It sounds like it was worth the pain, however, there is very little worth having to give up chocolate and caffeine for. I think I would ask for a different antibiotic.

I am so glad that it went well without any problems.

Sent by Chris | 9:27 AM ET | 01-29-2007

I find it amazing what one can tolerate when one has no choice. That has been my sentiment when I've fought the battles that have visited my life. You're an inspiration to those of us who have not fought the cancer battle. If I ever need to, I'll think about you and about what courage is to help me find my way.

Sent by Hilary Platt | 9:34 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Yet again Mr. Sievers helps us put the little miseries of our lives into perspective while teaching us about the progress and limits of modern medicine. We are indebted to him!

Sent by Celeste Wiser | 9:38 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Yes! I love chocolate and caffeine. I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma on the 17th of Jan. I will take the first chemo treatment on the 14th of Feb. They had to wait to start the treatments because the PET Scan place is so backed up. A friend sent me a link to this blog and I am learning as I read. I am very glad you are writing this, very glad to meet you this way, but I am very sorry you have cancer.

Sent by Jlynn | 9:42 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Leroy,

That cup of coffee, and that *Snickers will taste mighty delicious at your celebration of this hurdle. Congrats at this post-procedure time, and may that tumor go to h*ll.

*It's got peanuts — one redeeming quality!

Sent by Laura | 9:49 AM ET | 01-29-2007

I look for your column much as I might anticipate a call from a friend. How delighted I am to see this morning's account of the first "kill." I trust there will be two more "kills" swiftly following the first. My heart is with you Mr. Sievers. With my prayers, Lydia Stone

Sent by Lydia Stone | 9:52 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Sounds like a good treatment for killing cancer.

Sent by Jason Buchen | 10:13 AM ET | 01-29-2007

You go guy! Keep us up to date on the confirmed "kills."

Sent by Pat Z. | 10:14 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Yes! That is too much to ask, no chocolate and no caffeine, indeed! Ah, well, we know that we must do what they tell us to do if we are going to lick this thing. I have had two positive PET scans recently. That is to say, good news. No active cancer seen. Meanwhile, life goes on. My Dad is failing. It is strange, Mom died just after I finished the active treatment for my first occurrence of cancer, and now Dad is on the way out just as I finish my treatment for the second occurrence.

Sent by Ruth | 10:38 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Regarding the "maximum dose of chemo" question: As a survivor of cancer of the head and neck where only secondary tumors were found and removed in the lymph glands, I, also, was treated with heavy doses of chemo, as well as radiation, to destroy the elusive primary, which never was found.

I've been cancer-free for seven years now, but there was a price for the aggressive chemo and radiation treatment, my thyroid and pituitary gland being the victims. On the other hand, testosterone injections every two weeks and thyroid hormone pills are small prices in comparison to the cancer reemerging.

My oncologist and radiation oncologist disagreed on treatment questions. I went with the doctor most known for his cautiousness. At my annual check-up last July, he said that with the new developments today, he probably would have done things differently.

I'm sure, with your treatment and prognosis out there in the "public," you're at no loss for advice these days, but nevertheless, I'll say, "Get a second opinion, chemo is serious stuff and effects more than just the cancer."

Sent by Stephen Bloodworth | 10:47 AM ET | 01-29-2007

My aunt died last year from breast cancer. She battled with cancer for about four years. She didn't have the complicated procedures done for very obvious reasons. She couldn't afford it. She lived in China. For a country where a majority of the people don't have access to adequate medical care and insurance, her death is one of the hundred thousands of stories we have to live with everyday, maybe there would have been hope for her if she had any of these procedures. Having access to the world's best medical technology means hope and a little pain is worth it. I hope you will continue to fight your cancer and be proud of this country, which provides you a second chance to live.

Sent by Yishi | 10:54 AM ET | 01-29-2007

I "love" needles... It was very early in my treatment, the second week after have my chest broken open to diagnose my tumor, and my doctors wanted to put some chemo into my spinal canal to prevent any spread into my central nervous system. It sounded good. My tumor had originally been found when I was to have a back surgery.

I have spinal stenosis, which makes my spinal column very narrow. So the injecting of the chemo into my spinal canal didn't go well. So they tried to do a CT guided injection. Now, this caused some of the worst pain I have ever experienced. It was like 20,000 volts into my left buttock. So they pulled back and tried again: 20,000 volts into my right buttock. So they tried one more time... and bingo!!! Dead on... right in the... uh... middle. The lower middle. At that point I gave up government secrets, safe combinations, locations of the Holy Grail, where Jimmy Hoffa is buried. So at least now I know exactly how much pain I can endure before I confess to anything.

