Leroy,

It's 3:30a.m. California time and I can't sleep because the bone mets in my spine and hips are hurting terribly and it's too soon to take another vicodin. I don't read your blog every day but I felt compelled this time. I've been thinking about death, wondering if this will ever end and terrified it will. Ten years ago I was given one year to live. I told the dr. it was out of the question because I'm a single parent raising a daughter with cerebral palsy and I had to live. And so I have. I've worked hard. But it's a constant fight and I've grown battle weary. My daughter is almost 20 now, and every day I watch her deal with her disabilities with determination and courage. She tells me, "things are hard for me, mom, but that's no reason to quit." So weary or not I take her words and live every second. Sometimes though at three in the morning my thoughts are dark and fear closes in. But tonight you were there for me, Leroy. I think I can sleep now. Thanks.

Sent by Kate | 10:11 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Powerful!

Sent by Sandy Lathe | 10:12 AM ET | 03-21-2007

WORDS I LIVE BY:

Live every moment like it is your last. Feel every moment like it is your last.

So to that end, everyone in my life knows exactly how I feel about them. They know I love them. A day or a conversation doesn't go by when I don't tell them. Family, my daughter, my 2 best friends...etc.

The only people I haven't told this to is...well...all of you.

Thank you Leroy and to all of you. You are helping me daily, beyond words, with my loss of Melody. I so appreciate everyone's honesty and openness. Isn't it terrible that most people need an incident now days to shake them into seeing what is really important. Too bad we forget...too bad we have to be reminded.

Affectionately —

Sent by Michael Caregiver Survivor | 10:13 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Thanks Leroy.

I have another "yalom-ism" for you.

Our fears are like the stars... always there, but they just become more apparent at night.

Sent by JJ | 10:15 AM ET | 03-21-2007

I agree the elephant in the room is death. Which is why there often seems to me to be a separation between cancer patients who have been told their cancer will eventually kill them and those of us who have some chance (however slim) of really getting rid of the cancer for good. I don't know that I can fully understand what someone goes through who fights the cancer battle knowing they are just buying some time to live, but not getting rid of the disease.

But did I fight death in my fight against cancer? The fear of death was definitely what gave me the courage to get through some tough treatments. I fought cancer aggressively because I didn't want it to kill me anytime soon. But I hope that if it comes back and if the time ever does come when there are no more weapons that will work in that fight, I will not feel I have to fight death. I will feel like I can accept that it comes for all of us at some point, and it probably isn't any easier to let go of life at age 90 than at an earlier age. I hope I will be able to do that anyway.

And I guess that is what facing death through the cancer battle has given me is that realization?it's not death I fear, it's letting go of all the wonderful things about life. It makes every day seem much more like a gift.

Sent by N.R. | 10:20 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Amen to those thoughts.

Sent by Chris | 10:24 AM ET | 03-21-2007

How Edgar Allen Poe! As a terminally ill patient, I view Death as a reality you just have to deal with first and foremost. I've had a great life for 52 years, even while "battling" cancer for the last 8 years. All depends on your personal perspective. I tripped and fell on a cable car rail in the middle of a busy street in Amsterdam last November. I almost got run over by a police car. Fortunately the policeman saw me in time and slammed on his brakes. When my dad, a diabetic, has a great plunge in his blood sugar level, he sometimes goes into a coma and has a near death experience. He usually comes out of his coma angry because we brought him back to earth. My dad is a redneck type from Macon, GA. and he describes his experiences as peacefully floating in space and tranquil.

Death to me is just stepping into the next room and greeting the loved ones I haven't seen in a long time.

Sent by Larry Hamm | 11:01 AM ET | 03-21-2007

In December I posted a comment about our nephew who got married Dec. 10th. His wife Amanda(age 24)was fighting cancer. She died March 1st. As you said in a previous post, when cancer takes young people, it is so sad...there are so many things they don't get to experience. However, even tho Amanda was ill during their short 2 1/2 month marriage, they did benefit from the heightened awareness of enjoying every day and every moment they had together. How different their lives together were than if she had died in an accident, unexpectedly, after 2 1/2 months of marriage.

Thank you, Leroy, for this blog. It has helped us so much.

