You are not alone, and you are certainly making a difference in other peoples' lives, as you have all you life.

I have gotten in the habit of reading you every morning and the comments that follow help make my day better.

Sent by Cathy W. | 10:37 AM ET | 08-17-2006

I hope that you have also learned how much you do matter. You reach people who you will never meet and sharing your story means the world to them. Thank you.

You matter... two small words with quite a meaning.

Sent by Betsy | 10:39 AM ET | 08-17-2006

I stumbled upon your blog accidentally one day last week, read all the back entries and now I am hooked. I think your writing is very inspirational and it absolutely rings true to anyone who has had a loved one with cancer.

My mother passed away from cancer in 2001 when I was sixteen. Being so young, there was a lot about the disease I didn?t understand, especially the feelings that my mom was going through. I know everyone?s experience is different; however, your writing has helped me to understand a little bit better and a little more clear, what she was going through.

Your blog brings back memories both good and bad, but every memory of my mother is one that I cherish. Thank you for this opportunity. You are in my thoughts and prayers. I wish you all the best.

Sent by Kristina | 11:17 AM ET | 08-17-2006

I am very moved by Mr. Siever?s chronicle. He is indeed making a difference in my life. His thoughts give me better insight, one year post-chemo for my mom, when she was fighting breast cancer and I was caregiver. She is back to work on her sixty-acre Texas ranch and I am returned to a simple daughter. I wish Mr. Sievers and his loved ones the very best. His efforts are very much appreciated.

Sent by Karen Hankins | 11:39 AM ET | 08-17-2006

Leroy,

I am often reminded and moved by reading the various versions of The Dash Between. Your dash is certainly thick and all you are doing in sharing your journey is so inspriational to anyone who has had cancer or a loved one with cancer. For that matter, few of us can proclaim we have not in some way been affected by cancer. One thing I have learned in life is that to experience something and have the courage to share it in such a way that someone benefits from it is a goal all of us should have. Blessings and best wishes to you.

Sent by Ed Brown | 12:58 PM ET | 08-17-2006

You have impacted my life and the way I deal with my father's situation! Everything you write, each and every day, allows me to "see with my eyes wide open" what exactly my dad goes through and what a change for all. After reading your blog today, something hit me reall hard! I realized that what "we" all go through is similar to a "culture shock/change." Personaly, it has been much more difficult to lead life in such a different shape and form/style. When you talked today, it all fell into place. The whole thing about knowing what routes you can take on what days and why, knowing when you have to sleep in... simply put, knowing your limits in a whole other shape and form. We have to learn a whole differnt lifestyle, from the foods we can eat, being exceptionally clean (using the dishwasher as ooposed to washing by hand), all the things that we don't think about on a normal day to day basis. For me, this was and is the most difficult part of everything. I have learned to accept and deal with the hand we were dealt, but everyday is a different challenge and change/shock to our lives and culture. When I say culture, I mean more in reference to our family culture.

Thank you, again, Leroy for being someone, that although I will never meet or see in person, I can write to and keep in touch with. It's funny how someone who you will never meet and simply just write to, can have such influence on helping you deal and most of all understand in better ways such a complex subject like cancer.

Sent by Cristina Gonzalez | 1:01 PM ET | 08-17-2006

"But most importantly, from all of you, I?ve learned that I am not alone, and that I can still make a difference." Oh, you definitely make a difference to me and my buddies here with multiple myeloma— the patients, the caregivers, the families. We are hooked on your blogs, suffer when you suffer, and rejoice in your victories.

It?s a crazy community that we all woke up, one day, to find ourselves in, one that we did not ask to join, but here we are nonetheless. May as well make the best of it. Choose joy.

Sent by David Larsen | 8:33 AM ET | 08-18-2006

Not only are you not alone, you are helping many others to feel less so. I will repeat what have already written, thank you. Your honesty helps.

Sent by Jennifer | 8:35 AM ET | 08-18-2006

Dear Leroy,

You are definitely not alone. This extraordinary journal that you are sharing with all of us has made possible a large community connected to you and pulling for you each and every day of your life. Thank you for articulating the meaning of being a patient and for giving us all insight into your struggles and triumphs. We are all with you in spirit and will be forever.

Sent by Pat Stanley | 10:37 AM ET | 08-21-2006

I am what is described, I think, as a "lurker" (someone who reads but doesn't participate?) but I couldn't let your comment about making a difference go by. You make a tremendous difference in the lives of all who read you. I am in remission (my doctor's words) from breast cancer but cancer colors my life everyday. Reading your words inspires me daily and helps me remember all of the good that can come from the worst situations. May God continue to bless you with the grace you show so abundantly.

