I think hope is in the moments we don't notice but that touch us anyway. Walking around a pond with my dog, feeling despair about some current reality and then having to laugh at her rolling in a dead thing after diving into a pitch black mud puddle seeing squirrels leaping from skinny branch to skinny branch and barely making it (even crashing to the ground sometimes but scampering away, dazed) hearing my five-year old nephews glee at seeing a "HUGE SPIDER!" Hope is a non-negotiable human experience.

Bless you, Leroy. May your hope win.

Sent by Jennifer | 12:58 PM ET | 09-11-2006

When I read the title, Contemplating Life After Cancer, I first saw it from my perspective of a Christian believer. I mistook your meaning to refer to the life after this life on Earth. This faith has taken the sting out of death for me. I recognize that there will be many different perspectives of the after life in a forum like this. You have opened other areas of your journey to us what are your thoughts on this subject?

Sent by Mary | 1:00 PM ET | 09-11-2006

I remember a driveway moment from years ago. I was living in the San Francisco Bay Area and there were all of a sudden lots of stories about people who had been told they were going to die soon from AIDS or HIV. They cashed in their 401Ks and took big family trips or fantasy vacations or whatever - then they found out there was hope, with the right drugs, to live for many more years. I always wondered what the follow-up was to some of those stories. Hopefully you'll have those stories of your own to tell... how you're walking with a limp because you decided to skydive since you were going to die anyway... Best of luck. It's encouraging to hear you talk about both your hopes and fears.

Sent by Sue Scheppele | 1:11 PM ET | 09-11-2006

Five years ago, I lost my very good friend, Tony, to cancer. I had so much going on in my life that I did not allot his passing the attention I should've. Since then, I have taken time off and written a book that I have been meaning write for many years. It's finished, going to press within the next few months and represents a personal accomplishment that will hopefully, serve as a inspiration and a message to my kids and grandkids. The inspiration — "Life is too short!" The message, "Life is too short!"

Your blog has been an inspiration as well. God bless.

Sent by Robin Smith | 1:15 PM ET | 09-11-2006

Hi Leroy,

I'm battling a reoccurrence of colon cancer. I've just spent the better part of an hour reading your blog. Have you ever thought of putting all of this, just as it is, into book form? You've covered subjects that had not occurred to me, but are ever so relevant.

My radiologist noted at our last support group meeting that we should be prepared that our *family/friend support group* might melt away as things begin to go downhill. Not knowing how to react to the cancer-ness - a lot like not knowing what to say when someone close (not family) suffers a catastrophic loss. How do you prepare to be abandoned? My friends wonder to me about how I can have such a positive attitude. Yes, I do have a choice, I can give in or I can fight. My mantra is: I have a life, and this is just a major annoyance with which I have to deal. As you say, my cancer does not define me. Even from before the diagnosis, I've believed that when your time is up, its up. I intend to live to the fullest, right up to that very last minute!

Sent by Harriet L. Marvin | 1:20 PM ET | 09-11-2006

Last July I was given six months after a diagnosis of Stage IV Colon Cancer with mets to the Liver. After six months of chemo (with Avastin) my tumors were small enough to qualify me for a liver resection in February. At that point there was a possibility that it could be a cure. Unfortunately these hopes only last four months when they found new tumors. However, that four months let me realize how truly thankful I was for life and what a responsibility I felt to be sure I tried to make contributions to try and leave the world a better place. I did have some survival guilt. I felt like I should take on new challenges to try and make a difference but someone suggested that perhaps what we do each day is enough.

Having those four months to contemplate the prospect of living helps me remain hopeful as I have faced the chemo challenges again. This time I have had a harder time because I had a reaction to the oxaliplatin and have had to try a new drug, which has made my hair fall out something I had avoided previously. This has made everything seem more serious as it is such an outward sign to the world that you are "ill." I had done such a great job of faking it this past year.

So stay hopeful! There really is hope even if the oncologist don't see "cure." Avastin can shrink tumors to the point they can be ablated or removed and if not it still buys us time. You have a great start on "what to do with your life" because of the marvelous contributions of you have made with your blog!

Sent by Dona | 1:27 PM ET | 09-11-2006

Reading your blog for the first time brought back many memories of my mother's diagnosis/prognosis of small cell carcinoma.

I'm now 21 and it has been almost a year and a half after my mother lost her battle with cancer. Not to shed a dark light on your rather uplifting and real posting, but what you say is right. My family, as well as my mother, knew her case was terminal... it was hard to not focus on anything but that. As time went on, it was hope that kept us united.

