Cancer turns our lives upside down.

In order to stay sane through it all, we have to accept the abnormal as completely normal. If that makes any sense?

I hope your tattoos help the radiation beam find its way to those unwanted cells that want to destroy your body.

From reading everything that you have been through with this entire ordeal, you certainly fit that "bad boy" image to me. You are about as tough as they get. With a "bad boy" attitude, you can get through the radiation and win this battle. Good luck!

Sent by Lisa | 11:20 AM ET | 12-27-2006

My husband and I feel that way, too, Leroy. I think it's a control thing, coupled with being middle aged. I know I tend to be a list-making, project managerish sort by profession and other, so I pride myself on being knowledgeable and knowing the "drill" — read, nobody's fool. Knowing is controlling for us, not knowing something is akin to saying all bets are off and were at the mercy of the medical establishment and nature. YECK! Though true.

Maybe instead of ribbons and bracelets, we need military-like insignia, bars, patches to indicate type of cancer, number of campaigns, treatments etc. so patients and medical staff can salute etc. as appropriate? And, *sigh*, know each others history at a glance.

Sent by Teri | 11:27 AM ET | 12-27-2006

Oh Leroy, I couldn't agree more. What is normal for me now is still so foreign to even those who know me well and who go through this with me closely and lovingly. Yesterday I sat in the neuro-oncologists office as she pulled up images of my brain to show me the two tiny spots that have showed up my on the surface of my brain. As I realized what she was doing I was thinking to myself - "Hey, wait a minute! Im not sure I want to see my brain!" Ten minutes later I was fascinated by it. Then came the new chemo I get to experience - directly into my spinal fluid through an Ommaya Reservoir recently implanted under my scalp. As my friend said, "I want to have something African implanted in me!" Thank God for laughter.

Your journey, as I have said before, very closely mimics mine and I cannot tell you what a blessing it has been for me to connect with your experiences and to share them with my friends and family. Thank you so much.

I wish you courage and peace and discernment. It is amazing how much really rests in our hands...what do we agree to and where we draw the line, how we respond.

God bless you and all of us in cancer world. May we all find the miracles that occur every day and be grateful for everything.

Sent by DBC | 11:30 AM ET | 12-27-2006

After I had drawings all over my tummy and a few dots of tattoo for good luck, I found myself wanting a tattoo. And it didn't really feel all that good when the radiation techs put on just that little dot. I think I was feeling that if I have to go through this, I should at least get what I wanted. I did finally figure out what I wanted, but I haven't gone through with it. If I did/do, I will get a purple ribbon, for pancreatic cancer, tattooed on my left lapel area. Maybe that will be my next adventure.

Sent by Stephanie | 12:34 PM ET | 12-27-2006

After the treatments have those dots changed into something cool — go for real tattoos to shake things up! Im a real fan of fleur-de-lis and always thought if I had to do radiation Id have the dots changed to those or a vine looping from dot to dot. Hope all goes well in this latest phase.

Sent by Dona | 12:40 PM ET | 12-27-2006

When my husband announced to our two young daughters that he might get tattoos to mark his body for rectal cancer radiation, they immediately asked if he could get a rainbow and a unicorn. How's that for a bad boy image?

His radiation oncologist stopped using tattoos then, so he ended up with black marker dots covered in clear tape. Very anticlimactic for us all.

I can sympathize with your not wanting to be the new person. As I was in Phoenix dealing with a health crisis with my brother earlier this month, I found myself saying "I have been in this situation before. This is nothing new."

Thanks for pointing out that cancer does not change who we are at the core. If you were a detail person before you got diagnosed, chances are, you will handle your cancer that way as well.

Happy New Year and may 2007 be a year full of hope for you and your family.

Sent by Andrea Clay | 12:45 PM ET | 12-27-2006

You got DOTS! Welcome to the club. I had to have my dots on my chest, where I still have a scar from open heart... man... that hurt... Now you are required to watch Harley shows on TV, and use salty language.