Sent by Alice | 11:03 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Dear Leroy, Congratulations on how well your treatment has gone. I first heard you on NPR and then a friend sent me your blog and have been reading that for the last few months. I read when I need it...not every day. But when I do read I catch up on the 3 or 4 since I read last. You have been a very big encouragement to me during my cancer treatments. I have stage 3 Inflammatory Breast Cancer. I am 43. I had Chemo first and then a bi-lateral mastegtomy. Loads of Lympnodes affected. I feel great about my doctors and hospital. I begin radiation next week. At the same time I will be taking an oral Chemo. The oral chemo wasn't originally planned but added after surgery showed my margins weren't good. I understand about the silence you wrote about this week. This is exactly how I feel right now. My doctors expected initially that my cancer had spread outside the breast area. After surgery they had me do more scans because they felt with so much cancer it must have spread. Scans were clear. One doctor said "remarkable" I am nervous in the same way you described. Much more nervous now that they think they have removed all the visiable signs of cancer. I was thinking about your blog on death. We can't conquer it. We can buy some time. Cancer will kill some us. Maybe me, maybe not. But I am going to die someday, somehow. My goal isn't to live forever but to have peace of mind. Sure I am fighting. Sure I plan to live at least another 40 years... maybe 60. However, some of us will die this year. I am not planning on it. I will fight to buy myself time. If it is me I want to be at peace with it. Death isn't a failure. Have a great day!!!

Sent by Janet | 11:12 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Mr.Sievers,

I have just spent the last four hours reading your postings from their beginning until March 6th, 2007. I am spent from the emotions I have experienced.

First off, may God Bless you and continue to bring good news in your battle against cancer. I was pleased to read of the success of the Radio Frequency Ablation technique though I guess you could have done without the collapsed lung.

I am a new traveler on this long strange journey. My partner of ten years was diagnosed with Stage 4 Bronchial Alveolar Cancer on February 22nd, 2007 after six weeks of treatment for what we thought was pneumonia. She has been spared thus far the rigors of chemotherapy and is taking a targeted therapy drug called Tarceva. She appears much better physically than when she was first hospitalized on February 20th, 2007 and we are praying that the next x-ray/CAT scan shows that the medication is doing its job.

I cannot tell you how much comfort your writings have brought me tonight. I will go on tomorrow to read some of postings of those other brave fighters who are battling Cancer. A friend told me of your blog only this afternoon. I called my partner, Debbie, this evening when I began to read your words and she is looking forward to being both a reader and contributor. I know that your words and the words of others will bring comfort to her also and add to the strenth that she already exhibits.

I wish you and all of the people who are living with and fighting cancer peace and strength. I will be a faithful reader of your blog from this day forward.

Thank you and God Bless.

Sent by Tim | 11:14 AM ET | 03-21-2007

In Native American lore I understand Wolf to be Teacher,Pathfinder - the one who brings knowledge and wisdom. Naturalists have often talked about a wolfs "converstaion...of death" with its intended prey.Regardless of where and when my cancer takes me I can't help but be grateful for the lessons it has already taught me for this community/blog that I have come in contact with. I plan on looking Wolf in the eye when he comes to talk to me. Doesn't mean I might not be afraid, I hope not. But you know, he might have something really interesting to say.

Sent by Penny | 5:40 PM ET | 03-21-2007

When I lost my mom on July 20th of 2006 my life literrally fell apart. She had been here for 90 years. We had a wonderful,loving relationship. When she was diagnosed with dimentia, and just a plain worn out body we knew the time she had left was short. We cared for her at home the last week of her life. She was comatose, but I remember sitting with her and her holding my hand so tight that I finally had to literally pry her fingers apart.

She had a good long life,filled with tragedies and triumphs losing one son to pancreatic cancer 10 years ago..a daugther in law to lung cancer at only 46. Night after night, after she had died I would hear her soft little feet padding around the house. I swore I could hear her door open next to mine. I dreaded going to sleep. Then one night I heard her again and I looked down the long staircase and she was standing there, her tiny gnarled hand on the stair rail, looking up at me the most angelic look at her face. I said Mom, it's time to sleep now..she just smiled and faded away. At that moment I envied her. And I have not been afraid again. I know dying frees us to go to a better place....and I know she is there waiting to take my hand and never let go again.

