Way to go Mr. Sievers! I survived Hodgkin's disease in the late '80s by going thru 18 months of an aggressive chemo regimen. I have followed your blog and relived the feelings of uncertainty and loss of control. Quirky little things like the instant moments when you lock eyes with the Oncologist or Chemo nurse as they walk into your room. You are trying to read them and sense any hidden agendas, while they give you an expert poker face smile revealing nothing. Your blogs are not always easy for me to read as I also dealt with growing tumors and potential readjustments of treatment. However, it helps me reaffirm my appreciation for the time on earth God has given me. An appreciation for life is a common thread among cancer survivors.

By the way, in my book, every person who has been thru a single day knowing they have cancer in their body can be considered a cancer survivor. The battle may rage on, but they have survived to fight it another day. Keep up the good fight. Maybe knowing that thousands who have been thru similar experiences are pulling for you with all their might will make your day just a little more bearable. I will pray for strength for you!

Sent by Gregg Surratt | 12:24 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Your journey provides perspective and insight into what is important to me. I have respect and admiration for your will and spirit.

Sent by Don | 12:25 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Regarding the comments by Pam about the expense of treating one "privileged" individual. If I start writing how I feel about her comments I will undoubtedly have my entry "bleeped"! She would surely feel differently if it was her or one of her loved ones with Cancer. But it did make me think of another belief held by many, including my own brother. I had ovarian cancer 8 years ago, and I am completely healthy now.

Did it cost a lot to treat me? You bet. Was it worth it, for just one person? I would say yes, and I believe my friends would also say yes. But my brother (who did support me through it) is a Christian Scientist, who of course does not believe in doctors, medicine, illness. At least he didn't believe in them until a couple of years ago when he had a stroke and his "healer" almost killed him with her prayers. But, to this day, my brother will often make comments about research into cures for cancer, aids, etc., along the lines of "They will never find a cure because there is too much money to be made in treating disease." He truly believes it is a conspiracy between the drug companies and the medical field. If they find a cure for cancer, how will the oncologists make money? How will the drug companies be able to charge thousands of dollars for one bag of Taxol (the drug I was given) if there is no need for it anymore. Pam and my brother (and doubtless millions of others) are prime examples of one of the biggest problems in my mind: too many idiots.

Sent by Pat Grossman | 12:28 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Hi Leroy. This one is sooo much right on target. Thank you for managing to say what I've been struggling to express in a much clearer way than I've ever managed. Physically, psychologically, emotionally tired, just plain tired. And no, I don't know what keeps us going at this point. I've never seen myself as a strong-willed person. And yet, these days, it makes me wonder.

Sent by Benoit Bisson | 12:29 PM ET | 01-16-2007

There is another way, and the people for whom this other way is right, find their way to it. My mother held her life in an open palm, after several rounds of ferocious cancer and treatments for same. "Give up" does not apply because she kept going to water aerobics, even switching to an earlier-than-convenient class because it was a better workout than the convenient one. But she lived in complete trust, ready to stay here or let go when the time arrived. In the middle of one night in the ICU after another surgery, uncertain whether or not she would live to see the dawn, she said "the thought came, a breath here or in heaven would be just as sweet, so I closed my eyes and went back to sleep."

She saw that next dawn and many more, but always with the equanimity that night had given her. I know we are not all religious people, but in her case, she reached a place where without giving up, she could honor her life while not feeling frantic about the ultimate outcome or timing. And her lesson was such that the caregivers told all her children, "Many people can teach us how to live, but very few can teach us how to die. Your mother is a great teacher to us all." And so she was, and is. That is not giving up, for cancer or no cancer, death is the graduation that comes to us all at some point. But being free of dread of it, to me, gives back a large measure of every day energy and joy for the living of these precious hours that we have on this dancing green planet.

I tell this story in no way to preach or suggest others should take her way, just to say, I have seen a third way beyond fighting or giving up, and that is the way I hope in my own life to be able to follow, for it seemed a way of having it all in the end. Love and blessings to you each and all.

