I beg all cancer patients and survivors to read the book, acclaimed by the New York Times, called The China Project by Dr. T. Colin Campbell. It is not religious. I ask they also look at www.hacres.com. It is religious but people can ignore that part.

Sent by Debra Smith | 9:58 AM ET | 08-03-2006

If YOU think you can...guess what? You can. Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.

Sent by Marilyn | 10:02 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Good Morning Leroy;

These days I wear talismans of hope — a yellow LiveSTRONG wristband, a battered silver locket around my neck (which contains pictures of my wife and children and the inscription — "we love you"). These things I "hump" around are reminders that life at present has a bittersweet quality — holding this prognosis in one hand and enjoying life in the other. I find most days I shed a manly tear or two — things catch you unexpectedly. On a positive note this cancer also reduces a lot of life's travails to trivia, things to brush over.

I wish you the very best — like many others you have become a daily part of my routine — checking up on your progress. Noding sagely at your elequence. One point — if this blog becomes too much, drop it, let it go — you have enough to deal with without carrying our baggage as well.

Sent by Julian Evans | 10:04 AM ET | 08-03-2006

What an outstanding piece of work and what a gift your blog is to all of us who faithfully read it everyday. I recently had a dear friend, Cruz Flores, who passed away on Father's day from a two-year struggle with cancer. It was after that I found your blog. Your reflections help me to understand what my friend may have been going through and for that I am grateful. What a service you are providing for your fellow travelers on this road called life. In my daily meditations, in my mind, I picture those people in my life who maybe need me to carry them in my heart for a while. I am carrying you, Leroy, in my heart for now... Thank you.

Sent by Suzanne German | 10:05 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Leroy, I have been reading your blog since you started. Many times I have started a reply, but stopped before I hit the "submit" key. I want you to know how wonderful it is to read your thoughts. There are few people I can talk to who wont be hurt by a frank discussion and who understand. Your blog is a "support group" which validates my feelings and lets me know that I am not alone.

I found out that I have stage 4 breast cancer about a year ago. It's not any fun. I have young children, a husband, siblings and friends. I hump them around with me always.

Despite my difficult "official" prognosis, I continue to do better than I expected. I hope the same for you.

Sent by Fran | 10:06 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Keep humping! For you, for your family, and, to some degree, for all of us.

Sent by Billy Combs | 10:07 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Leroy — your blog, your words, and the opportunity you provide to all of us who read and participate in this on-line support group — is one of the more valuable uses of the internet. You are providing a place where the thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, and feelings of those with cancer and of those who care for those with cancer are validated. This very fact is so therapeutic on so many different levels. It makes the "humping" so much more doable for all of us. Thank you.

Sent by Joel Widder | 10:51 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Leroy:

I had ovarian cancer at 39 followed by breast cancer at 40. At the same time, my husband was dying of multiple sclerosis.

I have always said you don't beat cancer you try to learn to live with it, even if you have recovered.

You are facing a hard battle and the choices aren't easy. I know friends who did well on experimental chemotherapy. Others didn't. It's like you are betting your survival during a poker game.

If you know something worked a bit, you might want to try it. You'll know pretty soon if it is worthwhile at this stage. If not, try something else.

Whatever you choose, feel at peace with the decision. That's all any of us can hope for.

My best wishes go out to you.

Sent by Pamela | 10:54 AM ET | 08-03-2006

Cancer overarches everything. But it need not overwhelm. Keep humping!

Sent by David Larsen | 1:42 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Leroy,

You continue to be an inspiration to all of us fellow travelers even more so this week as you courageously navigate through your choices -? the choices most of us will or have faced. I hope that our responses, our hopes and our prayers provide to you and Laurie some measure of strength in return. I will be listening to you this afternoon.

Sent by Sheara | 1:44 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Thank you Leroy for sharing your story with us. I wish you a full and speedy recovery.

Sent by Michael Sylvan | 1:47 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Leroy,

I too am "humping" around with a very rare kind of cancer called Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma. It mostly affects the facial area, so I had to have my nose removed in May, 1999. I wear prosthesis now. The cancer also came back in my left upper gums and in the lining of my brain. I have had three major surgeries and major doses of radiation. I know having cancer isn't a walk in the park.

