Leroy, like the helmet marks, we start to measure our lives with every age line, scar, indentation, and change to our appearance, absence of hair or grey hair. It means we have lived a full life. Beauty then is in the eye of the beholder with experience. Keep on hitting back — you have a team rooting for you! Pat Z

Sent by Pat | 4:01 PM ET | 02-06-2007

Your helmet story reminded me of the time my mother scrubbed my brother's helmet to get rid of all the marks. Boy was he upset! Only if it was that easy.

As a woman who has had breast cancer it is very hard to look at my own scars. I wonder what my husband really thinks of them.

I hate the scar that runs from one side to the other across my abdomen. The muscle was used to make a new breast. I hate the new breast because it is ugly and unnatural looking. Even though fully clothed I look normal. I hate my chemo port scar that shows on every low cut shirt. And I hate my radiation dots.

Each serve as a reminder that I will always have cancer with me and it can come back at any time. Those are the scars that no one can see.

Sent by Janis | 4:11 PM ET | 02-06-2007

What amazes me is how few scars and marks I have. My body's outward condition belies what is going on inside. I have one 8 inch scar on my abdomen, curving around my belly button like yours, and four black tattoos scattered around my belly. My radiation tan has faded. I have nothing left from my chemo except my MedPort, which just looks like a pacemaker. Oh, and a nick on my collarbone that they made when they inserted the MedPort. But overall, I look the same. The surgery scar, which is the most obvious of the marks, has faded to just a thin line, barely visible. It's on the inside where the real marks are. The spaces that once held my kidney, spleen, pancreas, and part of my small intestine now are just ... empty. The colon has permanent damage from the radiation that makes life challenging sometimes. And we haven't even touched on the psychic scars yet, just the external ones.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 4:18 PM ET | 02-06-2007

There is a law in California that if you have private insurance it is mandatory that they pay for reconstruction surgery after a mastectomy. I never had a doubt that was what I wanted. Had I known what I would go through, I am not so sure I would have gone that route. I am halfway through my therapy. My plastic surgeon can't "finish" his work until I'm healthy enough for more surgery. I always had a nice/pretty figure. The first time I looked at my new breast it looked and felt foreign. It still does. I too have an 18" scar below my belly button and a "new" belly button created by my genius surgeon. It has been 5 months since my surgery and my husband has yet to see my new body. I cringe when people say ... how lucky, you got a free tummy tuck. If they only knew what it's like to step out of the shower and see the new me. Scars on the outside will heal and I will be well when this is all over. I will wait for scans and mammograms every 6 months to make sure that I am truly cancer free. But this part of the journey has not been easy. I don't feel like a warrior. I feel like cancer has taken more of my already fragile ego and given me more important things to ponder. Maybe that's the lesson I am supposed to learn. Leroy thank you for your posts and letting us know so many personal things about your life and your fight.

Sent by Patti | 4:24 PM ET | 02-06-2007

Dear Leroy, although it's a little strange i think we should all be proud of our battle scars. When encountering fellow cancer patients we often end up challenging, "i'll show you my scar if you show me yours".

My 3 year old loves to see Mommy's "boo boo" (which my surgeon was also careful to curve around my belly button).

And i think the best quote i have read on your board so far was one a fellow reader sent in last month. i have shared it with everyone i know because i love it and because it makes me feel a little bit better about the fact that after 5 surgeries, i will never wear a bikini again, "Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, totally worn out and proclaiming, WOW, WHAT A RIDE!!!

Hey, i'm still here :-)

Tannis

Sent by Tannis | 4:32 PM ET | 02-06-2007

I have dealt with cancer in friends and family, and personal bouts with skin and thyroid cancer. I have scars on my body and on my heart. I value every word you write. And I read your column for another reason, too. My dear friend Bob writes you every once in awhile, and through you I hear about him, and that means the world to me. If you are one drop of water, the ripple effect you leave is mighty wide. Thank you.

And Bob, keep on keepin on. There are people everywhere rooting for you, too.

Sent by Connie | 4:35 PM ET | 02-06-2007

I am reminded of the film "Slapshot". The film with Paul Newman as the age tired and oh yes the player/coach role. In one scene a player says look Tony is really beating the hell out of them (para-phrase) and another player says "Tony is a MESS".

Sent by Joseph Lyons | 5:03 PM ET | 02-06-2007

I never thought of life like a football game, but thanks for the image. I guess my mom is as tough as those NFL guys when I think about it. I know you are, too.

Your scars you described made me cringe, especially the part about the metal framework screwed into your skull for the gamma knife procedure. Scars on the abdomen, I would imagine, are not nearly as bad as having grooves in your skull.

Thanks again for giving me a knew take on life. I'll have to tell my mom that she is a veteran, an athlete, and a survivor.

Sent by Lisa V. | 5:06 PM ET | 02-06-2007

Leroy - I like to use the analogy of the weighted dummy punching bag that you hit that bowls over when struck and then obediently pops back up again for the next blow. There are times that I feel like that punching bag - take the hit with every dose of chemo that knocks me down, and yet I somehow still manage to pop back up (although it seems to take a little longer to pop back up over time). My punching bag body has picked up the surgery scars, and puncture marks over time. I hope that we all continue to keep popping back up like that dummy, maybe a little worse for the wear, but still in the game.