Sent by Gail Walker | 1:48 PM ET | 08-21-2006

But most importantly, from all of you, I've learned that I am not alone, and that I can still make a difference.

That understatement made me smile, reminding me of your daily Nightline emails. Oh how I loved hearing from you, relishing your turn of phrase or sly humor!! And now Im reading a blog entitled My Cancer and it all seems so, so wrong.

I'm sorry you have cancer, Leroy. I feel incapable of saying anything that will provide you comfort, let alone relief. All I can say is thank you. By sharing your life so publicly, you've given a new freedom to all of us who live with cancer in one way or another. When I read the comments posted here I often gasp, or cry what intimacy among strangers. Remarkable, really. And I'm grateful beyond measure to you for creating this community.

I pray you are given whatever you need during this time, Leroy, be it more late-night refrigerator raids or fewer walks to the doctor. May God bless you.

Sent by D.M. Slivka | 2:05 PM ET | 08-21-2006

This is the first time I have written. I found your blog by accident in a random Internet search. I have stage IV lung cancer. When I got very sick last February no one told me about the stage IV diagnosis. I still don't think I get much information, but I have finished my first round of chemo, six, six-hour sessions, and have had a good August. Your blog has given me a thousand things to think about, I don't know what I think but I take a day at a time and thank God and friends and family often. I have been able to work most of the time for 30 hours a week. I have chosen to do what I always have done, work, enjoy my children and grandchildren, cook, walk, some travel. I am 56. I have noticed that the longer I can fight this the longer I want to live. I want one more Christmas, one more fall, to see my son's junior year. I know I will want a second. Anyway, your blog gives me strength. One of the most difficult things is that I don't think anyone who doesn't have severe cancer really knows how you feel but that is ok. I wish you the very best.

Sent by Paula Polk | 4:39 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I am the step father of a 32 year old son who is expecting his first born. Eric was diagnosed at age four with leukemia and was not expected to live.

Someone forgot to tell Eric the odds!

Thanks to his mother, a nurse, and his uncle a cardiologist, and his own unwillingness to agree with the diagnosis he beat the odds.

I truly believe it is 90% attitude and 10% medical outcome based.

Sent by Rob Fiedler | 5:08 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I read some of the comments, and can relate to them so much, even though I had cancer cut out of my breast almost nine years ago. I don't call it remission and I don't use the "C" word too much if I refer to it, I say when I was sick.

What I can say is the chemo and the radiation is a distant memory. It's such a pleasure to think about day to day silly things instead of am I going to drag myself to work today and which wig should I wear?

Every time someone compliments me on my long luscious hair, I smile and say, it's extra special, because I was bald once upon a time. A time when I lived with books and statistics and other sick people. It is wonderful to be looked at for me and not to be looked at as the girl with cancer. I try to have good days everyday and to remember to be thankful and to talk to people I see in the store with no hair and tell them that I too had that hair style a few years back. It usually brings a smile, and that makes me happy, because I have survived. I did it.

Sent by Janis Peterson | 5:16 PM ET | 08-22-2006

I found your blog in the right-hand column of the story I was reading (Edward Tufte) and smiled, as if I'd run into an old friend. "It's Leroy-from-Nightline-and-boy-I-still-miss-his-beautiful-writing-in-his-daily-messages-and-he-has-what?-cancer?-oh-no-that's-too-cruel" And here we are.

I'm sorry you have cancer, Leroy. I'm happy you're writing about it. I hope you get better. Along with others, I offer you another soft place to land. I'll keep you in my prayers.

This morning I was listening to the audio version of Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen's Kitchen Table Wisdom. She understands the power and presence of cancer, for good and for ill. Perhaps youve already encountered her wisdom?

God bless you, Leroy. If I could climb through these wires I would give you a hug that would make you gasp.

Sent by Daria Slivka | 5:20 PM ET | 08-22-2006

Last Thanksgiving day I didn't want to disturb any of my friends who had been giving me my daily shots of Nupogen (for my white cells). I went into the bathroom, turned on the radio, breathed deep, and took the plunge! From then on, I gave myself the shots. I consider it one of my crowning achievements and it made me feel fearless.

Sent by Patricia Buchanan | 5:54 PM ET | 08-22-2006