I've learned when to ask for help, because none of us gets through cancer, or life, for that matter without the help of others. I've learned that I have a great capacity for advocating for myself, and for being persistent in my efforts to recover my life. I've learned that doctors aren't always right, and that it's important to listen to ones "inner doctor" and let it lead you elsewhere until you get the right answer, and the right solution. I've learned that love and kindness are the most important things, and that they can come in surprising ways and from unlikely people.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 12:31 PM ET | 10-11-2006

Leroy... what a great question? What do I know? I am the partner of a survivor (at least for now). I know my reality is just for the moment, and that for my husband, as well as he is doing, the tides could change at any time. I know I do try to cherish the moment, appreciate what we have but I also know we are human and we easily slip back into the day to day and I know that is OK and a sign of how well he really is doing. I know that if things do go bad, if he gets sick again I know there is no cure for him. I know that facing death is daunting but I know that we have love, strength, courage, great families and wonderful friends who will help us through. I know that if this disease "gets" him, life will never be the same for me and our children but I know life will be good again, in a very different way... well... I really don't know that yet. Hope I don't have to know that... but I do believe that we will eventually be OK.

I thank you for this blog and the reminder it gives me every time I read it. And I hope you KNOW I am hoping for you and yours.

Sent by Terry Keegan | 12:33 PM ET | 10-11-2006

Since my diagnosis, I have also learned to enjoy all of the subtleties that are oblivious to so many of us. For instance, on the evening of my diagnosis, I stepped out on my balcony to watch the sunset. I had done this dozens of times before, but this time was different. I felt the wind kiss my face. I heard the melody of the trees as they swayed touching each other in a chorus of one of natures many songs. A few days later, I actually stopped to enjoy the smell of rain as an impending storm approached. Again, I stood on my balcony as the storm rolled through. I let the rain pour over my body, and it was as if I could feel every rain drop dance on my skin.

Basically, I am more aware, more grateful, and more intentional in my thoughts, words, and actions — in my life and my life with others. My friendships have become much more meaningful, and I love the people in my life in a way and to a degree that I wasn?t able to before.

For me, cancer has been a wonderful gift. Sure, there are bad days. There are days when I cry. There are moments when I am devastatingly weak. In those moments, I realize the meaning of life. The reason we are all here is to help one another, to teach each other and ourselves how to discover one another, even during the densest darkness that may befall us.

Sent by Michael Everett | 1:38 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I have learned patience. I have learned that my family will be able to exist without me. I have learned which of my friends and family have extraordinary strength and which ones are still building that strength. I have learned how to comfort others. I was never very good at that before. Now I have an insider's edge. I have learned that my friends and family don't mind if I cry. I used to try to be so strong and it turns out it wasn't necessary. I have learned that it is OK to be honest, even if the truth is unpleasant.

Sent by Sandra Locus | 1:47 PM ET | 10-11-2006

Diagnosed with breast cancer at 34 (and still in treatment), I now know that cancer doesn't care how old you are. I know which of my friends and family are all talk and show and which ones are really willing to help out. I have learned how truly generous my employer is with time and money. I know the biggest motivator to keep me going is my 4-year old son. Some people may hope they see their children have successful careers with wealth and fame, possibly grandkids and good health. I have asked God to give me 10 years to see my son graduate from high school. I have learned to be thankful for even the smallest thing: a perfectly ripe nectarine, the smell of pine trees and the hug of my son.

Sent by Michele C. Ramseier | 1:50 PM ET | 10-11-2006

Leroy,

Cancer has been with mankind since the days of the ancient Greeks and Romans. In 1970 cancer killed 330,000 Americans and Congress resolved that cancer should be eliminated "by 1976 as an appropriate commemoration of the two-hundredth anniversary of the independence of our country". The war on cancer had begun.

In 1985 cancer killed even more Americans to the tune of 462,000. Cancer deaths have increased every year since 1973. Even today, cancer is the 2nd leading cause of death in the U.S.

The best minds of scientists and cancer researchers have given their all for nearly forty years in this war on cancer.

With all due respect to our wonderful medical profession, their process has not yielded the desired results when it comes to solutions for cancer, let alone diabetes, stroke, and cardiovascular disease, to name a few chronic and/or acute diseases.

