"Does every morning and evening I don't have to take those pills come at the cost of a shorter life? No one knows. No one ever will."

I don't know about cancer, but recently I've read an article about HIV taking tiny breaks on its war with the immune system. I don't know if cancer takes any breaks, but I hope it does and that you've timed it just right.

Happy Holidays!

Sent by John Martin | 9:57 AM ET | 12-05-2006

This is a struggle I have been having as well — quality vs. quantity. It seems I have opted for quality. These decisions should be clear, but somehow, they aren't. The choice is made through a series of smaller decision.

I was investigating, and trying to qualify for, a clinical trial at NCI. Very exciting stuff — immunology — but it turns out I don't have one of the genetic markers they are looking for. The study was not without risks, being a phase II so still quite experimental, but the payoff could have been a cure. Yes, a cure. That was very tempting. I am not a gambler, but still, that payoff could have induced me to risk all. Well, when I didn't qualify for that one, the nurse at NCI suggested another trial. It would advance the science and knowledge of pancreatic cancer and its treatment, but it just didn't tempt me. The side effects that had been recorded in phase I were pretty awful and the best result had been disease regression. Not enough for me to lower the quality of my life significantly.

Now my oncologist is offering me two other chemos and I am saying No, thank you. I have taken one of the drugs before and didn't really tolerate it well, nor does it seem to have had much of an effect. The other drug has had very marginal impact on pancreatic cancer. I find myself asking, what is the point? Am I going to trade feeling well (as I do right now?) for a few days more feeling lousy? I'm opting for a single bite of Smithfield ham over a case of Spam.

Sent by Stephanie | 10:35 AM ET | 12-05-2006

Good morning Leroy. It sounds like a real blessing... a sense of normalcy for the holiday season. You have so much to deal with and you do have to make so many difficult choices. Once you make them, I hope you don't let fear (worry, doubt) take a single ounce of joy away from you and yours this holiday season. Instantly banish every worrisome thought and... sing your heart out, love deeply, and create beautiful honest moments. Thanks again for giving so much to the world (and to my little family). I hope you know and feel how appreciated you are.

Sent by Nichole | 10:36 AM ET | 12-05-2006

I just discovered your podcast a few weeks back. I subscribed then but did not get around to listening until yesterday. They are so worth a listen.

I have seen many close friends and relatives deal with cancer, of all types. I often wondered what was going through their minds while they were battling the disease. I was usually afraid to ask because they always seemed to want to talk about something else.

Thank you for sharing your inner-most thoughts with all of us. I know it can't be easy to suffer as you do and then still want to talk about it.

Sent by Scott Orrell | 3:14 PM ET | 12-06-2006

I too am on a chemo holiday and I am astonished at how quickly once the drug effects wear off that I begin to slip into the feeling that I am alright!

We are ever optimistic.

Sent by Marilynn | 3:31 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Leroy,

Wanted to share this with you www.thesurvivormovie.com. It is beautiful and meant for brave souls like you.

Sent by Aisha | 3:36 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Dear Leroy,

I am also a stage one survivor of rectal cancer. Your situation has caused me to wonder what steps I should take. I read your blog with a sense of dread. I had to write tonight to let you know what cancer has taken from me: my ability to sleep well at night.

My family is all asleep and I can't because the worries go through my head. Of course there are the cancer worries: "Will my cancer return?" "Should I get a CAT scan?" "Is that mole getting bigger?"

But also worries about my kids being killed or dying. Or my husband losing his job. Or our cars being stolen. Or...

Cancer makes me feel vulnerable. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that bad things can and do happen. My confidence of "everything will be fine" is gone forever.

I wish I could stop the thinking before bed.

Sent by Margaret | 3:38 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Hi Leroy

I'm glad to hear your good news and hope your body has a good rest from the chemo. I have my own good news — which is that after an agonizing months wait, it turns out I don't have cancer. (At least for now.)

I have the breast cancer gene (BRCA1+) so there is an up to 87 percent chance I will develop breast or ovarian cancer in my life, but for now, the lump they thought was there, isn't there.

It is sad that so many of us have these stories, but it really, really helps (as you know) to have this sea of people out there listening and connecting. I'm glad you made this space for people to talk about cancer directly.

Sent by Grace Talusan | 3:39 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Short time reader, first time writer. A family friend sent me some printed versions of your experiences about a month ago. The first one, 'Wishing For a Normal Day,' made me cry like a man with a terminal illness. I was diagnosed in early Aug. with stage four rectal cancer, liver, and lung. Maybe two years, barring a miracle or a big break, the doctor says. Your thoughts yesterday, Dec. 4, also struck close. I (am) was a construction electrician and as soon as I started chemo I knew being able to work 3 to 6 days out of every 2 weeks wouldn't cut it with my employers. I didn't have many hobbies before and I wasn't passionate about being an electrician but I really miss it now. Sometimes now I think I have no purpose in life but I am looking for one, great or small. The last couple of months have been consumed redoing my will and setting up trust funds. Now that's mostly done and what do I do now? I'll figure out something. But anyway, love your columns, I would call it art because art reveals the commonality of humankind and so does your diary. Hope that's not too, you know. I've been trying to read the perennial philosophy by Aldous Huxley for about five years, now I have time during treatments, like today, so I might wax poetic, but when they give me that Avistan, I just pass out and wake up with around an hour left, which ain't too bad. And how can you have a normal day when I hear this damn pump going off every couple of minutes. Good luck and merry Christmas to you and the readers.

