.

Exercise became really important to me in fact, that was a goal every day (though there were days when I just couldn?t)— to walk, lift light weights, or just move around. That was hard I had to push myself, but I always felt so much better after I did.

To prepare for surgery, I listened to meditation tapes, but once I healed and headed to chemo, I listened to rock and roll, at full volume. I needed the adrenaline. I?d bring my CD player to chemo and blast it so loud that I?m probably one of the few women who suffers from permanent hearing loss from breast cancer chemo. Don?t know how your taste in music leans, but find the tunes that comfort you, calm you, or rev you up, depending on your mood. Burn CD?s or get an ipod so you have them around when you need them. My anthem was a song by Social Distortion ?Reach for the Sky (because tomorrow may never come)? followed later by ?Three Little Birds? by Bob Marley: ?don?t worry... because every little thing is gonna be alright?).

Also, I worked as many hours as I could because that gave me a sense of normalcy and routine. I am so grateful to my clients for keeping me busy.

And to echo a couple of other people who responded: denial is a really good tool. Plus, I did get a port-a-cath, and though it really freaked me out every day I had it in, it made chemo SO MUCH easier. I was thrilled to have it removed?that was a milestone.

And let us know what else you discover that works for you, besides Oreos!

Sent by Leslie | 12:19 PM ET | 08-10-2006

During treatment, my mental lapses and lack of attention span terrified me. Couldn?t read more than fragments, couldn?t concentrate the length of a movie. I was then introduced to Sudoku which became my constant companion, especially through long wakeful nights wired from steroids. I was, however, able to read words written by people touched by cancer it was a kind of sharing that made me feel less confused, alone, different.

My dogs and cats were either underfoot or piled up with me on the couch/bed they gave me comfort and made me laugh. I conversed with an internet cancer buddy and our keyboards blazed with shared words/thoughts/emotions ("Why doesn?t anyone understand what I am feeling? Pound them with a brick until they do!"). When I lost my hair, I started to become aware of and count the seemingly endless number of ads for hair products. A neighbor was always willing to hear me blast through crankiness, frustrations, fears, tears - what a blessing she was! On days I felt well enough, I went to work dont know how productive I was, but the semblance of routine was reassuring. The biggest puzzler still is why reruns of ER worked so well. I would watch endless hours with my comfort foods: applesauce, orange juice, ginger ale, animal crackers, chocolate covered mints - and the occasional glass of wine. I craved salads.

And, yes, when I felt my world coming apart, I cried, and I shouted my indignance to no one in particular. But I also tried to laugh every day, even if it was over nothing laughter just seemed to realign my soul.

I do agree with Janis F. above, "that little place called denial" is the most wonderful place indeed and the haven in which I was ultimately able to deal with just about anything.

Sent by Marianne | 12:21 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Hi Leroy:

I am taking Xeloda as adjuvant chemotherapy for my bowel cancer. I have just finished my third cycle today, another five to go.

Well - all chemo is different but I will share what works for me:

a) swim most days for 30 mins - I was a keen runner, but that is out for now.

b) meditate for 30 mins - calms the mind

c) take the side effect pills at the first symptoms (for the nausea/diarrhea/abdo. cramps.)

d) moisturise your hand & feet as often as possible

e) forgive yourself if you cannot remember things or if you get grumpy

f) take an afternoon nap

g) talk things through with good friends

h) eat when you can, drink loads when you cant

i) accept the worst and prepare for the best!

j) remember life will still throw you non cancer wobblies - accept them as trivia

Kindest regards.

Sent by Julian Evans | 12:23 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I?m glad to see someone who stuck to her wine during her time of trial. Forget the antioxidants- it tastes good and better than that, it makes you feel good. Even when I couldn?t get anything down, the thought of a beer or a scotch or the Martini I would surely have at Harry?s at some point in the future was a source of comfort. And oddly enough, during those weeks and months when all I could drink (or eat) was some laboratory-concocted high-calorie drink in a box, the Food Network was a source of sustenance.

My treatment required that I spend a lot of time in isolation during which I read Don Quixote. Even though chemo brain kept me from understanding and retaining as much as I would like, I can say that its mere presence in my hospital room was somehow a form of remedy. Later on, when I wasn?t quite so ill, Stendahls Charterhouse of Parma had a similar effect. I guess both books have a dreaminess to them that took me away from the rigors of my medicalized existence.

Sent by Phil | 12:24 PM ET | 08-10-2006

An inspirational quote from the Bible:

"These trials only test your faith to see whether or not it is strong and pure. Your faith is being tested, as fire tests gold and purifies it. And your faith is far more precious to the Lord that mere gold. So if your faith remains trong after being tested, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day of His return."

1 Peter 1:7

Theres also a song I listen to when I need some words of encouragement: Ben Harper and The Blind Boys of Alabama - I Shall Not Walk Alone.

Eating macaroni and cheese, goldfish crackers, mashed potatoes, pizza— anything that makes me feel like me again.

And I love watching House MD.

Sent by Grace Lee | 12:25 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I?ve been reading your blog for several weeks now and have been amazed by your attitude. Even though I am not dealing with cancer, or any other serious health issue presently, I hope my advice helps a bit.