Sent by Sarah | 12:32 PM ET | 01-16-2007

I am three treatments into a nine-treatment program. Every two weeks I get blood work done and then off to chemo. Last time my hematocrit was 30, 40 is normal. My BP had dropped to 85/40. I fainted when I stood up after the treatment. I sleep about 20 hours a day and washing dishes is a major accomplishment. Yesterday I asked myself "Why am I doing this?" My prognosis for survival is 75-85%. Do I really need chemo? And then I think of you, dear man. My fatigue goes out the window and I watch the birds and remember that spring is around the corner. I need to prune my roses and plant my bulbs for summer. And I pray that I find the strength to be just a little more like Leroy.

Sent by Patti Greening | 1:20 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Hi Leroy,

For some reason your post made me remember when I was in labor with my first baby. The doctors wanted to break my water so the contractions would get stronger. The time for choosing an epidural was now or never. I knew when the water broke the pain would get much worse. At the moment I could handle the pain, though I was reaching some pain threshold. I had to somehow calculate whether the pain coming (a pain I have never experienced before) would overwhelm me, or whether I should chance it and just not get an epidural. Well, I chose the epidural, thinking it would make it easier on everyone. Turns out it was good that I did since I ended up having an emergency cesarean and the epidural allowed that to happen very quickly. But... but. I have friends who did not make it to the hospital in time for an epidural, and some whose nurses waited too long to offer it. They got through it, mostly because there wasn't any other choice. And I know I would have gotten through it, overwhelming pain or not.

Getting through it means living, and vice versa. And whether we are having a baby, or fighting cancer, or just getting very, very old, we are in these bodies and we don't have much of a choice. I am struck by the mystery of it all, like were all on a train not of our own choosing, and were not sure when or where well be getting off, and we're not sure who's driving, or IF anyone is driving, but here we are. (Is that one of your metaphors?)

Sometimes I feel better when I sit back and take in the mystery of it all. Trying to figure out why or how sometimes is too exhausting.

I pray for strength for you, continued strength. But maybe I should pray instead that you recognize your own strength, that strength that is there under it all. That dedication to live, the part of you that consecrates life?

Sent by Crow | 1:23 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Good Morning Leroy,

Your last paragraph, in particular, got my attention this morning. I was diagnosed 7 years ago with a form of NHL but we elected to "watch and wait", since there was no good reason to begin chemotherapy right away. It was six years later, last year, that I took my first round of chemo. But my point is this. For all of those years in between I said that when the time came for chemotherapy I would get a second opinion and would carefully research my options. When the time came, my doctor said, "You will begin chemotherapy one week from today." I said, "My life is in your hands, I trust you, let's get to it." In that moment, and in the days and months to follow, I was amazed by the "life instinct" (I now call it) that emerged from somewhere within me. Time after time, during chemo, when my body was exhausted and my mind fuzzied by drugs, this life force arose from within. It wasn't something that came from thinking or feeling. It wasn't spiritual. It wasn't courage. It wasn't something I summoned or even welcomed. It was just there.

All the best to you.

Sent by Anna Harmon | 1:28 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Every moment of every day that we have on earth, life is precious. Even more precious is knowing that life will go on without us, though it will be changed forever because we were here.

Sent by Joan | 1:30 PM ET | 01-16-2007

I was appalled by "Pam's" comments yesterday, where she stated expending enormous resources on one person was wasteful. After reading your blog yesterday and today, my answer to Pam is that humans don't give up, nor should we. And especially "privileged Americans." (My words!) What lesson would we give to our children if we surrendered to the tough situations that face us all? I work hard to teach my sons to look out for others, to be responsible and loving men. But most important, love and know oneself.

When chemo knocked me on my back, my sons watched as I slowly regained my strength. I will never forget how my then 9-year-old son told his teacher that I was getting my "power" back! Oh yes, I regained my power and realized just how much strength I could muster.

