Leroy: I think our next step, as always, is HOPE and LOVE. Without these steps, we have nothing. HOPE gives us the courage to go on. Loving one another is the core of all we do and say. Life is a journey and with this forum, we have all been blessed. We have learned we do need each other, for hope, for love, for encouragement - and that is the BLESSING. So it is your cancer, it is my cancer, it is their cancer — It's our journey with each other. Good does come from bad. Always look for the good!

Sent by Joan | 10:27 AM ET | 03-02-2007

How about this: Has cancer made you a better person? How will you and your family respond to this unexpected visitor in your lives?

Sent by Andrea Clay | 10:31 AM ET | 03-02-2007

There are a couple of things I'd like to see discussed. First, is how do people cope with the place you are in right now? I'm basically in the same place, no active cancer but taking Xeloda because the oncologist knows it will come back if I don't. So when things are at least temporarily good how do we continue to live our lives and do we dare "plan" for the future. The other thing I deal with and would like to know if others do is sometimes I get bored with all of this. I don't want to have any more blood work, I don't want to have to deal with the mundane appointments and I don't want it to be about "me and my cancer." This especially true when I am not in crisis mode, in those times I can mobilize energy and strategic planning skills but the "limbo" periods are the hardest for me. Thanks for opening up this community to all of us.

Sent by Dona | 10:34 AM ET | 03-02-2007

As I was driving home from teaching last night I was actually thinking about how incredible it is to have such strong feelings for people I have NEVER met! How I look forward to "hearing" from everyone daily. Not only do I read your journal entries, but I now look for our group of "regulars" to see what we all have to say! Could it be cyber "bonding"? I look forward to this blog and have gotten so much more rewarding thoughts than my gildas support group! HONESTLY!!!! I, too, have shared conversations with my husband about you, Leroy and others from this blog! I would have to thank you once again Leroy for your insightfulness and your intrinsic ability to put into words what my deepest feelings are about the nature of this beast called cancer. I would also SINCERELY thank all the other "regulars" for their most private thoughts and tribulations; we share such a bond because of the beast. I feel blessed to have such powerful friends to share my thoughts with. I will take your words with me forever!

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 10:39 AM ET | 03-02-2007

Hello Leroy, I have not personally walked the cancer path within my own physical body, but I was on the edge fighting with my third child, when neuroblastoma tried to eat him alive at the young age of 6 weeks to age 2 years, when all treatments finally stopped. His fighting spirit inspires me still. I would like to hear more success stories. My son's name is Jason, which means healing. At the same time that I am an optimist, I am a realist and know sometimes the healing comes in release to the creator and moving on to a higher plane. I have a niece that left us when the lung cancer was finally diagnosed, but too late. Spring is a time of new growth, new hope, and breath the new fresh air. Let's sing about Spring. Blessings and Prayers to all. Peace.

Sent by Marsha from West Virginia | 10:41 AM ET | 03-02-2007

A show of hands. How many readers support stem cell research? How many are opposed? How many of you really don't enough about the topic to have an opinion? I have written about this quite a bit on my blog, complete with links to sources in my "pre-election issues" in November and October of 2006. If you have any interest in the topic, you can find my blog here: http://mylungcancerstory.blogspot.com

Opinions on the war in Iraq run fast and furious, but the U.S. has lost a total of a little over 3,000 soldiers since it started. We lose about 500,000 people a year to cancer in the United States alone. Every year.

It's time to speak up and make your voices heard.

Sent by Tom Clarke | 10:44 AM ET | 03-02-2007

Emotional support for all of us is the most important thing about this blog and I hope it always continues to be. But since you asked, I would be interested in discussing how health care is not necessarily human care — like $5,000 for a Neulasta shot or how people die because they don't have insurance. I wish finding a cure wasn't so much about money.

Sent by Ann | 10:47 AM ET | 03-02-2007

If there is anything "sweet" that can come from having cancer is that we do take care of each other. After all is there anyone that knows better that us what is happening to our mind body and spirit?

Sent by Debbie R. | 10:48 AM ET | 03-02-2007

Dear Leroy, As I enter into this phase. (no detectible cancer at this time) I'm realizing that it's a difficult time. It's scary not to be "fighting" the cancer that you hope isn't lurking somewhere. Besides that, I think everyone's tired of me and my cancer by now. I will find the right path, I'm sure, but right now I feel lost.

Sent by Patricia | 10:50 AM ET | 03-02-2007

One of the first things I lost to this disease was my shyness. After exposing every part of my body to anybody in a white hospital coat, and when suddenly realizing that things not expressed now may not have a chance to be expressed later. I don't spend too much time worrying about what is said, but only that it's truthful.

