A little bit of hope and faith goes along way? but only if you believe!

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 11:08 AM ET | 01-23-2007

Thanks, once again, for giving people living with cancer hope. It is all too easy to see the challenges mounting and decide it's just too much. But we do need to think this procedure, treatment, test, etc. might be "the one." May Friday's procedure be the tipping point in your cancer journey.

Sent by Andrea Clay | 11:15 AM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy,

It is amazing how we adapt to the new way of living... procedures, drugs, hospitals. There is always hope to return to the old way, or some portion of the way it used to be. You are in my thoughts and daily intentions.

Sent by Pat Z. | 11:19 AM ET | 01-23-2007

Ask for a spinal tap while your there, might as well go for the entire suite...

Good Luck

Sent by Brit | 11:21 AM ET | 01-23-2007

I'm so happy for you, Leroy! I have a friend who has done this and it seemed to work. I don't understand why it can be done for some cancers and others, the doctors just say, there is nothing more. But this is good news for you. I am happy for you.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 11:22 AM ET | 01-23-2007

Friday Leroy, I'll be praying for you even more than I usually do.

Sent by Jessie | 11:24 AM ET | 01-23-2007

Ablation is a remarkable medical procedure. From what I've been reading, there is "Cryo" Ablation (freezing of a tumor), and ablation, which you introduced me to here. I'm happy to hear you agreed to it. The medical researchers who come up with this stuff should get the press blitz, walking down the red carpet. Heroes!

I'm thinking of you. Friday will be worth it.

Sent by Laura | 11:27 AM ET | 01-23-2007

You have such a good attitude. I hope that can rub off on me and my mom.

My mom described the biopsy they did on her lung exactly how you did, except her lung did not collapse. I personally would want to be put to sleep during that kind of procedure!

Good luck on Friday. I hope they can burn out all of those tumors. In your cancer world, Friday will be like getting a facial, massage, pedicure and manicure. :)

Sent by Lisa V. | 12:38 PM ET | 01-23-2007

This week, I'll have a little extra spring in my step and a grin on my face, just thinking of you saying, "Lets get those needles ready and do this!"

Your courage and sense of humor are inspiring and uplifting. Good luck Friday, Leroy. May those tumors be zapped to oblivion!

Sent by Doris | 12:39 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy,

I am absolutely in awe of your resilience. For me, you embody the best of the human spirit, which has to do with how we deal with adversity. You have given all of us so much knowledge about how to cope well. Thank you.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 12:45 PM ET | 01-23-2007

To tell you the truth, after reading your blog for so long and following your story, I can't wait for Friday either! I am so excited and hopeful for you. You make us all feel so much a part of your life. I can't thank you enough. It's inspiring. And yes, you are a part of my life, too. As always, and double dose on Friday, I will be sending out positive thoughts to you.

Sent by Susan | 2:50 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Hi Leroy,

I've been thinking. I've always referred to cancer as the terrorist cells. For the patient, families, and friends, cancer seems elicit the same shock and emotions as a terrorist attack. Take Friday as the day to say to cancer, "Take that!" Dust yourself off and smile. We deserve days like that once in a while.

Sent by Kathy B. | 2:53 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy,

I just caught up on your blogs from your last few posts. It struck me that with greater distance between my last chemo and present day, I find myself more and more emotionally disengaging from that period of my life (which feels like a long time ago today, but it was only a year ago that I was beginning to consult with doctors, and only since July that I had my last chemo!). One piece of evidence is that I find myself "waiting until later" to read your blog and other Web sites I used to anticipate reading every day. Don't get me wrong, I still want to know how you are doing and what you are thinking about, but I think for me it is a bit of a defense mechanism to put some emotional distance there. And I wonder: Do you ever wish you didn't have to post a blog today? Do you ever have to "wait until later" to read our responses?

My hope is that for all of us, you especially, that in the future you also will be finding yourself creating a distance from the more painful memories of this experience!

Sent by Kelley | 3:15 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy - I hope those tumors scream and beg for mercy! But don't show 'em any!

Good luck Friday, I'll be saying TGIF and thinking of you!

Sent by Art Ritter | 3:19 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy,

You put into words so well what I have felt in the 30+ years I have been dealing with cancer, first Hodgkin's disease in 1975 and now breast cancer. It's difficult to explain to people who haven't gone through all the medical exams and tests why I can be so patient hour after hour in a doctor's office, how I can fall asleep while an MRI is being done, how I can tolerate one more needle stick, another CT, another trek to the doctors office. It's just something I am accustomed to doing — I call myself a "patient patient" and try to joke with the doctors or techs and make that human connection to keep it from becoming too impersonal.

I wish you all the best on Friday — I hope you and the doctors can nail those nasty tumors and fry them into oblivion!

Sent by Caren B. | 3:45 PM ET | 01-23-2007

I'll be thinking of you on Friday. What a wonderful idea! Let us know all the details. Praying for the BEST for you!

Sent by Ruth White | 3:47 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Sent by Marilyn Hilliard | 3:48 PM ET | 01-23-2007

I continue to read your blog everyday and say ditto to the many comforting thoughts sent your way by all of the bloggers. "LiveStong" every day.

My husband and I resorted to humor some days to help him stand the treatments. We loved our nurses and doctors.

Before one painful bone biopsy, I plastered a set of big red lips (a sticker) on his "butt." Our doctor came in for the serious deed, Michael pulled down his slacks and lay on the bed. The doctor pulled Mike's jockey shorts down to get to the correct spot on the hip. When our doctor saw the "lips," he had to leave the room he was laughing so hard. Nurses came down the hall to see what the laughter was about. Months later other doctors came to our room before biopsy time to see what tricks Michael had in store.

