Carpe Diem, Leroy, and may this state of grace last a long, long time! May you continue to write, involving others who are in this terrible struggle, pooling your collective experiences and knowledge, for the common good. In the meantime, try to relax and recoup, and savor the moments you've been blessed with.

Sent by Maris | 9:23 AM ET | 03-19-2007

Congratulations Leroy — Yes, it is a wonderful feeling to believe you have survived that horrible ordeal. Me too. St Patty's Day marked my 24th year of survival from Breast Cancer!

However, are we ever really free of it? I find that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, even after all this time. However, ageing does not stop and we all know where we are heading. So ?- enjoy each day to its fullest. Let's use our potential and stop dwelling in the depressing world of Cancer. Tell those "others" that there are survivors and it is possible for them also!

Sent by J C Rakowski | 9:25 AM ET | 03-19-2007

Leroy, though you may not know it, you've done much to help more of us make it to your happy place. You've taught by example that there are other options out there, and that by working closely with your doctors, asking questions, trying new options, wonderful things may be possible. I believe that those living with cancer who read your blog may be more likely to get another opinion, and to seek other treatments if their own doctor seems out of ideas, or to offer no hope. Not everyone will survive their cancer, clearly. As a matter of fact, two very popular members of our BCO chat room recently died, but more of us are living longer, better lives, and you're a living example of that.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 9:26 AM ET | 03-19-2007

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer I was introduced to a friend of a friend - tho I only ever spoke to her on the phone, never actually met her. I felt heartened by her words..."Look at me, we are the same, you can be OK too". 7 months later she was dead of a secondary in her liver.

I look to the statistics, as if I might get an idea as to my own future, whilst knowing they cannot "tell the tale" for any individual.

I feel there is a massive continuum, rather than the bi-polar perspective of lucky and unlucky...and yet, paradoxically i cannot place myself on that line comparatively to all others. It often feels like comparing bananas with tractors ..... breast cancer against a mum with a child with a heart condition.

I also have had the feeling as described of soldiers in trenches when their pal next to them has been shot down, of... "Thank God it wasn't me". I feel some sense of shame for such a thought, and do not wish cancer onto anyone.

I have just been pondering your metaphor about a road we are all travelling along, and even tho I am not a Christian, i am moved by the words from the Footsteps story.

http://www.wowzone.com/fprints.htm

I am suggesting an alternative analogy.... we have all had good and bad times, times when we have been able to give and times when we have needed the compassion of others. My suggestion is that on this road, we take it in turns to carry each other... in accordance to our abilities at that time.

I see Leroy as one who has carried many people, even when struggling with his own problems he has found strength to reach out to others. just as many others have been doing.

I hope I have made some sense.

Sent by JJ | 9:28 AM ET | 03-19-2007

Leroy,

I must say that if anyone "survives" — and this is always relative — I am glad you have. I believe we are here to make the world a better place and to help as best we can those who are put in our path. That is my religion and my purpose.

You have done this with your cancer and will continue (I hope) to help with survival in times of uncertainty.

You may be like me when I have reached out to others, I feel I get back far more than I give. Giving is a kind of feedback loop with no beginning and no end.

Thank you for your gifts.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:42 AM ET | 03-19-2007

Our fate is in God's hand.. Whether we have NED or NOT! With the support that we have right here on this blog and the support of all that surrounds me in my everyday life... I will always choose to BELIEVE that my destiny will lie in God's Hand....

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 11:43 AM ET | 03-19-2007

Hello Leroy,

I don't think I've ever really asked the "why me" instead I've been thankful that it was ME and not my children or husband. Controlling person that I am I've felt I could deal with it better than watch it in them. Now that I'm getting better, I'm still glad that this time, when cancer touched my family it was me.

Thanks for all you've done, I think JJ is right about carrying each other as we are able. You've helped me immeasurably. XO

Sent by Katie | 11:48 AM ET | 03-19-2007

Yay you, Leroy.

I hope your rest & recovery time is easy.