My cancer has been a lesson for all of us, giving up is not an option. Loving yourself and listening to your body, letting others help and accepting you can do less is part of this lesson. But we don't go down quietly! Enjoy this lovely day, we are thinking of you.

Sent by Karil | 1:34 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Yes, in spite of everything, you will fight on, one way or another.

So, well, I remember these feelings and, every time I was ready to simply rest, someone was there, urging me to fight on.

Keep going.

One day.

One night.

The next day.

I think about you all the time.

Sent by Robin Smith | 1:35 PM ET | 01-16-2007

When our mother was struggling with lung cancer 13 years ago....my sister, who was 22 and invincible as we all were at that age, willed her to survive with the lyrics from a Mariah Carey song, "Hero":

And then a hero comes along

With the strength to carry on

And you cast your fears aside

And you know you can survive

So when you feel like hope is gone

Look inside you and be strong

And you'll finally see the truth

That a hero lies in you

Sent by Kathy Belawski | 1:37 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Leroy, I was anxious when there wasn't a blog yesterday, then remembered about the holiday. It sounds as though you're having a really tough go of it... a real "night of the soul." I wish that there was something to be done about the struggle that you seem to be having. You so eloquently describe the difficulty of going on at a time when you know what you're up against, have been through it before, and are tired.

Perhaps what may help you to get through this latest round of treatment, in addition to those who love you, is the thoughts of a steak sandwich when your appetite is back, the coming of spring, and seeing the first crocus, seeing the next Harry Potter movie, and the final book of the series coming out in the summer. May you have strength reserves that you didn't know that you had, and grace to know when it is enough and peace to be with that when it's right for you.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 4:02 PM ET | 01-16-2007

I am a young woman who lost my mother to ovarian cancer two years ago. Six weeks after her diagnosis (stage IIIc) my father passed away. As a result, I became my mother's primary caregiver. Everything Leroy talks about, I experienced with my mother. From the freshman moment in the chemo room and blood lab to the ongoing treatment decisions and finally the decision when to say enough is enough. I was my mother's cheering squad. I gave her the strength to battle her cancer and I gave her permission to give up when the appropriate time came. I will say cancer patients are amazing. Their perseverance, determination to survive and positive attitude is contagious. I remember at the beginning of my mother's treatments a poor blood count was devastating. I would be sullen for days. After four years of treatment my mother and I were so used to the ups and downs of cancer very little rocked our world. Poor blood count results to new tumors were par for the course in our journey with cancer. We faced each hurdle together and made decisions together. I have so much respect and admiration for my mother. I think about her everyday and miss her terribly. I know she would love your column Leroy for you verbalize all of the thoughts and fears she experienced. Thank you for writing. I read every entry and always shake my head in agreement. Your truthfulness and ability to show vulnerability with so many readers is inspiring. Keep fighting and writing, Leroy!

Sent by Janet DeAngelo | 4:05 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Leroy, I don't know if I would be a fighter if it wasn't for my husband, sister and my best friend. I sometimes think that if I were alone I wouldn't care what happens to me. I can't stand the thought of my husband having to struggle in this world alone. My sister needs me too, since her husband died 3 years ago and my best friend would be without her best friend — she needs me. Does any of this make sense, probably not?

Sent by Ruth White | 4:10 PM ET | 01-16-2007

It's about Lance Armstrong's LIVESTRONG.

Sent by Bill Kennedy | 4:12 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Dear Leroy — I haven't read your blog in a few days, I have been sick with a bad case of cold/flu and am just recovering now. I happened to read your latest blog and the notes that follow from fellow readers and was so surprised by the venom about Pam that I had to go back and find out what all the fuss was about.

I read and re-read your post and her comment and realized that the question she was asking, to my mind, seemed universal, and the response you had to it, personal. This is not a judgment or excuse for either of you — I know neither of you and can't be any kind of authority on the issue. But what it reminded me of is how much we each filter the world through our experiences and how sometimes our filter excludes the reality someone else is living through. It also brought to mind how hard it is in this crazy world not to take sides — which of course usually requires seeing one of the sides as the underdog and one as the aggressor. I am sorry for both you and Pam — and hopeful that you both move into the new year with strength, but also with gentle and open hearts. Like you said in your note, we all have value — and who decides what that value is or what its worth?

