Thanks for this story. I?ve had cancer three times... thanks for everything- this is so right on!

Sent by Meredith | 12:29 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I am not a cancer patient, and although you are, you will never be Leroy Cancer patient to me, ever. Nor will my friend. I have been accompanying this friend to her chemotherapy appointments for the past four months. We often bring a picnic lunch and sit around for hours talking, as toxic chemicals drip into her body.

My husband recently told me that it is very kind of me to accompany my friend on these four to six hour marathons. I?m kind? If anybody is kind, it is my friend for allowing me to be there. I have learned more from this friend than I have from anybody I?ve ever known about facing my own fears of illness and death. I have learned to confront my own mortality. I have understood what it means to be one?s own advocate. I have also learned what it means to truly live, to really fight, to completely engage (with a person, with an issue, with a plan), all things I thought I was doing until I saw up close what it really means to do these them. I am so lucky to have the opportunity to go through this experience with my friend.

We who have the honor of accompanying another person on this voyage begin to see more rather than less of the person we accompany. Instead of seeing a cancer patient, we see intricate, beautiful sides of them, sides that we had never had the privilege of seeing before they had cancer. We discover things about ourselves that we never saw or understood about ourselves before. The people we accompany on this journey become more complex and less two-dimensional to us. We see them as they truly are and we share more of ourselves as a result. Thank you, Leroy, for all that you have shared with us— the many wonderful, intricate sides to your personality that have allowed us to get to know such a courageous, complex, beautiful man.

Sent by Christine Ristaino | 12:31 PM ET | 08-14-2006

My prayers and thoughts are with you and your family. Thank you for sharing your time, thoughts and putting it all in writing for us. Thank you for being a journalist.

Sent by Joyce Moore | 12:33 PM ET | 08-14-2006

You should do what you want to do, not what you think you ought to do. In my view, we patients don?t "owe" anyone any explanation at all: if you want to tell him, tell him; if not, don?t.

For Pete?s sake, do what makes you happy— at this point, you have certainly earned that privilege.

And don?t worry about what your friends may be thinking. Isn?t it hard enough to get your own thoughts in order? And you know what? What your friends are thinking, are all good thoughts about you.

You?re doing fine.

Sent by David Larsen | 12:38 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy, I can?t wrap my head around Leroy Cancer Patient no matter how much I try. For me, you will always be the brilliant writer whose Nightline emails meant so much to me when I was going through a rough patch. I could even tell within a sentence or two if you had written it or if there was a substitute that day. I started sharing your words with friends and had quite a fan club going. I had moved to Los Angeles for six months of alternative treatment by a noted Chinese acupuncture physician, for a benign but inoperable brain tumor. Since he shared my political views and it was during the 1999 presidential election, I took a copy of your email to him each day and was teased about my Chinese boyfriend named Roy Le. I still have the benign brain tumor and another one appeared two years ago. There is a 50-50 chance they will become malignant. I try to take joy in every day realizing how blessed I am having only to deal with the pain. I have only told a few friends because I don?t want to be thought of as a brain tumor victim. My heart goes out to you and Laurie, and I remember you both in my prayers.

Sent by Jane Curtiss | 12:40 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy- Even though I am aware of your situation, you?re still Leroy to me. Do something nice for yourself this weekend and keep up the good fight going forward!

Sent by Joe Regan | 12:42 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Your information is yours alone to share, or not share, as you choose. If you decide not to bare your soul to a stranger, please feel no guilt.

I have a friend with stage IV colorectal cancer with liver, bone, breast, and lung mets. Thank you for sharing your story here, it helps me to know better what I can do (and not do) for my friend.

You sound very down today. Know that I think of you and wish you well every day. I hope that knowing you are helping others through this blog helps you to feel a bit better.

Sent by Beth Nelson | 12:43 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Another spot-on piece of writing. Saying the same old "cancer story" can be such a chore, and like you say, it?s just easier not to bother! Or if you do tell a stranger they are just bowled over and don?t know what to do. Thanks again - another great post.