Sent by Patti | 5:43 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Dear Leroy Sievers,
I too, a Californian with stage IV lung cancer, was up at 3:30am taking my Vicodin for pain from bone mets and reading your blog. Before diagnosis, death was an abstract thought, something I should worry about in 20 years more or less. Now it is real and in my thoughts almost every given moment. I am not a religious person and so I am trying to abstract every good thing from life as long as I can. I get real joy from everyday life and the people in my life are more precious than ever. Thanks again for your writings and for words that comfort us at 3:30 in the morning.

Sent by Cherie Cuneo | 5:44 PM ET | 03-21-2007

One more "Yalom-ism"..I cannot remember which philosopher says this but..
"Altho the physicality of death destroys man, the idea of death saves him".

Sent by JJ | 5:45 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Dear Mr. Sievers,
I am so very happy for you and your news of no active tumors. And for all of you out there still fighting, I pray that you may get the same news soon. I am not a cancer patient, but the son of a father who lost the battle.

Death is what we fear and fight from early on in our lives, except when we are teenagers and we believe we are invincible, though I think now a days the 30s are the new teens. How soon that superhero cape falls off when we get news like this.

We are afraid to let go of life because, as you say, of all the things that will be left undone, all the goals unmet, all the dreams unfulfilled. However, I think that always focusing on what we wont get to do, prevents us from paying attention to what we are getting to do. Cancer, while robbing you of all the future plans, and health, clears the mind to examine what and who is important. So it takes, but it also gives. One learns to see the little things in life and appreciate them for their beauty, to see people as true friends, to see things as worthy or unworthy of our time and efforts. We learn to appreciate sunsets and the moon, sounds and smells. All of a sudden all those things we take for granted become important, as if we want to make sure we remember them, that we experience everything as we have not in a long time.

The serenity prayer comes in handy at this time: "God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference."

Now that you are cancer free, enjoy life to its fullest. What is the point of preoccupying your mind with something you cannot control. When and if it comes, deal with it. Not before. Now you have better things to do.

Please keep on writing. It is a great help to learn from all of you what and how you go through it, as my father never talked, never complained, never let on how much pain he was in.

Best wishes and may God Bless you all.

Sent by David Abad | 5:46 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Hi Leroy:
Melvyn Bragg did a program recently on the concept of death in Art and how it had changed over time. Whether one thinks of death in terms of hell fire or puffy clouds and meeting lost friends, in reality death is what ever one believes it is. For me, I think it is an unending sleep, and nothing to be afraid of.

Sent by Jacqueline | 5:46 PM ET | 03-21-2007

How sad to read the comment about the 2 ?? month marriage. My Terry died February 17, near Leroys "hour of the wolf." We had been together 20 years and it still wasn't long enough. I can't imagine a loss so soon after a marriage.

We were lucky to have the time we did at the end. Nothing was left unsaid or unfinished, no loose ends were left hanging. I'm on a new journey now, but still read and pray for you all daily.

Sent by Bruce another caregiver-survivor | 5:47 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Leroy,

I have done a lot of work with people who are dying. Mainly cancer, but also Alzheimers and cardiac problems. It is interesting to me that when it is time for death to come, most people are ready. If it isn't time, then of course they aren't ready - as in sudden death. So you are still very much alive and not ready to go quietly. That is as it should be for all of us until it is time. Live fully and well until you don't want to anymore.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 5:48 PM ET | 03-21-2007

I have a concern/question. I frequently read this blog, sometimes contribute, but each time I enter, the same question pops into my head. Here goes: Is this blog being archived or saved somewhere for future generations? The emotional power emanating from these pages tells the complete emotional story of what it is like to live with cancer in our day and age. When I say emotional I am referring to fear, support, caring, bravery, empathy, dread, well, probably all of our human emotions. We all feel this probably daily and they seem to be the hardest part of living with cancer. It would be a shame to think that our chronicles, so explicit, would be lost forever to cyberspace. Imagine 50 years from now (or hopefully sooner), a cancer patient or researcher or anyone for that matter, reading through this blog thinking to themselves: How incredibly vicious cancer was in its day. Wouldn't it be wonderful that cancer, at some point, would be no less threatening than the common cold?