I think, and hopefully others will agree, that it is time that we at least try something new or different. I think that reason or rationalism should be given more prominence in empiricism of their method. In my unpublished manual script, currently titled, Problems of the Opposites -? Why People Get Sick, I note that most people tend to be students of rationalism or students of empiricism. What is at issue here is how new knowledge is discovered — for instance, what is the cause of cancer.

Using reason and perception one could know what to look for in the empirical data. Otherwise, if a problem is multi-factorial, the current scientific method may come up lacking. Einstein had such a temperament. Although not an Einstein, I too am bless (or cursed) with such a way of looking at the world

As I indicated in earlier comments, I am prepared to offer conclusions on mankind?s predicament pertaining to health and otherwise, based on reason and empirical data. What is holding me back is that I need to eat and pay the mortgage.

Sent by Edward L. Floyd | 2:06 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I have been in treatment for invasive breast cancer this year, caught very early because I have experienced the death of an aunt from breast cancer and my mother and another aunt have had breast cancer. I have gone through surgeries, chemotherapy (with loss of hair), a chemo port and radiation. I have also held down a full time job throughout. What I have learned is perspective, in a totally different way than I knew before. I know that no life goes unscathed—that we all will face fear and tragedy and yet, most of what we experience is positive and uplifting. I have learned that we spend far too much of our time and energy reacting to meaningless events. Most things that consume our precious time and energy are hassles, inconveniences, annoyances — they are not tragedies, catastrophes or disasters. Those happen, definitely, but perspective allows us to recognize the difference and to know that the truly difficult things are rare for most of us, most of the time. I have had the good fortune to have a friend who is going through a much more difficult cancer and is doing so with much courage and wisdom, so my experience is so minimal by comparison. I also have a friend whose son died unexpectedly again, my experience is so minimal by comparison. I know on a very deep level what most people only know on a very intellectual level—we are all mortal and our time is short. We each have to make our own meaning from that awareness. I know that it is important to notice, to appreciate and to experience the positives of life not just blunder through, oblivious to the incredible gifts we receive in this life.

I have also developed whole new skill sets; I never thought I would have. I know where to buy wigs and how to care for them. I know about all kinds of chemotherapy drugs, their side effects and actions. I know statistics on recurrence rates, predictor variables and clinical trials. I know about holistic medicine and ginger root for nausea and how simply taking a nap can feel so wonderful.

Sent by Cay Welsh | 2:09 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I was diagnosed with what turned out to be stage 3 cancer on 9/10/01. (I sort of missed Sept. 11 because I was already in shock.) So far I have had no recurrence. This doesn't answer your current questions, but I think the biggest change in the way I face life is that I have learned how to say no. I am very selfish with my free time now. I don't feel guilty about pursuing my own interests. And aside from my children, I do nothing because I think someone else thinks I should.

Sent by E.P.D. | 2:18 PM ET | 10-11-2006

What I have learned is how beautiful the ordinary is, a sense that came hard with the understanding it all might be taken away—the sparkle of water drops in the early morning sun, the warmth of a smile from a stranger, the smell of a baby or of a coffee shop. The strength to walk the stairs, to read a newspaper, to hold time in your hands, if only for a second. There are a thousand of them every day, everyday sensations that are truly wonderful. Cancer has taken away much, but has given me this, and for that I am grateful.

Sent by Sandra | 2:19 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I've learned that I know. I've been trusting my instincts for quite some time but mostly just when it comes to me. Now, I trust myself to know about other people too. I'm naturally a giver and I pay attention to others needs. But I'm not as shy and quiet anymore, a bit fearful to express myself. I find I know what others need and want and I get pleasure in saying that joke or positive word, in noticing when someone needs something, in knowing when is the right time to call or what to say in an email, and when to say yes and when to say no. I probably always had this ability. But cancer made me know.

Sent by Ann | 2:30 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I have learned a lot of things, many of them unexpected. Here are a few that my chemo-brain brain can recall at this moment:

I am stronger than I thought I was (and that most of my friends and family thought I was). We can find the inner strength to deal with the hand we're dealt.

