I was diagnosed with leukemia in 2004 and am now in remission. I agree that it has become a part of my identity. I thank the wonderful doctors and nurses of the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania for their expertise.

Having faced cancer, I believe that I have more courage to face other challenges.

Sent by Robert L. Leight | 9:38 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy,

You ask what your life would be like if you did not have cancer, but what about the lives of the readers of your blog?

Speaking for myself, I have found your blog to be incredibly helpful in understanding what cancer patients go through. I now have greater insight into what my grandfather went through during his battle with cancer. I now look at cancer patients differently because I feel like I know more. While I'm not at all happy you've suffered as you have, I am happy you've been generous enough to share your experience with us.

If you had not gotten cancer your life would be certainly different, but so would mine.

Sent by Derek | 9:42 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy: Excellent question!!! Our experiences make us "who" we eventually are... interesting...

Sent by Joan | 9:44 AM ET | 02-12-2007

I am about to start my first cycle of chemo ever in a couple of weeks. I will have six cycles, each one requiring a five-day stay in the hospital because of the need for constant monitoring. This is now part of my identity. I'm the mom/wife who has to go to the hospital every three weeks to get really sick in order to get better. I will also be the bald mom, it's true, and maybe the weak mom or physically compromised mom. I got my haircut very short a few days ago, so that my kids could see a "new" me. And realize that I'm still the same me and realize how quickly they got used to it. I think they'll get used to all the new me's who come to visit, probably more quickly than I will. But just like my nice hair or nice clothes or, honestly, good health were surface trappings before, so will the new set of trappings be. Ol' baldy, nauseous mom is still mom, and I'm so glad I have my kids to help me keep that in perspective.

On a different note, Ruth, I want you to know that I'm thinking of you, too, and your upcoming surgery tomorrow. One of my nurses told me a simple technique to help me with my last surgery, when I was feeling so anxious that I thought I would faint every five minutes: when you inhale, think, "I am" and when you exhale, think, "at peace." I am/at peace. I am/at peace. It helps your breathing. It focuses you. It helps your loved ones, too, if they do the same technique, knowing that you are all breathing together.

Sent by Jennifer Haan | 10:29 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy, you pose the question of who we really are at the core of our being. Sometimes, it takes a shaking to our existence, like cancer, to open to the possibilities. It is the difference between being on cruise control versus manual drive. We are much more engaged in our lives in manual mode. And about that airplane... I think Spartacus would have had Leslie Nielsen in the co-pilot's seat.

Sent by Pat Z. | 10:30 AM ET | 02-12-2007

I believe that everything happens for a reason (like a lot of people). My belief is more spiritual than religious (less dogma, more substance). Leroy, I believe that if you didn't get cancer, and Melody (my g-friend who died in Oct) didn't get cancer, something else would happen to us for us to get to the same place we are in now. In other words, something else would have happened in my life for me to learn the same lessons as I did when I took care of Melody. It seems fire tests gold. All the impurities come to the top and we skim off the imperfections, and we evolve and pass it on to our next generation. Character is defined through adversity, not during the good times, but the bad.

You've helped a lot of people here. This may have been your lot in life (at this time). Sure, you've been all over the world, seen a lot of things. But you are probably touching and helping more people now than you were before. I know you've helped me. Thank you for being open to it. Thank you for learning the lesson and then giving back! You're a good man Leroy!

Sent by Michael | 10:32 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Your comments this morning remind me that anywhere we may expect grace, for whatever comes our way. While we may not have a choice in what happens to us, we do have a choice in how we respond to what happens to us.

Cancer may have opened your door to becoming a better person, but YOU are the one choosing to walk through that door with vulnerability and honesty.

With my prayers.

Sent by L. Stone | 11:24 AM ET | 02-12-2007

I wonder how old Leroy is. My son, Andrew, is 34 years old, and had his second surgery for melanoma recently. We are so worried about what his future may be. I am thankful to Leroy for sharing his thoughts about cancer.