When I am facing a situation that makes serious demands on my ability to cope, I find it helpful to think about others in situations that tend to minimize my discomfort. For me, I have a semi-serious interest in WWII history and have done a lot of reading. My favorite books are those of individual stories and small unit action, because they focus on how each person deals with a challenge. For me, thinking of an eighteen-year-old kid sitting aboard a DC3 making its way across the English Channel fifty-two years ago tends to minimize the trepidation I may be feeling about something in my own life. Heck, this kid was facing the biggest challenge of his life at eighteen, so [insert your dilemma] is nothing compared to that.

As a parent, I think the most devastating thing that can happen is to have your child seriously ill. When I think that the parents of these children somehow come up with the stregnth to deal with their tremendous challenges, it helps me minimize my own challenges.

The intent here is not to get yourself depressed thinking about someone elses hard luck, but to put your own experience in perspective. To be brutally clinical, there is very little that I will go through in life that someone else hasnt already gone through, and many people have dealt with bigger challenges than I.

Sent by Frank | 12:27 PM ET | 08-10-2006

My problem was not cancer. It was an accident and a lower back problem that left me in so much pain that all I could do was go flat on the floor, and there I was for six months. There is something about pain, chronic pain, that is so debilitating. It is physical, but it preys on your emotions too. Will I work again? Will I be able to walk, mow the lawn and make love without pain? My life in a matter of minutes became consumed by this horrific pain, and all I could do was think of how I was before and what I was going through then. It seemed like the answer was going to be no, my life was not going to be normal again, and it nearly pushed me to suicide. Except I had this little dog, a pug named Missy that would come over and lay on my chest or under my arm with her head on my shoulder. If it hadnt been for that dog, I don?t think I would be here. In the end, I guess it wasn?t my trick. It was hers because one day I found that I could stand and somehow tolerate the pain. The next, I could stand a little longer and it seemed to be slowly becoming less acute. You know, just better enough to notice a slight difference. It was enough for me. And since then, three years later I still have the pain, but a lot of things have returned to my life. And I hope everything returns to yours.

Sent by Tim Macaluso | 12:28 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I had colorectal cancer three years ago when my sons were ages ten and six. Surgery took care of it (so far). While I was recuperating at home, the sounds of my boys playing lifted my spirit. Also, the music of Il Divo and Andrea Bocelli bring instant peace in moments of stress. Best wishes — I check in on you often.

Sent by Jane Jacobs | 12:29 PM ET | 08-10-2006

My chemo days were every other Wednesday and this is what I did after treatment. I put on either John Denver or Enya, lay down on my bed, and pictured myself at my parent?s lake house in New Hampshire. I imagined myself in the clear water, looking across at the soft, green rolling hills. I splashed and swam, or took the wave runner out and felt the spray and the sun on my face. It was winter during my treatments and I knew if I could just make it through, I could get back to the lake house come summer. Visualizing this let me go somewhere else for awhile, somewhere that felt good, where my body was strong and active.

If that didn?t work, I smoked pot and ate McDonald?s cheeseburgers. This was funny because I hadn?t eaten red meat since I was eighteen, but it was the only thing that tasted the way it was supposed to.

Thank you for your blog— I check in everyday and am sending positive energy and good thoughts your way. We are out here pulling for you, all us survivors and patients. When I was first diagnosed, someone said to me, "Welcome to the club, we hate to take new members, but were made up of some really amazing people, you?re in good hands." He was so right, the cancer club has the most amazing members.

Take care, keep writing.

Sent by Mandra Biscornet | 12:32 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I am a librarian and just happened to see your blog about your battle with cancer. Having not faced this disease personally, I felt unworthy to respond. But then my inner feelings took over and I just wanted to relate to you that many of us do care - I don?t know you personally, but you are in pain and I certainly know about that issue. To help me get through bad times I first get on my knees and recite some words to my favorite hymn, "Oh what needless pain we bear. All because we do not carry everything to Him in prayer." I pour out my doubts and fears and ask God to show me the way and give me courage. Secondly, I start doing some positive self talk - "Okay, you know that worry is a wasted emotion. I?ll do what I can about this issue and then take it out of my head and move on to the next thing I can do something about." Third, I try to do something nice for someone else - just calling or writing a note to someone I haven?t touched in awhile. Last I remember to laugh - one of my favorite books for laughter is ?Marley and Me? by John Grogan. I recommend it highly if you haven?t read it yet.

Just writing to you made me feel so much better - I have put aside my own problems and pain and am reinforcing the very same advice I have given you.

My favorite good luck charm is an angel that I always keep in my pocket ? it?s made like a coin. I?ll be happy to send it to you if you would like. God Bless and continue your fight!

