I can understand your curiosity about how your life might be different now if you hadn't gotten cancer. But it seems to me that you were already on a path to do good in the world, to help others in some way. So you didn't become a different person, really. You just had to find a different way of accomplishing the same (or similar) goals. Some people change a lot more after cancer diagnosis than you have, I imagine. Before diagnosis, they (and I) were just living dull, routine lives without very strong feelings about doing good in the world or leaving a mark. But realizing suddenly that their time here would probably be cut short changed their outlook drastically. Im not saying it didn't change you — cancer changes everyone — just that you seem to have been a very altruistic person before, someone who was living life fully. Anyway, you are certainly making a difference in my life and many others with this blog. You inspire me to pay attention to how I'm spending each precious day.

Sent by Doris | 11:50 AM ET | 09-26-2006

My father started smoking on a trip to Europe — he was an 18-year-old soldier on his way to WWII. He quit 40 years later and died of lung cancer 10 years after that. In an ironic twist, his doctor said his cancer probably wasn't caused by smoking. Nevertheless, his friends were relieved to make the connection. I think it's not so much "blaming the victim" as reassuring ourselves that we're safe, we won't get it, because we don't smoke (or drink or sunbathe or use cell phones or eat potato chips or whatever the latest cancer-causing behavior is). But the reality is, being alive is the biggest cancer risk. Leroy, I want to thank you for your blog. I love hearing from the other writers, too. Nancy K. Clark in particular seems to be a font of wisdom and empathy.

Sent by Trish | 12:03 PM ET | 09-26-2006

I ask that question of myself sometimes — and I don't have cancer. Finding myself recently married, and at a crossroads in my career, I wonder where I would be had I found a different job, or career, or if I had done another educational path. I don't regret what I have done, but I do wonder how the world would have been different for me. It seems like a very reasonable question to ask, but just one of the many we won't have an answer for, at least for the time being. But I don't think that should stop us from asking. We just have to try to find peace for where we are at, knowing that the other route may not have been any better, that other things could have happened, either for the "better" or the "worse."

Sent by Karen | 12:07 PM ET | 09-26-2006

I think your summary of cancer making you a different, not better, person is an excellent point. Cancer can be an opportunity to experience things you would not have otherwise. Not to say I wish cancer on anybody to give them unique experiences, but cancer gave our family a voice of advocacy on behalf of colorectal cancer, a cause that needs more voices. Again, thanks for sharing your experience. You are making a difference.

Sent by Andrea Clay | 12:15 PM ET | 09-26-2006

It's a fascinating question — what we'd have been or done without the experience of having cancer, and all that comes with that. It seems to me from what you've written today that you've found your purpose since cancer. I believe that this blog is unique. It's a forum to speak honestly among one another about what it's like to have to deal with cancer, and for others who don't to learn from us. Some talk about "the gifts of cancer," which REALLY annoys others with cancer. I think what's meant by that is the self-reflection that facing mortality may bring, the long periods of being a human being instead of a "human do-ing," suffering, coping and reaching out to help others in similar circumstances. That can help us to find some meaning in this unwanted change in our plans. We all go through the stages of grieving our old selves and our old lives — some get stuck in anger, some eventually reach acceptance, but for those who can extend themselves, as you have, beauty and deepened humanity can be the result. Am I glad that you have cancer? Of course not. Am I glad that you seem to have found your purpose, at least part of it, by writing these essays and allowing all of us to have a dialogue with you about this cancer world? I am.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 12:21 PM ET | 09-26-2006

Leroy: I'm here to tell you that you are, indeed, making a difference in my life (and, I'm sure, in countless others' lives). I'm just so glad to see you taking the time and the trouble to examine your internal "stuff" and, then, to share it with the world at large. It helps yes, indeedy — it helps!! My best to you this lovely autumn day.

Sent by Erika Hanson Brown | 12:24 PM ET | 09-26-2006

Right on once again Leroy. I have the same curiosity, void of anger, despair, and self-pity. I'm thinking it creeps up on all of us dealing with this bloody disease.

