Miata owners flash their lights at each other. For the early models that meant the headlights would pop up, flash, then down. On the newer cars we still flash, but the exposed headlights take some of the fun out of it.

For cancer patients there are a few options I think might work. a) If you don't mind a slightly sci-fi geeky look now and again, the upraised hand with a gap between the middle and ring finger of the vulcan live long and prosper might be nice. b) The V is for victory or peace sign is apt in both contexts. c) or the Hawaiian/west coast surfer thumb and pinkie extended "Hang Loose" might be could. d) Or maybe the upraised middle finger, AKA the bird, saying "F**k You Cancer," but that one may get interpreted wrong by the wrong person...

Sent by Brian Bogardus | 10:26 AM ET | 02-08-2007

Leroy — I know exactly what you mean. Whenever I see a woman who has obviously lost her hair due to cancer treatment (the obvious sign is the hat or scarf and no hair "fringe" around her neck or ears), I want to go up and give her a hug and tell her that I've been there. Although my hair must remain very short now due to the continuous Taxotere treatment I am currently on, I was bald for almost an entire year. At least she would be able to see that you CAN get through it and live a productive vibrant life. But I never do it... I am afraid of invading her privacy or bringing attention to something that she might not want to unveil to a total stranger. I wonder if others do approach other cancer patients and, if so, what has been their reaction?

Sent by Elena W. | 10:27 AM ET | 02-08-2007

This past week, I ran into a woman at our YMCA that had that common "chemo hairstyle" that we've all seen and she was wearing a pink baseball hat. Being that for most of 2006 I had no or very little hair, I know what she's going through in regards to her hairstyle. I am not the type of person that is chatty in public (unlike my husband). It took a lot of courage for me to reach out and say to her what I thought were words of encouragement and to let her know there is another side you emerge on. My hair may only be about 2 inches long—but it's hair!

In overcoming my fear and hesitation to reach out to someone, I told her my hairstyle was the same as hers last year and that it will come back in no time. She responded with a cold look and brief "It will grow back." My effort to reach out to someone going through something I'm finishing up brought tears to my eyes when I told my husband and has possibly stopped me from reaching out all together.

Had there of been a "Cancer Connection" wave, it would have been a lot easier!

Sent by Michele | 10:30 AM ET | 02-08-2007

Leroy,

I consider this blog that very kind of signal. And I'm grateful for it.

Sent by Crow | 10:31 AM ET | 02-08-2007

Something I have noticed about us cancer patients: Many of us look very normal. If you didn't know we had cancer, you wouldn't know we had cancer. Somedays that is fine with me. Other days, when I don't feel well, I want people to know why I am walking slowly. Mostly, I am glad people don't realize that I have cancer. It allows me to feel normal.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 10:47 AM ET | 02-08-2007

I feel that way all the time when I see someone who is also going through this cancer thing. I want to acknowledge their experience. I want to share with them. I want to empathize and maybe provide any encouragement or perspective I've gained through my cancer journey. Yet, I don't do anything. Usually. I don't want to invade their space. I just smile and wish them well silently, to myself. A signal of some sort is a great idea. You could use it if you wished to show your understanding or not if you wished to be private. I can't wait to read the suggestions people come up with!

Sent by E.M. | 10:50 AM ET | 02-08-2007

I think there is a secret sign for us cancer patients. A smile, just a warm smile :o)

Sent by Carol | 1:29 PM ET | 02-08-2007

For those of us who found your blog, you have given us the cool wave, theoretically. You say what many of us can't always put into words, you give yourself and us dignity.

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 2:28 PM ET | 02-08-2007

I certainly understand what you mean, Leroy, about having a sign... a sign to say, "I have an idea of what you're dealing with." As we tried to follow the ambulance carrying my daddy to the hospital ten years ago, I wondered if anyone really knew that we were dealing with life and death. When we left the hospital the next morning, the woman in the car next to us smiled. In that moment, I wanted to believe she knew we had just lost someone precious and that she understood.

I appreciate reading your column everyday. Your insights resonate and your willingness to share is inspiring. Thank you.

Sent by Molly | 2:29 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Thank you for writing this column. It has meant a great deal to me. I wish you the best.

Sent by Susan | 2:31 PM ET | 02-08-2007

When I had no hair and I went into the grocery store the checker there asked if I was a "survivor." I know many people don't approve of that term but I don't mind it. I told her yes I was and we talked briefly about our common experience. I was happy she said something.