Sent by Brit | 1:19 PM ET | 12-27-2006

Radiation tattoos are a badge many of us wear. Soon, coming down and laying on the table will be a normal everyday thing. With having had rectal cancer, it became no big deal to walk into the chamber and drop my drawers. When I mentioned it to the techs that it was kind of embarrassing at first. They looked at each other and said, no, it could be a whole lot worse. I could only imagine and be grateful it wasn't something else. Radiation was just a part of each day, not particularly unpleasant, just another routine I was eager to be done with.

Sent by Chris | 1:21 PM ET | 12-27-2006

I want to thank you. I don't have cancer, but have an emotional pain and loss. My partner and I just lost a baby (in utero) and I was struck by your words regarding life. I have to keep recalling that my life is a journey and while it is not easy — it can still be good. Thanks for your inspiration and take care.

Sent by Mary | 1:22 PM ET | 12-27-2006

Thanks Leroy,

The last time I was in radiation (August 2006), I mentioned to the tattoo artist that if he keeps up with the dots, we're going to get to play "connect the dots" pretty soon. But as Stephanie mentioned, it may be time to get a stylish tattoo since I've got the unwanted dots already. Good luck with your radiation. I always considered it easy compared to chemo. I wish us all a miracle for 2007!

Sent by Terri Dilts | 1:24 PM ET | 12-27-2006

Leroy, your comment about tattoos made me chuckle. I too have at least five of them after two series of radiation, and I tease my daughter's boyfriend that I have more than he has (though his four are much larger and were much more painful to put on than mine were!). And my husband just got his first (and only, I think) tattoo after thinking about it for 24 years! It's his airborne unit's insignia, and as he says he could have done it 24 years ago when he graduated from jump school but for some reason, two weeks ago was the right time and he can't explain why. I'm OK with it, his daughter about fell over in shock and surprise (and I think she's thinking he's "cooler" as a result, and now of course she's thinking of getting one) so the subject of tattoos has been front and center in our house for many months, ever since I got my first one in April when I started radiation. I never thought hearing the word "beautiful" shouted by Julie, one of the radiation techs, as she positioned my body on the table (I had a tumor on my tailbone so baring my butt became a daily occurrence for five weeks) would be my favorite part of the day, but you take the compliments wherever you can get them! Of course she meant the position on the table and not my rear end in particular! Good luck with this round, think positive thoughts through each treatment and go easy on yourself as the fatigue builds. Your humor is refreshing and doesn't leave any "bad boy image" with me!

Sent by Nuala Kernan | 3:36 PM ET | 12-27-2006

Oh Leroy,

I just returned home from a doctor's office getting a second opinion. It finally sunk in — I am in a very bad place. The doc was very blunt; he said there was no cure. I can do the surgery if I want to, to slow down the growth and allow me to keep swallowing longer, but he said that surgery would not get it all. Or, I can not do the surgery and wait until it does me in completely. I thought of you immediately, what you've had to go through all this time. I'm finishing my chemo, two weeks to go, then it is decision time. I feel very miserable now. I am weak from chemo and have developed bronchitis too. I feel like a blob, just vegetating in my recliner. I feel so bad for my husband, he's been so wonderful. How do you do it?

Sent by Ruth White | 12:24 PM ET | 12-28-2006

Wait! Leroy, you got real tattoos? I thought you were using a metaphor, until I read everyone's comments. I just had permanent marker lines drawn all over me. Couldn't put tape on them because the tape caused blisters. So I had to be careful about showering so the lines would not come off. I sure did not want to go through two hours with my arm over my head to have them redrawn.

Sent by Cathy | 12:34 PM ET | 12-28-2006

Leroy,

Your courage is love personified and your humor the touch to ease the pain. I greatly admire you. Long time reader, first time commentator.

Sent by Amy | 5:19 PM ET | 12-28-2006

Cancer tats might not say "bad boy" exactly, but there's definitely something a little cyberpunk about them. I see my parents' radiation tattoos as badges of honor, even if they don't exactly show them off to their friends.

Meanwhile, all of this got me thinking about that Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry David's mom couldn't get a Jewish burial because she had a secret tattoo and tattoos are verboten. Wonder if they offer some kind of dispensation for cancer tats...

Sent by Andy Carvin, NPR | 2:40 PM ET | 01-02-2007

I was so disappointed that my marks were just with permanent marker. After all my anti-tattoo parenting, my kids thought it would be funny for me (of all people) to have tattoos. Oh well.