Thank you for making a difference in my life with cancer. I'm hoping to make a difference in a few lives along my way as well.

I wish peace and comfort.

Sent by Terri Dilts | 5:46 PM ET | 09-26-2006

I am curious, has anyone actually been through what you are wondering about? Have they started down the path as someone with cancer, only to be told "Umm, wait a minute, you need to turn around and go back. You don't actually have cancer."

Excuse my ignorance, but is a misdiagnosis possible? Has anyone been sent down that road, if only for a few days or weeks? And then what? After making the mental and emotional commitment to their cancer, how might they react having it taken away from them? Maybe my question is totally ridiculous, but what I like about this blog is how it inspires thought and contemplation.

Keep on keeping on Leroy.

Sent by Thomas Kegler | 5:54 PM ET | 09-26-2006

Mary Engelbreit has a wonderful illustration of a girl at a crossroads with a hobo pack on a stick resting on her shoulder. One sign says "This Way," and the other says, "No Longer an Option." I have long used it as a guide for my children, but now find myself in the position of needing to follow my own advice. Easier said than done. I laugh at the irony while being sad at what I will miss. Funny how life can sometimes come back and bite you on the rump.

Sent by Stephanie | 9:18 AM ET | 09-27-2006

For years I did what I thought were kind deeds for many people. Anything from running errands and helping find employment to loaning money. I did this out of friendship and didn't expect thank-yous. It's been disappointing that many of these people have not contacted me since I was diagnosed with cancer. I never expected thank-yous, but it's disappointing that the people you thought were friends have let you down. And yet other casual aquaintances have come forth and offered so much support and friendship. I guess I wasn't perceived as the kind of person I wanted to be ... have you experienced this?

Sent by Mary Scruggs | 9:21 AM ET | 09-27-2006

I must admit to you, feel as if I have added a freind to my life. Someone who is standing on the other side of the divide. I read every comment by all the others — such amazing insight. Thank you, Leroy, et al. You have made these months a better place for me to live in. I was/am an RN. I have spent my life in my calling ... I regret not a day. Caring for others has been a reward all of its own. I was given much by God, and I felt very strongly I was to give back. Cancer has changed the way I return, but nonetheless I am still able to give back. To each and all I wish you good health.

Sent by Cherie Brown | 9:23 AM ET | 09-27-2006

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood ... I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost

We didn't choose our cancer roads. They were handed to us, but they have made all the difference.

Sent by B. Nelson | 9:30 AM ET | 09-27-2006

I often wonder if we are able to control what happens to us. I certainly hope so, but then why do bad things happen to good people? I often think we are in a canoe with a paddle but sometimes the river sweeps us in a direction that goes against the way we are paddling. I am glad your canoe sent you on this path, as you have made such a difference in so many people's lives. I have a friend who has recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just as she was ready to retire with her husband. I think anything I say seems so trite as she continues to deal with what appears to be a losing battle.

Sent by L. J. | 9:33 AM ET | 09-27-2006

It interests me, Leroy, as I imagine it does you, that the first six people who have responded to "Who Would I Have Become?" are women. I haven't read your earlier blogs (yet I intend to), and perhaps the percentage of men-to-women commentors is balanced, but I suspect not. I think these well-spoken women come forward because women are generally more empathetic than men, more ready to comfort and support. Maybe, too, they are impressed with the sensitivity to difference and suffering that you express as few of us men do. It's a comfort to think that God, if God exists, may be more woman than man. It's a privilege to read your reflections.

Sent by Bill Stott | 9:36 AM ET | 09-27-2006

This is in response to Thomas Kegler's query about whether anyone has ever been misdiagnosed with cancer and begun the internal journey, with all that entails, only to learn that they don't have cancer after all. I didn't exactly go that route, but I've had a few scares where the docs wanted to do further tests to determine if I might have a serious disease. You go through an expedited, mini-version of the cancer trail: Why me? Am I living life to the fullest? How will my friends and family cope with the news? I'm sad to say that, at least in my case, once the possibility of a dire disease was ruled out, the deep introspection was quickly forgotten and I was back to living the same way, without a great deal of thought about Life with a capital L. Leroy's blog has given me a lot to think about ... Thank you, Leroy.

