Thank you for this important reminder about our need to "control" things, like our destinies. We aren't in control, as you point out. I wonder if the cancer patients somewhat common refrain of feeling somehow "lucky" has to do with realizing our lack of control before the rest of us (inevitably) do.

Bless you, Leroy.

Sent by Jennifer | 10:45 AM ET | 10-23-2006

Leroy,

I am hoping that the trick this time is your reaching out to share with us and the prayers so many of us have said for you. I do pray for a good scan for you today.

And thank you for the blog. It has me spending a bit more time smelling the roses.

Sent by Geoff | 10:46 AM ET | 10-23-2006

Good morning Leroy,

You have and are truly experiencing the rich tapestry of life. There are so many different levels on which we attempt to balance each day but you — YOU — are up close and personal. Is this service "part of the rent that you are paying for living" and if so what is the emotional toll? We all have to die of something and writing a journal is described as therapeutic but is there a price to be paid for this outlet and might some of us find it too dear?

Sent by Sue Defreitas | 10:48 AM ET | 10-23-2006

Dear Leroy,

I appreciate your honesty so much! You say you're looking for a trick or tactic that will help you deal with cancer "relatively unafraid" but haven't yet figured out what that trick might be. Me too! Sometimes I feel as if I should be this fount of wisdom and calm when really, even if Im not in full panic mode, I certainly don't know how this whole thing is going to turn out or how I should be acting or reacting or preparing.

That said, however, I have found that visualization is sometimes helpful when going through chemo or various tests or procedures. I don't exactly do it your way, though. I just imagine myself in a lovelier place and that brings some peace of mind. Sort of like meditation.

By the way — you mention the fear of painful death or being hooked up to machines. Im wondering, what other fears keep you/others awake in the middle of the night? Is it just fear of the unknown, of ceasing to exist? Or no longer being with loved ones? Burning in hell for past sins, maybe? I'm not meaning to be flip — have just been trying to analyze/understand my own fears.

I'll be thinking good thoughts for you today.

Sent by Doris | 12:10 PM ET | 10-23-2006

I said a prayer about your scan today. I understand you wouldn't want to visualize the doctor saying "all clear" if it didn't turn out that way. But I believe you can use your powers of visualization to live the best life you can now. Some people don't want to go to hospice because they think it means they've given up hope. From what I understand, hospice is to help people live the best they can, without pain, for as long as they can. I wonder if it would help you to visualize life now perhaps as comfortable (blanket, fireplace, hot tea), peaceful (being in nature, acceptance, laughing), and feeling grateful. Visualize yourself living well. The rest will take care of itself.

Sent by Ann | 12:12 PM ET | 10-23-2006

Your discussion of tactics leads me to wonder if treating cancer isnt so much a war as a negotiation of terms for the territory of our bodies because, as we well know, treaties can be broken, often with tragic results.

Having lost both parents to aggressive, fast moving cancers that are typically slow and non-lethal (prostate cancer took my dad - a rare lymphoma, mycosis fungoides, claimed my mom), cancer treatments have been an abiding concern for me.

My dad took the stoic's way, refusing chemo but tolerating radiation therapy until it became clear that it was not effective. His experiences in the local hospitals set him upon his course to pursue hospice care, so that he might die at home, in the company of his family. His pain was moderated by a morphine drip & we had to monitor him night and day to prevent him from falling and hurting himself, which would have put him back into the hospital, never to return home.

One year ago, he made his journey from flesh.

My mom, some 15 years earlier, had driven her cancer into remission with the help of interferon treatments. 5 years later, MF, which usually is little more than a skin discoloration, came back with a vengeance, creating tumors and tremendous pain. Desperate to beat it back again, so that she could see her only grandson grow up, she accepted an experimental course of chemotherapy which ultimately did nothing to destroy the cancer. Instead, it elevated her blood calcium levels such that she died, in the hospital, having been unable to persuade my brother to have her discharged so that she could die at home.

So, I ask myself, if that time should come that I am diagnosed with cancer, how will I choose? What will my terms be?

Sent by Pam Matthews | 12:14 PM ET | 10-23-2006

Thanks for your blog. It's certainly given me different perspectives to ponder as I go through a similar situation.

