For Joe who is no longer here, I am thankful that because of cancer while he was here each touch was felt much more tenderly.

I am thankful for a friend who insisted that if I needed to ask Joe things I do it NOW, that if I needed information from him that I ask it NOW. That if I needed details on hospice, support, etc, that I find out NOW.

I am thankful for my sister who is self employed and in spite of her mortgage, left her job for two weeks to come to a foreign country to do an oral history for Joe for future generations yet too young to ask important questions about him.

Sent by Irene | 11:15 AM ET | 11-22-2006

Thank you, Leroy, for your beautiful sentiments. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend, and I look forward to hearing about it on Monday!

Sent by Karen | 12:29 PM ET | 11-22-2006

Hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Your blog always reminds me of how much I have, indeed all of us have to be thankful for. Life is meant to be enjoyed no matter what, if only for the moment. We all know that there are good times and bad times. So, it's up to us to make the most of it.

Sent by Chris | 12:31 PM ET | 11-22-2006

Leroy,

Thank you. The last couple of months, I have been searching the Internet looking for that "new cure" for my son. He's 15, has had a recurrence of Synovial Sarcoma, and we too are walking down the path of uncertainty for the future. I ran across you blog last night while on the infamous search. I laughed, I cried, I know.

Every year at this time I try to sit down and evaluate my life and I take the time to be thankful. Some people do Christmas cards, I like Thanksgiving. How many times do we really stop and thank the people that have crossed our path in life.

We have a website for my son, a way to keep everyone posted on his progress, doctor visits, etc. This morning, I sat down to post a "Thanksgiving" message... I too erased everything I had written. "A little too cliche?" I don't know, but I'm stuck. Does that mean I'm not thankful this year? No. I think it means that my thankfulness is so basic, how can most people understand that? How can they understand that I am thankful that I have to wake my kids up at 11:00 a.m. because they stayed up too late playing video games and talking? I am thankful for their messy rooms because they were enjoying their lives too much to take their soda cans to the trash can, I am thankful that I have to tell them "guys, you have to be a little more responsible, there's more to life than video games."

See, I'm thankful for all of this, because they are here. Both of them. Except for the bald head, a person wouldn't even know that one of them is fighting the battle of/for his life. Such simple things, but huge.

So in my quest to post my Thanksgiving message, I ended up reading your blog. You get it... you know. I'm thankful were all here, I'm thankful to have this day with both of my children.

Today, I'm also thankful for you giving us your voice. You are expressing many of the things we don't talk about, you are expressing many of the feelings we don't dare say out loud, you are letting others know that they are not alone in this struggle/fight/life. So thank you Larry. Enjoy the weekend, may you too enjoy the peace of a treatment free weekend. So simple, but so huge.

Sent by Rhonda | 12:36 PM ET | 11-22-2006

My sister, Julie passed away four years ago, the day before Thanksgiving, on Nov. 27th. I thank God for the 40 years she was in my life everyday. We now get together in honor of her for Thanksgiving. Please take time to say thanks for those who are here with you during these holidays. God Bless.

Sent by Merry | 12:38 PM ET | 11-22-2006

Yes, Leroy... we're still here. Amazing. I am so thankful for my family and friends, a postive and committed oncologist, and a caring and supportive on line community with the colorectal cancer ACOR list. I am covered with an erbitux rash (which is driving me nuts) but my liver tumors are smaller and less in number, my CEA is down from 62 to 4.5 so for the time being I have this metastatic colorectal cancer on the run. Thank you for your blog. Hope your taste buds are working tomorrow.

Sent by Janet Turcotte | 12:39 PM ET | 11-22-2006

I heard your piece on our local NPR station yesterday and I was taken with your fight. For I too have been there. Thanks for taking the time and emotion to journalize your battle. I am a five-year kidney cancer survivor and feel grateful for every "next anything." So, here we are at the fifth next Thanksgiving for me and I wish you the same outcome that I have been blessed with. You are right, as survivors or patients, we do wonder is this the last "x" for me? This uncertainty (usually before annual CT scans for me) makes those moments bittersweet, yet precious.

Sent by Paul | 12:30 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Hi Leroy:

It's your Canadian e-friend, Nancy, here once again. I have a suggestion and a question for you.

The suggestion involves a message you received a while ago. It was from a woman named Kathryn Joosten and I believe it was in response to your comments about the "stigma" of having cancer. Kathryn said she was an actress and a lung cancer survivor who wanted to start a survivors group but couldn't find any one to join. If I'm not mistaken, Kathryn plays Mrs. McCluskey, the curmudgeonly neighbor on the ABC hit series, Desperate Housewives. I was thinking that maybe you could help her by suggesting Nightline or 20/20 produce a story about her dilemma. She's an actress on a hit show on the same network and she has a legitimate concern. The publicity would be rather like a public service, perhaps giving a voice to lung cancer survivors like her — much like your work on the blog. Maybe Kathryn wouldn't want that level of exposure but if it helps her, and others like her, I think it should be considered.