Sent by Jeff Canterbury | 10:51 AM ET | 03-02-2007

Leroy... do you realize just by asking this question, you now feel you have a future. Before, you couldn't look too far beyond the next treatment. This is similar to my thoughts when I plant tomatoes... I have hope and belief that I will be there to taste that sweet red harvest come summer. Let's plant tomatoes, or what ever fruit our minds want to harvest. You have the seeds... let's go! It will be a community garden at its finest and we will share with all who come.

Sent by Patricia | 10:55 AM ET | 03-02-2007

How about exchanging words (poetry, songs, etc.) that either inspire or comfort us or make us smile?

Sent by Doris | 10:56 AM ET | 03-02-2007

Leroy,

I really like it that you talk about yourself, unless of course you don't want to do that. I have learned so much from you and feel there is more you can teach just by sharing your journey with us. After all, it is a journey we all are taking in one way or another. It is also a journey most people shy away from discussing. I'm very grateful for this forum... and for you.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 10:57 AM ET | 03-02-2007

Hi Leroy —

What thrilling news! So delighted to hear this. I got the same report almost 5 years ago after 11 mos. of chemo. It was really difficult to "shift gears" mentally. It wasn't instant jubilation, and I felt guilty that I couldn't immediately feel on top of the world. It does take time to adjust mentally, planning for the future, but it will happen!

Sent by Ann Stern | 4:44 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Leroy,

When you write about YOUR cancer, you are indeed expressing the hopes, fears, and sentiments of so many. Your writings in and of themselves are OUR cancer stories. You and this community have helped me to articulate my own cancer thoughts to family, friends, caregivers and others.

When Tom Clarke cites the cancer death statistics, they are staggering. I agree with him that that cancer research and treatment has to become a much higher national priority. Id like to see NPR take a more active role in this arena, and come up with a flagship awareness campaign that could easily be joined by the entire media in this country — not just for a week, or a month — but something that persists and invades the public consciousness as much as this disease persists and invades our bodies and lives.

Sent by Sheara | 4:46 PM ET | 03-02-2007

As a long time NPR listener and 9 year Non-Hodgkins survivor I recently found this blog and love reading all the entries and comments each morning over my first cup of coffee.

It appears we all have many common traits, some given us to cope with our shared journey. Cancer patients share a gratitude for small daily gifts of being pain free, empathy for the human condition, hard fought for patience and the ability to live one day at a time.

My wish is that we would share a common voice and speak up for those who do not receive quality care, for those who receive no care at all due to their lack of access and finances and for those elected officials who in a sense hold all of our lives in their hands as they continue to under fund health care and research. What's wrong here? I believe that is our job, no our mission, to help those with no voice, to demand excellent care for all of us, rich and poor, old and young, black and white, Christian, Jew, Muslim and illegal worker.

Only by our commitment can insure that this is a society that values all of its children.

Sent by Shirley Gossett | 4:48 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I like the topic of "favorite sayings."

My personal mantra was unintentionally given to me by my oncologist when he walked into the exam room with my most recent cancer maker results. He said, "Let's not panic." I'm considering a tattoo of that mantra but Id need a bit of a break from the chemo first.

I'm in a support group with many people who have either early stage cancers or have just begun their treatments. Having metastasize ovarian cancer and being "back in treatment" puts me in a different spot than most in my group. When asked, "how many treatments will you have?" I pause and rely with my favorite saying I saw on a blog: "I don't know, we are currently sailing in uncharted seas." This leads me to think of my doctor visits as a meeting of pirates. We pull out a sextant, a crinkled old map and try to figure out where we are. Sometimes we use fancy modern tools like a PET scan (an oncologists GPS unit) to locate our selves but the goal is the same... to not run aground and to find a safe harbor.

Anyway Leroy. I love reading about what you are thinking. I'm forever surprised that it is often the same topic that I was pondering while tending to my morning chores.

I really enjoy reading the comments from fellow readers. This blog is a safe harbor for feelings, thoughts unspoken and for support for many of us.

Sent by Susan | 4:51 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Dear Leroy,

I am one of those people who reads your column every day, and highly recommend it to others who have cancer, or who live and work with cancer. You have given voice to the human and universal thoughts and feelings of so many of us who live with cancer in our own bodies.

There are moments in my life when I wonder is there anything else say? Is my speaking and writing redundant? When these questions occur to me they are an indication of an internal change that invites review. It is tempting to want to change topics. I too am tired of speaking about my cancer (brain) yet I find when I talk about it, there continues to be those who find it moving and helpful in their own lives.

I also find in moments when I question continuing on a certain path, that if I stay the course a whole other "layer of the onion" comes off and what I knew before becomes clearer and my communication more passionate.

Basic to be human is the choices we make each day. Staying centered in the midst of fatigue, pain, and general malaise is often a matter of letting go of my vision of self as generator and controller. Discernment often comes from listening to our desires, allowing them to be articulated over time, and finding freedom even in the moments our bodies are trapped.