Life has a lot of wonderful, special, precious good, but we can?t escape the bad. That?s not statistically possible. No one deserves cancer, but it happens. It happened to me.

Life really is precious and like you said, I don't just pay lip service to that sentiment any more. Every day I find some little experience, thought, moment to treasure. Simple joys.

Family, friends and love (given and received) are the important things.

I can slow down, find balance in my life, and still accomplish a lot.

Love and support come from surprising, unanticipated places.

Ask for help when it is needed. It not only helps me, but also the person who is able to assist.

I am not immortal, and illness and death will not happen at my convenience.

My friends, family and I can make awful, black jokes about my life-threatening illness, and we have shared a lot of laughter over the past couple of years along with the tears, sadness and fear.

Life can change in an instant, and I am surprisingly adaptable.

And, finally, here?s part of what a friend wrote to me when I told him that I had cancer:

People seem to achieve some new balance and gravitas denied to the rest of us middle-agers with mortality creeping into our consciousness and unnecessary stress from silly s—- hammering us. That result is all I know.

Sent by Maggie | 2:33 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I KNOW... (a) more than I've ever wanted to know about breast cancer (b) medical doctors and staff that I never would have otherwise (c) many devoted advocates for the disease — incredible people who also didnt want to be a member of this club (d) who my real friends are (e) not to sweat the small stuff (f) that my body can betray me at any time and it doesnt matter how much I exercise, what I eat or what I drink... I'm vulnerable and (g) that mostly I can handle a lot of adversity and still come back fighting.

Sent by Carol Eagan | 5:05 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I have learned forgiveness, life is too short to hold grudges.

I have learned that each day is precious and should be treasured.

I have learned that my children are independent and caring people.

Not to sweat the small stuff. A clean house is not the most important thing (I'm still working on this one).

I've learned that I love life and will appreciate each day that I am given.

I've learned to be thankful. Thank you for this blog, it has helped me to deal with my own thoughts and feelings regarding my cancer.

Sent by Sherri | 5:19 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I've learned to choose my battles more carefully. I have learned to ask for help and accept it with an open heart. I know that all I have is the "now" and to make it mean something great. I know that its okay for me to take a stand even if it makes me unpopular apparently my age (54) and cancer status gave me this power! I'd rather have less power and no cancer, but that's another topic...

Sent by Sherri | 5:23 PM ET | 10-11-2006

After my husband was diagnosed and started treatment, after we got passed the shock enough to speak, I remember telling someone I know mysteries that no one else can know. It true, because of cancer we touched each other with words and feelings that without cancer would have never been reachable and would have remained untouched.

Sent by Irene | 5:24 PM ET | 10-11-2006

I have had so many people that are close to me die of cancer, or diagnosed with and "won" the fight with cancer, and my faith, my Christian faith, is so severely harmed by it. I try to overcome it. Music, church, whatever, I still am struggling. I guess I allowed anyone who can remain strong when diagnosed with this terrible disease. I'm not sure I would be able to be that way. Unless you're in those shoes, you don't know. I just received news this past weekend of a dear friend who has weeks, MAYBE months, to live. And I am having trouble not crying if I allow myself to think about it. Where does a person like me go for the help they need? Clergy and counselors make me angry with their "pat" answers.

Sent by J.W. | 1:36 PM ET | 10-12-2006

I learned that there are no guarantees in this life, and that it's good to live life to the fullest that we are able. Also, while we have a fair amount of control over our lives via our actions and decisions, we actually have less control than we might think. And, don't sweat the small stuff.

Sent by Leslie | 2:54 PM ET | 10-12-2006

I've learned that God gives you what you need when you need it. In my case, my gift was patience. I'm the caretaker and I'm so thankful that I have not once lost patience with my husband who has Stage 4 lung cancer. For me, that is really major.

I have learned that I don't have to be strong all the time. It is a blessing to ask for help knowing there are those who are just waiting for you to ask.

I've learned that friends in distant places that I haven't spoken to for years still hold me close in their hearts and are ready to come to help me at a moments notice.

I've learned that friends who live close by can care and pray for me and still not know what to say. They don't talk to me as much, but I know in my heart, they still care.