And my question — our annual office Secret Santa festivities are just around the corner. I have drawn the name of a colleague who has recently returned to work about treatment for breast cancer, including a mastectomy, chemo and radiation. It's hard not to think of gift ideas for her that don't all revolve around wellness or spirituality, not that there's anything wrong with those! But, as you were saying about yourself, there is so much more to Michelle than her cancer experience. She loves art, cooking, animals, entertaining and life. Can you suggest some gift ideas for her that would be meaningful but not condescending or depressing in any way?

Any help you can provide will be much appreciated.

Happy U.S. Thanksgiving (ours was in October)!

Sent by Nancy Boomer | 12:37 PM ET | 11-27-2006

I have the pleasure to be both a doctor and a family member of a dear old grandfather with cancer (CLL).

It's funny sometimes, because I find myself in between wanting everyone to have the choice to die, and feeling as if I want to hold on to my grandfather no matter what. But the truth is that he is the man in charge. It is his hand that makes the call. It should never be up to the doctor or the nurses (remember I am one of them).

I love him dearly, but I know he would be horrified to be respirator dependent. And the truth is, in this country, we rob from people the death they deserve. That is, we steal from them the quite death that most deserve. Instead we fill in with epinephrine, loud whistles, too many nurses and doctors running around with not sense of what death is and should be.

The Buddhist death may take many days. The true light may emanate and linger for some time. In our modern day ICUs we steal that from both patients and families. It's a travesty and I am embarrassed to be a part of it.

Do not rage against the dying of the light... embrace it. It is the finality of a beautiful process.

Sent by Brian | 12:39 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Counting my blessings, and you and this blog-family are one of them. I am blessed beyond measure, and am thankful to my cancer diagnosis for opening my eyes to it all. More fully!

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Sent by Karen | 12:45 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Enjoy that pumpkin pie, Leroy, and happy Thanksgiving.

I just wanted to let Ruth (who had surgery yesterday) that people were thinking and praying for her, and that I hope all went, and goes, well.

Sent by Art Ritter | 12:46 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Leroy,

Today I am thankful for YOU. You can put so much of our fears and hopes into words for us and for others who are struggling with cancer. Thank you.

Sent by Kate Murphy | 12:47 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Thank you for your many contributions. I am thankful for people like you who remind me that the recipe for a life well lived calls for perspective as an ingredient. Not enough and life is dense, too much and we forget who is ultimately responsible for how every day is faced. Have a tasty, peaceful Thanksgiving.

Sent by Sandra Yudilevich | 12:50 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Thank you Leroy, for sharing experiences and being a part of those of us with cancer who look forward to your commentary and honesty. I am grateful to you for having the courage to write for those of us who truly depend on your inspiration and hope no matter how bad you may be feeling. It has helped me push on when I too am feeling emotionally drained and physically tired. Thank you again.

Sent by Ann | 12:52 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Dear Mr. Sievers,

i'll drop the caps since typing is still a funny dance, best done without the need for the pinky to always land properly... i know you'll understand. for much of this year i have been either following in your footsteps or you've been in mine, so to speak. therefore, its been sometimes necessary to turn off the radio during your commentary, though you've hardly been far from my mind. i didn't intend to do this on thanksgiving, i wanted to write you on halloween, but so it goes. now's the time. [nows the time, a phrase with new meaning for us, eh?]

i am very, very proud of you.

by mid-september i was through enough of my own second journey with cancer to keep listening to your broadcasts. halloween is also my favorite holiday, and yes, i thought of dressing up as a chemo patient because i can't think of anything scarier than going through it again (and i still had lots of supplies from the chemo-to-go, home-drip company). instead, i stayed home, handing out candies, dressed as i am but holding a magic wand and wearing a beautiful autumn-leaf mask. a recovering cancer patient, transitioning, and trying to work the magic. That's me.

[colo-rectal cancer in 2003, jumped to my liver and lung and we found it jan. 2006, shrank the lung tumor dead away and shrank the liver tumor by half, surgery was july 26 after s—-loads of heavy-duty chemo. two major surgeries and 3 minor ones, i'm now 47 with no find-able cancer]

and i am truly very proud of you.

my support group is an email list of about 30 people, some close by and some very far away. together we have struggled through the dark times and the little lifts we have discovered all kinds of ways and means for getting through. now we are in the post-treatment-living-with-uncertainty phase of cancer. uncharted territory is an easier designation than no mans land though there are certainly many times it feels like a pre-marked graveyard and NOT like a brave new world [oh, hey, i hit the right key! neuropathy be damned! nya nya nya, there it is again!).

what i really want to make clear to you is something my pals are trying to make clear to me: the content of my email messages to that glorious crew touched on lots of stuff: no stone unturned. they helped me and, as they keep telling me, my recipients. i told them stuff in case there's someone else who might benefit, and stuff that only people who know me would truly laugh about. i asked for the impossible (make it stop) and the very simple little thing that was totally do-able (walk the dog) and laugh we did. we still do. So you see, your willingness to go there too, and take us with you, is what i am most proud of.