Although my mother did not talk much about her feelings about the cancer and the fear of death itself, I know it was probably the only thing that carried her through as long as it did. I just wanted to commend you for being so outspoken, I didn't even have the cancer and I am just finding myself opening up to others about my mother's experience. I love to find blogs, such as yours, to read and help me understand how my mother might have been feeling.

Bravery and strength is what you possess in order for your life and experience make sense, but it is how you share it with others that makes the impact so much more meaningful.

Thanks for your time, it would be great to hear back from you soon.

Sent by Amanda Schmidt | 1:34 PM ET | 09-11-2006

Thank you for all of your courageous comments. I am sure that it is hard to be so bared to the public spotlight, yet seeing you navigate this struggle has helped me to cope with my mother's struggle with lung and now brain cancer. I feel certain you have helped many more than you will ever realize. Your indomitable spirit will surely improve the "outcomes" that have been predicted for you.

Sent by Tania Anderson | 1:37 PM ET | 09-11-2006

Dear Leroy,

My one and only hope lies in my belief in our risen Savior Jesus Christ and the fact that because he took the weight of the whole world's sin we can have eternal life if we just believe in Him. I'm not a "raving fundamentalist." In fact, I was a pastor a while in the Methodist Church. I tried to rely on myself for answers or other people for too many years and it all washed out. Having melanoma for the past couple years has strengthened my faith. Wherever I am and in whatever state of health and mind, I am with God. God didn't cause my cancer. I'm human and finite in years and health and I got sick. God has promised to be there with me forever. Again, thanks for all your thoughts and words!

Sent by Eunice | 2:14 PM ET | 09-11-2006

I hate to be a wet blanket, but I have to ask, what is hope? What is reality? Where do they intersect?

I know my doctor finds me hope-less (not a hopeless case, but not having as much hope as he thinks I should have.) I have pancreatic cancer. To quote an article I read in the Sunday magazine right after my surgery... "which is nearly always fatal." My chances of surviving to five years are one in 33. I have to contemplate the possibility that I wont make it that far. To do otherwise is to deny reality. If I bought one of 33 lottery tickets and started to spend my windfall before the drawing, everyone would say I was irresponsible. If I was on an airplane and the pilot came on and said that we had a 3% chance of landing — at all, no one would question it if my thoughts turned to death. But if I mention the possibility of dying of this cancer, I get the reaction that I am being dark, depressed and pessimistic. I think all I really am looking for is an acknowledgement that things dont look so good right now.

I wake up everyday happy and amazed to be alive. I cherish each dawn and enjoy each sunset. I am taking the time to improve my relationships with my family and friends. I am glad to have the heads-up. I am not depressed, but I would be engaging in magical thinking if I didn't recognize that there is better than a good chance I won't be here in a year or two.

Sent by Stephanie | 4:32 PM ET | 09-11-2006

If you have studied statistics, you know that what they mean when they say it is fatal is that fewer than 5% of persons with a certain condition are alive after a certain date. Not zero per cent. Some people do survive. Google spontaneous remission to see some stories. Why not us?

Sent by Cathy Wilder | 4:43 PM ET | 09-11-2006

I work for a non-profit hospice in a non-clinical capacity. One of my co-workers tipped me off to your blog and suggested I check it out. I'm not in my car when your commentaries air, so the blog is a great back up.

Recently, I read every one of your entries and was spellbound. Your willingness to share your personal experiences is not only commendable but provides a learning opportunity for people like me.

Almost daily, I hear the most amazing stories from the nurses, chaplains, social workers and others who care for our hospice patients. Often, I am overwhelmed with the capacity for kindness and compassion provided by these folks. Because I work in the office, I do not have the privilege of meeting many patients so my understanding is one-sided.

I want to thank you for helping me understand the beginning of these stories. Although our patients do not all have a cancer diagnosis, I can begin to understand what it must be like when the diagnosis and treatment journey commences.

Thank you again. I'm rooting for you to beat this thing.

Sent by Kris Rajchel | 4:45 PM ET | 09-11-2006

As I battle my own cancer, I think about my mother's journey. Her second bout came along just three months short of the five year woohoo. She underwent the typical year from hell a second time only to be killed instantly as a passenger in a car hit by a freight train a short time after her last treatments. My belief now is that we die at the precise moment were meant to. Not a moment sooner or later. Remember the woman who was the only one killed on a Hawaiian Airlines flight when she was sucked out through a hole in the fuselage? Everyone else landed safely (if not scared witless) Talk about time to go! Whoosh. Whether we go Whoosh, splat, demented, or in agony, go we will. I'm doing everything I can reasonably do (yes, I've given up refined foods, sugar, etc.) but after that I leave it to fate, destiny, karma or whatever it is. All I know is that at some point (possibly every point) its not in my hands or in my control.