As for yesterdays post and broadcast - you cant begin to imagine the many lives that you've made a difference to with your honest and touching observations. We all hope that those thoughts of a funeral will not be realized for a long time. I will admit that yesterdays posting did get me to think about my own funeral - I too hope that my friends will have a one great party and share pictures of me at my silliest.

Sent by Bob Maimone | 5:14 PM ET | 02-06-2007

I heard our nurse say she would rather an office full of cancer patients than her usual lot whining about nothing. She is so right. I am in awe of your strength and your amazing courage.

Sent by Irene | 5:16 PM ET | 02-06-2007

The scars prove the old saying that "if it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger" The jury's still out on the latter part of that saying but I think you get to meet the real "you" in the diagnosis and treatment of cancer. Sometimes you surprise yourself and other times you can actually touch the bottom. I've been through three surgeries, one round of radiation and on the third round of chemo. Guess I'll never pose nude now (sigh). Me, the one who used to think a routine physical was nerve-wracking. But you change.

Like the paint on the helmet, the scars aren't the real measure of our life with cancer, rather it's how we now play the game.

Sent by Tom Sabourin | 5:20 PM ET | 02-06-2007

A few days ago I accidentally stumbled upon a very interesting link to the article with the title "Cheap, safe drug kills most cancers." I think it gives a hope to hope. Besides, you don't have to wait human trials the drag is FDI approved and available with prescription from your doctor. The worth can happened probably is diarrhea. I sincerely hope this will work for you. Good luck and God speed.

Sent by Gregory | 5:36 PM ET | 02-06-2007

Leroy,

I remember being a freshman in football practice. We all got our equipment and knew that our helmets looked too clean. We took them in our hands and smashed them against one another, some guys even used walls! Boy we were tough! Then we played in a game or two and I took off my helmet after playing with all I had. I could see and remember the hits that really rocked me. I could remember the effort and pain that went with those, and the joy too! Needless to say, very few of us ever tried to make our own battle stripes anymore. We may not have realized it, but it belittled those who really worked hard and earned their stripes.

I'd like to say that most of us are the same. I do not have cancer, but I do have a midline scar from 3 separate surgeries to remove my colon and repair my insides. Whenever I look at it, I am reminded of the pain, effort and joy. I can say joy because I am here today because of it. Our wounds and scars are badges of courage and memorials to our past. I can definitely say that like high school, I now have an appreciation for what a scar represents. In our nation of surgery by choice, where most of those scars are hidden or made to be invisible I say, "Why?" What are you ashamed of? Those "scars" will remind them of nothing but vanity. Most who take on cancer, not by choice naturally, will have scars for their effort. And I applaud the doctors who will try to minimize and help lessen these scars. Yet as you said, take pride in your battle wounds, they remind us of so much and testify to others that we've been through some tough times.

Thanks for your story.

Sent by Phil | 11:41 AM ET | 02-07-2007

Leroy, you are truly an inspiration! Having experienced lymphoma and chemo and all the after effects (anemia, poor balance, watery eyes), I offer a toast to you for having the strength and courage to write about it every day. I wish you only the very best!

Sent by Larry | 1:56 PM ET | 02-07-2007

Leroy,

I am deeply moved by your journal. As a nurse, I have cared for many many cancer patients over the years. One of my favorites is now in the end stages of lung cancer. I sent him the link to your blog where I know he will find comfort in knowing that his sufferings are shared by others like you. My best to you in this fight, and thank you for sharing this most intimate of experiences with us.

Sent by Therese | 4:43 PM ET | 02-07-2007

I just wanted to drop a line to wish Mr. Sievers best wishes. I always enjoy his optimistic candor and I think he has a lesson to teach all of us!

Sent by Daniel | 5:09 PM ET | 02-07-2007

My wife is in the last weeks of her battle with lung cancer. Your columns square so much with what she and I are feeling, thinking and, often, saying. Thanks, and good luck in your battle.

Sent by Fred | 5:57 PM ET | 02-07-2007

Yesterday was my father's last chemo. This, after months of chemo and radiation for throat cancer of the tonsil. Some days were good, some days were bad, many days were very bad. Twice he was hospitalized. The first time for life-threatening diarrhea linked to chemo and the second time for deep second degree burns on his neck from radiation. My father was a champ through the entire ordeal. I was one of those who kept falling apart, privately of course. I depended on your NPR column on your cancer blogging to help get me through my father's ordeal. It seemd like every time he was going through something, you were going through or had been going through a similar situation. I posted some of your blogs on his caringbridge and some of my friends wondered who this Leroy was, did I know him? Yes, I said, I know him. I hope and pray that you have enough love and support as you go through your cancer ordeal. I can't thank you enough for helping support me.

Sent by Melanie | 11:59 AM ET | 02-13-2007