You have given much of yourself to others and have given the best gift, yourself. Whatever twists and turns your blog takes, trust what you do is right.

Others do change us as our lives brush up against each other. This is the priceless gift of truly living our humanity. Thank you for sharing yours.

Sent by Carol | 4:53 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Leroy, I would like to see how cancer has changed people's lives. It seems weird to thank cancer for anything yet it does do people good as far as relating to others and appreciating life. I know that I pray now, never used to and that I "don't sweat the small stuff" anymore. I think a forum that discusses everyone's questions would be good too, by that I mean that if anyone has experienced something that they do not understand lile ICU Phycosis. That was a new one to me. I'm home now, still on pain meds but getting better everyday and I refuse to think about it coming back at this time, I'm enjoying these moments, like you are too. Take care and thanks to you and everybody again.

Sent by Ruth White | 4:57 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I would like to talk about the hard stuff. I post on another board where someone has recently died from a recurrence of the same cancer I had. Right now I am facing a recurrence scare (I don't know if I have one or not, I'm hoping not, but need more tests to tell). There is a certain amount of denial of the possibility of dying soon that I need to engage in to function. At the same time, I want to be of support to people who are going through their last days with cancer, because I know that really could be me in the not too distant future.

It is a hard line to walk sometimes. It is wonderful that we all support each other but how do others feel when someone they support dies of the same disease they have that they hope to survive still? How does that affect our interactions? Are there differences here between those who have been told their cancer will kill them, its only a matter of time, and those of us who still have some chance (maybe a slim chance according to the "odds") of surviving their cancer and dying of something else entirely?

I feel like I'm asking questions that shouldn't be asked, but since you wanted to know what we could discuss, maybe they can be asked.

Sent by N.R. | 5:00 PM ET | 03-02-2007

How would people who had cancer go back to the dating scene again? I am done with my treatment, and now I am analyzing the damage that my breast cancer cost me. I'll skip a mental and health damage, it's a given. I am summarizing the physical damage. I have a very short, weird hair. I have no nails. I have scars on both of my breasts. I am going to have a thyroid surgery. My doctor wants to remove a half of my thyroid (result of the radiation treatment). So, I'll have a new very visible scar on my neck and will ended up wearing a necklace for the rest of my life. On a happy note, I am free of cancer, but I freak out every time when I think about a possibility of recurrence. I used to look very hot and now I am so not happy with the way I look. I would love to hear what other people think about life after a cancer.

Sent by Tatiana | 5:01 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I can relate to Anne's post. When you get the diagnosis and it goes from just a spot on an x-ray... lumpectomy... mastectomy... reconstruction and then chemo you think GET IT OUT! Thank God I have insurance. Yea right. You get through the initial shock and the incredible highs and lows of the first few weeks of treatment, then the bills start arriving. I remember the first rx for Neupogen. $2500 for ten doses. My co-pay was $630.00. How do people pay for this?! There were times last month when I got hospital bills dating back to May of 06, when I called my husband and said we cant afford this anymore. What am I doing risking your/our future for one person. I can't wait until I get the bills for the 8-hour surgery and the plastic surgeons bill. It's a shame when we feel guilty for using our future to remain in the present. And to Patricia... no one is tired of you or your cancer... not anyone here. Remember you have a place to come and to share. Thanks Leroy for the forum to rant, rave, give thanks and get hugs from each other.

Sent by Patti | 5:03 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I received my diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer 5 months ago. Friends referred me to this site. Mr. Siever's insights, the openness of everyone to speak their hearts and minds has helped me navigate some tricky territory. I thank you all.

The following quote I discovered on a Friend and fellow cancer patient's bathroom mirror. "Nurturing courage is hard work. When fatigue or stress lowers your resistance, random fears flourish. Refuel body and soul: take a nap, go for a walk, drink a cup of tea or jump up and down. When you regress remember: courageous people are persistent, not perfect."

I'd be interested in learning the source of this quote. Does anyone know? I wouldn't be surprised if it originated here. I think I'll go make a cup of tea. Thanks again.

Sent by Penny | 5:05 PM ET | 03-02-2007

First, I think the progression of this blog is fascinating. The level of interactivity and depth of feeling available here is remarkable, and it is here because you, Leroy, are your authentic self, in the moment, and encourage others to bring their authentic selves to the dialog. You have facilitated a measure of online intimacy. You have given us a reason to hope and pray for you, but we don't see your face, and only understand your pain in our own context. Perhaps in our own compassion for you, we grow in compassion for others and even ourselves. I don't have a suggestion about how to discuss compassion and the nature of empathy, but I bet you'll find ways to deep the dialog.

