Thanks for the service and insight you are providing for people who have not had this experience. My dad died of cancer and it affected all of us but I could not really know how he felt he was a private person.

Sent by Kathy | 11:20 AM ET | 12-11-2006

This past weekend driving home from round three of chemo, I witnessed a young man getting ready to commit suicide off an interstate highway. He perched atop a guard rail, holding onto a pole and swinging his body over the interstate as traffic was driving underneath. It was a moment of anger for me as I realized how this man was willing to not only take his own life and possibly cause another person driving to loose a life. But here we are FIGHTING the battle for our life and he so willing to give up his. You better be here next year Mr. Sievers. I know I am planning on being here next year.

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 11:22 AM ET | 12-11-2006

Congratulations!

Sent by Jane | 11:23 AM ET | 12-11-2006

Leroy,

We have just celebrated an anniversary as well. My husband made it to the five year mark. And not only did he make he, but in actuality he feels better than he had felt even before the cancer. It was probably growing for a long time before it manifested itself.

For myself I have noticed, no welcomed the return of the old Terry, the Terry before the stress and fear of living with the very real and potentially bad realities/outcomes of this disease process. But while this Terry is the same she is also very different, while I would not want to experience it again, nor do I wish it on anyone, I learned a lot and grew. I think I am a better, stronger person for it. Those lessons will help me weather whatever comes next. As you can well attest anything is possible. Happy anniversary, I'll be looking for next year's anniversary blog. All the best.

Sent by Terry Keegan | 11:26 AM ET | 12-11-2006

Your insights into living with a chronic illness have been so helpful to me, even though I don't have cancer. (I was diagnosed several months ago with hundreds of benign liver adenomas the largest have been surgically removed, most remain, to stay the same, grow, metastasize, who knows?). I've been reading a lot about cancer since then, and I find your reflections the best balance of reality and optimism. Your honesty makes it easier for the rest of us to face whatever happens with integrity and courage. Thank you.

Sent by Julie Moos | 11:27 AM ET | 12-11-2006

I can certainly relate to living no matter how much life changes. Your right about dwelling on the how long do I have and will I be here next year. When it comes down to it you just have to take it one day at a time and live as if all the tomorrows will be there. Mostly I remember to say and do those things that I believe to be most important and not put off saying whatever it is I need to say at that moment and lastly not to dwell on the trivial things in life.

Sent by A.S. | 11:29 AM ET | 12-11-2006

Before I could quite reach my first anniversary of my diagnosis, I got the news that it was indeed a tumor I had found, and it was indeed malignant. So, reaching the first anniversary of my diagnosis, surgery, etc, all seemed like a denouement. But, now that I am more than a year out, it feels like I have started a whole new phase. And it is wonderful. It is the rest of my life. I have signed up with Hospice, and they keep calling to schedule appointments, and I have trouble fitting them in. I'm just too damn busy to die. It does make it a bit difficult to plan, but then, if I didn't know I was sick, how would I have lived my life?

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 11:31 AM ET | 12-11-2006

Thank You Leroy! I have heard you say when interviewed that this blog makes you have to visit cancer everyday and that it makes it a bit more difficult to find those precious moments when you become engaged in some activity or person or event and it leaves your mind for a while. As much as I would like to take my cancer experience and tuck it away now that I'm a year clean, I'm more afraid I WILL forget as life goes one. That is why your blog is number two on my saved favorite websites. I check my son's announcements at school online and then I go to NPR, briefly check out the other headlines and interesting stories and then I click on your blog link. Last year when I was sick, I didn't even know the names of my son's teachers let alone know what activities were going on. He was one lost young man and I was one lost young single mom. What a difference a year makes. Life is strangely familiar once again, but I am so very different because of the experience I've had. I know I have so much more to learn about life and humanity, but my mind even works differently. If I forget for too long that life can change in an instant, that life has hills and valleys, that it can happen to me and those I love, that with profound change comes profound wisdom in the lesson if I choose to see it, then I lose the perspective I fought so hard to get. Even though I didn't know that is what I was doing at the time. Now, thoughts turn into action much quicker. The word "love" is used much more often and with more meaning. Compassion (not pity) can be accessible at a moments notice. My heart so often shielded before, stays open to the beauty and the battlefield of life. Reading your blog each day of the week allows me to remember what I need to remember and know but for the grace of God go I. I don't worry about clicking on my link tomorrow and not finding your blog there because today it is there and I've heard what I needed to hear and I wont forget what I need to know. You allow that to happen for me everyday. My deepest appreciation for what you do for all of us.