Sent by Julian Evans | 12:44 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy, I am truly sorry to see the road you have had to travel. After watching my mother dwindle away for two years, I thought nothing could be so horrible. That was before THE phone call. When the doctor starts with, "I?m sorry to tell you this...", you know it won?t be good. Stage IV metastatic cancer was all I remember before I fell to my knees. It was just a couple years after spending nine months nursing my mother along and certainly I was much too young for this. I especially appreciate the "survivor guilt" concept you speak of. I have just passed three years from my diagnosis and October 8 I will be celebrating three years cancer free. Yet, when I read stories from warriors like you, I feel a sense of guilt that doesn?t allow me to celebrate because of the many that have not fared as well. Best wishes to you, my unknown friend and member of the "Club Nobody Wants to Join." May your days be filled with love and happiness.

Sent by Ed Brown | 12:45 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy, I had a similar conversation with my boss this week. He was going to have a video conference with someone who I?ve worked closely with in past years. We both knew that my name might come up in the pre- or post-meeting chat. I thought that it wouldn?t be fair to spring my health news during a meeting with a different agenda. We can all work that at a time and place that is comfortable for us.

By the way, if I may be so bold as to speak for more than just myself you are Leroy Eloquent Journalist to most of your blog readers... not Leroy Cancer Patient. And were glad you felt well enough to write for us today.

Sent by Sheara | 12:46 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy? Was today a bad day? I read your blog daily, and know that some days are better than others. When you don?t show, I worry, as I am sure, do others. Let us know how you are. One day at a time. We need you as much (more, maybe than) you need us.

Sent by Stephanie | 12:47 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I know what you mean. After chemo, when my hair started growing back, I?d get comments from people who didn?t know I have cancer, about my great "hair cut" and I would just say thanks, rather than go into the whole explanation. It felt good to be thought of as someone with a stylish hairdo. It was almost like being normal. I found out a couple of days ago that I have a recurrence (stage three ovarian cancer) and will be starting chemo soon. I will be in a clinical trial, and I hope to help someone in the future with this cancer. I guess that?s "normal."

Sent by Helen Flint | 12:59 PM ET | 08-14-2006

This blog resounds with me more than almost any other. I tried to explain to a friend who was hovering around me when I went back to school, and shed made many solicitous but annoying comments about how worried she was for me in front of the parents of children in our school, that I just wanted to be treated like a "regular person." Then later, because she didn?t get that, and kept telling me how worried she was for me (in front of other people,) I found and used the word "normalize." I said I just wanted conversation in front of other people that helped me to normalize my situation, NOT bring attention. I already feel singled out by wearing a hat and being bald!

The facilitator of our support group helped me see that I should not have to spend so much energy reassuring other people that I am okay (even when I dont feel okay.) Makes sense and now I?m cutting back on my tendency to spend tons of energy reassuring others that Im alright.

People who know how to talk to us will ask how we are doing and then begin to normalize the conversation: speak to us as you would to anyone else, to people who are NOT doing chemo, to people who do not have cancer.

Thanks for all the work, all the effort behind these thoughts you share with the rest of us.

Sent by Nancy Oliveri | 1:04 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I just read your latest blog. Whatever you do, try not to let yourself feel guilty about that guy - or anything for that matter. For guilt IS hell! That goes for all of us. Might I suggest getting away from it all by watching again the funniest movie you?ve ever seen that you can recall. Time for some laughs between the seriousness of your treatments. We all need more laughs in life. And just so you know, some of us don?t see you as Leroy the "C" patient, but as a wonderful, expressive brother who so courageously conveys to us his thoughts, feelings & gamut of emotions through this journey called the "Life of Leroy". And the blessing for many of us is having the opportunity after seeing your name on so many Nightline e-mails that detected a connection by your words for so long, to now feel an even closer connection to you by your current writings. Many thanks and know that our love and thoughts are extended to you and your loved ones on a daily basis. You are not alone... allow yourself to feel and take it to a deeper knowing of that realization.

Sent by Sheron | 1:05 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Hmm. When I first discovered your blog I did two things — told my mom (two time survivor) and looked for anything else you?d written/done.

It?s funny how different things in our life take the spotlight in defining us. You?re a student, you?re a wife, you?re suddenly overnight, Harry?s mom. You?re a patient. You have cancer.

Your blog is an amazing window into one part of your life. I often wonder what book you just finished reading, where you last went on vacation, what your wife/kids are like, who your favorite NPR announcer is, what it must have been like to produce Nightline, and millions of other things. The whole is so much greater than the sum of the parts.