Sent by Pat | 12:34 PM ET | 08-10-2006

When I was going through chemo, I got a lot of comfort from my dogs. I had just gotten a young dog who we call "half dog" for her prediliction to perch with the front half of her body on any available furniture. She would perch on my lap (after the hysterectomy healed) and I could get a really good hug. My Jack Russell was a good lap buddy, and we even got a new tiny Jack Russell while I was on chemo. Warm lap fuzzies were a great solace to me when I felt crummy after chemo. I ate a lot of comfort foods. I read a LOT of books, some on cancer and people with cancer, but lots more on things I just enjoyed. I also tried to keep my life as nearly normal between treatments, working and doing things I enjoy.

Sent by Kitty Jungkind | 12:35 PM ET | 08-10-2006

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I received an outpouring of cards and letters, flowers and gifts. It was so nice to know that so many people were pulling of me. In particular, one of my family members gave me a beautiful journal, with a note that said, "In case you feel like writing it out." That was so kind, but I felt that something I would treasure even more than my own journaling (since I already write and talk to friends and family about my cancer) was a Strength Journal. I glued to the pages of that journal every card, email, and note that I received from people wishing me well with my treatments and my cancer fight. Well, I?ve been fighting for the past three years, and I can?t tell you how many times I have gone to that journal, so full that it won?t close, for strength, when I felt that I couldn?t generate it on my own. This week I am in testing to find out if I?m in remission, and again I turn to that journal.

May our comments and support give you some strength as well. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Sarah | 12:37 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Hi Leroy, one seemingly small thing that got me through the cancer experience: I hated the feeling that because I had cancer, now I was "different" - one day, as I waited in line for coffee at my local Dunkin Donuts (wig on), I realized no one in the place knew I had the big C - I was just the next customer in line waiting for my morning dose of caffeine. I loved it! From then on I sought out every place in which I could be anonymous, and it felt fabulous to feel normal, even if only for a minute. On the more serious side, tapes and books by Dr. Bernie Siegel as well as guided imagery tapes by Belleruth Naperstack got me through ? it?s been six years for me, you?ll get there!

Sent by Sharon | 12:40 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Don?t know if this appeals at all but have a look at "Om at Home," which is a season-based yoga book. My husband and I started doing this together (with me describing the moves and both of us doing them, which you can switch off) during my chemo and really found it pretty satisfying. I stick to comedies on DVD for the most part Wallace and Grommit, for example, gave me a good hour and a half of time away from cancer - I don?t get more than a few minutes away from thinking about it normally. Jelly beans and gum drops like LifeSaver FruitSavers got me through the worst of the times when my mouth tasted terrible. I also second/third/fourth the port advice I have no veins left (and I?ve been through less than you have) and I was really glad to have it through chemo. Thinking good thoughts for you.

Sent by Leigh Hough | 12:41 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Results of some cancer clinical trials show the benefit of exercise in improving quality of life, and in some instances, quantity of life. Several bloggers today mention how exercise has helped them ? they?re right!

Sent by Ellen Ballard RN | 12:42 PM ET | 08-10-2006

First, I have a good cry. If I can, I eat my favorite. I am usually too fatigued to hold a book so an audio book or CD provides some relaxation.

Sent by Mary Scruggs | 12:43 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Sir:

I am a biochemist, and have followed a company called GERON (symbol: GERN).

They have a cancer therapy which may be of interest to you you might be

elegible for one of their trials. Also, I would commend to you the following website, books, especially the audio portions and hotline, as I have found them extremely helpful in dealing with stress.

I wish you well.

Sent by Don Brown | 12:44 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I heard on the radio you daily blog and I am tuned in. It helps me understand what my friend is going through, just like you. Bone cancer, mets on lungs, under chemo.

You?re in my thoughts and prayers each day. Wondering this: if you turn the corner and come out of this on the plus side, how much different will life be the second time around ? Given another crack at this world... what would be the same; what would be different?

After you beat it, how much different of a person are you? Or will you be? Will you be the same or be a differnt candidate in life? If you win the battle, how will you celebrate? And push forward?

God Bless and Good Luck in the fight.

Sent by James McGinnis | 12:48 PM ET | 08-10-2006

I had chemo every other week for four months, and now I am half way through my radiation. I had a portacath put in to make the chemo easier to take - have you discussed that with your doctor?

As I went through my chemo I counted down the treatments. It was so nice when I got past the halfway point. I actually celebrated!

When the chemo finally ended and I asked my doctor if he cured me, he smiled slightly and said "now we watch you". That is not what I wanted to hear but I am optimistic that the surgery, the chemo, and the radiation will do the trick. I have to believe that, and I do.

Sent by Karen Brown | 12:49 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Music! Music can so strongly affect my mood, and the older stuff can bring me right back to another place and time. I live in Seattle, and there is a great radio station here, KEXP, which plays an eclectic mix of unusual and relatively unknown contemporary musicians (you can hear them online). Anyhow, when I hear music I like, I go to itunes and listen to lots of music from that artist, then download what interests me and burn CD?s for different times and different moods... combining old and familiar stuff with new and interesting stuff. I spent many hours doing this when I was going through chemo. It was an exploration and an adventure that required little of my energy. It was fun.