Sent by Kathy B. | 5:49 PM ET | 03-21-2007

To Leroy and everyone,
I have been re-reading some of the recent blogs and related postings. I, too have had cancer, along with having lost my mother and brother (when he was just 39) to the disease. What I am marveling at is the wonderful sharing of stories coming from this blog. Stories of experiences, supports and fears. When my mother was diagnosed back in 1975, it was not only a terrible but a much more lonely disease. Lonely for her but also lonely for us as family and caregivers. I am so grateful for your sharing as well as the contributions of everyone responding to the blogs.

On a different but related note, I took a brief walk on my lunch break today. The snow is still deep here in upstate New York but it felt warm with the blue skies and sunshine. I stopped and watched a group of robins eating old berries off the snow under a barren tree. It was a simple but wonderful, pleasurable moment. Maybe years ago, before cancer, I might have missed this. But today, and for however long, I will savor simple things, such as birds, berries and sunshine.

Take good care, all, and thanks again to Leroy and everyone.

Sent by betsey kuzia | 5:50 PM ET | 03-21-2007

dear leroy and group, I was supposed to meet the Wolf last December. I keep him at bay with family get togethers,kids birthdays,long walks with my beautiful wife and quiet time with my dog. We all have to savour each day. On April 10th I'll be hiding from the Wolf inside Fenway Park for opening day. I know that someday he's going to get me, but he's going to have to work hard for it. thank you all for sharing.

Sent by Ron | 7:39 PM ET | 03-21-2007

When one of my three daughters called me, very upset over my "condition," I had to calm her down. I told her (of course she already knew) that the "condition" (the elephant in the room) was Cancer - and to get used to saying it. To settle her down, I always get her laughing, and of course that gets me laughing. The humor gets pretty raw and direct, some of it rather black, but it is my way of dealing with this fact, as I told her: "Alive? Guess what, this is life, none of will get out of it alive, it's just a matter of how we go, and how soon. I saw too many good men go down at 18 or 19 in 'Nam. I have seen other friends just not show up, only to find they were victims of a fatal crash on the way to see me - alive and vibrant one second, and gone the next. Or the couple I saw off at the airport and never saw again.

I feel privileged to have put in 64 years on the planet and to have seen so much of the world and so much of life. If I manage to get some more time, that's a bonus, whether in months or years. Whether you have the big "C" or you don't, live each day like it was part of your last week on Earth. There is little other choice.

Life is short.
Break the rules.
Forgive quickly.
Kiss slowly.
Love truly.
Laugh uncontrollably.
And never regret anything that made you smile.

Sent by Don Gilbert | 9:42 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Dear Leroy,

Your columns (and therefore you) are a blessing to my life. Your raise the issues those of us with cancer feel intently. I believe that when we step across that line when we hear the cancer diagnosis, that line which separates us from those without cancer, that death is the issue. The reason that we are so distressed, that our friends and family are so upset is that the diagnosis suggests that death is on the horizon. Yet death is what so few want to talk about. But what a conversation to be able to have, our thoghts, ideas, feelings about death. We will all be summoned to that vanishing point, it is the great equalizer. If only our society, our culture, our upbringing allowed us to speak more freely about death. Dying would be less lonely, we would feel more confort and the grieving left behind would have a precious conversation to remember.

Sent by Linda Newson | 1:40 PM ET | 03-22-2007

Thank you all for discussing such a difficult subject openly and honestly. I have wanted to talk about death so much, but cannot do so with my family. They (my husband and children) will worry about me, think I am too morbid and that I am giving up. I cannot talk to my friends about it. I don't want to worry them. However, I want to explore the issue. Can one look death in the face fearlessly and ask what is it that is waiting in the shadows for us all? Maybe if we try to shed some light on it, it won't be so frightening to us all. Is it possible to prepare for death? Is it possible to prepare for death without giving up on life?

