Last night for the first time in a very, very long time, I had a drug induced (marinol) laughing spell — laughing about simply everything and nothing all at the same time. The kind of deep down belly laugh that your entire body can feel. I had almost forgotten how good it feels to laugh like that... all this waiting... MRI, blood test, cat scans, pet scans, every test imaginable. Even the "wait" part of cancer ROBS you of your belly laugh.

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 10:48 AM ET | 12-21-2006

I am SO happy for you. As you say, one less thing to worry about. Still, the repeated, adrenaline sprints associated with worry, waiting and then good news are awfully tiring, aren't they? I've done many housecleaning and painting projects to get through such times with my husband. After two years of chemo cycles and test-results-waiting cycles, I'm surprised our house doesn't look like a Better Homes and Gardens spread, as a result.

Sent by Teri | 10:52 AM ET | 12-21-2006

Congratulations on the brain scan results Leroy! You were overdue for good news. Shoulders may now drop from around your ears where they've probably been hanging out from stress. You're right... Karen's quote is a hoot!

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 11:03 AM ET | 12-21-2006

Hi Leroy,

I've been meaning to write you for a while, but today, after reading your blog, I thought it would be a good opportunity. While reading today's story, I couldn't help myself but thinking that you got a wonderful Christmas gift, knowing that you don't have a new tumor on your brain. I am going through radiation myself, after eight rounds of chemo for breast cancer. I'm Brazilian and we are not as open about cancer as Americans are and throughout out my treatment and ordeal, your blog has helped me immensely! I'd want to say that I'm praying for you and wishing you a Blessed Christmas and a healthy new year.

Sent by Adriana Costa | 12:50 PM ET | 12-21-2006

Are congratulations in order? Maybe not. It's a relief nevertheless. I hope those buggers never crawl up that high. For what it's worth, I've heard radiation described as a "walk in the park" compared to chemo.

Sent by Aaron | 3:12 PM ET | 12-21-2006

So. Now it is time to get your wheels spinning. Make that trip to Hawaii. but mind the lepers... you have enough on your plate right now.

Sent by Brit | 3:13 PM ET | 12-21-2006

Hugs and a Happy Holiday! I know how that mixed news can feel. Remember that whole roller coaster analogy? Very appropriate. I feel similarly, except that now I am on the downward slope again.

First there was the tumor on my rib cage, then it went away — unheard of, both to be there in the first place and then to go away with no treatment.

I talked with my doctor last night no new news but I wanted to clarify a few issues. Now, here is what I understand: The tumor on my abdominal wall has indeed gone down. It is not completely gone, but it is smaller. I asked if indeed my cancer had metastasized the answer was yes. I asked if the cancer would recur the answer was yes. I asked if it was likely to recur in the muscle tissue again or more likely in the organs. (The difference is that it is not life threatening in the muscles it is in the organs.) The answer was no, it was not likely to recur in the muscle tissue. It will probably recur in the organs.

This morning one of my co-workers came to give me a hug because she had just heard my "good news" that my tumor was gone. I had such mixed emotions, and I felt like such a fraud. Here she was, all happy and hopeful, and I knew that the inevitable was just delayed. So back down the rabbit hole.

I have to remember that none of us are given more than today. And to enjoy the sun while it is shining.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 3:15 PM ET | 12-21-2006

Leroy, I am sure that your good news is a huge relief. Sometimes I've found the relief alone to be its own high on the roller coaster ride. On Tuesday I also received good news from my CT scan. A few sew sub centimeter stable nodes — all else prefaced by "un-" — unchanged, unremarkable. Unremarkable has become one of my new favorite radiology words. In addition, my husband found some peer-reviewed research indicating that women with very low nadir levels of a certain antigen have markedly longer times to progression of disease and I am at that statistically favorable level! Hooray, to be able to be in good spirits through the rest of the holiday gatherings! Best wishes to you and to all in this blog.

Sent by Sheara | 11:47 AM ET | 12-22-2006

Mr. Sievers. I am delighted to hear the news about the brain scan. Definitely a relief! Best of luck with the radiation. A very happy and wonderful holiday to you and your family!

Sent by Sandy Lathe | 1:40 PM ET | 12-22-2006

Who needs another occupant in the brain, I am happy to hear of your MRI scan result.

Radiation is a walk in the park. I had 40 sessions of a machine that was as large as a cement mixer and sounded like a huge microwave. I say 40 sessions but each time they flipped me over, and set the microwave to simmer/stew.

At worse there is a lower blood count and some indigestion after the first week. Of course I was going for 40 days and the radiation zone ran from my neck to my pelvis.

Still I don't understand why the many variants of radiation therapy have not cured cancers outright. If you can blast or burn a tumor on the spine such that it vanishes to our means of detection, why does it pop up elsewhere.

Four and a half months after my radiation treatment, my blood markers shot up like a fireworks display. Without chemo, I just won't be here today. At the time I began chemo, the cancer was in every part of my lymphatic system. The Lance fellow not only had full blown lymph involvement (blast crisis) but he had tumors in his lungs and the brain. If you can withstand the chemo, even the fact that a person is stage 4 doesn't matter if the chemo works.

I'm selfish. My idea of "it works" is that the cancer doesn't return. Well, at least not the same cancer.

Sent by Joseph Lyons | 1:42 PM ET | 12-22-2006

Leroy,

Ditto on I wish I'd said that. Karen's comment made me laugh out loud. Reminds me of the writer Anne Lamott who said she had two kinds of prayers, morning prayer, whatever and evening prayer, oh well. I'm a three year breast cancer survivor and just began reading your blog. Having gone through surgery, chemo, radiation and a variety of poking and prodding from various doctors. I send many hugs your way.

Sent by Anita | 11:31 AM ET | 12-26-2006

I wish I could give credit to who said something like this. Maybe you have heard it before. I modified it slightly to fit me and put it by my desk. My version: When I find it hard to drag my tired ass off the sofa after a long day at work, I shall think of my father, who died of cancer, my step dad, who was one of my best friends, and died of cancer and my mom, who keeps trying no matter what. I know that sooner or later death is going to catch up with me. I am going to do my best to make sure that when he does the son of a bitch is sweating, panting and clutching his chest.

We all owe you for this blog, good luck.

Sent by Dennis Mahaffey | 1:56 PM ET | 12-27-2006