I have a story that has stayed with me. A friend had full body radiation and, because she could not tolerate the masks they used for cranial radiation, she had marks on her skull and face for those weeks.

Her children (four of them—ages 6,4,2,1 month) were about to visit their mom at M.D. Anderson and the mother was afraid the markings would frighten her children. The aunt in charge of child rearing during the treatment told the kids that their mom was dressing as a Native American for their visit and they should all paint their face as a surprise to the mom.

No one was scared. The kids looked just like the mom and the mom has never forgotten that small act of compassion and kindness.

I love that story.

Thanks again for all your stories. They sustain me, amuse me and give me strength. Get through the treatment and get some rest. It's a lot easier than chemo, but it does take energy.

Peace.

Sent by Robin | 5:38 PM ET | 01-02-2007

Dear Mr. Sievers and all who share in reading his offerings,

Earlier I wrote an e-mail to Mr. Sievers telling him how much I enjoy his heartfelt, courageous writings. The truth is so very hard and so very important. To share the intimacies of one's life within the circle of family and friends is hopefully known, to share with all unknown persons is immeasurable. My tom lived with cancer from age 35 to his death at 57. Many recurrences. Secondary cancers and too many long term side effects. He lived with his disease, its illness, and its wellness. In 1989 he wrote DAILY SURVIVAL KIT FOR SERIOUS ILLNESS. It was printed as a convenient portable card. In the mid 90s it was purchased by Glaxo-Smith-Kline. It is both inside the cancer community and outside the cancer community. Its words will be familiar to those who read it. I do not know how much room this site allows so here goes:

1-Today I am going to try to live through this day only, and not dwell on or attempt to solve all my problems at once just focus on the piece that is today. I can do something for several hours that would be difficult to even think about continuing for several months.

2-Just for today, I am willing to accept the possibility that there is a purpose to this suffering that it can be a source of meaning and growth for myself and others, though I may not always recognize the ways. And it seems possible that this suffering will not be in vain, because of what may be some kind of existence beyond.

3- Just for today, let me remind myself that I am basically a worthwhile person, worth loving, despite my faults and limits. I deserve the efforts of others to help me through my illness.

4- Just for today, I want to be aware that it is all right to want too much from others at times. Illness brings out and intensifies the small child in all of us. And if I feel hurt when those who care for me cannot be there, it may help to remember that they have needs, frailties, and limitations of their own. A lack of response does not mean that they are personally rejecting me.

5-Today I may feel the need to complain a great deal I may have little tolerance I may cry I may scream. That does not mean I am less courageous or strong. All ways of expressing anger over 'tis mess, of rightly mourning my losses. Endurance itself is courage

6-It is my life at stake now. So maybe today I can allow myself to be a little less concerned about the reactions or impressions of others. Maybe I can allow myself to feel a little less guilty or bad about what I did not accomplish or give. Perhaps today I can be a little more gentle towards myself.

7-Surviving this is all so difficult. At times it seems impossible that I have had enough. Down the line I will know if and when I have had enough, when I cannot push the limits any further. I will have the right to choose to stop, without feeling that I am "giving up." but today I think I can deal with this illness. Sorrow runs very deep, but I think I can rise again.

8-Just for today, maybe I can give healing "the benefit of the doubt." the drugs are powerful the natural healing capacity of my body is powerful. And who knows, perhaps there is healing power in my will to struggle, and in the collective love and will of others.

9- Just for today, perhaps I can take heart that we are all connected. And I may still have some things left to contribute to the family of man; some light to add to the light. Even now my endurance (however imperfect) is a gift, an inspiration for others in their struggles.

10-It seems reasonable that there is a reason for everything, and a time for every purpose. Pain, weakness, and exhaustion may distort my senses and spirit. Today, however, I can find some hope in nature's way, if not in some master plan. The chances are fairly good, and it seems worthwhile to hope that I will have some cycle of wellness yet/ I wish for everyone some kindness and softness.

Deep respect to all, warmly, Hope

Sent by Hope Raymond | 4:07 PM ET | 01-09-2007