I've learned that I work with wonderful people who have lovingly donated 400 hours of vacation time so that I can spend time with my husband when I need to be with him. These people like me more than I ever knew and really care about my husband and me.

I've learned that a male upper level manager in a company with over 12000 people is willing to put his arms around me and cry with me (and he's not a wimp).

I've learned that it is OK to need other people. I don't have to always be the "rock".

I've learned I can become friends with people I've never met through phone calls and emails.

I've learned that I love my husband more than I ever knew.

My only regret is that I wish I could have learned these things without my husband having cancer.

Thank you so much Leroy. This blog may be your greatest contribution in life. Isn't that a little ironic!

Sent by Nancy S. | 2:56 PM ET | 10-12-2006

I think I speak for many, if not all of the community of people who have not yet been diagnosed with cancer, or had a love one diagnosed with cancer. We are humbled by you. We are humbled by the way that cancer has transformed you and made you more human and appreciative of all of the seemingly small but oh so significant gifts in life. I'm sad that it so often takes a cancer diagnosis to make us see life through that lens. I want to, but I'm not sure I can.

Sent by Meg Rosthal | 2:59 PM ET | 10-12-2006

What do we learn from cancer? I think that it's not so much that we know different things. It's that we suddenly have a depth of understanding about the things we partially knew before. It's like the difference in the way you see things out of the window of a fast car and the way you see things when you're on a quiet walk. Suddenly you see the value and beauty of the things that were there, but you were in too much of a hurry to focus on them. It sounds like something that anyone could understand if they took a good vacation, but it really seems to take an earth shattering diagnosis to reveal the enormity of this beauty. It's like when we say about something that you'd have to see it to believe it. I think we get a hint of heaven when this new knowledge of beauty and humanity and our own connection to them arrives. It becomes compensation for the wrenching separation that we know will eventually come.

About telling others when there's a cancer diagnosis — my husband and I briefly considered filtering what to say and who to say it to. We quickly decided we had enough to worry about without adding the job of editing our news. Any deception or withholding seemed too complicated - too much to hold up. Instead we are surrounded by loving people who are so pleased to find ways to help. They are learning with us the hard lessons, good and bad, that cancer has to teach.

Sent by Laura | 3:03 PM ET | 10-12-2006

I have learned that angels walk among us. And that I'm much stronger than I ever thought I was. And if we wake up in the morning, it's a good day. You certainly due realize your priorities in life after being diagnosed with cancer. And I will talk to others about my/our experiences with this disease as others before had talked to me. It's all about caring.

Sent by Jane | 3:08 PM ET | 10-12-2006

I know that life is too short to have it slipped away, that sometimes during my busy days and months that suddenly felt like they are the same day everyday, there's always a new thing to be found.

I realized that I should try something or everything that's new, be open to every new thing and strive for a goal, doing some really hard work to achieve it, before there's no more time left

that I should stop searching for some one to love, but letting the one who love me loves me instead..

I know that its great to be alive, to find how something's are appealing while the other are not as expected, but new..

Thank you for the question, stay strong and live everyday gracefully, you have touched many hearts with this blog, I know.

Sent by Audy | 3:10 PM ET | 10-12-2006

I've learned my faith in God is strong, even in the midst of difficulties. I've learned to accept help, to accept care from friends and family, instead of always being the caregiver. I've learned I love my family deeply, and the minor irritations of daily life are so small now that I barely see them. I've learned that cancer can't take away everything I cherish. While it can take away my health, my breast, my hair, and my trust in my body, it cannot take away love or peace or my trust in God. I now know how to cherish life and each day at a much deeper level than before my diagnosis 11 months ago. I have changed during this journey, and now I wonder what to do with the additional days, months, and hopefully years that God has given me. This I still have to learn.

Sent by Karen | 3:29 PM ET | 10-12-2006

Maybe I shouldn't be honing in on this discussion. But I've lost people to cancer: my dad and three dear friends. Their deaths tore a hole in my heart and left me with a grief that's malignant and a fear that's spreading. Who's next?

I feel as though I should prepare. But I don't know how.