Checking through the recent blogs I noticed a query about the neuropathy, etc. and an opportunity to share "what works" — what helped me AFTER treatment with oxaly everything was acupuncture and strong manicures and pedicures. These procedures helped bring back the feeling in my hands and most of the feeling in my feet. For a musician, being able to play guitar, piano, etc. again FINALLY within a few months after treatment, this was a big blessing. Massage, scrubbing the soles of my feet with a pumice stone and bath salts was also helpful. Nothing helped the sensitivity to cold, I just bundled way up and breathed into a scarf. I just didn't go out, most of the time. I live in western mass, and it can get rather nippy, even in May. Using plastic utensils was also helpful. Like you, I switched to ginger ale and sprite to take xeloda - in fact, drinking water (even tea) was not a happy experience. I suspect its because we have very strong minerals in our well water, which I suspect Ill always be more sensitive to since the oxaly-play-pen treatments. who knows?

I now face the prospect of RFA - perhaps - or something else that might be suggested by the good folks at Dana-Farber. Apparently the CPT11 / Xeloda combo is not working for me, in this (my third) set of tumors. My lungs mean a lot to me, as a singer, so I am reading with deep interest, and holding my breath (i noticed, finally, that i was needing to inhale), your blogs regarding that procedure. I am so very proud of you for making it all the way through to the "no findable cancer" level. I feel these last two years especially have shifted my metaphor of the cancer from Alice in Wonderland to a strange pin ball machine with flashing lights displaying sudden bursts of "hope" "strength" "courage" and other supportive ideas, and then a new hole to drop through (the chemo is intolerable, get thee to the emergency room, the tumors are growing even after that intolerable dose, etc. etc.). yes, its now a pin ball table, always tilting one way or tother, sometimes dinging with happy sounds (another sunrise! my sons gentleness! my husband is finally beginning to grieve with me! etc.)... and I didn't even PAY to PLAY this high-risk table. The metaphor of each person's journey is a fascinating study. The journey metaphor is strong, yes. But I heard something else that fits: an interview on NPR with author Laura Lipman in which she describes a plot-writing style called The Distant Shore. Her description sounded more and more like our cancer experiences ideas and hopes and thoughts that look like one thing from the start, but as we get closer to them, as we begin to experience them, walk around in those ideas / choices / what-have-you, they take on a different, clearer form and shape, leading you in directions you hadn't anticipated...

That's the gist of her writing process. Every new metaphor, poem or phrase helps me get from this place to the nexxt place, so I share it with you, in case it helps you. Another recent helpful contribution from NPR was the poem "The Blind Leading the Blind" by Lisel Meuller (bk is called Alive Together) from the Writers Almanac on Feb 10 (a few days before i started this not-working chemo).

I am grateful to you, proud of you, and I am following you. Rest up, brave one, watch lots of movies and listen to audio books, take LITTLE walks and do what works, whatever it is. Take what helps and chuck what doesn't. Don't rush it, because no one knows who long it will take. Take baby steps, that's the way to move along any incline. bright blessings to you, Leroy. Thank you for showing the way.

Sent by Susanne Barkan | 1:38 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Congrats Leroy!

I have been where you are now. What a high! I only experience survivor guilt when I attend the funerals of my friends who were diagnosed in the later stages of having cancer and died within weeks or a couple of months afterwards. I lost four friends that way last year. It was tough trying to console their shocked families. A lot of people need to take a more pro-active approach to preventing cancer and lose the "it won't happen it me" attitude. Duh, it could happen. It happened to you and I. (me?)

Sometimes I feel like my friends have made me a "poster boy" for cancer survival. People routinely expect me to smile, be cheerful and brave all the time. I only share my down moments with my therapist at MDA and my support group. I often give my friends tips on how to survive cancer, but I ALWAYS tell them to have regular prevention check ups. Prevention is the key. Don't see your regular doctor because they aren't usually into cancer screening. MDA has regular free screenings for certain types of cancer all the time. All you have to do is call them up and make an appointment. Ditto for clinical trials. I cringed when I get my annual insurance statement. Cancer treatments are expensive even though your insurance is covering the majority of the treatment costs.

Again, congrats and may you have many future years of good health!