Sent by Maggie | 12:51 PM ET | 08-10-2006

The thing that I know absolutely that gets me through each day is prayer. Feeling that connectedness with God and being comforted by him. Knowing that this life is not all there is - that God has a purpose for my life and for my death for that matter. I don?t know how I could cope without knowing that God cares about me and loves me. Thanks so much for all your thoughts and for helping the rest of us verbalize our hopes and fears. I know that God also hears the prayers of others on our behalf and I want you to know that you are in mine.

Sent by Sue Snyder | 12:51 PM ET | 08-10-2006

As you?ve said, cherish the good days. But more than that, cherish the good five minutes. Even the lousiest hour has a few good moments. Enjoy them.

I agree with an earlier poster that even a little exercise helps both the body and the spirit. It does give a sense of control, but it also gives a distraction. Change of environment helps - you start to associate things with being sick if you spend too much time there. I just got back from chemo voyage #5 at Hopkins today (that second floor feels like a second home). When I got home, I walked around the block (a different way than usual). It was stragely liberating. Baby steps.

Finally, words my aikido sensei (a serious cancer survivor himself) told me - "Remember that feeling sick means the chemo is doing its thing." You may not feel like moving on the outside, but theres a war going on inside there and youre fighting hard.

Take care of yourself. You?ve got the world praying for you.

Sent by A.M. | 12:52 PM ET | 08-10-2006

Oh, so many things:

Continuing to do the things that I did in life to help with the stresses before cancer. I do them as often and as much as I can - it changes all the time. I work more, or less. I ride my horse more, or less. I go to Tae Kwon Do more, or less. I talk to friends and family more, or less...

I made a deal with myself at the start of chemo that I would go for a walk every day - again, as much as I could muster. Chemo started mid-March and ended late June. It was a joy to watch the seasons change in my rural walk. I was glad on my last long walk, the day before my mastectomy last week, that I live on roads not well traveled as I sobbed and moaned and cried the last two miles.

I sought out and discovered support on line and in person (support groups, The Cancer Connection in Florence, Massachusetts, friends of friends, even my hairdresser called to see if I was interested in meeting another woman whose hair she cut short after her first chemo).

Netflix and an iPod were technical additions to my life when chemo came. Six Feet Under probably keep me up too late on the nights that Im having trouble sleeping anyway. Podcasts keep me going on walks.

I also went back to my default tool in times of trouble and began writing again. It?s been a wonderful experience, especially writing in a group at The Cancer Connection. But I don?t have to tell you about that!

And I keep goals in place. A friend gave me Peggy Huddlestons Prepare for Surgery Heal Faster book and CDs before my first surgery. I?ve continued to use her technique of visualizing outcomes. I held fast to one particular visualization and when the moment came to actually have that experience - a martial arts test the week before my mastectomy - I was as ready as I?d seen myself scores of times in my head.

I thank you again for sharing your experience with the world.

Sent by Julie Orfirer | 12:22 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Someone just told me he had heard you on NPR talking about your cancer. I didn?t know. I?m so sorry to

hear it. I will call you and Laurie soon.

I?ve been reading your living journal with interest and sadness. What a wonderful writer you are! I wish your topic could be different.

I have one suggestion, "trick", that millions use every day, although in a different context. The twelve steps. They apply to so much in life, even cancer.

I also read a book every day, "The Language of Letting Go" by Melody Beattie. It?s a book of daily meditations, and as the author says, "it?s a book to help you feel good and assist you in the process of self-care and recovery." Some will apply, some will not. It is spiritual and calming.

And one simple prayer. God, show me the way. Open my eyes, my ears, my mind and my heart. Please show me the way.

And, of course, laughter. It?s amazing how a good laugh can make sadness go away... even if only temporarily.

You and Laurie are in my prayers.

Sent by Nann | 12:24 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I have read all of your blogs, but never commented. I have lung and kidney cancer. Going thru chemo, I chew a lot of gum. It helps me a lot. Gets some of the bad taste out. Also this computer has been my outlet. I think I would have gone crazy if not for this computer. I am always on it and keeps my mind off my cancer. I read a lot of blogs and information on cancer and helps me in my fight. Take care and stay strong.

Sent by Roger Cournoyer | 12:49 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Father died a few years ago and my mom is eighty-nine. I do not have cancer and neither do they. But we have all faced the reality that everything comes to an end. We are a family that kicks and screams to get through life. We seem to take the end a little softer than we do life. Not that it is easy or painless. We have just learned that there is not much you can do about it. A hard lesson for a family of control freaks.

What gets me through the day are silly things. Like you writing helps. Even if in my case no one is reading it. I will make you laugh. I also love stuffed teddy bears and marbles. I can hug the teddy bear and it does not ask for anything and I can marvel at the pretty colors of marbles. Both bring comfort to me. I keep them around for when I need them.

Wish the best whatever that may be.

Sent by Gladys | 12:50 PM ET | 08-14-2006

We?ve talked a great deal about our friends. It is my friends who have supported me and given great joy to me over the last fourteen months. I have a wonderful group of women who I meet on Friday nights and another group who have gathered periodically on Sundays for soup. Being with the people I love is what gives me joy regardless of the frustration and fear associated with cancer.