I have really enjoyed your insights and hope you are able to work with your cancer in a way that, whatever the outcome, has value for you. Please don't let any of our musings pull you from that path of strength. Aloha.

Sent by Jenny | 4:14 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Leroy, you are so right — we just can't give up. When I was totally wiped out from chemo, anemia, blood clot & portal hypertension, a friend had to literally drag me to the emergency room. And I owe him my life. I was so close to giving up that it really scares me.

Sent by Larry Benfield | 4:15 PM ET | 01-16-2007

You're helping me so much in my journey to an examined life.

May God's love and peace always be with you and those you love.

Sent by William Atsumi | 4:17 PM ET | 01-16-2007

I am incredibly moved by Sarah's post earlier on. She wonderfully said what I so often try to convey to the cancer patients that I work with on a daily basis as well as to my father who is at home with me with hospice care. Thank you Sarah, and thank you, Leroy, for opening your heart and life for us all to learn and grow from. May your journey be a gentle one.

Sent by Karen | 4:19 PM ET | 01-16-2007

Dear Leroy,

You site has been a source of strength to my sister-in-law who is on year two in her tour of cancer world. Your column today really hit me.

When does one say, "Enough"? She works, travels, teaches yoga, organizes fund raising events and keeps a blog of her own, all while embarking on round three of chemo and traveling for her treatment at that. I am amazed at her energy, when she has none, her strength, when she can't get "out of the quilts", her vivacity, when she is connected to a line that poisons her, and her continual encouragement to live life while hers is in peril. And I am in awe. I guess "enough" is a place that is different for all of us.

Sent by Lizard | 7:37 PM ET | 01-16-2007

I think you whine and complain too much, Leroy. I got a cancer "death sentence" almost eight years ago. Today, I still work and do everything I did eight years ago. Your body does what your mind tells it do. It's that simple. If I had listened to and done everything my MDA doctors told me to do starting eight years ago, Id be dead today. To them, you're just patient # blah, blah, blah at a cancer clinic a name on a chart. Wanna live? Take a more pro-active mental approach to getting well and living, not surviving.

Sent by Larry Hamm | 10:56 AM ET | 01-17-2007

Leroy,

I recently learned about your site through a friend I met during a chemo treatment. I am 38 and was diagnosed with breast cancer in July and have had an extensive chemo regiment. I started in September and I am now down to only four more weekly chemo treatments and will finally finish in February (then six weeks of radiation). I feel blessed because I have a good prognosis since we caught the cancer early.

I loved your comments today as I too have wondered why I am doing this. I assume that Pam probably does not have children. I would like her to ask my 8-year-old and 10-year-old if it is worth the cost for their mom to get well.

I am blessed to have met so many fighters through this journey. Every cancer patient has a different story, some good some not so good, but all of us are worth the cost no matter how much it is and no matter how difficult it may be it is worth the fight!

You are a true inspiration to all of us! I enjoy reading your blog. God bless!

Sent by Karen | 11:50 AM ET | 01-17-2007

Thanks for the inspiration, Leroy. I am fighting colon cancer that has returned. The chemo so far is not so bad, but then the tumors have not gone away. My doc was positive when the last CATSCAN showed they had not grown (but had not shrunk), but I was very discouraged. So I'm expecting a different regimen of chemo next that will probably be much worse. I don't feel sorry for myself much, though, since my perspective is always kept upright when I see what others getting treatment with me are going thru.

Good luck to you! I will re-visit this blog from time to time to see how you are doing...

And to Pam, who apparently mentioned something about wasteful use of resources to save a person's life.