Sent by Meg Rosthal | 11:17 AM ET | 09-27-2006

Another good and insightful post, Leroy. All I know is that once you take, or more accurately, are mandated to take, the cancer fork in the road, it just becomes part of who you are. Until I take my last breath, part of my makeup is being a lymphoma survivor. Like all of us, it took me in directions and places that I would not have gone otherwise. For example, it got me interested in raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society by doing two marathons (I had never participated in any race before, much less a marathon) to date through Team in Training. I can't honestly say that I would have experienced the drive to get that involved without the shock of cancer, the first-hand knowledge of what people with cancer go through, and a new-found desire to make a difference for future cancer patients.

Am I a better person as a result? Probably in some ways at least. I certainly feel more grateful for all the big and small things, not the least of which is that so far this is just a major fork in my road rather than the end of the road.

Sent by Art Ritter | 11:22 AM ET | 09-27-2006

Leroy, I think you got this one exactly right, and I thank you.

Sent by Anne | 11:24 AM ET | 09-27-2006

Thank you for sharing your story of cancer. I am a nurse educator and I teach nursing students to care for patients in the hospital. We work on an oncology floor and I have seen patients with similar stories, feelings, comments and fears. I feel honored to care for these patients and lucky to know them. I try to teach the students to do the same and to listen to the patients while they discuss their concerns and fears.

Sent by Jill Cook | 11:52 AM ET | 09-27-2006

As I struggled through treatment and recovery, I found myself going to three funerals one a tragic death of my aunt hit by someone fleeing the police, one a very dear friend of mine that battled pancreatic cancer during my treatment and one a dear friend that was laid off and went to his mothers house to trim her shrubs and paint her house to get his mind off of his "situation" — he died of a heart attack later that day.

I came to realize life is no guarentee other than each second you are closer to your ultimate objective in this life... to die. I can only add that you, Leroy, haved lived life large. You have touched many hearts and souls with you are doing here. Thank you for taking the time to share with all of us.

Sent by Ed Brown | 3:12 PM ET | 09-27-2006

I've been reading Leroy's blog for several months now and I have experienced such a profound sense of humility, humbleness, fragility and all the other adjectives to describe this life we live and the importance of trying not to take each breathing moment for granted. The issues raised are pretty much my same questions — the whys and what ifs. Thank you, Leroy, for giving us insight and a chance to reflect for ourselves where we fit in — in the greater scheme of things.

Sent by Bev | 4:42 PM ET | 09-27-2006

The day I went down the fork in the road was the day I had to leave work. I sat in the parking lot and cried until I thought my heart was going to burst. I knew my life would be different from that day forward. And now, three years later, I am asking, "Is this it?" My life is filled with doctor appointments and surgeries — that's it. Unlike your path filled with doing something important, I haven't found that yet. I am still waiting, but I haven't given up on the idea of doing something meaningful. Maybe it's just not my time yet.

Sent by Anonymous | 12:01 PM ET | 09-28-2006

I have to write in response to Mary Scruggs. I think support comes very often from sources we least expect. That has been my experience. I have received help and well-wishes from friends of friends that I have never met and people I wasn't really that close to and old friends I hadn't heard from in years. And I have also not received much from some people I am really close to and would have expected more from. I also felt very sorry for myself immediately post-diagnosis that I had just recently (within a month) ended relationships with both a boyfriend of several months and a friend of two years.

All of these things made me think a great deal, and I realized that as long as help was there, it didn't matter who it was coming from. I also realized early on that all those generic offers of help might not happen if I didn't let people know what I needed, so I asked for specific kinds of help and very often got it.

Finally, I realized that the two people who I ended relationships with before my diagnosis wouldn't have been able to help me through this difficult time, and that is why they went away when they did. I believe that things happen for a reason, and this helps me always try to find the lessons in life. Leroy, you are doing a great job of honestly and openly sharing your lessons. That's all we can do, really.

Sent by Tracy Maxwell | 9:43 AM ET | 10-04-2006