The greatest response I got when telling people of my diagnosis was a friend who quietly said, "I?ll be there." She has been there, too. Sitting with my husband while I have been in surgery, celebrating the joyful times, traveling to Paris with me and listening when necessary. I was fortunate enough to have a supportive friend at work who would understand my need to let her know the status of everything I was doing, "just in case." We go on "with a little help from our friends."

Sent by Dona O'Sullivan | 12:51 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Hi Leroy - Thanks for writing your blog. It is inspirational.

When I had Hodgkins lymphoma four years ago, I was sick enough from the chemo that many days reading, computer use, and TV were out. What got me through the days was listening to music, especially Mozart. I also adopted Beethovens 5th Symphony as my "theme song", and listened to it at least once a week for inspriration. There is a story behind that of why that in particular but I wont bore you here. I found it nearly impossible not to feel good emotionally while listening to great music even if I felt pretty awful physically.

The other thing that got me through the days was the thought that I was going to beat this, and this was a temporary condition from which I could learn and grow. I tried to enjoy something, even something very small like a pretty flower or bird song, each day - even if I felt too ill to enjoy most of a day.

Days when I felt well enough, reading and writing e-mails from friends and family was a huge pick me up, and of course reading a good book. But through six months of chemo, the one constant nearly every day was music.

You are a gutsy guy and I hope you hang in there and beat this thing! Don?t give up! I nearly died three months into chemo from lung damage, and I was lucky enough to survive, recover, and now do two marathons (so far) for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Never give up! Best wishes.

Sent by Art Ritter | 12:53 PM ET | 08-14-2006

What a comfort to read all these comments and to realize that what we?re all experiencing is so similar - truly we are never alone. I had breast cancer in 1992 (when I was thirty-eight) and did six months of chemo then. This was before Zofran was available. It took me years before I could even drive by my oncologist?s office without gagging. Cancer recurred in 2004 with a vengeance - mets and effusion everywhere - and I have been on chemo for all but four months since August of 2004. Heres what I?ve found helps me:

Be gentle with yourself- if you feel horrible just acknowledge it for what it is and take whatever meds you need to alleviate the symptoms.

Read or listen to books on tape - a friend of mine, who knows I love to read and love to travel, has been giving me her copies of The Best of Outside series, collections of articles from Outside magazine. They are perfect for me - short enough for my stunted concentration span and a great mix of adventure and human interest.

I bought a Hawaiian shaved ice machine and make about three a day. I eat them with a small spoon, savoring each spoonful - it keeps me hydrated, since even drinking water on some days is impossible .

I listen to my IPOD a lot ? I?ve downloaded lots of sounds of nature CDs of rainstorms, wind, moving water, etc. Very calming. I also do guided imagery and breathing exercises- Dr. Andrew Weil has CDs with both of these but I am sure there are many more.

I also find that handwork is very diverting - drawing, needlepoint, trimming my plants, etc. I am a writer and reader and sometimes I really need a break from words!

Finally, I echo what others have written: get a port! I was so tired of the process of trying to find a vein in the only arm I could use that I began to cry even before the nurse went on the hunt. A port in my arm has made it so much bearable.

Thank you for your blogs, Leroy. You are uniting so many people in spirit... but remember, be gentle with yourself. If you don?t feel like writing, then don?t.

My prayers are with you and with all of us here in the cancer twilight zone.

Sent by Denice | 12:56 PM ET | 08-14-2006

One trick for me was comedy - laughter is truly the best medicine. It releases endorphins which have a "pain-relieving effect like that of morphine". Whatever makes you laugh Leroy, be it stand-up comedians, old Jerry Lewis movies, I Love Lucy reruns... Our mind and our thoughts are such a powerful part of who we are. Use it to your advantage with positive, healing, loving thoughts. Focus on the things that make you happy and feel love.

A lot of people are writing in recommending sweet things as comfort food. True, it may be a temporary comfort, but cancer cells thrive on sugar. They love it and will devour it and multiply. Why, if we are trying to kill cancer cells with chemo do we want to feed them with sugar?

Also, I read about something called "Designer Chemo" where they take some of YOUR cancer cells into the labratory and zap them with different combos of chemo drugs to see what is the most effective for you and your specific cancer. I think it would be worth checking into.

God bless you.

Sent by Susan | 12:57 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Going through chemo, I was reminded of the phrase used by midwives during labor: "Drink and pee, drink and pee." My doc told me that everyone going through chemo is dehydrated and pushing the fluids is crucial.

During the infusions, I would always play a tape of bird song. It would bring me back to my childhood, to the outdoors where I found sanctuary from past unpleasantness.

During the time I was going through treatment, I also had to have Carole Kings Tapestry album. Again, it was a source of comfort to me at an earlier time in my life when I was in sore need of comfort.

My weekly cancer support group at the Wellness Community in Newton, Massachusetts— I could not have done without. The laughter, the tears, the camaraderie and absurdity of it all.

And writing. As you are, I wrote what I called a "Recovery Update" as often as I felt moved to and emailed it to friends and family. It helped enormously to write it and to read the loving responses that would come my way.