Sent by Larry Hamm | 1:39 PM ET | 03-19-2007

As a 1 1/2 year breast cancer survivor, I find myself these days in an odd place of feeling both that I'm absolutely fine and it's not coming back, and assuming that of course it's coming back, it's just a matter of time. So I find that I don't really have survivor's guilt, because a (big) part of me thinks that I'm just a time bomb, waiting to go off.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 1:41 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Leroy, thanks for your words. I had a tumor two years ago and my mom died of cancer four years ago. What you write reflects so well the way I feel. I started reading your blog a month ago. I'm so happy about your present situation and about this new treatment to fight cancer. Every morning I check to see how you are doing and what you are thinking. I also wanted to ask you (and other listeners) if you know of a hospital that would perform this treatment to someone with no medical insurance. Thank you very much! Take care!

Sent by Isabel | 1:43 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Hey there — congratulations! May the force be with you! The work you do is important and I am glad you are still able to do it. I think every person's path is unique — regardless of choices or challenges that are similar — and a victory for one is really a victory for all — even if some are no longer here to celebrate. Keep your heart turned to the light and spread the joy and love —that's really all any of us can do. Aloha.

Sent by JP | 1:44 PM ET | 03-19-2007

I send you my very best wishes for peace and healing, whatever the future brings.

After my treatment ended 5 years ago, I felt blessed to have made it through and appreciated each day and many moments in each day as gifts. Its funny that now with 5 years between me and the cancer, I sometimes get irritated with small things. When I step back, I'm grateful that my days can be filled with the ups and downs of living a life, and that cancer or its absence does not interject itself into my days. For me, its not a matter of getting back to "normal" or to resuming the life I had before my diagnosis. It's being able to be wonderfully aware of some moments as well as blissfully unaware of others.

Thank you for the opportunity you've brought me to reflect on my own experiences and listen to those of others.

Sent by Judith Nast | 1:45 PM ET | 03-19-2007

I think Patti and I share some dark thoughts. I identify with what she writes. How do the rest of you deal with the voices in the night?

What I found after my treatments stopped and I was dancing with NED was complicated. I was sure the cancer would be back, and I was right. I wanted to be happy, but I was so scared. When it did recur, I almost felt relieved. Then when we just decided to do nothing, because there was nothing left to do, that is when I started to feel like I was free-falling. While I was actively fighting, I was doing something. The not doing anything and just waiting for the inevitable was much harder. And the inevitable hasn't happened! I am back to NED! I should be overjoyed, but this is the darkest time yet.

Sent by Stephanie | 3:45 PM ET | 03-19-2007

I found today's entry very interesting. I am not there yet. I am not 100% sure I will make it and so I do not suffer survivors guilt at all! I guess I am free of active tumors now, yet that is only a hopeful guess on my part. Feeling survivor's guilt, at least for me, may come later if I am actually lucky enough to feel I have survived.

Keeping with your war and battle analogy, I find I am suffering from a post traumatic stress disorder of sorts that plopped down when all treatments were completed. I am anxious about cancer just about all the time. When in active battle against cancer through rads and chemo, I was very courageous and quite engaged. I am not so courageous now that treatments (battles) are behind me. Sounds, tastes, and places bring me back to chemo. I had my 3 month post treatment visit with the oncology doctor. I broke out in a sweat when in the hospital parking lot. I tossed my mouthwash away because the taste and smell made me nauseated. It reminded me of chemo mouth. My dreams are troubling. I look at my wig and wonder if I will ever need it again. I do not quite look like or think like a survivor right now and I suffer zero guilt. It is something I would like other readers to respond to. I keep wondering if I need a shrink or if the trauma of cancer will shrink on its own as I move into space away from it (if in fact I do).

Anyway, toss the guilt away if you can.

Sent by Susan P. | 3:47 PM ET | 03-19-2007

When I was diagnosed I wasn't afraid...all of the signs pointed to a curable cancer and a good prognosis. I never once questioned whether I would die. I only asked the question one time...why me...when lying in bed late at night with my husband. Why was I the one in seven that got breast cancer? He said why not?...he knew I would never be able to handle another of my siblings fighting this disease. And he knew I was positive and I would be the one to calm everyone else. But as the months wear on, and you get more ill from the chemo and the side affects, you wonder what is around the corner. I don't know why I am worrying about this now. I have never been afraid of the unknown.