Remember, pharmaceuticals do not have to charge as much as they do for these drugs. It's their choice (as part of a twisted free market) to do so, and since greed rules these days, they will (NO! I'm not a socialist!). It's always worth it to save a life, and the fact that a corporation can and will charge enormous amounts for those drugs does not change that fact.

Sent by B. G Custis | 12:51 PM ET | 01-17-2007

As a person with cancer I have let myself wonder how long I would fight the disease with treatments and when I would throw in the towel. I was consumed with these thoughts when I lay in bed after chemo and didn't care to eat or drink. I just wanted to sleep. I thought, if that was my life, I don't know if I would want it.

I, too, have had people tell me I am strong or brave, but truthfully as human beings we do what we have to do to carry on. I don't consider myself brave or strong. I am scared. Scared to quit fighting for my children who are too young to lose their mother, my husband or myself.

The choices we make in dealing with our circumstances determine our quality of life.

Sent by Janis | 12:56 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Leroy,

Today is the day I will go through the thorough regime of testing for breast cancer. I am nervous to say the least, as I realize the answers are only days away... perhaps answers I truly do not want to hear. I spent the weekend pensively considering my life over the past twenty years, and the many times for one reason or another I had considered quitting life. After losing my partner of 25 years, two sisters and my biological parents over the past five years, I became despondent this past summer. In therapy for many years, I agreed to enter a program to work through my grief and depression for the summer. They say you do not always get what you want, but do get what you need. The program endowed me with the strength to be mindful that I will not be given more than I can handle at one time. I met people who encouraged me, supported me, and lent me strength to work through this as well. Had I been in this position a year ago, I might have ended my life, rather than fight to live.

Today, my life is rich with many things, I realize I have been a survivor all my life — I will not quit now. Life is precious; it is a gift bestowed me by the universe, which I shall cherish with each sunrise and sunset. Each day I make sure I say good morning and good evening to the moon, for I know it shall bring a new day, and new life forces for all facing stumbling blocks in theirs lives. To all who suffer, either personally or through a loved one, "May the wind gently brush your cheeks as the sun rises on one side with the moon on the other... keeping your spirit on the horizons of life."

Sent by Robin Waters | 12:59 PM ET | 01-17-2007

We have all probably heard the words from friends, family and co-workers, "I don't know how you do it, I don't think I would have the strength." Well, honestly I never thought about having the choice of giving up, until someone else said those words, so I think it is just in the human spirit to go on.

Sent by Linda Churchwell | 1:02 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Dear Leroy,

Today a dear friend of over 20 years, Tom Jones, lost his battle to a very rare and aggressive form of cancer. He was an amazing man who positively impacted thousands of lives in his work as a Paulist Priest and I am sure hundreds as a friend. Thankfully I was one of those friends. He married my wife and me last summer, a first for him as he had never officiated a wedding where both bride and groom weren't Catholic, but Jewish. Believe me, he was an amazing man, so amazing that my Jewish Mother was thrilled he co-officiated the wedding. Tom showed me that true men of God walk among us, not above us.

You inspired me to create a blog for Tom so his family, friends and community could keep in touch in a way as well as informed about his journey. Though his earthly journey ended today, his words will remain with us. I want you to know that you are a big reason for that and that I am eternally grateful.

With warmest regards and the highest hopes for you in your journey.

Sent by Steven Laff | 1:20 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Leroy, You bring up another good question. All I can say is that, in the end, the body is not as strong as the will or the spirit. No doubt, you will never stop fighting to live, just as it should be. May that be for a longer time than you can even allow yourself to hope for now.

Sent by Marilyn | 1:24 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Love, love and more love. Isn't that what the journey is all about? "Having enough" was not an option at the time for me since the love was so strong here. I hope letting go will be gentle.

Sent by Patty | 1:25 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Leroy, It is, of course, your decision as to whether to continue your treatment, but just know that thousands of people sitting at their computers will shed tears when you issue those words. I think of you often and you have an impact on my life. Keep up the good fight!