Sent by Patricia Buchanan | 4:49 PM ET | 09-11-2006

I have a quotation hanging in my office that a friend gave me — I'm not sure of the source, but I like to think that perhaps it's the message I have to go with now. Here it is: Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside thoroughly used up, totally worn-out and loudly proclaiming "WOW! What a ride." It's not the roller coaster ride that Leroy has mentioned in earlier blogs that I wanted, but part of the ride nonetheless. But there are better rides to try for.

I have the same situation as Dona up above in the replies (stage IV colorectal, nasty liver mets, Avastin, Oxaliplatin, etc.), except that I'm not to the point of having the liver resection and ablation yet. I hope I don't have any more tumors show up after I've been "cured," but maybe I need to work a little harder to ensure that my body is more thoroughly used up and totally worn out so I can say that I had that really good ride. The chemo is helping with the "used up/worn out" part, but I'll do my best to work on the rest, cured or not.

Sent by Bob | 4:58 PM ET | 09-11-2006

I appreciate you for sharing your experience and thoughts with us through your blog. Don't lose hope. Bless you.

Sent by Hu Bo | 9:26 AM ET | 09-12-2006

Leroy, the odds of your cure may be not be good, but until you die there is always a chance. A good friend had IBC, which survival rate for 5 years is less than 20% is in the 6th year of her recovery. I see nothing wrong with thinking about your surviving. You've already exceeded their expectations — why not you to be one of the cases that inexplicably survives?

Sent by Elsie | 9:28 AM ET | 09-12-2006

I second the comments of Stephanie (above) who speaks of the place where hope and reality intersect. One should be able to state the obvious, that it seems likely you'll die within a year or so, without being accused of being depressed or hopeless. Acknowledging that likelihood (even feeling depressed and scared about it at times) doesn't mean all hope is gone! A few years back, when things looked very black in my life due to problems unrelated to cancer, I was nearly overcome with despair for a while. Still, little buds of hope kept poking their heads up through the scorched earth. Then I came across the following quotation by Albert Camus: "In the midst of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."

Sent by Doris | 1:51 PM ET | 09-12-2006

I hope for you because, I am hoping for me. I, like you, was put on a new drug that when the chemo doctor said "We are hoping that it just dissolves it all and this is all a bad dream for you." What? My cancer five years ago was terminal 100 percent — 24-36 months tops. Now they say five years plus — what will they say in two years, three years or five years?

Keep up the fight. You have to keep fighting it. It's a long fight. What is this fight they keep talking about? To me its the mental conversation I have in my head that tells me not to give up, keep it positive, look on the brightlone is possible! The drugs and radiation and the food supplements are doing the "fight," all I am trying to do is hold it all together so I don't yell and cry at the same time.

I hope for you... and me too!

Sent by Bob Gunn | 12:22 PM ET | 09-13-2006

I believe that a cure is possible if doctors start treating cancer as the symptom that it is, not the cause. Many may dismiss what I'm going to include here as quackery, but if you've tried everything anyway, what harm is there to exploring alternatives? If you go to jonbarron.org, you can download his book, miracle doctors, for free. He doesn't try to push his own products (except in the chapter on energy, which I skipped and which you can ignore, as I did), but everything he says makes total intuitive sense. He's changed my life. It may change yours, too.

Sent by SWH | 12:24 PM ET | 09-13-2006

I know what you mean!

It was almost two years ago that I was diagnosed with an "incurable" form of lymphoma. I am now in remission, and I have finally come to terms with the idea that I am going to die "before my time". A year ago, my wife opened up an IRA (retirement account). I didn't. I figured, "What does a guy with terminal cancer need with an IRA?"

But then last week the oncologist says, "They are doing lots of research on your type of cancer. I think that they may be very close to finding a cure."

Well, what am I going to do with that?! Im all ready mentally prepared to be a short-timer with no retirement. Now he's telling me I could be cured and live a full life?!? Thank you, but that really screws up my plans!

So now I, too, am contemplating life after cancer. It is another difficult paradigm shift. On the other hand, maybe Ill get hit by a truck...

Hey, nobody is guaranteed a tomorrow. Carpe Diem!