I am currently a patient at M D Anderson Cancer Clinic in Houston, Texas, my hometown. Even though I have a "defect" area in the middle of my face, life goes on. I have become myself "one of those people" who other adults take a second shocked glance at or little kids ask you what happened to your nose.

Everyday, that I live, I am thankful. There is no known cure for my cancer; however, I am enrolled in a clinical trial where they are "throwing" every known experimental drug at me. To stay alive, I still go to work everyday and just answer any question about my type of cancer with open honesty. Some people have actually said to me, "I would rather die than go through what you are going through." Not exactly a Hallmark greeting card is it? LOL.

Keeping a positive attitude along with a deep spiritual-based faith will keep you alive longer than you think. I have already out-lived my life expectancy with this approach. Just remember that your body responds to what you are thinking.

Good luck and God Bless You!

Sent by Larry Hamm | 1:49 PM ET | 08-03-2006

It seems everything and all experiences in life have one purpose: to bring us closer to our true self and in turn to God. It is not always clear when we live life in a slumber state. Getting closer to God can seem mundane and trivial and sometimes it is big and scary like war or cancer. Unfortunately because of our limits we all come to realize there are no answers, only choices. We can choose to see or not. We can choose to trust God or not. Thank you for sharing your journey with all of us. May God's peace be with you.

Sent by Robert Pitter | 2:54 PM ET | 08-03-2006

I am not the least bit interested in sharing Mr. Sievers' cancer and consequently will not be listening. I have been there, done that! Even if I had not, why would I wish to travel that journey with a stranger? How is it that his experiences are somehow more significant or important then anyone else's with cancer?

P.S. I hate the word "survivor" in the context of cancer, at least for me.

Sent by Debbie Comstock | 2:58 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Unrelated points from a pulmonologist:

1. On the first visit, I always show the patient the chest x-ray and always make a point to say the word "cancer". Still, patients often don't hear it. People are ready to hear things at different times.

2. There is no counseling for the health care provider and at times it feels like emotions are subject to p.t.s.d. (post traumatic...) Nonetheless...

3. With all the strains and pressures, it is a privilege to take care of these patients. I meet people and five minutes later I am intimately involved in their lives. For me, it is an honor and an interesting "slice of life."

Sent by Tom Shragg, M.D. | 3:38 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Leroy, your voice belies your condition. I loved hearing you on "Talk of the Nation" today. You sound so confident and strong. All your comments were so worthwhile. Especially on how you encounter other peoples' responses to your cancer. I think people don't know what to say because we are so afraid of dying. Better to never talk about it, be optimistic. Since deaths are so often "managed" in the hospital, people don't get a first hand experience of what dying is like.

Keep up the great work of bringing illness into our daily dialogue. Your open and honest approach are wonderful.

Sent by Nancy W. Hooyman, M.D. | 3:44 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Good luck Leroy. Heard your show on Talk of the Nation. Thank you. I have a friend how has cancer, and I'm so impressed with her positive attitude. It helps me to look at how much attitude affects everything, and not to sweat the small stuff. Thanks again.

Sent by Sara Harris | 3:45 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Speaking as someone whose family and friends are technicians and nurses/caregivers I'd like to offer an alternative interpretation of the "not able to say the word" thing. I think technicians like that treat the C word much like Jewish tradition treated the name of God. It is not said. In the case of the divine name it is to preserve the mystery and transcendent quality. In the case of cancer it is like the name of the devil. The word itself being radioactive, the healthcare worker seeks to keep the devil at the door. Not even allowing the fears to enter into the picture with the invocation of that loaded word.

Sent by Eric | 3:48 PM ET | 08-03-2006

About being unable to "deal with" a friends bad news about their health:

Although I know it was with good intentions that the caller suggested "you don't deserve that" and an offer of help when an acquaintance or friend reveals they have cancer, in my own experience there is no such universally appropriate response.

Different people need different things, and when their circumstances are extraordinary to ones own experience, determining the appropriate response to their news can require extraordinary mental effort.

While I believe this effort is a duty that we owe others, I cannot require that they be up to the effort at any moment of my chosing. If they need time to decide how best to incorporate my situation into our relationship, I hope that I would understand.

Full disclosure: I speak not as a cancer survivor, but as one who has had many other life threatening experiences, and who has lost many friends and family to cancer and other diseases.