Sent by Linda | 1:26 PM ET | 01-17-2007

When cancer came calling, I had already been through the death of my husband at an early (42) age. With two small kids, I learned about the hidden strength we have within. But cancer is different... I remember crying as I walked into my last chemo session. Couldn't help it, I knew what was coming, but I also knew it was the last one. Then on to radiation. There I hit some sort of limit. I took it as long as I could and "opted out" of the last three sessions. It was partly that I had hit a physical limit but it was also my taking control — that thing we all feel we've lost during the process. What a grueling period in my life! But the sun is shining here in Honolulu and my life is good! I'm even cancer free 6 years later. I know that's not a promise for being cancer free forever, but its good for now.

I hope you don't ever delve to your lowest and are always able to find the strength when you need it. I am sending all the aloha I can.

Sent by Patty | 1:27 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Mr. Sievers,

I read with some interest that you have not found anyone who has given up on cancer treatment. Naturally, you would not meet those people in the cancer ward, but they do exist. Several people in my extended family decided against accepting cancer treatment. Their motivations were varied, but always noble. I know it is a terrible error by generalizing their rationalizations, so I will tell you what made the greatest impact on me. These people were going to die, and they knew it. They had the choice of a terrible death soon or a terrible death later where their misery was lengthened. However, it was not their own pain which concerned them. It was a concern for the family they will leave behind. The family is the survivor of cancer. They have wounds. Leaving earlier would diminish the injury suffered by the survivors.

As you have said many times, there are no right and no wrong choices in this. All choices are personal, and motivated with good intentions. I can say the motivation is good intentions and not fear because people can't remain frightened for the extended time frame of cancer. Eventually, the patient will get their head straight, look at the problem, apply their own values, and decide on a direction.

I am not advocating their choice. I am just providing a view point you have not mentioned.

I wish you the best for your life and the best for your family. Your choices are correct for you.

Sent by Gary Miller | 1:32 PM ET | 01-17-2007

"Courage is endurance for one moment more." — attributed to a Marine Lieutenant in Vietnam.

Sent by Teena | 1:33 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Dear Mr. Sievers, These are my comments after "Pam's" blog. A friend thought she was talking about euthanasia. I disagreed because she did not seem to be sympathetic toward you even to the point of wanting either to alleviate your pain or cut short your life by some humane intervention. She seemed resentful toward you because you had some privileged moments, like you had your "fair share" of happiness or absence of suffering, and so you have used up your Quota of Life Quality.

It seems to me that Pam is interested in minimizing your life condition because there are other people in more pain or other even more desperate states of being. I think she would like to set herself up as judge, able to answer the ridiculous question of "Who in this world is most deserving of care?" Or perhaps she thinks there is a God out there somewhere who has a similarly ridiculous agenda in mind. I would hate to have my medical concerns treated by any sort of rating system, at least not one that is based on Pam's sensibilities. Although rating systems of some sort must have relevance in a battlefield situation or an emergency room, these decisions about whom should be first served are based on what is immediately realizable.

And then there are our insurance companies... if you want to talk about things less philosophical and more bound to dollars and cents, medical care is based on what one can pay and not on what is medically acute, feasible, and in line with the patients and the patients family's wishes. A loathsome state for our medical care to be in. If you want to talk political parties, I'd bet everyone working for an insurance company who is making more that $25,000.00 annually is a Republican, and I bet Pam is, too. And I'd bet she has never had cancer. She would not likely be thinking this way if it were she coping with cancer or any other life threatening disease.

I wish you well, Mr. Sievers.

Sent by Isabelle Shaw | 3:24 PM ET | 01-17-2007

In your blog today you write about strength. It's a perfect subject for cancer patients, victims, survivors and their allies, families and friends. I am simply in awe of the strength that is required and displayed when I am with my father (who is currently battling a very aggressive case of sarcoma) and my mother (his tireless advocate) and by all the other people getting treated at Sloan Kettering Memorial Hospital.

I am also most thankful for your strength — to write on a daily basis, sharing your story — which is helping so many of us.