And, finally, my mom is my mom, not Sally Cancer Patient.

Sent by Cindy | 1:07 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I think they think of you as Leroy. I knew you had battled the cancer already when I arrived at Nightline but you were always Leroy to me. Leroy the boss, Leroy the jokester, but never just Leroy the cancer.

My godfather has cancer again and is in Chemo again... it was a struggle for him to come to my wedding but to be truthful I didnt think once about the cancer the whole night, not when I danced with him nor when I talked to him. It was wonderful.

Leroy, you have a gift, you are in a position to tell people about your experience with cancer and the toll it is taking on your body. Every day is precious. I lost my father-in-law to necrotizing fasciitis and when I think about him I don?t remember the hospitals or the treatments. What I remember is the strength and courage he showed each day. It gave us an opportunity to get to know each other. The blog your friend wrote the other day really touched me.

So, in summary... don?t you dare think about shutting yourself off from the world. Your smile, advice, humor and wisdom will be cherished by those you touch now.

Love,

Fall 2003 Intern

Sent by Jennifer Ellett | 1:09 PM ET | 08-14-2006

After finishing treatment for rectal cancer, my husband fell while running with our new puppy. The injury he sustained resulted in wearing a sling for almost two weeks. Now falling into a hole while running was a bit embarrassing for him, taking the spotlight off his cancer recovery was a welcome change. Instead of CancerMan, as we lovingly call him, he got to be "Klutz who hurt his elbow." He enjoyed his respite very much!

Sent by Andrea Clay | 2:26 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy, I feel it quite ironic that you should ever have to be concerned about playing hooky. As Executive Producer of Nightline you worked from 9 or 10 in the morning until after the show went off the air each night at 1205a.m., staying even later for emails. You did this five days a week for years.

I suppose the lesson is that no one gets a break for past efforts. No special treatment. The big lie is that we would have to do that for everybody. No, we wouldn?t. It would have been fitting for the show to carry you for a while, as you have carried it on your back. But this was, apparently, not to be.

I often think late at night, of the chances we all took in the name of Nightline, how you and others (much more so than I) risked your very lives on a daily basis in war zones and indeed with the stresses of statesside assignments. Where is the pension for that?

I realize that life is change.I know it?s easy to be hard about it and say "thats life" and "its that way everywhere in every profession". I have heard that "you are only as good as your last story." I have even heard "Well, that?s show biz." But I have always felt that that attitude never fully answered this question. "I gave you the best of me, can you now give something back when I am less than my best?" Are we strong enough to help when someone is down?

I think we need to cultivate that idea.

I am wondering about the feelings of all your fellow cancer patients who need to play hooky. Are we accepting enough of someone being debilitated? Why shouldnt we be more accepting? How can we be? As a society I mean. Let them miss days. There are ways of coping with that. Productivity wont fall off a cliff. Isnt cancer enough of a doctors note?

- Nightline Editor

Sent by Michael Proser | 2:47 PM ET | 08-14-2006

I know just what you mean. Cancer costs us so much, not the least of which is our identity. It?s hard to understand until it happens to you, how much you would miss normal. You can briefly forget or pretend, but it?s hard to get anyone else to forget. When you try to continue with life as youve known it, you become "brave, amazing". Sounds good, but its tiresome. Everyone means well, but... it?s tiresome. You want to scream "Hey, this is still me. I?m here. I?m as normal as you are. Can we just get past it for a while?"

My advice to well meaning friends and acquaintances is to not be afraid to talk about your friends challenges and health issues, but don?t bring it up every day. Sometimes have a whole conversation when it doesn?t come up. Sometimes just shoot the breeze, trade gossip, have some fun. Try to forget or do a good job pretending. A day or even an hour of forgetting is like coming up for air to someone whos sick of being a tragic figure.

I hope you have some of those wonderful normal days. Good luck with the treatments, Leroy.

Sent by Laura Ray | 2:49 PM ET | 08-14-2006

Leroy, my husband is just shy of the five year mark (whatever that means! but yahoo anyway!) He has had several bouts with not feeling well in the past few years and has always gone to the place where the cancer is back. Thankfully he has been wrong everytime. In between visits this spring, his anxiety was particularly high... he lost weight, we lost someone very close very quickly to this disease. But when he had his tests and last visit the oncologist came about as close as he ever did to saying he beat this thing.

