Cancer has ripped my body inside and now outside as well. It has robbed me of my dignity as a woman. I will not allow cancer to rob me of my soul.

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 11:20 AM ET | 12-07-2006

I remember going through a time last year when I was having a lot of pain in my right ribcage, and was terrified that the lung mets had progressed to bone mets, too. I was in my cancer counselor's office crying and having an emotional meltdown about the possibility. He said simply, "It may not be what you fear it is, but if it is, there'll be a plan, and we'll deal with it." That really helped. I didn't have bone mets, as it happened, just a broken rib from a heinous cough, but knowing that I could get through it, even if it was what I feared really helped. We CAN get through this.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 11:26 AM ET | 12-07-2006

Leroy,

I understand the "worries." Sometimes when you least expect it, the worries bombard your mind and we wonder if we can hold on, what will happen if this happens, how will we carry on.

On the last set of my son's scans they found "something" in the lungs. Too early to do a biopsy, we have to wait and watch. That has always been one thing we had held on to, "the chest scans are clear." When I heard there was "something" there, my heart fell, but in talking with my son about it, asking if he is worried, he said, "We don't know for certain what it is, so why worry." He paused for a moment and then said, "Mom, if we do find out this is what it is, I might not be worried then either." I've learned a lot of lessons from my son, (honestly, I'm attempting to learn lessons from him). He has a mind set that these are the cards that have been dealt, these are the cards we play, play the game and move on. I wish I could handle it as well as he does and most days I can make myself do well, but some days...

The other day I read somewhere, "we don't get points in the end for our greatest worries coming true," this is true. Now, if I can just remember that every second of every day. If I can remember those moments, those hours, those days when I worry about things I have no control over those thoughts of worry are controlling other aspects of life that I do have control over. Yes it is human nature to worry, but no one person is promised tomorrow we have today. It's almost like dealing with an addiction, the worries are going to appear, but we can make it through them, one at a time. Just for today, lets try to live for today and forget the worries of tomorrow.

Sent by Rhonda | 11:30 AM ET | 12-07-2006

Wow, this morning's blog is very powerful. I was just thinking this morning as I was lining up my meds, that over the last year my personal mantras, given to me by my doctors are: "Let's not panic" and "It could be worse." I find great comfort in this and of course from my husband's gentle, comforting assurances of "We will be all right."

Sent by Susan M. | 11:32 AM ET | 12-07-2006

I do agree with you, Leroy. However, I also share Margaret's sentiment. I can recall many evenings when I would lay on my living room floor and just sob for hours. I was/am so scared because no doctor — not even the "best of the best" — could tell me what to expect, the severity of my case, why/how this happened, or if there are any other cases like mine. There were times when I desperately longed for a "normal" cancer because then someone could help me learn what to expect, someone — anyone — that could tell me the "game plan."

I would cry for hours because I felt so guilty and responsible. In fact, my first reaction when I was diagnosed was guilt. My father died of cancer a few years ago, and my mother is currently a heart patient. I screamed and cried at the thought of telling my mother. I'd ask, "How can I do this to her?" I remember the heart breaking feeling I felt when my father was diagnosed and the prognosis wasn't good. I recall that sinking feeling of despair, and I told myself that I never wanted to be responsible for anyone else feeling that way.

Since then, I've moved past the guilt. But, the nights, oh, the nights. When darkness falls, I leave the office, get in my car and go home. When I arrive in my empty apartment, the high tide of fear and loneliness (I say loneliness because there doesn't seem to be anyone else in my situation —i.e., my type of cancer — therefore, no one I can truly identify with) sometimes consumes me, as if its been there all day just waiting for me.

In those moments of darkness, I often rely on the strength of my loved ones (sometimes they don't even know how much they're helping me). Overall, I think things work themselves out however, there are nights when it's not OK, and it isn't working out. There are nights when you're too weak and broken down to see your way forward. The cruel fact of the matter is that sometimes despair and darkness win.

Sent by Michael Everett McGalin | 11:35 AM ET | 12-07-2006

Oh, how I identify with the sleepless nights. I have had months of broken sleep. The interesting thing is that, now that things have gotten worse and my cancer has recurred and there is nothing they can do about it, I sleep just fine. Of course, there are nights when the pain wakes me up, but once I address it, I am able to fall back to sleep.

I no longer seem to dwell on the unpleasant things of life, and I am hard pressed to say what the change was. I think part of it was the uncertainty that got me. I am no longer uncertain. I know what is going to happen. I mean, I dont know the particulars, but I get the overall picture. I don't particularly like it, but I know and can accept it.

I hate to sound trite, but it seems to be a process. I would love to have learned this lesson of detachment earlier. I could have slept better for several months, but it doesnt seem to work that way. I wasn't ready until I was ready.

Sent by Stephanie | 1:27 PM ET | 12-07-2006

Don't forget to meditate during those late evening hours that you can't sleep.

I also heard on television that it is impossible to juggle and worry at the same time. Keep those balls in the air. :)

Sent by Mary Lynne Carlisle | 2:02 PM ET | 12-07-2006

I can't tell you that I don't have worries and fears anymore. But I can tell you that deep breathing and meditation makes a big, big difference. It doesn't happen overnight, it takes a lot of practice. My three year fight with prostate cancer and my wife's current breast cancer battle gave us a lot to be anxious about. We learn from books, CDs, and courses, anything we can get.

The cause of worry, the worry itself, may not go away, but it can be manageable.

Sent by Don Winslow | 4:05 PM ET | 12-07-2006

At night, when the worries came rolling in, I lit a candle and felt comforted.

Sent by Libby Gallaher | 10:39 AM ET | 12-08-2006