Sent by Dick Donohue | 12:45 PM ET | 09-13-2006

So, Leroy, tell us what is on your wish list and how it evolved. I guess I am at the place where you were with your first diagnosis - no reason to think I might not be a survivor. That does not keep me from making a list of the things I would love to do or feel or see sooner that I might have planned before cancer. And my list has evolved since my early diagnosis, where I thought I would overbook my life and throw normal to the wind. Now as I close on my chemo and plan for a post-radiation life, normal is at the top of the list but not so intense a normal. I will take time to stop and smell the roses and see more of the world even if it in my own back yard.

Your column is my top reference for friends when they ask "What is it like" — boy has it saved me a lot of painful conversation and your column helps me to get through my own misery. Thanks.

Sent by Selena Dixon | 3:26 PM ET | 09-13-2006

Hi, Yes, there is hope. My husband found a website www.beatcancernow.net and bought a book from there. The author was diagnosed with brain cancer. He followed a method he found and got rid of his prostate cancer. The method is simple and helped many other people with different cancer types. I read it and it is great. This is a must for anyone diagnosed with cancer. The book is How I Beat Cancer in Less Than 42 Days.

Sent by Anita Kerr | 3:37 PM ET | 09-13-2006

Hi Leroy, I just discovered your blog, went back to the beginning and read every single entry, then sent excerpts to a dear friend who has just been diagnosed with lung cancer. Your words bring back my mothers "battle" with cancer and my own, which started 5 years ago. I look forward to the next entry. Im really hoping this new chemo drug is your miracle drug. I'm an almost five-year survivor (hate that term) of breast cancer. Just want to let your readers know that there is no magic five-year milestone for breast cancer victims. While the most aggressive breast cancers are more likely to return within two years, the likelihood of recurrence is the same at five years as it is at 25 years. No "cure"... not even a little guarantee.

Sent by CAB | 3:33 PM ET | 09-19-2006

Sent by Lisa | 3:41 PM ET | 09-25-2006

Dear Mr. Sievers,

I totally agree with you and your comments regarding hope. Even though my husband and I were well aware of the harsh reality of his prognosis (he never even asked the doctors "how long do I have?") following his dx w/stage IV colon cancer, we always had hope.

I think a few of the medical professionals looked upon our hope as denial. We believed that until he took his last breath, however soon that might have been, that there was always hope.

I've posted comments to your blog before and Id like to take this time to say thank you for sharing with your readers and for allowing me the opportunity to share my experiences as a spouse and to express thoughts and feelings that I normally don't have the chance to discuss with anyone. Online therapy... welcome to the 21st century!

Sent by D.L.N. | 2:54 PM ET | 09-27-2006

I heard your commentary for the first time yesterday on the radio, and read through your blogs today. It seems that the all the discussion deals with the philosophical/religious/lifestyle issues surrounding cancer, with the underlying supposition that cancer cannot be cured.

While this discussion is therapeutic and helpful, I feel that it leaves out

one rather major aspect of cancer — and that's the pragmatic discussion about actually CURING our cancer.

It is true that medicine generally cannot cure cancer, they can only put it into remission, shrink our tumors, give us more time. Cancer was not caused by a lack of chemo in our systems, and adding chemo will not cure it in most cases. Chemo is a symptomatic medicine, not a curative one. It gives us time, but also many, many deliterious effects, both physically and mentally.

I had Stage III colon cancer Ive been through several chemo regimens, experienced the effects. And my cancer has returned, as predicted. Now I'm Stage IV. But I refuse to accept that chemo is the best I can do. I refuse to accept a road that contains "a little more time," with increments of days, weeks, or months as the mile markers.

If you read the literature about the causes of cancer you'll find that they are largely under our control — food, environment and lifestyle. And the cure is to reverse those factors and allow the body to do its job of healing itself. And it's not voodoo, as the medical establishment would have you believe. It's real. It's working for me.

It's a lot harder now that cancer has gotten comfortable inside us, but not impossible. There are myriad resources available — books, internet, and doctors — who can help you find the right path back to real health.

At the very least you will find that there are many ways of safely supplementing your chemo treatments to mitigate side effects and concentrate or potentiate the effects of the chemo.

Nutrition is key, supplements are key, having a doctor who understands integrative oncology is key. If your oncologist isn't knowledgable, find another one who is more concerned about your ultimate survival than the incremental days he can add to your life.

Sorting through all of the literature is arduous, but I decided that I, and my family, are worth it. I intend to see my 13 year old daughter graduate from high school, then college, then get married and make me a grandfather. Those are my mile markers, and I think they should be the ones all cancer patients, or as the Lance Armstrong Foundation calls us, Survivors, should use.

Sent by David Hahn | 3:02 PM ET | 10-05-2006