Sent by Julie Buchinski | 12:58 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I?m a library geek. At the lowest points of my life, I?ve always been able to transport myself away from what?s wrong at the library. I?d reached a point after cancer where physically I was fine but I?d begun to have anxiety attacks and trouble sleeping. So, I went to the library and wandered the shelves until I found a book to take me away. Ironically it was "The Right Words at the Right Time, Marlo Thomas and Friends", not a book for or about cancer but it was just what I needed at that time. I still check it out whenever I?m having a bad day (or week).

Sent by Joan Marie | 2:00 PM ET | 08-14-2006

What helped us, and continues to help me after George died, was to get into the present by breathing — breathing in, I smile, breathing out, I send my loving breath to the universe, and then focus on the here and now. It is, after all, the only moment of which we are sure. The other thing we did was focus on gratitude... we?d always start with portable water, a safe, warm home, medical care, each other... when we?d start our list of gratitudes, we?d tire before we could finish our endless list. We could then experience new joy.

Thanks for sharing yourself now? what a generous person you are. We?re all going to meet death... I hope I can be as giving as you.

Sent by Mary Murphy | 2:04 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Your fighting spirit is inspiration to so many people listening to you on NPR and reading your daily blog. My heart is full for you and your partner, Laurie, your friends and family.

Five years ago, my husband received an auto stem cell transplant for Non-Hodgkin?s Lymphoma at Johns Hopkins. It was an agonizing time for us with the uncertainty of the situation and an 8 year old daughter at home. We are thrilled that he just passed his five-year marker and his 51st birthday this summer.

I understand your surprise and frustration at having to make the decisions you are being called upon to make under great duress and with little time to make them. My husband?s doctor at Hopkins is amazing and helped us tremendously with our decision without deciding for us. Hopkins was conducting trials with transplants as an aggressive early treatment rather than a last resort. We went to Hopkins expecting the protocol that he was receiving to be validated. He had begun a protocol with another excellent doctor in the Washington area when we sought a second opinion at Hopkins. We came out of that meeting in shock and with the words bone marrow transplant swimming in our minds. What guided us was, the notion that if one of the foremost doctors in the country specializing in hematology oncology thinks this would benefit him, who were we to disagree. He had endured four rounds of chemo when he started the transplant process and all of his stage three cancer symptoms had retreated. His doctor compared his cancer and treatment to gardening. When you?ve worked in your garden ridding it of all of the weeds, even though you can no longer see the weeds, you still know they could grow back. He could not offer any guarantees that the weeds would not grow back, only that his overall health assessment profiled him as a good candidate for this procedure. Indeed he endured it well. We will never know if that transplant was successful unless the cancer never returns. So everyday we carry this with us and watch for weeds and it becomes routine in a weird kind of way. But we willingly carry it with us and we are grateful.

Many people thought us brave and courageous. My husband certainly was. But you know this ? as you are doing it ? you do what you must do. I described our experience as being forced to walk down a path that one does not want to travel. You don?t know or want to know what lies ahead, but you cannot turn back, only move forward. For myself, I tasked my way through that time. I arranged schedules and family time for my daughter, traveling between Baltimore and Washington juggling time with her and precious time with my husband, and trips to and from the airport to ferry family coming in to help us. I needed to keep busy, very busy. Now we have that behind us, I hope forever, and still, it is always there.

Well, I wanted to share our story with you. Thank you for your courage to share yours. My thoughts are with you every day. I intensely hope that you win your fight against cancer. Stay strong and eat well, and know that you are making a difference.

Sent by Crystal Black | 2:06 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I would never dare to claim that I understand what you are going through, but in different ways, I have had my share of dark days.

There were few things that I did to get through those cloudy days.

1. Prayer - sometimes, even pleading out loud to God.

2. Play violin (or any musical instrument - music helps)

3. Writing (which you are already doing, and so well)

4. Laughing. If it means to watch Jay Leno on the internet, or even South Park, I find laughing a great medicine.

5. Meet people. As you mentioned in one of your posting, sometimes, meeting people helps to forget, if momentarily, about the darker things in life. And, they also gave me hope and joy through their care and love.

And, while I almost never publically post, I just wanted to tell you that your writings impacted me in different ways, helped me reflect on life, and provided encouragement.

Finally, heres a quote:

In three words I can sum up everything Ive learned about life: It goes on. -Robert Frost

Hope you recover speedily, and live the life to its fullest, as you discussed in your previous posting.

Sent by Jin | 2:08 PM ET | 08-14-2006

My best wishes for a miracle are travelling your way. I finished chemo for metastatic breast cancer in my bones, in April. This is my second round with chemo, both with different side-effects. As you know we all react differently to these drugs. No matter what you do there is really no escape from the turmoil brewing within. That being said, taking control of your situation can bring you a profound sense of self. Here is a list of a few things I did to comfort myself through this difficult time.

1. Accupuncture. I found a great accupuncturist who spent an hour and a half with me after each weekly dose of chemo. She helped me focus on visualizing the chemo destroying the cancer cells.