Sometimes I feel as though I'm being stalked. Suddenly, and out of nowhere, memories of them loom up and lunge for me, mostly the feeling of being utterly helpless in the face of cancer. It can happen any time -? when I'm driving, when I'm swimming laps, in the middle of the night. I call it being dead scared.

I've tried to bury this ?- literally. I like to garden. So I've planted little pods in my yard and filled them with perennials. This way I can remember differently: memories of people whom I've loved flowering in beauty and simple grace.

Sent by D. Kern | 3:50 PM ET | 10-12-2006

Wow! Thanks to all of you, this is what I needed to get me through the next 24. I have 2 MRI's for tommorrow. Think I'll eat pizza today.

Sent by Meredith P. | 3:52 PM ET | 10-12-2006

What do I know now that I know I had (have) breast cancer:

Verb tense is important.

Wearing a small dog on your head is doable.

My husband is even a better person than I thought he was.

My children strength is my strength.

It's self examination stupid.

I am afraid but it's OK, fear hasn't stopped me.

A smile, a hug, a kiss are the things that really matter.

I can survive chemo.

Bald men look cool and black women look sophisticated but white 50 year old women just look like Mrs. Clean on a bad hair day.

That's some of what I know now that I know I have cancer

Oh yeah, I'm grateful.

Sent by Jessie | 3:55 PM ET | 10-12-2006

We people with cancer have a lot in common; the most apparent is that we've come face-to-face with our mortality. Somehow all the senses of everyday life are heightened by the knowledge that this may be the last rose I smell. Most people without cancer (sorry to generalize) are not as intimate with their mortality, are burdened with the small stuff that fill their days and nights, a false reassurance that there will be another day to smell that rose.

While I've come to terms with my mortality and take time to really bask in my heightened senses, I don't begrudge anyone the life of denial, I kinda miss it some days.

Sent by Terri Dilts | 4:08 PM ET | 10-12-2006

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer (a year ago) I thought my world had come to an end. In a way it had, but in a good way. I have learned since then that cancer is a gift that has shown me how to trust and have courage to live my life differently. I have learned that listening to my heart, not my mind, is the key to living. I have learned that I have a deep, ancient knowing that guides me. I have learned that joy is experienced in every emotion, even grief, anger, and fear.

Sent by Mary B. | 4:44 PM ET | 10-13-2006

What do I know now that I did not know before?

I've been a critical care nurse for 33 years... seen a lot of death... tried to prepare patients and loved ones.

Now it's me. Melanoma.

I've learned how much can be said in one word.

Sent by Sandi Dalton | 4:48 PM ET | 10-13-2006

I have learned many things. I am a fighter, but I always was even before the diagnosis of stage IV lung cancer. I still work almost full time and enjoy each day. But, please don't ever say that cancer is a gift. It is not a gift. It may teach you many things, and perhaps if you don't have advanced cancer you may make light of it by saying it is a gift. If you have serious chemo and its side effects, it is not a gift.

Sent by Paula Polk | 4:49 PM ET | 10-13-2006

These blogs give me such pause for thought... what have I learned from this? I've learned how much I love my dear Pam and how much I hate to see her suffer. I've learned she suffers in silence the vast majority of he time...unlike the typical male (me) who has to share whatever pain Im in with whoever may be within earshot. I've learned that we can still smile and joke with each other, even when she feels so lousy shed rather shoot me than look at me. I've learned there are SO many people who have traveled this road before and have so much empathy and concern for others who now traverse this unknowable path. I've learned I still get angry and frustrated with life and all the curveballs that come our way. And I've learned it's nice just to sit and be with Pam, not necessarily talking but just enjoying the quiet (or not) moments that life sometimes affords.

Sent by David Farnworth | 4:53 PM ET | 10-13-2006

I was diagnosed with cancer six years ago with a tumor in the muscle of my thigh. I have learned a lot, mostly to be grateful that I am alive.

What I learned through all this is that many of the maxims you hear all the time really are true: for example, "you find out who your friends are". In my case, this meant having to realize that my husband was not one of those friends. I was in a new city when I discovered I had cancer, and my friends were all far away. But what I also learned is that even when you think you are all alone, and that there is no one to help you, there usually is someone just a call away.