Sent by Missy | 12:00 PM ET | 12-11-2006

I, too, am enjoying my one year anniversary since having surgery for my colon cancer. I decided to invite a few family members and friends over for a "Thanks Giving" dinner to celebrate this event. Although my future is very uncertain, I have found each day to be so valuable and precious, even more than before I was diagnosed (colon cancer level four). I am just thankful for the opportunity to enjoy life, family, etc.

Sent by Michael Harris | 1:18 PM ET | 12-11-2006

Almost seven years ago my husband was diagnosed with cancer, one with an extremely low survival rate. We knew someone had to be the good statistic and hoped it would be him. Knowing that he had a chance, albeit a small one, kept our spirits up and hope alive. Our anniversaries from the time of diagnosis are piling up. My wish is that your anniversaries keep coming. After all, someone has to be the good statistic. Your column inspires us all who have been touched by cancer. Thank you.

Sent by Christine Quint | 11:42 AM ET | 12-12-2006

On my first diagnosis anniversary, it felt very strange to try to treat this day as any other. June 3, 2002 was the day my life turned around, and that past year had been full of surgery and radiation and re-evaluation. So, I decided to celebrate with "Cake Day." I sent out a message to my friends and family, and on June 3rd for the past three years, we all have a piece of cake, wherever we are in the world, blow out a candle, and make a wish for the next year. So whatever you choose to do to commemorate this day, remember that it is a day to celebrate, because you're still standing, and are a little wiser for the journey.

Sent by Sarah | 11:53 AM ET | 12-12-2006

On Feb. 17, the prognosis was so dire I thought I would be dead before taxes were due. After a down month, and long walk in the forest with our dogs I decided not to die and fight like hell. I also bought a new titanium driver, a rather expensive and permanent purchase. Now I look forward to my first anniversary, so we can get on with year two. Thanks Leroy.

Sent by Tim Andersen | 1:15 PM ET | 12-12-2006

Dear Leroy,

I have been reading your blog and have been meaning to write to you for quite some time. Today's post gave me the nudge to go ahead. My one year old daughter has been battling leukemia for nine months now and although I am not the one fighting cancer, I can still relate to just about everything you write. I can't adequately express to you how it makes me feel to read my own thoughts reflected back to me. Thank you for taking the time to write it all out. I'm sure it helps you to process your thoughts and it certainly helps us to read them.

Today's post struck me in how much it sounded like a message I wrote for my daughter's Web page. I have been thinking lately about how cancer is not my whole world anymore. Although my daughter's odds of surviving aren't great, I simply couldn't keep up the mental torture of imagining every terrible scenario. I spent months worrying and crying, even though TODAY she is doing wonderfully. Maybe I finally believe what everyone has been telling me...that you can't prepare yourself for the worst. You can't grieve in advance. You can't spare yourself the devastation when relapse or worse happens. So why go through it twice? Granted, I still worry but it's not all-consuming anymore. Maybe I'm finally learning to take things as they come in life. It sounds like you are too.

Sent by Chris | 5:52 PM ET | 12-12-2006

I already had two anniversaries and June 2007 will be my third (YES I am counting on).

I am still on chemo and riding the rollercoaster, but darn determined for more celebrations. Congratulations to you (us) all.

Sent by Angelo Balistreri | 10:23 AM ET | 12-13-2006

Leroy,

"Happy" Anniversary — does that sound strange? I posted my own anniversary blog on my care page this week. It has been 15 years since being in remission for Ewing's Sarcoma, and one year since my diagnosis with colon cancer.

I think after I survived Ewing's, I put a lot of pressure on my self to do something and be something "big." I felt I should live every moment, be a fully changed person, etc. I'm sure having cancer at a young age did take me down a different path, but I don't know exactly how, and I got to a point where I sometimes forgot I had ever had cancer or gone through chemo. I think I learned the lessons I "should" have learned then just this last year while going through treatment again. I guess it is maturity, a better understanding of mortality, having a spouse who was also affected this time, etc. Part of me hopes I always remember so I am more grateful for life, but part of me hopes that I will be around 15 years from now and will suddenly realize I had once again "forgotten" a hard time in my life. Sometimes I get cranky and ungrateful and complaining and then I feel guilty — shouldn't I have this renewed zest for life? But maybe it does mean that I am learning to move on! Getting back to some kind of new "normal"...

Sent by Kelley E. | 11:26 AM ET | 12-13-2006