Sent by Brit | 10:59 AM ET | 01-29-2007

Leroy, So glad to hear confidence in your voice. I agree, it is rare to hear a doctor that is positive and decisive. Take care.

Sent by Ruth White | 12:06 PM ET | 01-29-2007

Every time I hear your segment I stop what I am doing and listen. I have survived my own battle with cancer and I am so glad to hear someone so honest about what not only the body goes through but the mind as well. I had many of the same thoughts during my treatments but my experience was still "my cancer" and yours is still yours and unfortunately (or fortunately?) no one can take that from us.

Sent by Johanna Oswald | 12:11 PM ET | 01-29-2007

Leroy, No chocolate??? No caffeine??? You bet that's way too much to ask, especially after what you've been through! I've never heard of an antibiotic with such unreasonable restrictions. Now, if they said, "No ice cream" to me, that would be a deal-killer!

I'm so glad that you had the RFA on the biggest tumor and that things went well. I'm also glad that you can trust your doctor. That kind of patient-doctor relationship is healing in and of itself.

Thinking of you and your courage helped me to cooperate and fly threw my endoscopic procedure this morning. Piece of cake.

Sent by Marilyn | 12:58 PM ET | 01-29-2007

There's a good smile in your voice today. It's nice.

I keep flashing on that part of "Alice's Restaurant":

"And I started jumpin' up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL," and he started jumpin' up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL." And the sergeant came over, pinned a medal on me, sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."

Hey Leroy... you're our boy. *smile*

Sent by Marsha Goldberg | 8:47 PM ET | 01-29-2007

I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma about mid-December and have been through two chemo treatments. My attitude is up and I'm living one day at a time as satisfying as possible.

Sent by Paul Williamson | 10:49 AM ET | 01-30-2007

Ruth —

I am so sorry to hear of your dad's failing health, just as you are renewing your contract for life. Hope this one is a home run. My prayers and thoughts are with you.

Sent by Laura | 10:51 AM ET | 01-30-2007

I'm glad to hear you are getting rid of some tumors. Too bad about the chocolate — that always made me feel better after chemo. Of course if this works, there's always chocolate in your future.

Sent by Crawford | 10:53 AM ET | 01-30-2007

Happy to hear the very good news. Check on that "no caffeine, no chocolate" rule. Maybe it's for people who consume LARGE quantities! :)

Sent by Katie | 10:58 AM ET | 01-30-2007

No chocolate! Well, think of how much you'll savor it when you're off of your restricted diet. I'm sure your friends are planning a choco feast!

I think of you often, Leroy!

Sent by Kelley Jackson | 11:01 AM ET | 01-30-2007

No chocolate or caffeine? Oooh, my nephrologist tried to give me that line, too, a number of years ago when I had kidney stones. I explained I didn't drink coffee anymore and chocolate was a REQUIREMENT. He said "absolutely none." I said "You're going to lose a limb at certain times of the month if you keep that line up". He, amazingly, backed off his comment and said I could have SOME in moderation as long as I kept well hydrated and didn't have any more stones. Ten years later and I've yet to have another problem.

I *have* however, recently been diagnosed with malignant melanoma, still in Stage II, but barely and the M.D. is expecting me to move on to Stage II shortly, which means radiation, chemo and interferon.

Thank you for your blog and insights. It moved me to tears at times, laughter at others. It also helped me to realize how tired I was of talking about my cancer. Many have tried to make me my disease. I am not melanoma, it is something I have — a PART of my life, period. Your blog also moved me to start my own blog — in part so I could vent, as well as provide melanoma info to folks.

Let's hope we BOTH continue to write for a long, long time!

Sent by Kaleb | 11:14 AM ET | 01-30-2007

Leroy!! No Chocolate! Insult to injury. Make them give you a different chocolate and coffee compatible antibiotic. Sometimes I wonder what doctors are thinking. You are the best.

Sent by Suzanne | 2:54 PM ET | 01-30-2007

Congrats on getting through the procedure — I hope future scans look much clearer. And by all means, once you're off those antibiotics (and definitely before you start your chemo!), get yourself some great chocolate and an espresso to celebrate and savor.

Sent by Martha | 2:56 PM ET | 01-30-2007

The tower of your words comes from a great and powerful source. Thank God for docs that can identify and do something about this sh*tweasel scourge that puts people to the rack. Thank God you can say what we all think. Thank you for hearing and telling me about this... Hope sucks, only results count. I am about to start treatment for the second time... I look forward to your thoughts everyday.

Sent by Alec Lambie | 2:58 PM ET | 01-30-2007

Leroy,

Praying that this treatment is truly effective in "killing" those tumors. Sounds violent, but that's what is needed to get rid of the cancer.