This is serious business, but humor and great respect eased our sorrow and that of our cancer team!

Sent by Deborah | 3:52 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy,

Thank you for your insight. While no one can walk in your steps you do help us to understand the journey. By writing about it you are shining a blazing light on the subject. It must at times be very difficult for you but I look forward to your reporting of all that is happening on the frontlines.

Sent by Rich | 6:28 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Dear, Dear Mr. Sievers,

On the off chance you've ever pondered why God put you on this earth, I can give you one wonderful reason (I'm sure your family and friends can give you many more).

It's this: By writing 5 days a week for all these difficult months, and sharing so much of yourself, you are a bonafide blessing to all of us strangers who are "checking in" with you every day, and who are pulling for you, big time.

Good luck on Friday!

Sent by Janice J. | 6:31 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy, I'm so very glad that you're going for the radio ablation. I've been worried about you, and the difficult and scary point that you seemed to be approaching. Your enthusiasm for the new treatment is inspiring to many, I'm sure. I wish you all the best, and will anxiously await the outcome of your treatment.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 6:32 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Leroy, trying to find the humor in an anxiety filled procedure... I listened as the CT tech mentioned all the delightful flavors for the CT scan. Ice cream shop flavors with my favorite being Pina Colada. Oh, right now we are in a resort environment instead of a hospital.

Sent by Elizabeth | 8:49 PM ET | 01-23-2007

Way to go, Leroy! I'll be thinking of you on Friday. Best Wishes!

Sent by Marilyn | 11:50 AM ET | 01-24-2007

Doesn't it feel good to be doing something?...anything? Just some kind of action? It must feel very proactive compared to chemo or radiation even though the goals are the same. Something about hunting down the tumors and directly attacking them seems strangely satisfying. I look forward to reading how it goes. All of our thoughts are with you.

Sent by Sandi | 11:52 AM ET | 01-24-2007

Leroy, give 'em hell.

Sent by Gary G. | 11:53 AM ET | 01-24-2007

Dear Leroy,

My friend Rita died on last Monday. It was melanoma, diagnosed in the spring. In early December she learned the chemo was not working and Cancer was winning. Major spread to lung, stomach and liver. I want to tell how brave she was thru it all. I want to give her credit for doing everything very well. I want to say at 59 she was too young, too vital and too loved - but it happened anyway.

I salute her!

Sent by Jackie Matlock | 11:55 AM ET | 01-24-2007

You're correct in saying that it is funny how our perspective changes. Jan 24, 2006, I was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer with mets to my liver — at the age of 40. I was told that there were too many tumors to operate and was given a grim prognosis. My oncologist actually told me that it was unethical to give me hope. I did my research and to make a long story short... I am ECSTATIC to say that I am booked for a liver resection on Monday — one year and 4 days from my original surgery and diagnosis! My story is one of hope, and one that shows how wrong our health care system is treating cancer (Ontario, Canada).

Good luck Friday! I will be checking in once I'm out of the hospital...

www.wendysbattle.com

Sent by Wendy | 11:59 AM ET | 01-24-2007

My husband's journey is kinda paralleling yours and his new favorite saying is "We gotta celebrate the wins." Good luck Friday.

Sent by Chris Halton | 12:08 PM ET | 01-24-2007

I was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer on May 1, 2006. I am currently undergoing treatments and can relate to everything Leroy says in his podcasts. I have accepted that "what is, is" and I must live one day at a time. On my last cat scan, new tumors were noted and I was put in a clinical trial along with Carboplatin. The trial involves 4 shots a day for 5 days and on the 2nd day, the carbo. I am getting ready for the 2nd set of shots, etc. and then will have a scan to see if this is working to keep the tumors stable or shrinking.

I look forward to listening to more from Leroy — I wish you well and good health. We never know when a new breakthrough or new drug will be available so we must keep hopeful. Thank you.

Sent by Brenda Seitz | 1:09 PM ET | 01-24-2007

The mets can take place at the earliest stage of the cancer. Maybe seven years before my tumor would be visible, cancer cells were attacked and dragged off to lymph dumpsites. These "killed" cancer cells just hang around but will spring to life once the main tumor is removed or burnt. In 1971, mets was a brand new concept. A concept that brought despair to the faces of Rosewell's department of experimental surgery. Good luck on the radio wave therapy.

Sent by Joseph Lyons | 2:36 PM ET | 01-25-2007

Leroy,

Cancer has not been a significant health issue in my immediate family — but as a health care professional, I have seen my share of several forms of the disease. It is very hard on the professional staff and the support technicians to observe the treatment processes and potential declines of their patients — they are trained to be non-emotional, but believe me, they feel for their patients.

I am astounded by your forthright courage, openness and honesty in facing the endless mental, emotional and physical challenges of your battle. It would be so easy to isolate yourself or put on a false exterior. You have chosen to take the high road and make your journey available to the world — that's real courage in my mind. Just reading the other posts to your blog shows me that you have given priceless gifts to others — compassion, courage and communication.

I happen to believe in the power of prayer and will pray for the success of the lung tumor ablation procedure and daily improvements in your health.

Sent by Nancy H. | 3:20 PM ET | 01-25-2007

My mom is going through lung cancer now. It is a disease that extends to all who love the one diagnosed. I would love to hear how the lung tumor ablation process went.

Sent by Teresa Hildreth | 11:32 PM ET | 03-24-2008