Sent by Debbie R. | 2:33 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Well, I've felt that urge to connect myself, but I usually don't act on it. My hair has been growing back for several months now, but for most of the past year I wore wigs or hats and hated it when some people still gave me "that look" that meant they could see through my disguise and knew I was a cancer patient. The lack of eyebrows and eyelashes is what gives it away! And even though they surely meant well and just wanted to show encouragement or sympathy or whatever — it felt like pity, which was the last thing I wanted or could take.

As for that "cool" one-fingered wave, well my Daddy was a poor farmer down in Mississippi in the 1950s, and that's how he and the other farmers (or I guess just anyone they passed on the road) greeted each other. I always loved it and thought it very understated and cool. But being cool was NEVER a goal of his. Rather, it was a way to greet neighbors courteously but not showily. A dignified, discreet, gentlemanly hello.

Sent by Doris | 3:33 PM ET | 02-08-2007

I love it when people will "peek" in the room I am teaching in to see how I am looking... does she have the "cancer" look? lol! Really, it isn't the cancer these days, folks, it's that damn CHEMO that gives me "the look"!

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 3:35 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Fortunately I don't have cancer, but my mom does. Even though I live with her, I still cannot understand, or fathom the depths of despair she travels to in her heart each day.

When we go to the hospital for her chemo, she is usually quiet and sleeping, but there are times when she connects with the other people sitting in the chemo chairs next to her. I think they speak a language amongst themselves that only they can truly understand, and I am just there listening. They will exchange a smile, some personal information about their battle, and reiterate that they are not giving up.

My mom just said that it is a heavy subject, and talking is her only way to express, or signal as to what she is going through. And I know personally, her words just barely describe how she feels deep down inside.

Sent by Lisa V. | 3:37 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Leroy,

Did you ever think about the fact that you are doing more to bring together people like yourself and those who care for them than just about anybody? There are groups for cancer patients all over the place (some good and some only so-so), but this blog is one of the most real and true vehicles for communication I've ever seen. What a wonderful gift!

Sent by Diana Kitch | 3:39 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Leroy, I found this entry particularly poetic. Don't know what the "hi" sign should be. Those bracelets don't get it, as many wear them who are not the patient per se. And, as some have noted, not everyone is bald from treatment. Would be great, though, if there were such a sign. My husband, aside from being a cancer patient these last two years, is also a Vietnam veteran. I'm always struck by how much it means for one to say to the other "Welcome home." Wish there something like that for you guys, too.

Sent by Teri | 3:40 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Last summer after my diagnosis, I was in my car stopped at a crosswalk in VT. There was a woman, seemingly overdressed for such a warm sunny day with a yellow bandana tied around her obviously bald head. She looked straight at me as she crossed and there was a look in her eyes that was both sad and knowing that left me terrified. I think of her often and pray that she's OK. Since that sunny day, I have stopped noticing those of us who look different in that unmistakable cancer patient way, rather keep in my heart something cancer has taught me. We all carry burdens, some more visible than others, but in the end we are all just trying to do the best we can given the load we bear. The key is kindness. My hope is that that when the wig finally goes the wisdom it brought stays.

Sent by Jessie | 3:41 PM ET | 02-08-2007

As a breast cancer survivor, I wear a pink ribbon on the backpack I carry every day. I don't do this to tell complete strangers that I had cancer or to raise "awareness." I generally loathe all the pink-ribboned merchandise that floods the stores in October. I suspect most of it is marketed by companies that do very little or nothing to prevent or find a cure for breast cancer, or to assist survivors and their families. In fact, some of those companies manufacture known carcinogens. I suspect most companies figure it's a good PR move that will improve their corporate image and help sell products.

I wear that pink ribbon with the hope that it will help someone who really needs to see the face of a survivor and to let them know that they are not alone.

I have mixed feelings about approaching a stranger that we've identified as a cancer patient. While I'm sure it's usually done with the best of intentions, it could be interpreted as saying, "Wow, you look like hell. You must be in chemotherapy" or "Your bald head is really obvious." I think it's best to respect their privacy unless they are advertising their status with a ribbon or something. We don't always want to think about having cancer. We don't always want to talk about having cancer. And we don't always want to explain our diagnosis and prognosis to a complete stranger in the grocery store. "Passing" can be a real morale booster a way to escape from it for a while.