Just a thought since you are now off caffeine and chocolate. There is a grain "coffee" with no caffeine that tastes almost (I know, my taste buds are still off from the chemo) like coffee, and they have a mocha flavor that is like chocolate. Maybe it will help you through this dark, coffeeless period? It's called Teccechino, and can be found in some grocery stores and most health food stores. Also, I've learned that tea is good!

Sent by Karen | 3:08 PM ET | 01-30-2007

Good luck. I read your blog most days and wish you strength and courage to keep fighting. You will triumph!

Sent by M. Tanaka | 3:09 PM ET | 01-30-2007

OMG, Leroy, you are such a trooper! An inspiration to those who suffer, a guide for those of us who do not yet suffer (we will). I hope you can have chocolate and coffee soon. I would really hate that, too!

Sent by Diana Kitch | 3:18 PM ET | 01-30-2007

Dear Leroy:

How wonderful to read and read-into today's entry. Like everyone else, I am so thankful for your latest news.

Equally wonderful was reading the upbeat and playful postings of the members of our "community" — so many names that have become familiar over the months of following your story. And then, there are the new members to our group. Each time someone mentions having just discovered your blog, I relive the moment I first heard you on NPR and starting coming to this site. It reminds me of what you have done for me personally.

How wonderful if we could all settle on a date to come down your way to celebrate you and what you mean to all of us. You have become a dear friend and, so often, a voice for our closely held thoughts.

Give it some thought. The positive energy that would emanate from such a gathering would do all of us some good!

With much affection, gratitude and respect.

Sent by Harriet H. Liss | 4:46 PM ET | 01-31-2007

When I was diagnosed with the breast cancer I was in denial for a while. Cancer didn't make any marks on my appearance. I still looked good after 3 surgeries, still looked good after my first round of chemo. But one day I looked in the mirror and I saw a pale bold creature. Somehow that was devastating, because what I saw in the mirror was not me. All of sudden the weight of reality hit me. They weren't kidding, I do have a cancer. Yes, I can tell from my own experience that losing hair momentary degraded me from a human being to a strange looking creature. But 1.5 years later I think that that was a fare price to pay for the wellness.

It's like you had to turn into unattractive cocoon before you can turn into butterfly again.

Leroy, I hope that those little "monsters" in your body will be dead soon.

Sent by Tatiana | 4:51 PM ET | 01-31-2007

My oncologist thought I was kidding when I told her I could give up my breasts and I could give up my hair but that chemo made chocolate taste terrible and that was too much to give up. I have regained my taste for chocolate but it is a tough thing to give up. I will eat an extra piece for you!

Sent by Elizabeth Hendrix | 4:54 PM ET | 01-31-2007

The big chemo after the radiation is to get all the little buggers they can't see. I had to do that for my sarcoma: chemo, surgery, radiation, CHEMO AGAIN!... Do it! It worked. No recurrence for me. You can do it. It's worth it!

Sent by Cindy H. | 4:55 PM ET | 01-31-2007

A young man asked his grandfather why life had to be so difficult sometimes. This was the old man's reply.

Grandfather says this:

In life there is sadness as well as joy, losing as well as winning, falling as well as standing, hunger as well as plenty, bad as well as good. Grandfather does not say this to make you despair, but to teach you reality that life is a journey sometimes walked in light, sometimes in shadow.

Grandfather says this: You did not ask to be born, but you are here. You have weaknesses as well as strengths because in life there are two of everything. Within you is the will to win as well as the smallness to be arrogant. Within you is the way to face life as well as the fear to turn away from it.

Grandfather says this: Facing the storms of life, knowing loss, feeling sadness and heartache, and falling into the depths of grief can give you strength. You must stand up in the storms. You must face the wind and the cold and the darkness. When a storm blows it is not trying to knock you down, it is really trying to teach you to be strong.

Grandfather says this: Being strong means taking one more step toward the top of the hill, no matter how weary you may be. It means letting the tears flow through the grief it means to keep looking for the answer though the darkness of despair is all around. It means to cling to hope for one more heartbeat, one more sunrise. Each step takes you closer to the top of the hill, closer to the light of the next sunrise, and the promise of a new day.

Grandfather says this: The weakest step toward the top of the hill, toward sunrise, toward hope, is stronger than the fiercest storm.

Grandfather says this: Keep going.

Copyright: 2000 J.M. Marshall III Ph.D.

This Lakota wisdom has kept me going through diagnosis, chemo, hair loss, remission, etc. I wish for you the promise of a new day. Keep going.

Sent by Pat | 4:57 PM ET | 01-31-2007