I am so happy for you Leroy. And whatever the future brings I am sure that you will look back on these days and remember the euphoria. We all share that with you. My heart breaks for the ones who have written about the people who didn't make it, who fought just as hard as we all have, against a foe that they knew they could arrest only for awhile. But every day you have with the people you love is just that much more—another hug, another story, another lesson in what to do when I'm gone. "Death frees only the dead it does nothing for the living." Survivors and our loved ones are changed forever....we look at the world differently. We never forget the ones who didn't make it, but in time we remember them with smiles and love...not the wrenching guilt and grief that we made it and they did not.

Sent by Patti | 3:48 PM ET | 03-19-2007

It doesn't take long for the "Why me?" question to turn into "Why anyone?" That's what gives us the energy to donate money & do the walks.

Sent by LJ | 5:26 PM ET | 03-19-2007

To Leroy: Just overjoyed for you about NED!! Relax and rejoice!!

TO Susan P (re-posttreatment anxiety): I know exactly how you feel. It feels raw and exposed, I still feel that way and it's been 6 weeks since end of treatment. Try to write about it each day, then go back and read as time passes, you'll be aware of your own subtle changes in focus.

To everyone: In the last 13 months, I lost my sister to cancer, treated my own cancer and buried my mother last week (cancer survivor who died of old age complications)... Good heavens, I think to myself, what is next??? Thanks for listening.

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 5:27 PM ET | 03-19-2007

I want to respond to the comments of Susan P. regarding the post cancer fear that she is feeling. I know exactly what you are going through, I have fought three different types of cancer, including breast cancer and ovarian cancer. When you are going through the treatments, you do feel as though you are truly engaged and even in control of the fight. When they stop, you ask "what now?" How, after all those treatments, can I just go back to my normal life? Sometimes you just feel just like screaming and sometimes the fear grabs your heart and your gut and you feel paralyzed. And no one around you, even those you love you, has a damned clue as to how you feel. Bottom line, Susan, is that you are not alone - I believe everyone suffers the same fears and difficulties. BUT, the fears DO get better over time. I can guarantee it so hang in there.

To help, please consider a support group where you can talk about your fears with other cancer survivors who really know what you are going through. I think you will find that the discussions help you and your input will help others as well. While it might not be right for you, my doctor suggested an anti-depressant to help me through the difficult times and I found it very helpful. Don't suffer, ask for help. Most of all, remember that your feelings are normal for someone who has gone through the battle with cancer. Don't forget the power of prayer, God listens and wants to hear what is in your heart. Best of luck and God bless you.

Sent by Cynthia | 5:31 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Leroy,

Don't lose sight of the importance to everyone with cancer - and everyone who will have cancer in the future - of knowing that it is possible to survive, to be cancer-free again even if only for a time. Why should you feel guilty for giving the rest of us hope?

Sent by Elisa | 5:32 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Leroy,

I do not know you, nor have I ever had to deal with wha you are right now. I saw your blog on Jennifer Ireland's blog and have been checking it daily for the last few weeks, as well as many others. I am just now finding the right words to post on each one and I just wanted to leave a small comment.

I am sure the guilt you are feeling right now is completely normal. You have fought a hard battle, and it is your right to celebrate that you beat this thing. You have discussed so much of your life through the blog, so you can find comfort in knowing that you have helped many people deal with this awful disease. I hope you can find some peace within and truly feel good about your success.

You are in my prayers, as well as many others.

Sent by Alaina | 9:50 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Your survivor's guilt is the natural reaction by a compassionate person. No matter where your path takes you, always remember the tremendous amount of good you have done by opening up to the public. Your courage and insight has been inspiring to many. Congratulations for your recent victories. You EARNED them!

Sent by Gregg | 9:59 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Leroy - i totally get what you are saying- my daughter has lived with her brain tumor for nine years (she is nine), and many of her friends have died (six in this past eyar), even those with her type tumor- and i am SO glad she is ok and doing well, despite chemo fatigue, anemia, neuropathy, etc., because she is HERE!!!! And I'm SO sad that they are no longer here- it is not right that this disease continues to claim so many lives , so many people, so many family members- it is just not right.

Sent by Alice Williams | 10:01 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Congratulations. The day I was told the surgeon got all my tumors was one of the happiest days of my life. I'm sure its the same for you.