I don?t think of him as the cancer patient or survivor these days. He got a wicked a sinus infection about a month ago... I laughed as I told him it was just a sinus infection... and it was— again lucky him, lucky us.

I do know what you mean because for awhile all anyone including him and I saw him as was a cancer patient and a sick one at that. It is great to see him as someone who just has a cold.

I wish you and Laurie lots of colds... thanks for doing what you do.

Sent by Terry Keegan | 8:55 AM ET | 08-15-2006

I have just noticed this site while "surfing". As a cancer survivor of seven years and voluntary co-ordinator of a support group in Australia, I just want to say thank you. Your story will inspire many. You have the ability to put into words what many of us feel, but cannot explain. I will continue to keep you in my thoughts and prayers Leroy and wish you a life of rainbows, happiness, hope and humour.

Sent by Lyn Smith | 8:59 AM ET | 08-15-2006

It is my opinion that attitude has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you overcome cancer. I think that the people who never seem to have a good day in between treatments and that let everybody know about it stand every bit as much of a chance as the ones who are cheerful and positive in spite of everything. I hate it when people tell me not to be negative. What does that mean? Just because I have cancer, I can?t have fears and doubts like everybody else? Since when does my cancer make me a saint? Actually I rarely complain, but when I do, it would be nice if someone just said "You go girl! Life is crap for you right now and just get it out!"

Sent by Patricia Buchanan | 9:00 AM ET | 08-15-2006

I have cancer, too. It is not something that is threatening my life it is more like a dark cloud that is always on the horizon for me. I have follicular lymphoma, I have had my first treatments, and am now in that wonderful watchful waiting mode. I am a teacher, and my students and colleagues all want a day-by-day report on "how am I doing." I am truthful every time, but it is tiring to be this way. I have to be truthful, because I have heard from people who had heard that I was on death?s door... much to my surprise.

I am working hard to be normal, but I am finding that I must carve out a new normal for me. My new normal is based on a sense of personal mortality that I did not have before. My wife is a breast cancer survivor, and I guess I had a focus on her living... I never believed my wife would die of breast cancer. I understand now how much I want to do during my time on earth, and my days have become very important to me.

Sent by Scott Bauserman | 9:34 AM ET | 08-15-2006

Leroy, I knew you would keep fighting and I?m really glad — you know your friends are rooting for you, and will provide chocolate, prayers, flowers, ridiculous jokes, sympathy and whatever will help — if only I could devise a cure, or had some scientific skill to have done it many years ago, long before we all starting losing loved ones to this horrific disease!

Many many hugs!

Sent by Margie Siegel | 9:35 AM ET | 08-15-2006

I heard Leroy being interviewed last week, I think, and several people called in to comment. One woman commented on how she found herself comforting and thinking others and how they would react to her news of cancer. Recently diagnosed with skin cancer (luckily the doc caught the melanoma early enough), I could relate. I haven?t told that many people about it, but I held off telling one friend about it because she was going through a stressful time and I worried that it would distract her or cause her to worry. Why DO some of us carry the burden so as not to burden others... our friends and loved ones who are angry when they learn that we DIDN?T tell them?

Sent by Hilary Pritchett | 9:50 AM ET | 08-15-2006

I have always, and will always, think of you as Obnoxious Liberal Guy, but only in the kindest and most conservative way! Your friend, the Moderate Republican...

Sent by Mary Gail Swenson | 11:41 AM ET | 08-15-2006

Leroy,

I am currently in treatment for stage IV (recurrent) breast cancer with mets to the right lung, right thigh and left eye. I also have "lied" many times in the past year to concerned co-workers and friends. I only told three co-workers about my "illness," but word got around fast. My co-worker/friends are great but, I was so tired of being asked "how do you feel today?" and being told how strong I was. I just want to be normal. Thank you so much for sharing your feelings, I thought I was the only one who felt this way. A few weeks ago I got an all clear report from my PET scan so things are more "normal" at work. Keep up the good work and keep on fighting!

Sent by Sherri Kane | 10:30 AM ET | 08-21-2006