2. Rest/nap. My bedroom was my favorite spot.

3. Meditative music. What works for me might not work for you. Youve gotten some great recommendations.

4. Port. If possible, get a port for your infusions!

5. Nutritionist. I consulted with one to help me be the best me. She mentioned that we all should treat our body as a garden. However, if oreos feed your garden, you deserve it.

6. Naturopath. Consult with someone who works with cancer patients. They will treat you, not just your cancer, as your oncologist does so well.

7. Normalcy. I grasp whatever I can. I work part-time and was able to keep that schedule through most of my chemo. Though an occassional sick-day was neccessary.

8. Ambien. It allowed me to turn my mind off for sleep. Odd how much space the big C takes up in the bed.

9. Exersize. Even if it?s just a short walk in the park. Once you get there and get done, youll feel good about it.

10. Distraction. I love to read novels which can take me away. I also love a good movie.

11. Accepting all the help and love that comes your way. It?s very difficult for most of us to ask for help but be sure to accept it when it is offered. My friends organized a "share the care" network to help us.

12. Information. I?m always searching the net for the latest news on cancer therapies. There is however such a thing as TMI, too much information. If you can get some help filtering resource, that would be helpful.

This is what I?ve come up with, I?m sure I?ll think of more after I send this. I feel that your writing this blog is very theraputic for you, as it is for the rest of us. I hope you can keep it up through your treatments. Only if it gives you what you need.

Best wishes.

Sent by Terri | 2:10 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Hi and thank you for the opportunity to remember all of these things, because I?m going through "chemo week" right now and sometimes I don?t remember all of the things that make the time pass or the things that make me feel a little better. I now have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, Stage 4. I had Synovial Sarcoma in 1997. By the way, have you discovered the mint oreos? I find that almost all contacts from friends and family are helpful. Sometimes they worry about calling me and disturbing me, but actually the thought behind it touches me even if Im sick or sleeping. I like it when people share uplifting quotes or jokes whether they come from scripture, Shakespeare, or Buddha, so that?s when email comes in handy. Even when I dont feel well, I try to check my email everyday. For a change of persepctive, I like to sit outside, and when Im feeling better actually some kind of exercise helps. I like to walk on the beach and I enjoy stretch and yoga classes. Because I?m not working now and am home alone all week when Im feeling up to it, I try to have a least one get together a day....sometimes its lunch, or coffee, Scrabble, a walk, Cancer support group, Bible Study Group, shopping, visitors. My interest in reading comes and goes, but when it?s on I love my detective novels. I write in my journal everyday. I also like humorous TV and movies I have to have a little Seinfeld, Simpsons, Arrested Development, etc. each day. Hope this helps and best wishes to you.

Sent by Cindy Hill | 2:11 PM ET | 08-14-2006

On January 26, 2006 my mom was burning leaves in her yard in the Ozarks. The pantyhose she wore under her pants to keep warm caught fire. She almost died, lost her right leg, and spent ninety-two days in the hospital. Here are some things we did:

1. Jokes and quips: She says it it twice as hard to kick the bucket now that she only has one leg, and that the left one didnt catch fire because she is German Irish and her left leg was too green to burn. Silly, but hey! It helped.

2. No gift was too small or silly. Little pods or buds or funny tricks of nature came in handy.

3. We had communion daily (She is a tiny little gal, but would BELLOW out: "Lord, only say the word and I SHALL BE HEALED" every day when Sister Laverne came by.) and said the rosary together. Even if you are not Catholic, it works.

4. I like to read her books and stories of others who faced death. My favorite is "Mans Search for Meaning" by Victor Frankl. There is a good one in this weeks America magazine.

5. We took notes, set up conference calls and erred on the side of family OVER-communication.

6. We liked the Anonymous 4 Virgin Mary chant CD for power naps.

I?ll put you on my Novena list, too. You will be in great company!

Peace.

Sent by Lynn Peterson | 2:13 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Keep it coming for us, we all can use what you are providing here.

When I got the news that my surgery didn?t get all the cancer and that I had the option to go into a clinical trial I told my kids. Within days I received a package from my daughter. Inside the package was a cast of the word, Believe. On the same day I also got a card which started with the words I believe. Well, how can we go against such strong messages? We can?t, so I posted them in my home office window where they have collected dust, dead flies and at least a hundred looks each day for the last two years. To the right, my teddy bear sits, with his fishing vest and norwester style hat and silly grin. Okay, I am a 67 year old male and you know what? I really believe these have helped me deal with my fears, my doubts and my view of the future.

The other thing I did was get back to work, leaving my third retirement attempt (Being retired is BORING), I started designing a way in which I could work one on one with cancer survivors. I found my calling and the excitement this has produced is amazing, especially in light that at one point I was National Executive Director of the Canadian Cancer Society and after two years I quit my position because I saw little positive going on for patients. Now, I realize that the real calling I have had all my life was to work one on one with patients because what else is there? Every day I see my believe sign and my I believe card and truly believe, because if I don?t, my teddy bear gets grumpy. I can?t believe I am sharing this with you and destroying yet another illusion about the strong, tough old guy I once was. On the other hand, it does take a lot of guts to admit all this, but perhaps not as much as you are showing with your blog.