Sent by Lauren Horn | 3:49 PM ET | 08-03-2006

I listened to you on "Talk Of The Nation" this afternoon. During this interview you mentioned some of side effects you are experienceing from chemo. While I was on chemo I was told to drink green tea and walk. This proved to be the best advice I could have ever receive.

It's not a cure nor is it going to save your life but what it will do is make chemo more bareable.

Hope this works as well for you as it has for me.

Sent by Paul A. Porter | 3:50 PM ET | 08-03-2006

Two years ago my best friend died from pancreatic cancer and my mom, whom I would have thought kryptonite couldn't touch, has lung cancer. I have thought about having her read your blogs but cancer is not the miracle that makes our difficult relationship smoother, so I'm not sure how shed feel about that, and so I don't. But reading them helps me and I can only hope writing them helps you. Thank you for sharing and my prayers go with you.

Sent by Dianna Austin | 9:42 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Leroy, thank you for sharing your experience fighting cancer, and being such an inspiration to others. You have the attitude I hope I have when faced with adversity... be positive, logical, honest and caring. You conveyed a very earthy content of character, I wish you very well.

Sent by Marilyn Benedict | 9:44 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Mary, here. My husband George had a glioblastoma multiforme diagnosis in March 2004.

George tried traditional and nontraditional therapies. But the best therapy was just "living" each day — not being consumed with "battling cancer". We drank wine, devoured my homemade hot fudge sundaes when we wanted, traveled. He wrote poems and we hung out with family and friends.

We didn't expect this diagnosis. Funny, when we were in Florence, we stood behind a couple — about our age, in their 50s. The wife had mentioned something to the effect that "if I live until I'm 70." The husband replied, "Honey, don't worry. We're going to live a long time." George and I smiled at each other. No one knows what is around the bend. We can only live the hand were dealt with with as much life and grace and love as possible. Good luck to you on this journey... you really don't know where it will lead. George had the most beautiful death 15 months after his diagnosis. We were lucky to live as consciously as we did. Gratitude was our practice, and it served us well.

Sorry for rambling. Your interview this afternoon touched me in many ways.

Sent by Mary Murphy | 9:46 AM ET | 08-04-2006

When I read your story about what we hump, I thought to myself, what do I hump since my cancer diagnosis? Strangely, I carry a picture of the virgin Mary, a funeral card of a co-worker's husband whose died of leukemia and it said "A cure was not to be had", a coin that has the serenity prayer, a bracelet with the word courage on it given to me by three dear friends, a bracelet with love-hope-live on it— these are the things that I hump. I did wear a yellow band and pink one for a while, but those seem shallow to me now.

Thank you again for sharing your story. I am sorry to hear your current regime is not kicking it. May the next one kick some major cancer booty.

Enjoy every sandwich.

Sent by Fitz | 9:49 AM ET | 08-04-2006

I found out that I had kidney cancer (6 mm/stage 1) in July 2005 and had a radical right nephrectomy three weeks later.

I had been studying Buddhism for a few years and I think that made the most difference because it transformed my attitude about everything.

One of my aunts called and was very upset about my cancer and asked, "How do these things get inside us?"

My reply was that I felt that my cancer was just as divine as the rest of me and that it wasnt a "foreign invader" sent to kill me.

I also felt I was so much better "equipped" to handle it than I was before and I felt blessed that I had the cancer rather than someone else whom wouldn't be able to cope with it.

I have two children, ages 10 and 13, and the only time I would get upset was when I thought about them being without me, or that I might not be around to teach them to drive, or something like that.

I know this perhaps sounds crazy and it doesnt make sense, but this is how I feel.

Good luck.

Sent by Jay Johnson | 9:57 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Thank you so much for sharing your experiences. You are lifting others up by exposing your vulnerabilities and that is both an act of courage and an accomplishment. You are giving me hope during a time when there is none. Thank you again.

Sent by Gwen Everman | 10:09 AM ET | 08-04-2006

I'll be reading your blog every day. I'll be pulling for you no matter what the outcome along the way! I heard you on NPR today. I wish I could give you a big hug! I'm not a religious or even a spiritual person, but I still care.

Sent by Sherri Yauk | 10:10 AM ET | 08-04-2006

I heard you today on NPR "Talk of the Nation" and wish to thank you for commenting on the stresses associated with oncology nursing (and medicine). I am an oncology research nurse, dealing mostly with Phase I-II trial patients who had failed all prior therapies. Two years ago, I had a breakdown of sorts, and quit working in that capacity. Typically oncology nurses work at a pace that precludes any debriefing between patients,causing most RNs to go home with their days very much on their minds. Now I continue to have interest in oncology nursing, but not in the same kind of position.