By writing, you are helping me through this very difficult: Thank you for having the strength to share your story. I look forward to each and every one of your blogs — for each rings true — or it helps me better understand a situation I have been through with my family.

Thank you Leroy, You are in my prayers.

Sent by Carol Beach | 3:26 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Hi, I just thought I'd take a few moments out and share some thoughts with you. It's good you're doing this because a lot of people have been where you are and it's therapeutic to hear their story and "just vent". I'm a cancer survivor. I experienced chemotherapy, hair loss, a lot of vomiting, etc. Something kept me going. My faith in God? My not wanting to die? I don't really know. Keep up the good work!!

Sent by John Griffin | 5:41 PM ET | 01-17-2007

Dear Mr. Sievers, I am grateful for your blog. I lost my mom to complications of lymphoma very quickly three years ago, and I regret everyday that I didn't have the chance to tell her I love her. When one is given the precious gift of time, there is so much potential to do good, and you are doing that everyday when you write your blog and invite others to share their personal insights. I am touched by what the community here has shared, and believe that their positive energy is flowing directly to you. Take comfort in their offer of strength as they take comfort in yours (on your better days).

Sent by Agnes | 11:04 AM ET | 01-18-2007

Since you said you read all messages, I wanted to write and say that I admire your courage and will to keep fighting. Your comments today about not having much choice caused me to pause because I feel sometimes I've given up on things and people in my life. None of those situations involved my own life on the line so I can't know what you're going through. There are some among us who never give up, whether it's their life on the line or not (MLK, Will Steger — most recently coming out of his shell to work on global warming issues). I admire them. I admire you for how you are handling cancer and for sharing it with the rest of us (which, as you point out, is something few do so publicly anyway). Hopefully, if I'm ever faced with the same situation Ill have the courage and will to keep fighting too. You are in my thoughts and prayers daily.

Sent by Renay | 11:27 AM ET | 01-18-2007

I am so frustrated by Pam's comments as this is not for us to judge the value of the life of one person.

Instead of venting here, I would like to share my positive spin on this and what you — one person whose treatment has cost a great deal — have done to change the world.

I perceive through your writings that you are humble and my pointing out that you have changed the world will make you feel... awkward? However, it is true.

You have put words around feelings many could not express.

You have validated the experiences of thousands of cancer patients.

You have provided perspective on the world of the oncology team — who can only do what they can do, sometimes using only a best guess and not a superhero superpower to save a patient.

You have shared the community that develops when you are in this cancer world — whether patient, caregiver, friend or medical professional.

You are keeping people who are fighting for their lives focused on one more day. You are providing a peer relationship to so many who really need someone around who "gets it" when it comes to their cancer journey.

You risk of sharing your story has provided healing to those of us who watched a loved one leave us at the hands of cancer. We wondered so often "What is it like for her?" "What should we do or say"

Oh what a small mind Pam has. What a small heart.

Thank you for your open mind and large courageous heart, Leroy. You have helped us more than you may ever know.

Sent by Melissa Thompson | 9:32 AM ET | 01-19-2007

Dear Leroy,

In response to Larry Hamm's post:

Larry,

Who the hell are you to decide someone whines too much? You apparently don't read all that he (Leroy) writes and have never met the man or seen his strength.

I do not know you Mr. Hamm,(thank God) and would not waste my time making a judgment about the kind of person you are. Having said that, I think it is truly sad that after having been spared death you chose to use this forum to judge someone else in his fight for survival rather than encourage him through your experiences.

For whatever reason you have survived beyond what the "experts" predicted. You have been blessed with more time. How do you know whether your survival was because of a "suck it up" mental attitude, the grace of God or great medical care?

Based on the brief glimpse of you that your comment provides us I must say, if we were spared death based on how much "constructive" criticism or the positive things we contribute to the world around us Leroy and all his "whining" would be way ahead of you in life expectancy.

Sent by M. Francis | 2:54 PM ET | 01-22-2007