i've had a silly little motto for many years now: if it isn't fun, i don't do it. so when i got cancer the first time, i refused to let it turn me into a sad, nasty person. talk about giving out difficult assignments. well. we got through it. this time was much, much harder and the knowledge gained goes much deeper. and somehow, here and there, we found the fun. it might've been the very silly socks someone sent me, or the viking shield maiden helmet with long blond braids someone else sent me and which i wore to chemo (and have taken photos of all my local helpers wearing - the slide show is wonderful) or its the books i've been given to read, the scrabble games with my father during the first 90 minutes of chemo ("the Drip Game is the only game I win says my dad), the netflix movies and tv shows, the flamingoes someone planted in our yard - and their eggs that arrived on easter morning, and the flamingo that appeared in my mailbox as we left for the hospital, a palm-sized on for my hospital night stand, the delight my surgeon took in my gift of homemade chopped liver ... we found the fun, goddamn it, and it does help. the darkness was always there, and the metaphors we all worked with through emails and cards and music, talking about it this way helped me process, create a process, keep going.

so i say to you, keep talking, keep telling, keep healing, and know that i am pulling for you. with both hands. you've pulled me along, and helped so many of us find words for how it is. I want you to fight-fight-fight and win win WIN. like mr. churchill said: when you're going through hell, keep going.

i believe in you, and thank you. our quest for chemo-lot, our fellowship of the drip, talking about it helps others who walk the rocky path. i've got my lucky 30, you've got the world. Good on you, Leroy. Good on you. i'll be listening closely, and holding you in my thoughts. all the brightest blessings, the very best of wishes to you.

remember the lifts, the good moments: they're here, and there, and they'll be back. i had doubts, but now i believe.

you do it, too.

Sent by Susanne Barkan | 1:07 PM ET | 11-27-2006

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! I look out my window and admire three old, twisting oak trees, bare of leaves but full of color. Their bark ranges from soft dove gray to charcoal and earth tones. One of them has been growing here for two hundred years and reminds me of the things of earth I am so thankful for, the eternal sun and the skies it gives us to cheer us along when we might feel gloomy. Today the sky was a patchwork quilt of blue tones and cream. Now the sun is disappearing but the trees and the rich grass and the light cool breeze remain. Thank God for the natural things of this earth, and the people who live on it who are trying their best to do well.

Sent by Nancy Oliveri | 2:07 PM ET | 11-27-2006

I happened on to your site, and I don't want you to think this comment is trite! I have a friend who can relate to what is being said here and I will apprise her of it. However, I was struck by the realization that the thoughts expressed here resemble one's feelings going through divorce. Thank God, divorce isn't a fatal disease, but it is also a life-altering event. The need for companionship, realism, understanding and sympathy — and a positive view of the future, no matter what it brings — are necessary for both conditions. Perhaps someday you could do a series on the spiritual aspects of divorce. Mostly people focus only on the financial ramifications.

I wish Leroy much luck! Writing is palliative, I'm sure.

Sent by Carole Tavel | 2:12 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Hi Leroy,

Like you I am surviving my cancer. So broke in this third world country (Philippines) that I didn't have chemotherapy. Anyway, that was six years ago and I'm still here. Don't know why or how. For that, I'm truly grateful. Live well Leroy! :)

Sent by Susan Villaroman | 2:20 PM ET | 11-27-2006

Dear Leroy,

I was listening to NPR last week when I heard your interview. I am not suffering with cancer but I have lived through it with many friends. You said something that was extremely helpful to me and I want to thank you. You pointed out that when friends start to tell you of their own woes but then quickly stop and say something like "but it's nothing compared to what you're dealing with..." it effectively limits and diminishes the friendship because it preempts you from participating fully. I've done just that (inadvertently limited a friendship) to more friends than I want to count, but I won't do it again. Thank you for your open and courageous willingness to share your journey. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving and are bearing up now as well as possible. Thank you again.

Sent by D. Kempner | 2:22 PM ET | 11-27-2006

In June my dad came to N.Y. for a visit from North Carolina. While he was here he complained of severe back pain. Two weeks later he was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer which had spread to his back, hip and skull. He remained so strong while undergoing radiation and then chemo with Avastin. In late September he developed necrotizing fascitis in his back and had to undergo surgery. The doctors didn't think he would survive. He pulled through and continued his fight, still having chemo, pt at a rehab facility and three times weekly wound changes. He had to stop Avastin because of the wound on his back. I never heard him complain about having cancer. He truly was so strong and brave. On Thanksgiving morning he lost his fight. I look back on the past four months in disbelief. And I'm still trying to make sense of it all.

Sent by Kelly | 2:28 PM ET | 11-27-2006

The holidays are a way to revert to the past. Hopefully, it's the good memories that we remember, so that, for one more time there is a familiar feeling of family and feelings of before this disease.

Sent by Robert Failing | 2:34 PM ET | 11-27-2006

I read these postings and have to wonder, as many do I'm sure, how we would handle such news and deal with this terrible malady should it ever come to us? I am grateful that there are such as you out there willing to share your thoughts and pain in all of this. I thank God each day for what he has provided me in the past and for the potential he has given me in making this day the best day of my life. You are all in my prayers each day. May God bless you and keep you.

Sent by Mike McCormick | 2:48 PM ET | 11-27-2006