I applaud what you are doing. You have a voice that is real, articulate, and appreciated.

Sent by Lora Wilson | 10:11 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Thank you so much for sharing your journey. Would it be too goofy to say I'm praying for you? I'm doing something — call it prayer, call it sending good energy — probably me and everyone else reading your thoughtful pieces. I'm a writer and I've been working on a play inspired by my many friends who've had cancer (breast cancer being predomient) — that's how I stumbled upon your blog. I don't want to be presumptuous in my play, so reading your account is helping keep me true and honest. Anyway, thank you again. Keep humpin' that load, and we're right there beside you.

Sent by Nancy B. | 10:12 AM ET | 08-04-2006

May I offer the hope that is in Christ?

"But as for me, I trust in You, O LORD I say, 'You are my God.'

My times are in Your hand deliver me from the hand of my enemies,

and from those who persecute me." (Psalm 31:13, 14)

TRUST ME FOR YOUR LIFE

You will not always be

where I have you for now.

The time will come to move on.

No need to fear the unknown,

for My presence is wherever you are.

Though many changes come your way,

I never change. My promises and words

are always true, always with you.

Do not forget what really comes

first in your life.

Be thankful for the life I give you

for each new day.

Use it for My glory!

-Constance Vanides

Sent by Constance Vanides | 10:14 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Wow, my aunt just called me long distance to give me your blog. I was recently diognosed with breast cancer, and she thought your site would interest me. I read it, and can't believe how you have written everything I have felt over the last three months. From the grief, to how to be with people, golden moments of forgetting about it, the scans, and the fear of the unknown. You so hit the nail on the head. I've had 3 sessions of chemo... and this last one really knocked me for a loop. Surgery is to come later. I have another mass in my abdominal area, and no one is quite sure what it is. That unknown is a monster!

Sent by Cindy Hellmann | 10:16 AM ET | 08-04-2006

I have just returned from the hospital having received a very expensive (so they told me) shot to help keep my blood level up.

As they approached me with the colorful package, I commented, "so what is this junk you are giving me now?"

And the rather stern nurse said, "Have a little respect, this junk costs $10,000," to which I said well I am worth it.

I have been battling N.H. Lymphoma for ten years— am sick of needles and maintenance drugs, etc.

Thought I was doing O.K. at 78, then only four weeks ago, I was told I now had "small cell carcanoma" with a rather large tumor attached to my spine.

Of all the nerve, now I have to start a whole new lot of dope and chemo... just when I got used to the other one.

The thing I hate most is, when you meet people that know you have cancer they always say... but you look so well.

Sent by Kenneth Richards | 10:19 AM ET | 08-04-2006

I listened to your broadcast on Talk of the Nation today. A number of the things said by you and the callers rang a bell. I was diagnosed and treated for Stage III colon cancer last year and was, and am, the picture of health. The doctors even seemed shocked when they told me. At fifty years of age, I never have been sick and stayed active during my chemo treatments. I found it very difficult to share my cancer with anyone beyond my husband, our teenagers, immediate family and a few close girlfriends. And I never talked about it with anyone, including those named above. I am very private and I never wanted to be the source of conversation or concern by people, particularly my large extended family. Oddly, there is guilt associated with having cancer. I never networked, blogged or did the support group stuff but appreciate this opportunity to write my comments. It has seemed easier to remain optimistic and hopeful by not talking about my cancer. That said, it is very helpful to hear and read the thoughts of your audience. Thank you for sharing. I am sending all my good thoughts to you. I hope you continue to feel well and to pursue any and all options available. Bonne chance.

I've been a journalist for 30 years and— public image of the profession not withstanding— "hard" questions have never been a picnic for me. Short of smarmy politics— even then, sometimes— I don't take joy in making people squirm.

That's background.

Fast forward to Leroy's NPR broadcast Thursday p.m. I so wanted to pose a question, as one of two surviving members of a cancer-ridden family yet I hesitated, fearful that the query would seem too invasive of private thoughts and fears.

So I take a deep breath and throw this out for any/all. I'd be very grateful for your views.