Sent by Maureen J. Patton | 11:26 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Your life was already planned out before you were born. We are put here on earth "in this life" to learn spiritual lessons (not religion). Sometimes it takes several "life times" to learn what we need know. Even though I am terminally ill, I just ignore it. I get up every morning, go to work and just deal with life one day at a time. This I know, just like I did before I was diagnosed: The sun shines and the rain rains on both the good and the bad. You are still the same person you were before cancer. Only your circumstances have changed.

Sent by Larry Hamm | 11:27 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Dear Leroy,

You wrote: "I'd be glancing at the paper and running out the door. That's what I did for many years. I'm not saying I was wrong to live that way. I liked my life. But it was very different. I was different."

I can't tell you how this passage helps me. I am a caregiver, but one thing that bothers me when I think of my getting cancer or some other terminal illness is that I have so many regrets for how I lived so unappreciatively for so long. I did appreciate a lot of good things, but I did not care for my body much, and I spent so much time feeling sorry for myself and lonely. I think back to those times and how if I would have put just a little effort into finding beauty in the world, or being a better friend, my time would have been better spent... that is, not wasted. I feel that it was wasted, and that realization can be agony.

It helps me to think of it as you do, that I was different, I couldn't see life with the perspective I have now, I was working through whatever I was experiencing then the way I chose to then.

Anyway, I appreciate your sharing this thought and your upbeat approach. Cancer (and other illnesses) really changes how we see time and our life history. It's not always fun.

My thoughts are with Ruth and Jennifer... and thanks Jennifer for the breathing tip. It is something I will share with my whole family.

Sent by crow | 11:42 AM ET | 02-12-2007

That's really cool that he is trying to make sense of what he is dealing with. It must be really hard to have to deal with cancer. I mean, sure it would be generally difficult... but that is just my main outlook on it, a general one. I kind of wish I didn't have just a general outlook. I can't really understand what he is going through, but I'm sure it is difficult. He makes me want to learn more about cancer survivors because his life has changed so much.

Sent by Ces | 11:45 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy,

Irrelevant question. You do have cancer. This isn't "An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge."... thank God. The only things that matter are the things that have happened. Keep fighting.

Sent by Brit | 11:47 AM ET | 02-12-2007

Another essay that spoke to my heart. I think my family and I all became better people from the experience. We were all forced to consider my mortality and absence from family. Afterwards, I have seen all three of my children consider their futures with the knowledge that cancer may be part of it. It has also has prepared us for the fact that life is uncertain and we need to experience it while we can.

When we talk of my husband's retirement, I now urge him to do it earlier, because we don't know what the future will bring.

Sometimes when I rush around taking care of everyday business, I have to stop and remind myself that 18 months ago, I wasn't able to and that could happen again.

Sent by Chris | 12:17 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Dear Leroy,

I've gotten into the habit of reading your blog daily. Just when I think you've said it all, you surprise me. Cancer has taught me a lot about playing the deck I've been dealt. Still, it's been like a reset button forcing me to think about what's really important and what's not. Cancer has this way of putting things in perspective and making you grateful for the not-so great days at least they're still days we're on the planet.

You've touched so many of our lives, Leroy. Thanks again!

Sent by Betsey Kuzia | 12:18 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy,

The lure of the path not taken is compelling for us all. Sometimes we don't have choices about our direction, sometimes we make stupid choices or ignorant ones. Altogether, they shape us and mold us into who we are. Every choice, even the worst ones, can teach us something valuable... or take us down. I see you using your cancer for the good and admire you for that.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 1:24 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Sorry, Leroy, I'm commenting on your blog from Friday to me, not today's. I am so moved, genuinely moved by the response from all your followers on your blog. Thank you all so very much for your kind words, wishes and prayers. I cannot express how much this means to me. God bless you Leroy and everyone who reads this blog. I'm ready to go tomorrow, thanks to you all.

Sent by Ruth White | 1:26 PM ET | 02-12-2007

If several of us didn't have cancer or were not otherwise close to the disease, we possibly wouldn't be reading your blog, and sending our prayers for good outcomes for Ruth tomorrow... and for better health for all of us in the "club."