I learned to ask for help, but also to accept and appreciate it (the accepting part was not so easy!). For example, I was at the hospital for a check-up when it started to snow really heavily. A guy with a truck drove by just to see if there was anyone there who might need a ride, seeing as how the weather was difficult to drive in. In my earlier days, I would have been embarrassed to accept a ride, or wary because he was a complete stranger. But I thought, if I don't need this now, then who does?

Then there was the radiologist who, when my skin was breaking down as a result of the radiation, and I was feeling so desperate, gave me a hug and just held me for a minute, saying afterward, "you are really brave, and I know it's hard". Just to have people act like a Mensch — ah, how I appreciated that.

Six years later, now divorced, I am just grateful that I have been able to put my life back together again. My relationship to my son, who is now 23, had suffered considerably from the strain of having a mother with cancer and who decided almost right away to separate from his father. But talking to him over and over through the years has improved our relationship. In fact, it is much more honest, since Im not living a lie.

Of course, these were all things which I deeply wish I had learned in some other way. But as you said, Leroy, there are just things that are not under our control.

Since I recovered, hardly a day goes by where I don't stop to look at the world around me and say "thank you" for being able to enjoy it for one more day.

Sent by Deidre Graydon | 4:57 PM ET | 10-13-2006

It's like crossing the river. They are on one side and you are on the other, looking at them with bloodshot eyes. I spend most of my time trying to look normal, since I don't want to tell anyone what I went through.

Even the survivors are never the same. It's a bad experience, for sure. A life-altering experience. I just figure God did not want me to wake up at 94 and have regrets that I didn't live my life. He took me to the edge, and then pulled me back, so now I know.

Sent by DeeDee | 4:59 PM ET | 10-13-2006

On the day I went with my grandma to the doctors to learn that her cancer had become untreatable, I went on line to check my email. A word of the day popped up: "ephemera: something short lived."

I learned the word ephemera.

When I said goodbye to my grandma for the last time, I learned that despite this last year of cancer and treatment, she still had an unbelievably strong hug.

I learned, contrary to everything I thought before about the effects of age and illness, that the most beautiful face I could imagine was hers, as she smiled and told me she loved me.

I've learned that her love can leave me so full, that I have more to share with others.

I've learned what it looks like, to lose your body but keep your dignity.

Thank you. Reading your blog, and everyone else's comments, has been so therapeutic.

Sent by Beverly Neubauer | 5:02 PM ET | 10-13-2006

I wrote a book. It's been completed for nearly a year. I haven't published it because I was afraid it wouldn't be successful. Not any more. It's on the way to the publisher and the second book is in the works.

Sent by Robin Smith | 1:11 PM ET | 10-16-2006

I think there must be something wrong with me. I haven't learned much that I didn't know before.

I've read through other peoples answers, and other than the mundane things like details of cancer and treatment, not much else is new to me. I've always looked for tiny spots of joy on bleak days. I've always known that doing our best is all that can be asked of us. I've always known that death was real. I'd even rehearsed what my own death would be like. I've always known how much my friends and family meant to me and appreciated how very lucky I've been in my life. I've racked my brains to find an answer to your question and the only thing I can come up with is that I know a lot more about cancer and the local health care system now and I can use that knowledge to help other cancer patients. But no earth-shattering, mind-bending, life-altering changes for me. I loved my life before, and I still love it. Everyone goes on about how much cancer has changed their outlook on life or how they feel about themselves. This hasn't happened for me. I feel completely alone in this. Does anyone else feel this way or am I really the only one? Am I doing this cancer thing all wrong?

Sent by Shin | 10:30 AM ET | 10-18-2006

My son's friend cautiously asked me if I liked his goatee, expecting, I suppose, a negative reaction from me. "Im sorry," I said, laughing. "It's great, but don't mind my opinion. I think you should do exactly what you want to do." Those of us who have experienced the ultimate fears — illness, disability, and death — are oh, so happy that you are alive. Why would I care what if you have green hair or red? A straggly goatee or a full beard? I only care that you are.

Sent by Nancy Glover | 12:56 PM ET | 10-23-2006