The question I faced is what to do now. I don't feel like I deserved to live more than anyone else. However, I am trying to make more of a difference now in how I live.

Sent by Crawford | 10:02 AM ET | 03-20-2007

I would like to add a comment for Susan P, as I felt a sense of identification with her words.

I think I put in this link before to a counselling website and a document I have found so useful and have passed onto as many people as possible. Even now, just over 5 yrs on from an aggressive breast cancer I still reach for these words.

I hope you find it helpful:

http://www.cctrust.org.uk/article3.htm

I cannot profess to understand exactly how you feel, I can only describe my own feelings.

5 yrs on I still keep my hair short, partly cos it never needs combing(!) but I never grew it back to bob length as i was too scared I would have to say goodbye to it again. I tried to avoid forming an attachment to it again. Last week someone was soldering and the smell sent me back to that in the plastic surgery ward. A few months ago I had my last operation so i threw away some things I kept specifically for hospital times- nightshirts, surgery bras, stuff bought to hide my assymetry...and it was hard to do that, to throw it away, as if it was an insurance policy against it never being needed again.

My very best wishes to you all.

Sent by JJ | 10:06 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Why not me is absolutely right. I work in a children's hosptial and see it every day, parents asking why not me? They would do anything to take the place of their child. I believe this is a natural response that we all are prone to think every now and then. I guess I can say fortunately I have a new appreciation of what the child is going through and deal with my guilt of helping where I'm most needed. It's a very simple approach but I'm thankful every day I can be there.

Continue your wonderful thoughts and questions Leroy.

Sent by Lisa | 10:10 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Leroy, thanks for the notes on survivor guilt. Whenever I am beginning to take life for granted (I am 11 months post treatment), the Universe sends me a wake-up call. This weekend I struck up a conversation with a stranger at a store, a young doctor from India with two young beautiful sons. The older boy told me, "Our dad is deceased." I asked her if he had died of a disease or an accident and she said, "Soft tissue sarcoma."

Message received.

I agree with Elisa there is no reason for guilt. But further, there is no excuse in my life for complacent living. I am lucky lucky lucky to be alive and I need to appreciate every day I get.

Sent by Robin | 10:13 AM ET | 03-20-2007

I just listened to your podcast. I am glad to hear you are cancer free. The Last 3 years of my family's life have been riddled with dealing with Cancer. My family had dealt with Cancer in the shadows for a long time, first with my Gram and Breast cancer, and My Grandfather with Prostrate Cancer. Both of them did not discuss the "Cword" with us and both were cancer "survivors". 3 years ago it became more up front. My Aunt was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. She had a Masectomy, chemo and is now a Survivor. As Christmas of 04 came up and 05 was set to begin, my Aunt was Cancer Free and we seemed to dodge a bullet. My Dad wound up having Cancer. Skin and Lung cancer which Metasticied into his Bones. He was sick long before he was diagnosed in April and Died that May. A year after My dad died, my Mom was diagnosed with stage 4 Esophegeal Cancer. She was given 6 Months by one doc. She has battled hard to be able to see the birth of her grandaughter this Christmas. She wont ever be Cancer free, but she is the Rocky Balboa of cancer fighters. Taking punch after punch refusing to be knocked out.

My wife has a friend in a band, who also had throat cancer. He fought and is cancer Free and sings in a band. I find inspiration and hope that while their are more losers than winners, eventually we will even and beat the odds. I understand the Term "Survivor" as a means to brighten the spirit of those who have had Cancer in their bodies and have removed it. But I used to think of Cancer Survivors as recovering Addicts. I don't mean that in a Bad way. I just mean that I don't think any one who has had cancer, or in my case has dealt with cancer can honestly feel that once it is out of your body, it is gone for good. You are greatful for every day, and just hope your body doesn't fall off the wagon. I don't have Cancer, Yet. Genetic Odds have the deck pretty well stacked against me. I don't worry about if and/or when I have to deal with Cancer again. Knowing Survivors, means I know we are stronger than Cancer. Enjoy. you've earned it. God bless.