On a more personal note, I had a discussion with my 78-year-old mother, after I came to the realization that if anyone in our family had to have cancer, it is fortunate to be me. I reasoned that she and my father wouldn't have the strength to do this long term, and that my siblings still have young families to raise, or do not have the same financial and health care resources available to them. So, that leaves me — otherwise still healthy, with grown children and a husband who has been a dedicated care-giver, and able to deal with the mental and physical challenges that we face. With an almost perverse sort of logic, maybe I've taken this monkey off their backs.

And, if my best friend and I hadn't each been diagnosed with different cancers last year, we wouldn't be getting ready to off on a "girls" ski trip in two days, and thinking about planning a road trip while were still pre-retirement age :-)

Sent by Sheara | 1:32 PM ET | 02-12-2007

This past September my husband was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. He never smoked. Like anyone in this new place I had no friends like me and no way of dealing with this overwhelming fear and sadness. Everyone, especially my daughters and husband looked to me for a way to deal with this. I found you and your column moving and insightful. So much of what you have observed, experienced and expressed are the very things I need to know. I am just as sad, but I do not feel as alone. This is truly a sacred journey. Thank you.

Sent by Peggy Siefert | 1:43 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Thanks!

Sent by Lisa | 4:50 PM ET | 02-12-2007

A year ago I was diagnosed with Peritoneal cancer. After a year of surgeries and chemo I was told that I am in remission. There is a 70 percent chance my cancer will return in 2 years. Peritoneal cannot be detected by a tumor. It is small cells that spread throughout the body like sand and it usually not detected until stage 3 or 4 as was in my case.

I cannot seem to accept the fact that I am in remission and my anxiety level is increasing each day. I still suffer from extreme fatigue and along with the stress from the anxiety I can't seem to enjoy myself. Will I ever feel normal or am I cursed til death.

Sent by Mary Scruggs | 4:53 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy,

Thanks for the story... it really opens up my eyes and will very much help me to empathize in the future... cancer is one of those horrible things that everyone thinks will never affect them. In the end, everyone is affected negatively by it in one way or another.

Thank you again.

Sent by Cody Hobbs | 5:16 PM ET | 02-12-2007

My brother died on Dec. 22nd 2005, just a few days before his 36th Birthday. He died of Cancer after a 22-year battle with the disease. When I read your question and comments today, certain things reminded me of my own life, experience with fighting cancer and my brother's long struggle.

No one in my family dares to ask the question "What if Dan had never had cancer", at least not openly. Like you, it was part of our identity. For myself, I was a sister of a brother who was fighting Cancer... and that made me a fighter, too. It also made me a better sister, a better person. I'm not sure where to go with the question of what life would have been like in Dan didn't fight Cancer. Would he have become a model or a super-star athlete, the chances might have been high. Would I have the same awareness I do now of struggle, fear and pain, probably not. Although I have not experience the physical pain of Cancer in my own body, I watched Dan suffer it and I too marvel at what the body can take. Should I ever suffer that pain, I hope that knowledge will help me.

One question that I am faced with now is "now that Dan no longer has Cancer, what do I do?" Learning to live without this daily fight can be just as hard as living with the fight. I miss fighting for Dan. I miss Dan. I miss his smile. I do not miss Cancer itself. But I would do the fight all over again, for Dan, for another 22 years if I had the choice. The fight shaped my life in many ways. It's true we don't get to choose what happens, but whatever does happen, I hope it makes us better each time. Good luck and fight like hell.

Sent by Ann Dodson | 5:20 PM ET | 02-12-2007

Leroy,

You are a gift to your readers, this is where you were meant to be... at this moment... today... right now... right here. You have made the difference in the lives of so many without the corporate world you once knew so well. The difference you make today is from the spirit, deep within your life and the lives of those you touch daily. I am grateful you have been so courageous in sharing your "Half of the Glass". By the way... perhaps Spartacus would have considered trading in the airplane for a hang glider!

Sent by Robin Waters | 10:34 AM ET | 02-13-2007

After 22 weeks and 16 rounds of chemo I can finally say I am done! Today was my last round of chemo! :~) I was so excited to be finished but at the same time it was a little depressing. I will truly miss my cancer nurses and all the other chemo patients I have met during this journey. Yes, I could have skipped the cancer (and the chemo) but I would not replace all the new friends I have made for anything!

I really appreciate your blog! You are a true inspiration to all of us!!!