So my suggestion is to quietly advertise your own status if you wish. It may encourage someone to approach you and start a conversation, or maybe it will just give someone the emotional boost they need to get through their day.

Thank you for this blog, Leroy.

Sent by K. Ives | 3:45 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Leroy, I think the sign should be crossing your index and middle fingers. It is easy to do and means hope. What do you think? I wanted to tell you and all the other readers that I am scheduled to do the long awaited, dreaded, surgery next Tuesday, Feb. 13. I am very scared of the surgery, of my surviving it and if I do of what kind of shape I'll be in afterward. I found an EC group on the net that is very good, it helps to know of others in a similar, not exact, but similar situation. My doctors have told me that if my aerota is not connected to the tumor they will proceed with the rest of the operation, but if it is connected they will sew me back up and not continue. Please everyone, pray the aorta is not attached. Leroy, it is so strange, as you very well know, to feel so healthy and normal right now, while all these horrible things are going on in your body.

Sent by Ruth White | 4:18 PM ET | 02-08-2007

I felt well enough to go to town and to one of my favorite places yesterday, the fabric store. When I was walking out to my car a beautiful woman said Excuse me and asked if I knew where another fabric store was. I told her and she reached out her arms and asked if she could give me a hug. I was astounded, to say the least. I am a very emotional person so immediately my eyes filled with tears. She said she would pray for me. She headed to her car and I yelled to her... "My prognosis is very good!" (For some reason I felt the need to make sure she wouldn't go home someday wondering what happened to that lady she hugged.) She smiled and said God Bless and was gone.

Sent by Patti | 5:15 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Sometimes the wave can be found on a stranger's wrist. It might be pink, blue, purple, green, clear, or yellow. Simple rubber bracelets with phrases of hope: Courage, Strength, Livestrong. It is often hard to tell if it is a wave from experience or simply solidarity. Husbands wearing pink bracelets, families with yellow Livestong bracelets all tell their own story. Wave their own wave. I remember when someone gave me the wave while I was driving in my '88 Chevy Nova. Far from a cool car, but there we were. Two people, silenced by our closed windows, brought together by a red light, with only four cylinders in common. For those moments I was not with a friend, but I was definitely not alone. I work in a hospital and I can learn a lot by looking at someone's wrist. Are they registered for a procedure, wearing a rubber bracelet, or just flying under the radar? Whether it be a nod, bracelet or ribbon that shares what we have or what we care about acknowledgement of another human being is sometimes all any of us need. Your blogs are great. I wish you the best and send you a wave. Take care.

Sent by Hillary Alejo | 5:32 PM ET | 02-08-2007

As the owner of both a Miata and a Jeep, I understand "the wave."

I think we do have our own signal. It's called the "Livestrong" bracelet. I wear one and when I spot one on someone else, we exchange a knowing look or pretend to tip our hat.

I saw one woman with the bracelet and one breast. I walked up to her, motioned to her bracelet and said "Me too. Both sides." We chatted for quite awhile.

Sent by Karen | 5:56 PM ET | 02-08-2007

This is for Michele. Michele, what you did was kind and generous. The lady wasn't ready to talk about her cancer... at least not with a stranger. PLEASE DONT STOP REACHING OUT. Someone, somewhere, will miss out. Might be good to check it out first, as in, "I have cancer, too. Do you mind if I say something to you?"

Sent by Diana Kitch | 5:58 PM ET | 02-08-2007

I completely agree we need a signal, a handshake, or a knowing nod! A little sign that says, "I'm with you, I know the things you know." I have often felt the urge to connect with people I see who appear to have lost their hair to chemo. They are fellow group members. My hair grew back a while ago, so now a nod from me might just seem odd. One of the most memorable things someone said to me when I was first diagnosed at 26 years old was, "Let me welcome you to the club of cancer patients and survivors. We hate to take on new members, but you are in good company, and will be meeting some amazing individuals." He was quite right. I just wish we had a way to say "hello" when we see each other on the street...