I was diagnosed with colon cancer in August of 2003. After successful surgery to remove my sigmoid colon, life went back to normal, with the lingering question of what's inside?

In February 2006 I had additional surgery to remove a recurrent tumor at the last surgery's reconnection point. I now have an ostomy, although Im told I could be reconnected. Their prognosis, based stats and experience, was that the recurrence indicated that I probably wouldn't make it another one or two years.

After much prayer and counsel, we (Im 50, married, with 6 kids) decided to go against the doctor's advice of chemo (FU5 + Avastin) and radiation in favor of the Budwig diet, which you probably know is based on flaxseed oil and essential fats. My doctors indicated that they were after the any floating cancer cells in my body, since scans indicated there were no other tumors.

My main point is this: I agree with you that we are not in control and that the doctors don't know everything either. If the doctors were right, they seemed to be prescribing a very uncomfortable regimen in hopes of maybe giving me additional time. If they are right, I have opted for a higher quality of life (I can still work, enjoy my kids. etc) for the time I have left. If they are wrong, I haven't given up my quality of life for nothing. My hope of course is that they are wrong and that my diet will strengthen my body to fight and residual cancer cells on its own.

In either case, as a Christian, I know that Im in a win-win situation. I don't want to die soon, but if I do Ill be with Christ in heaven my family and friends will be sad, but they know where Ill be. If I survive another 5-10-20 years, then I also win, as I can watch my kids grow up and retire with my wife.

You don't mention this hope in your blog, and I am curious about your spiritual condition. If you care to email me back I'd appreciate it.

Thanks again, and Ill keep praying for both of us!

Sent by Wim Plaat | 12:16 PM ET | 10-23-2006

I appreciate your sharing your experience and that which you hear about from others. I can relate to everything you said about thinking you had control in the past and being enlightened by the reality of being diagnosed with cancer and learning how little control we actually have. I think any control that we have is a miracle and gift from the "one who does have the control." I'm not really sure who that is but I am grateful that today I am alive in spite of a diagnosis of lung cancer one year, two months ago. I have hope that the cancer never returns while also knowing that if it does, it likely will return with a vengeance and clinging to hope to remain alive will likely vanish. Will I continue to be a survivor or yet another statistic of succumbing to lung cancer? It's like living with a dark cloud over one's head while putting one foot in front of the other and realizing what a miracle it is to be able to laugh, smile and experience joy, in spite of the cloud. I really appreciate your writings!

Sent by Sharon Cilono | 12:59 PM ET | 10-23-2006

Did anyone else hear Garrison Keillor read this poem on this morning's Writers Almanac? It really captured some of what goes on in this space...

Poem: Leaning Together in a Storm by Larry Smith, from A River Remains. Copyright WordTech Editions. Reprinted with permission.

Leaning Together in a Storm

Twelve older men in shirt sleeves

sit around the Cancer Center

sipping ice water and making jokes

waiting for the meeting to begin.

"Ever notice how no one parks

in the Cancer Center zone?"

I am one of them tonight

meant to acknowledge

our story within

our private brotherhood.

The counselor rises to welcome us

asks each to state his cancer story:

give his name and dates

the procedure we chose

tell how long hes survived.

And I take real joy

in hearing them speak

sensing their eyes, their bodies

seated beside me here.

Then a door opens

and our leader rises

to introduce the nights speaker

a young surgeon, his slide-tray at his side.

"Greetings, Gentlemen," he grins

snapping on his slides, projecting

our organs onto the wall,

touching them with his pointer

in blunt precision,

warning us again of lymph nodes

cells outside the prostate

that can end our life.

We swallow a hundred nightmares

with smiles and nods.

I interrupt his gay delivery,

"What about orgasm ...?"

"Forget orgasm," he grins,

"You dont have a prostate."

Another asks about second opinions,

"Go ahead ... what can it hurt?" then adds,

"Unfortunately it wont help much either."

I want to escape this torture by words,

but ask instead, "And what about the

radiation seed implants theyre doing in Seattle?"

He turns on me like a cop. "Were doing those now.

So its a question, how big is your ego?"