Sent by Paul | 10:15 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Firstly, I was moved to write by what Susan P said about suffering from a post traumatic stress disorder of sorts. Thank you Susan. I feel the same. I am now NED. The day I heard those words I held my breath. I only realised that when I was forced to breathe again. Now, 10 months later, I am wondering why I am not the person I was before cancer. I feel so guilty because I am just not ready to go to work. I am a single parent and a regular salary would mean a lot to us. I am in some type of limbo. If it has a name, post traumatic stress disorder, perhaps I can start to deal with it. I hope so.

Secondly I want to thank JJ for the link to that amazing article. By the way JJ, I still have my chemo portacath in my chest. I'm too scared to have it removed in case I need it again.

Sent by Lynne | 12:49 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Leroy,

I, too, have experienced "survivor guilt"—not from having had (and beaten) cancer, but from a time when a good friend of mine drowned in an accident. He had a wife and young baby, and I guess I felt some guilt that he had died, instead of me.

However, from a human point of view, life often doesn't seem fair. Why does an innocent child experience death, while someone else survives? Why does one person die in an accident, and not someone else? To us, as people, these (and many other things) don't make sense.

If we could have God's perspective on these matters, we would understand and yet, it isn't given to us to have His perspective. From our finite understandings of things, life just seems filled with inequities and injustices. To us, life often seems unfair.

So, don't feel guilty rather, be thankful that God has been merciful to you by granting you to be cancer-free—at least, for the moment. It doesn't mean that you are more worthy than someone else. However, a humble attitude of gratitude toward God who has blessed you would seem to be the appropriate response to this wonderful blessing He has given you.

Sent by Greg Sheryl | 11:00 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Leroy,

I'm 18 and have just relapsed with rhabdomyosarcoma. Our survivor guilt shouldn't be a despairing onus, it should be a call to arms—-it should be a motivator to raise awareness and share what we have learned. That is the best way to honor those who aren't so lucky. And that looks to soon be me, but that's ok. It's who I am and what I'm here to do.

Sent by Miles Levin | 11:05 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Thank you for addressing this issue. A co-worker is going through a recurrence of her breast cancer. I have been feeling guilty, and a host of other emotions, since I am currently well. Her children are younger...it isn't fair but it is what it is. Thanks for putting words to my thoughts once again.

Sent by Elizabeth Hendrix | 11:09 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Leroy,

I'm a 30 year old single father. My wife, my son's mother, passed away six months ago from metastasized ovarian cancer. She was 27. It was a dizzying whirlwind of hospital visits and hospice care during the five months from the time she got sick until her passing. I hardly had time to catch my breath and take stock of the world until she was already gone.

I've been listening to your story since well before her passing, and I've been rooting for you from a position of relative nearness and understanding, pulling for you, hoping for a better outcome for you than the one my wife was given.

Today I got caught up on the podcast. When I heard you say the words, "I can say now that I have no active tumors in my body", my heart soared for you. It's a joy to hear *anyone* say those words, even if it wasn't my wife. I know there are no promises and that this may well be a temporary situation, but hearing those words means that it's possible to beat this thing. It's POSSIBLE.

As a close friend once commented to my blog, "One day cancer WON'T win."

Enjoy this time. You've earned it.

Sent by Josh Dutcher | 3:24 PM ET | 03-26-2007

Thank you for posting this. Yesterday a mother I knew lost her struggle with lung cancer. She had seven children (bio and step) that she left behind and she was such an amazing human being. I've spent the last 24 hours feeling it isn't fair that she's dead and I'm living. She was so much better than me. My cancer is slow and hers took her quickly and hard. It's just hard to get past the "Why wasn't it me" aspect.

Sent by JCB | 3:06 PM ET | 05-21-2007

I too know survivors guilt. I am a survivor of hepatocellular carcinoma (liver cancer). I was fortunate and blessed enough to have had a resection and found the cancer myself when it was stage 1 and encapsultated hanging off the L lobe of my liver. It is a hard cancer to detect with very few survivors. I am going into my 2nd year and feel very blessed but wonder how and why I survived. I face fear and wonder about it but have to continue to live my life one day at a time. Congratulations to you and enjoy this time.

Sent by iris vazquez | 5:22 PM ET | 01-21-2008

I'm just flat scared. I feel like I should have died 6 years ago. But I'm stll up and going. Are my fears ever going to go away?

Sent by Rita | 12:37 AM ET | 05-16-2008