So, my message here is pretty obvious, to believe is the first part, to love your teddy bear is second and third is to do something for other individuals in a similar situation. You are accomplishing the third in GRAND style, so if you don?t yet have a teddy bear, go get one (you have to pick it out yourself since they do talk to us if we belong together)and figure out how you can hang a believe sign in your window. And actually there is a forth way to go, and that is to rid yourself of all the pretense and just let all the fear and hope and concerns and joy at successes hang out for all to see. I guess you have that last one down pat and in spades. I wish the best for you and Laurie and all the others out there who are taking so much strength from you.

Sent by Beryl Rullman | 2:16 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Edges

When we walk to the edge of all the light we have

And take a step into the darkness of the unknown,

We must believe one of two things will happen——

There will be something SOLID for us to stand on

Or we will be taught how to fly.

Patrick Overton

This helped me survive my cancer treatment.

Judy Collins, "One Day at a Time" with a large calendar, on which I marked off each day of radiation help me survive it.

Sent by Erma Brewer | 2:18 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Well, my days are filled with my two boys, ages four and six, both adopted from Guatemala. When I?m not breaking up fights, picking up toys, yelling at them or playing with them, I think about how I have to go on for them. I know that isnt much help but I guess my point is staying busy. I know that isnt always easy when you feel crummy. Even though I have been on chemo since I was diagnosed 18 months ago, my chemo has always been every 3-4 weeks so I have recovery time. I dont know how it is to have chemo day after day and know it must be tough to get up and realize it is time for another round.

The only advice I would offer is to request to have a mediport placed. You mentioned your arm gets numb with the chemo. I think it is really hard on your veins. Having a mediport (also called a port-a-cath) at least makes getting the chemo physically easier.

My thoughts and prayers remain with you.

Sent by Andi Daschbach | 2:19 PM ET | 08-14-2006

As a mother of an adolescent, the child looks to you to make the best choice for or against treatment. As a mother, you want whatever chance at life the physician offers, and you will take the choice no matter the statistics. In the end, and for decades after the end, you change how you would have made those decisions. I wanted my child... but at what price?

Sent by Georgeann Ellison | 2:20 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I am going through chemo myself right now. I get through it with the help of great family and friend support. We just know there are good and bad days and try to be positive. I hate the chemo but I love my family!

Sent by Sheila | 2:22 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Laughter is such a blessing when you feel chemo-down. I watch Curb Your Enthusiasm videos and they make me laugh out loud no matter how bad I feel. They are hilarious. Also the Seinfeld videos are great for good belly laughing.

Reading "western fiction" such as Rick Bass and Ivan Doig take me completely away from myself and if I am not able to concentrate on beautiful writing like theirs I?ll read light mysteries.

I feel better about doing chemo when I do some things for myself that seem to lessen the side effects. It helps me to feel more in control and more hopeful. There are quite a few research backed herbal and alternative medicine options that mitigate many of the side effects, and TONS of ideas out there that are not backed by any solid research at all. Checking out via the Internet which are valid and taking those has been a big help to me.

You have alot of people praying for you, thinking of you, sending you their good vibes including myself. Imagine all of us in a circle around you tomorrow giving you a big hug!

Sent by Nancy O. | 2:23 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Ginger snaps were my salvation, they quelled the nausea, I found I needed to have strong tasting things to cover the metal mouth taste. I also tried re-framing?every time I felt a reaction I would say to myself "I know this means the chemo is working I can feel it killing cells," it helped me to deal with the side effects telling myself they were a sign of the chemo working.

Sent by Elizabeth Hendrix | 2:24 PM ET | 08-14-2006

My sister has done thirty-six rounds of chemo in her life and is looking at doing more. What helped her get through each one was to listen to her favorite music with those big bulky headphones that block out all the outside noise. She would play it loud enough to block out the nausea. She also eats her favorite babyfood. I know it sounds funny, but Hawaiian delight, vanilla custard pudding, and bananas go down really well. She also likes to wear a chilled sleeping mask. You can find it in the beauty section in some stores.

She tried some positive imagery to block out those negative thoughts and mental pictures that she would have during her lowest of the low times.

You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Sent by Julie | 2:29 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Sources of comfort: rilkes, "letters to a young poet," poetry by Rumi, hot chocolate made with milk in a large ceramic cup (to be cradled with bliss), fresh air and breezes, cardigans and broken-in shoes, vienna fingers, gingerbread, peanut butter, finger painting and drawing with craypas, classical music, tunes by James Taylor, Glen Phillips, Sarah Maclachlan, Bonnie Raitt, Patty Griffin, Jenny Lewis, and Sufjan Stevens, surrounding yourself with warm colors, dreaming, lakes and streams, birds chirping, greenery and understanding the brilliance in flowers, films: the sound of music, Mrs. Doubtfire, Mary Poppins, You?ve Got Mail. Sunshine, rain, journaling by hand with a lovely pen and crisp pages.

You are doing a beautiful job with sharing your journey. All my blessings.

Sent by Jehan | 2