Sent by David | 3:43 PM ET | 12-06-2006

I find it interesting before I had cancer I could never visualize fighting up to the bitter end. But in the early stages I couldn't imagine anyone not doing everything possible to have a chance at survival. Now I don't know. I'm tired after a year of chemo. Maybe my emotional fences are down but I find myself surprising eager to jump at any chance to put off chemo. It doesn't exactly feel like giving up but it isn't fighting tooth and nail either. The quality vs. quantity balance seems to vary day to day. Happy holidays to you Leroy.

Sent by Robert | 3:45 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Dear Leroy,

Every good day is a lifetime in its own right. Do enjoy this reprieve and congratulate your body for all it has done and all it has accommodated in the way of treatment. And if you do restart chemo before/during the holidays, please consider scheduling the package unwrapping and other favorite festivities on days when you will be at your best. Reset the calendar to fit YOUR life — a most reasonable perk after the rigors of your treatment. And as William McDonough reminds us, "Celebrate fiercely!"

Sent by Sarah | 3:46 PM ET | 12-06-2006

I come late to this blog so forgive me if you have already discussed this. Now that the subject of clinical trials has been brought up - I am wondering how you all feel about them. I work at a large cancer hospital in pediatrics and enroll patients on studies all the time. Just wondering how you feel about participating in them. Does it offer hope or do you feel like you are being used for the sake of "science."

Sent by Peggy Nagel | 3:47 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Again, Leroy, you touch an important subject that I am not alone in giving serious consideration to: the chemo "break." I have just come off a two month (imagine!) break — went to Italy at the invitation of a friend there, ate pasta, pasta, and more pasta. Walked, visited, etc. It was wonderful! I knew I would facing six weeks of chemo and radiation, and in some strange way I was looking forward to routine, but more importantly, I guess, the "getting on with the fight" against my disease. But Ill tell you one thing: a break — even a little one — in between treatments has given me hope that there may be a way of balancing quantity AND quality. As it happens, I will be in the thick of treatment over these holidays, but Im sure going to make up for it over my next mini-holiday from treatment. California, here I come! Wishes for a wonderful holiday break for you. Enjoy it, guilt-free!

Sent by Alan Beauregard | 4:46 PM ET | 12-06-2006

Happy holidays. I too am on a chemo break after one and a half years of weekly chemo and enjoying every second. Stage IV matestic breast cancer. I'm 62 years-old and not a whiner, just trying to make lemonade out of the lemons given to me. Stay strong and positive. : )

Sent by Paulette V. Webb | 1:42 PM ET | 12-07-2006

A cancer survivor in my wellness community support group forwarded me this NCCR information — exactly the kind of advocacy group I want to be a part of in my struggle with my cancer. I read the information and, then, found Leroy Sievers' daily blog. Through my tears, I am responding. His experiences, related with such sensitivity and sincerity touch me profoundly — emotionally. He is describing many of my personal feelings and reactions which I am unable to articulate — he gives me a voice! Especially the fact that we are always dealing, treating, thinking, with a formidable foe lurking in our bodies and minds. At Johns Hopkins, I have also been saddened by the numerous individuals fighting their cancer. How is this possible? I think, that we are so many — why isn't their more hope for a cure and thankful, at the same time, that the dreaded chemo and treatments are available.

I was diagnosed in September 2005. Surgery followed by a round of chemo at JHH. Now relapsed in such short a time — less than six months — plus other attendant side-effects has temporarily, (I hope) discouraged and saddened me very much. Additionally, we are dealing with the knowledge that, at present, I have no treatment plan as I struggle with what my doctors describe as a rare cancer (clarification: not enough of us have this female gyn oncological disease for research monies availability — I guess, not cost effective).

Therefore, Mr. Sievers' blog is just the sharing I needed. It has opened up my floodgates, a healing cry I did not know I needed. The tender, honesty of his feelings and his courage in his continuing cancer fight renews my hope and determination. You see, I have this unrealistic desire to run, to run-away! The realization that "it" goes everywhere with me is an identity I can't avoid. In a book review of a cancer survivors experiences it included her quotation of the philosopher, Joseph Campbell. That the key to survival "is to be able to give up the life you had planned in order to live the life you are given." This is the crux of the matter isn't it? This seemingly lack of a future.

Mr. Sievers speaks for many of us. Please extend my appreciation for his eloquence and sensitivity in sharing his inner-most feelings. My best wishes for the success of his continuing treatment and, for his courage. May he be blessed with inner strength, and the joy and love of family, and friends. May we each find the resources to laugh? It worked for Art Buckwald (not to forget the late Norman Cousins too).

Sent by Barbara Dickey | 1:49 PM ET | 12-07-2006

Hello,Leroy and everyone.
I got my life altering news about 7 weeks ago. At this point i've had surgery for tonsil cancer stage 3 i'm told now i need radiation & erbitux,would like to hear from any that has had one or both.And thank everyone by readingthis blog i feel less how do i say...alone...my wife is at my side but i don't want to over load her.So i may bother all of you from time to time.Thank everyone

Sent by Robert | 9:50 AM ET | 05-18-2007