Sent by Mandra Biscornet | 6:00 PM ET | 02-08-2007

Hello Leroy:

This is my first post to your blog. I never missed your Nightline comments so was pleased to read that you were writing this blog. I am a breast cancer survivor, was diagnosed in 1990, had a lumpectomy and radiation therapy. One day a fellow radiation patient commented that we were "sisters under the skin." I thought this was a great way to start a conversation with other women diagnosed with breast cancer

Your blog is a wonderful way for people to acknowledge and be there for each other. I send good wishes and positive vibes for a successful outcome to your recent procedure.

Sent by Ethe C. | 11:48 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Perhaps we can print cards with this web site's URL and pass them on...

Sent by Julie | 11:49 AM ET | 02-12-2007

I like the idea of a sign, but I hope it will also be shared with those with undetected fatal diseases. It would be a silent way to say, I feel your pain and separation, too. I know you are only on this earth for a short time, just like me. Do you see how beautiful the sun is as it shines through the trees or how the stars twinkle in the cold winter night? Do you hear that warble of the bird at dawn?

It could be a sign for those with terminal broken hearts. It could be for anyone with the humility to realize their days on this earth are limited. It could be a way to say, I'm walking in your shoes, too. I know the pain of being alive and the dread of dying.

I hope whoever finds a sign will share it with everyone that is not afraid to face the dark night and keep walking with hope to meet the dawn of a new day.

Sent by Allan Stocker | 12:07 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy — Enjoyed your column again today, glad you are doing well after RFA, which really is an amazing technique. I had it to my liver in August 2003. It is almost 5 years since I was diagnosed now and like you I look at the scars, recall the various ordeals, at time amazed I'm still here but most of the time surprised that I feel as well as I do and look as healthy as I do.

In November 2006 when I needed my flu shoot I was at my oncologist office who sent my to the chemo room for the injection. The nurses there had not seen me in over 18 months and were just astounded at how well I was doing. Especially when they learned I had undergone a 60% liver resection in January of 2006. Most importantly though there were 2 patients in the chemo room that I connected with, immediately, an elderly man currently undergoing same chemo regime I received for colon cancer. It was satisfying to be able to tell him that you can come out okay and feel well again. The other a woman my age who was currently receiving chemo for mets to her liver. Again it was helpful for both of us to talk and share feelings. I recall when I felt lousy while undergoing chemo, vomiting in the parking lot a woman offer me help and ask if there was anything she could do to help me.

Generally I will tell people that I have cancer and that I have done well with treatment, not sure I would approach a stranger if it felt like intruding, but believe it is important we show that you can live "normal" lives with this disease. All of you brothers and sisters, take care.

Sent by Birthe S. Boone | 12:13 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Hi!

(that's my secret cancer wave and must be said with gusto)

Isn't it funny how the things from your childhood pick times to surface? There was one particular day the words from my father flushed through me. They were the words he spoke when he was trying to keep the all-important positive attitude, that "fake it 'til you make it" mindset. In the same way he did, I found myself one morning sick to death of the post-surgical pain radiating through me. My husband, bringing in my morning iced tea and setting it beside me, whispered "good morning" and asked how I was feeling. I smiled as looked out the window and for a second, I heard my dad's voice harmonizing with mine "Today is my favorite day."

Any day I wake up is my favorite day.

Sent by Teri Thomas | 3:19 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Thank you. My youngest brother is fighting cancer and introduced me to "My Cancer." He said it would tell me exactly how he feels, what he thinks and what he is going through better than he can say himself. I've thanked him for telling me about it and I've shared this site with family and friends. I've told my baby brother this site helps me to better know what to pray for. Thank you.

Sent by Patsy | 3:21 PM ET | 02-12-2007

I have a Lance Armstrong Livestrong bracelet on my wrist 24/7/365 for just that reason. And it does the job for me. I don't know how many people notice it. I know I feel better just to see someone else with one. We are NOT alone.

Consider this my wave to you my brother in arms.

Sent by Charlie DeMarco | 3:25 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Bracelets are a good signal. As someone mentioned, however, they are ambiguous, as many family members and friends wear them (and rightly so). I have always worn mine on my right wrist, and encouraged friends and family to wear theirs on the left.

Sent by Hans | 3:17 PM ET | 02-15-2007

Thank you Hans. I just got a Livestrong bracelet and I am a friend/family member and wanted to support but didn't know which wrist to wear it on. It is on my left wrist. Thank you again :)

Sent by Teresa | 8:46 AM ET | 05-22-2007