Thanks!

Sent by Karen | 10:36 AM ET | 02-13-2007

I was moved by the column on the 12th and comments others made.

crow wrote:

"I think back to those times and how if I would have put just a little effort into finding beauty in the world, or being a better friend, my time would have been better spent... that is, not wasted."

I too struggle with my past but I try to see every day building on another, a building built brick by brick until it is complete. Those days working in the mud pouring the foundation were necessary to be who we are today.

Mary wrote:

"I cannot seem to accept the fact that I am in remission and my anxiety level is increasing each day."

Someone offered a jewel to me that helped me deal with my anxiety. Make a list of the 10 things you want to do before you die (whether you are sick or not) and begin today to work on the most important one or the one easiest to accomplish. Having a purpose in life lightens the load. If you finish an item, add another to the list!

I like that breathing exercise: I am... at peace.

Sent by Allan | 10:38 AM ET | 02-13-2007

Dear Leroy:

Once again your essay, and the response from your devoted bloggers, has touched me deeply. What strength we have what strength we give to one another.

My heart wants to reach out and embrace Jennifer, Ruth, Peggy and Mary. I know that the loving positive energy that comes from all of "Leroy's legion" will be felt by them.

Leroy, you have created something wonderful, powerful, comforting and empowering. I have said before that, should my cancer return, I will be comforted by having your words to help me find my own... to express what I feel and to communicate so honestly with those around me.

You have become such a treasured friend and there is so much love in these postings.

It means so much to me to be a part of this group.

Sent by Harriet H. Liss | 11:16 AM ET | 02-13-2007

Oh, Leroy- I was just thinking the same thing the other day — there was a time in my life some twenty years ago when I was minding my own business, riding race horses for a living, and very, very happy — it was such a simple life.

Now I am the mother of a kid with a brain tumor, and I have known many great kids who have died of their brain tumors — I am also a parent-to-parent volunteer and talk to parents whose child has been recently diagnosed with a brain tumor — they are in a bad way, of course, and I try to listen and talk to them about their questions and their feelings about the new road they are walking — the road of the brain tumor/ cancer world — a world neither they or I ever thought we would be traversing.

And it is really good. My heart swells with love for these fellow parents. We become close and I can help them in some very intrinsic way — no one else can really get what they are going through.

So my life is richer than I could have imagined, but I, too, would give it all back to have my kid be healthy, to not have her have to deal with doctors and chemo and mris and brain surgeries, and missing school (which is the hardest part for her — she's nine).

And so here we are — it's been an interesting ride, not without its charms, and I have felt such compassion from others that I wouldn't have had opportunity to feel had it not been for our situation — and yes, Leroy, I am a better person for all of this and I am a more deeply spiritual being, all born of necessity.

And thank you again for reminding me of these gifts of this life, for some days it is a dark and sad world, and we need to remember the gifts that it brings.

Sent by Alice Williams | 11:28 AM ET | 02-13-2007

Leroy,

Your honest reflections help me (and many, I'm sure) more clearly and openly consider our situation. I do believe we are shaped by all our experiences and more so by how we choose to deal with each experience. Cancer survivorship has become just one of my experiences, albeit a most major life altering one. I try not to have it as my strongest identity and believe like you, I am much more because of it. Admittedly, it becomes a bit easier to do this after some distance of time; it's been 4 years for me.

I was a nurse and caregiver for many years prior to my diagnosis. Since then I've become certified in Holistic Nursing and also as a Cancer Guide (through the Center for Mind Body Medicine). My meaning has been to assist others on this journey, like yourself, but in another way.

We don't need cancer to see or do things differently in this life — but if we must "fight the beast" it helps to find significance and meaning in the experience.

Blessings to you, Ruth and all of the bloggers in our club.

P.S. I vote for the club signal as a kind smile!

Sent by Kathleen Armany | 11:33 AM ET | 02-13-2007

Dear Leroy

I am a Brain Cancer Survivor, have been through surgery, radiation, chemo and your article hit home on almost all of my feelings. You are an inspiration to me as I continue my fight. God Bless you and keep fighting.

Sent by Jeff Nichols | 11:28 AM ET | 07-06-2007