Sent by Liliana | 4:12 PM ET | 03-22-2007

Concerning death,

While it is true that we all seek to live long and healthy lives; it should not be true that we all seek to " beat death". We are born to die. If we do not die we cannot fullfill our purpose as humans. Dying is like being born, it is just one part of the process of being a human. I have a serious disease, one that killed my sister at age 12. I will almost certainly die of this illness.

Dying is a natural and desireable thing. I will not try to prolong my life with excessive or extreme medical treatments or procedures. Of course , each must decide these issues for themselves. But I do not see death as the enemy . I see it as a friend, when the time comes, it comes. I will not go to great lenghts to stand in the way of a natural process I am in need of, to be a complete human.

Take Care,

JFW

Sent by john wettstein | 11:15 AM ET | 03-23-2007

Well, we have named the elephant in the room! In the 9 months since my diagnosis, I have been preparing for death mentally and spiritually. Many things have helped, two books in particular: LEARNING TO FALL by Philip Simmons, and ONE YEAR TO LIVE by Stephen Levine. The former was written by a young man facing death from ALS. The latter was written, not specifically for the dying, but for the living...those who want to embrace their fears, regrets, pain in order to live fully. Both books have been great and inspiring companions on this journey. Anne C.

Sent by Anne Coulter | 7:54 AM ET | 03-25-2007

Thank you, Anne, for the names of books. I will order them today. My very best wishes to you and all.

Sent by Liliana | 9:14 AM ET | 03-26-2007

I'm 63. True, there are a lot of mainstream cancer treatments. But there are also alternative treatments and preventatives. I had breast cancer in the late 80s, had slash/burn/poison (i.e., surgery, radiation and chemo) on my left breast -- over my heart (which was permanently damaged by these treatments). What I'm about to say is understood in the non-mainstream, but it may sound weird to folks using the medical establishment (which I also use when I judge it necessary). I learned about homeopathy at the beginning of the 90s, have studied informally ever since (a TON of books in health food stores, elsewhere). I learned that like cures like. Homeopathy creates remedies out of everything, including cancer cells. Rems are hopelessly cheap, are available in health food stores and online. If you'd rather not treat yourself, homeopathic doctors practice all over the world. I also discovered and began to practice kineseology/muscle testing, which helps determine whether your body's energy will be enhanced or depleted by the substance you're considering ingesting. So, what I started to do is to test homeopathic cancer remedies to see if my body "needs" them. I've gotten "yes" responses to homeo cancer rems several times in the last 15 or so years, took the rem, retested and found no need, i.e., the cancer activity was eliminated. I'll continue to test because cancer is a systemic disease. I'll also continue to reject most sugars, refined foods, and red meats and to eat organic fiberous and fresh foods (diet is a big factor in cancer). Anyway, that's my story, in case it helps/inspires anyone to google and find out more.

Sent by Margaret Lamb | 9:51 AM ET | 03-26-2007

None of us want to die... Life is precious and we want to live it as long as we are able. Does our own culture make that elephant in the room soo much bigger that it is truly terrifying to look upon? Does our youth and health obsessed culture deny the mortality that all of us face? The very mortality that those of us who fight cancer grapple with daily, hourly, minutely, secondsly sometimes, just to keep from screaming over and over again... i don't want to die, but i will, and i know when or pretty close, and some days its just too hard... i feel so much for all of you, for this blog, for the people who come here and read our words.

For me the book, The Eternal Pity by RIchard John Neuhaus, has been helpful as a guide to our last days of life. There are multiple selections, that i read from time to time especially late in the night, when the darkness seems too close. sarah l.

Sent by sarahl. | 10:51 AM ET | 03-26-2007

It's true that the chemo is intended to keep us alive. But what about the treatments that actually kill us from the inside out? My mother just died of leukemia, or so they said. Actually she died from the mylatarg, an antibody that's supposed to attack just the cancer cells. But it didn't. It attacked her whole body, and she died. She went into the hospital feeling well except for a little weakness, and got worse and worse from the treatment. My question is this...are there better medicines out there? Is the FDA really being honest? Are oncologists being honest? Are cancer patients just guinea pigs?

Sent by Debbie Bray | 4:03 PM ET | 04-01-2007