When my dad was dying with cancer of the esophagus, it was evident that he thought of the disease as something separate and apart from other "illnesses."

Clearly, he hadn't contracted the flu, or had cardiac arrest— a condition he'd either contracted or had developed over time.

Rather he viewed himself as being eaten from within, and to him, I think, the great burden of the disease was his disgust and revulsion at that idea.

Is this notion something that strikes other cancer patients?

Grateful for your input...

Sent by D. Roberts | 10:20 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Unfortunately I missed the first part of your piece on Talk of the Nation today, so I don't know if these two comments were included.

1: There is an EXCELLENT resource for people when the first diagnosis is given, the book Choices by Morra and Potts. It covers the first critical time period after diagnosis with understandable descriptions, treatment options, questions to ask your physicians, Centers of Competence, and much much more. This book was a lifesaver to me. It is updated periodically and I have a copy at my desk. I have given many copies to friends struggling and searching for understanding. The toughest part for me was the time from diagnosis to deciding on the treatment regime- the no-man's land of uncertainity.

2: I was diagnosed with malignant melonoma in 1988. Looking back over that time in my life (easy to say now that I survived) it was life changing and an experience I would not have altered it even if I could have.

Cancer forced me to re-examine priorities and focus on what is really important to me. To realize that each day is God's gift not to be taken for granted. To know that the next routine visit to any of my physicians could turn out to be anything but routine.

Sent by William Kuschel | 10:24 AM ET | 08-04-2006

Leroy,

I listened to you on Talk of the Nation yesterday afternoon and just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed hearing you speak. One of the most overlooked elements of cancer patient/non-cancer patient relations is how to communicate with one another. It is odd that the patient actually ends up as the "comforter," while the relative/friend/acquaintance is the "comfortee."

In addition to the above, your candor and humor were much appreciated. I especially enjoyed the comment about "mov[ing] to a tropical island and tell[ing] the waiter to keep the Mai Tai's coming" only to become "the crazy old drunk guy on the beach" because you lived longer than your doctors predicted. (I know I did not get the quote right... hopefully it is close enough to what you actually said!)

I am not a cancer survivor. I have, however, been around individuals who were/are struggling with a particular form — some of the interaction has been more involved than others. I also did not serve in the Vietnam War. I was born in 1981. In spite of both of these things I understand (and can see) the correaltion between battling cancer and The Things They Carried. The likeness is also clear given the different stories, perspectives, affect-changes, explainations for why things happen, etc. I love this book for all the reasons listed above and more...

Best wishes, Leroy. Keep on "humping..."

Sent by Beth | 1:24 PM ET | 08-04-2006

Leroy, I read your 8/3 blog quite by accident— I had gone to the site for another reason and happened to be on it. I just wanted to thank you. Your words were just what I needed today. I believe they will help me and a loved one get through a rough spot. You probably touch more people than you realize. Take care.

Sent by Mary Kay | 7:02 AM ET | 08-07-2006

I just heard your program last week on NPR and could relate to the things you said as I'm in a similar situation with a "six-months to live" prognosis with metastatic prostate cancer.

I was diagnosed about a year and a half ago and have never felt any real symptoms, other than the changes with hormonal therapy.

I haven't gone back and read all your blogs, but I did want to mention one thing you or NPR listeners may not be aware of.

Have you looked into collecting "accelerated benefits" from your insurance company. Mine (Unum) claims that with a 12-months or less prognosis, one can collect half of your insured amount—if they approve it.

I'm just now looking into it, and it sounds like a good deal, if true.

Anyway, just thought you might want to mention it on your blog if you haven't yet.

Good luck.

Sent by Ed Hutchinson | 7:42 AM ET | 08-07-2006

On Thursday, August 3 I heard the last fifteen minutes of your interview on WPR. The strength, joy and clarity in your voice and ideas elevated and inspired those who listened to the program. Thank you for shaping your experiences with cancer into art, and sharing it with others. What a gracious gift you are giving back to life.

Sent by Mary Jo Malachs | 10:47 AM ET | 08-07-2006

Dear Mr. Sievers: I began reading your blog about a week ago and went back to read what I had missed. I have dealt with much cancer in my family over the years and I want you to know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. Reading your stories is an inspiration and you are helping countless others deal with their trials and tribulations. God Bless You... You are a brave man.

Sent by Linda Riesenbeck | 7:04 AM ET | 08-09-2006