I had cancer AND was hit by a car. It was after that that I realized you could expire in 1 hour, 1 day, 1 week etc. You never know! Your post is a good reminder about this.

Sent by Susie | 8:55 AM ET | 11-01-2006

Sometimes I think that the illusion of safety, the illusion of unlimited time unfolding into the future, of "later" and "someday", is something that people maintain because they need it — it's too scary otherwise — its too hard to live in that place in your head all the time. Perhaps one of the odd "gifts" cancer patients receive is that that illusion of safety, of unlimited time, can no longer be maintained. It is scarier to know that it's an illusion, and sometimes its overwhelming to try to integrate that knowledge into ones life and choices, but that knowledge can enrich and strengthen one in "regular" life as well. Once the veil is lifted, the perspective on what's really a risk and what isn't is changed, and perhaps one can be live a fuller, less fearful life - saving and acknowledging fear for those things that earn it or deserve it like cancer, but still fighting forward through the fear. Thanks so much for your writing Leroy — and good thoughts for your present and future.

Sent by M.J. | 2:03 PM ET | 11-01-2006

I'm not entirely convinced that it's "safety," or the return to what they perceive as safety, people are wanting. In my opinion, a cancer diagnosis is an event that forces you to not only examine your own mortality, but also reflect upon the world around you. One doesn't need to journey far into that introspection to realize that safety is — and has always been — an illusion. I prefer to call it by its real name: oblivious.

Once someone has been shaken by the jolt of a cancer diagnosis (it can actually be any sort of life altering event), one comes to realize and see life, and the world, for what it really is — a risk worth taking.

Sent by Michael Everett | 2:05 PM ET | 11-01-2006

I don't know yet. You have been on the side where they say remission and "now we watch." I can only suspect Mari is at the place I am... I have cancer and long every day for someone to say "remission." I also fear, I will rarely be able to let it go.

Last week my hip hurt all week. I told my husband but I put off telling my physician until I am scheduled to see him again. Why? I am scared it is cancer of the bone. I fear to some degree I will spend the rest of my life with headhache-brain tumor, backache-spine tumor tired — liver tumor growing again. I dont want the rest of my life to be that way but youre right, what could be scarier than a tumor?

I still will live my life...much as I do now. I loved my granddaughter ladybug last night trick or treating. I loved swimming w her last week at night w the lights on rotation & her laughing w delight when she was "pink." I will live, but I will worry. Maybe my cancer was a wake up call to pay more attention to my body and my health. I will have fear but I hope it does not overwhelm me...but make no mistake I will have fear.

But I live... boy will I live!

Sent by Cherie Brown | 2:14 PM ET | 11-01-2006

I think I know... Deep in every man, there's a (sometimes hidden) anxiety. Feeling safe is forgetting about it — so easy and still to hard to ever feel safe. With good spirits!

Sent by Anna | 2:23 PM ET | 11-01-2006

This is what helps me when I start to hear the "foot steps" behind me...

"I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend

The rest of your nights with the light on

So shine the light on all of your friends

When it all amounts to nothing in the end.

I wont worry my life away."

The Remedy from Jason Mraz, written about his friends fight with cancer pretty much makes me cry each time...

Sent by Brit | 2:38 PM ET | 11-01-2006

Safety as an illusion. Yes, in some ways I need to agree. However grabbing every second of a safe time is a great way to spend it. Me? As soon as the surgeries are over, Im going to France, Italy and Spain for 7 weeks. A friend asked why I chose those countries. "Easy," I replied, "for the food and wine." After going through this journey that started in June 2005, I want the rainbow. I have even decided that, God forbid, something new should develop, Im still going. The only thing that will stop me will be the inability to travel.

Sent by Robin | 8:58 AM ET | 11-02-2006

You always have that frisson of fear that cancer has recurred. I got a call from the oncologists office yesterday. My first thought was that there was a problem with my last CA125 tumor marker test. But then reality set in and I figured it was to change my next appointment—which is exactly what it was. But the initial fear was still there...didnt someone once say that the definition of a brave person was somone who is afraid but takes a chance anyway? Having cancer has made me a braver person.

Sent by Kitty Jungkind | 9:08 AM ET | 11-02-2006

My mother has lung cancer. She has been brave, but has not felt safe. She has held out hope for long enough.

Monday, the doctor gave her the news that you wouldn't want to hear. The chemo is no longer effective and in fact may make her situation worse, and therefore the physicians have recommended discontinuing the chemo and proceeding to get hospice started.

So that's it. The death sentence you didn't want to hear. She was emotionless and in some way upbeat that maybe she won't be sick because of the chemo.

As her son and only family member to take care of her, it is a scary time for me. How do you watch your mother slip away ... I've never seen that before. Call it a life experience or whatever, but I know I don't feel safe thinking about it.

More than anything, I fear the unknown. I can't imagine what she fears. Perhaps she is ready. I hope she is. I hope I am.

Sent by Russell Simms | 12:32 PM ET | 11-02-2006

To follow up to Russell Simms. My sympathies are with you. I am waiting for that day with my own brave mother who also has lung cancer. I fear the day may have come already and she has not shared it with me. Bless you on being there for her; it is your greatest gift now.

Sent by Tania Horne | 11:44 AM ET | 11-06-2006