Some smile at this, other know

how cold the knife is, how his words

cut across our lives, our wish to live

each breath, see morning spread

across our lawn, our grandchildrens faces.

We all have this unspoken need

to pace our life

like a heart beat.

In the end we let it go

trade our feelings for facts

we already know,

"Its a game of numbers,"

he says again, and I wonder

if these others want to drive

this witch doctor from the room

and gather warmth from the fire

we sit around, share our stories

together of going on

Sent by Suzanne | 1:01 PM ET | 10-23-2006

Thanks for your comments on control over our lives. I am going on Thursday to consult with my Doctor about a low iron count/anemia. I was told that either I have a peptic ulcer, colon cancer or a rare disorder that causes my body to be unable to absorb iron. Needless to say a peptic ulcer sounds really good right now. It's forcing me to look at life differently.

Sent by Rob Norton | 1:02 PM ET | 10-23-2006

My husband, who is in year two of his second siege with colon cancer, is also a Viet Nam veteran. I see analogies to "Vietnamization" with cancer, at least this kind and his experience. God knows he's taken many hills, so to speak, but any absolute victory seems unlikely. I know he draws tons of strength from his war experience. Not so much because he was an eager, aggressive young man when drafted, but more because he simply withstood it.

For me, I think of that Beckett characters line "I can't go on, I'll go on..." He's never been a control-oriented person (like me), but there's strength in simply submitting and standing fast to who you are.

Sent by Teri | 10:26 AM ET | 10-24-2006

Control over some part of this cancer journey has been important to me also. Despite three surgeries (two mastectomies and lymph node removal and moving a muscle from my back to chest wall with skin graft) I refuse to have physical therapy. Just start to move and stretch in all ways very gradually. Within two weeks of both mastectomies I got my hand completely over my head on both sides. This is about it for control but I grasp it like the small raft that it is.

Visualization has absolutely helped to get me past unpleasant procedures as they are happening. Meditation has helped to calm me—but even that doesnt beat Ativan.

But most important, Leroy, having a vision and a focus of where you want to be when this part of your life is complete is important. If you are seeing clouds or a veil and nothing specific, please focus on what you want on the other side of that veil. Give yourself something to move towards. Pick a dream and start to plan it. I have chosen to spend time with my new grandson in Nov. and go to Europe for 7 weeks in the spring. Several friends will join me at various points on the trip. These plans have helped me see a light at the end of the tunnel and know it is not the oncoming train.

You can do it. Allow the dreams to develop.

God bless.

Sent by Robin | 10:34 AM ET | 10-24-2006

Hi Leroy,

I know exactly what you are talking about. I was guilty of the same thing. I took every day one at a time (which is good) but failed to visualize the future.

I think we are trying to protect ourselves from being devastated when we hear "there's nothing more we can offer." The truth is, that day will be devastating no matter whether we had expected it or not.

When I was told I was in remission, I realized that I had not allowed myself to think into the future. It was a re-awakening. I don't know how long remission will last but I have changed my tune. I'm not making plans for five years from now.

Anything can change at any time but I realize that news will be hard to take regardless of what my plans are.

So, plan. Make goals. What news story do you want to cover next year? Where do you want to be in five years?

Go ahead, let yourself dream!

None of us know what the future holds or what our timeline is. Dream anyway.

Sent by Karen | 3:59 PM ET | 10-24-2006

I think you are helping everyone a lot, because this is an illness that a lot of people go through alone. Maybe someday you will write a book?

I have to say though, there is not enough money in the world to pay someone for having a gun put to their head. That is an outrageous job requirement.

I think everyone is thinking this, so I will be the one to say it. You deserve better treatment on the job than that. I thought my job (accounting) was a bad job. Sounds like war correspondent is even worse.

Sent by DeeDee | 11:45 AM ET | 10-27-2006

Thank you for sharing this part of your life with us. There is so much of importance to be learned from struggling with health and well-being. I would like to take this opportunity to say that many studies have shown that a plant based, mostly organic diet is the best way to prevent cancer. Maybe more people will consider diet as a means of prevention, so they don't have to consider chemo as one.

Sent by Julia | 2:40 PM ET | 11-01-2006