Second, I've been hazy as to who, if anyone, has been physically and emotionally helping you through this daily. I have a lot of anxiety about the possibility of illness, because I am single, without any relatives in proximity to help me. As the years go by, friends see to their own families. I am really afraid one day I will be as sick as you and what will I do? Where will I go? Will I lose my job? Will I lose my career? What happens to all of that if and when the illness takes over?

Sent by Marsha | 5:07 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I'm midway through chemo for colon cancer and Id like to know what comes after? I'm 34 years old and don't know how to go on without knowing if I have 5 years or 50 left. How do you all deal with that uncertainty? Are there others my age who can help with this question? Or anybody at any age for that matter.

Sent by Megan | 5:09 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Hi Leroy:

Cancer has brought us all together. It's a shame that it took such a terrible scourge to get us to hold hands. But it did, and for that I am grateful. Here we are, Republican-Democrat, White-Black, Believer-Nonbeliever, united as one. Don't you wish it took something other than Cancer to bring us together.

Dialogue

You believe, I question.

You know, I doubt.

Can our minds ever meet?

Like two children sitting on a see-saw,

As far apart as we can be.

Will we ever be on the ground at the same time?

Is the board too long,

Is this chasm too wide, this canyon too deep?

Will our outstretched hands ever touch?

Ill offer you this- I have no proof.

If you'll agree that you have none either,

It would be a start.

Sent by Don Winslow | 5:11 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Favorite quotes? ...one of my longtime favorites is from Leonard Cohen's song, "Anthem."

"Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." (This quote, by the way, is used by the author of "Reflections on Some Spiritual Aspects of Life Threatening Illness," which someone recommended on this blog some months ago, which I found quite wonderful. If you missed it, go to http//chicagoiands.org/stories.)

A friend and fellow cancer patient saw the following on my bathroom mirror and it spoke to her as well as to me: "Nurturing courage is hard work. When fatigue or stress lowers your resistance, random fears flourish. Refuel body and soul: take a catnap go for a walk, drink a cup of tea or jump up and down. When you regress, remember: Courageous people are persistent, not perfect."

Cheers to you, Leroy, and to all of us living with cancer.

Sent by Anne C. | 5:16 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I'm still interested in a topic you brought up awhile back, about thinking about the past... feeling like some of life was wasted when we were not living life to its fullest, or maybe too fully (to an unhealthy extent). I often wonder about times I spent down in the dumps, or just being very lazy. I wish so much that I could get those days back, smack myself on the back of the head, and say, "Hey! No do-overs around here! Get to work, and make it count this time!"

Sent by Crow | 5:18 PM ET | 03-02-2007

I'm with Dona, above. My husband had surgery for colon cancer in 2001, and all was well until Dec 2004. We've been living (with our kid) with intense surgeries (Whipple procedure), endless rounds of chemo, life/death etc. every since. How to live with chronic cancer etc. and not become utterly bitter and separated from the rest of the world. I'm always interested in how others get through this, the patients and their families. Living perpetually in 2 week or 1 month cycles is hard for the patient and the family.

Sent by Teri | 5:19 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Leroy, Here is my question: What can people do for you when you are in that phase of such intense suffering? What is it that you needed? What can we offer to those who spend so much time in the hospital and infusion centers or at home just waiting? What brings you comfort at these times???

Sent by Therese | 5:20 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Hi Leroy,

Your compassion shows in today's writing. I have learned compassion from the people who have helped me through my treatments. I realize that even though I am on a "fast track" journey of life, I am still a learner.

I can't help but think of those suffering from cancer who are not "connected" with others in some way.

Like another writer, I, too, am bothered by the tremendous expenses many face with treatment. With whatever energy I have, I hope I will still be an activist for cancer cure. Reading this blog spurs my on.

Sent by Merry Marcotte | 5:22 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Perhaps you could just take a "cancer sabbatical" and refresh yourself by thinking about other things for a while. Do you need to give yourself permission to put the column, and cancer, on hold for a while and take a vacation? It's hard to set cancer aside when you're writing about it daily. We'd miss you, but I don't think anyone would begrudge you the time. We've benefited from your sharing as you've moved through your choices, waited with you for your scan results, and applauded the success of your treatments. You have given us a voice. You don't owe us more than that! Perhaps this would be a good time to be a little bit selfish and more private and recharge your personal batteries, however you need to do that.

Whatever you do, many thanks for your columns over the last year or so. Often they echo my personal cancer experiences, and I always appreciate your clear and articulate and caring voice.

Sent by Barbara N. | 5:53 PM ET | 03-02-2007

My friend is very ill. I wonder how other people handle the weeks of "silence."

All I can do is send the nicest notes, cards, and letters I can muster, but always wondering... am I out there in the last circle?

Sent by Emile | 6:00 PM ET | 03-02-2007

Wow... congratulations on good news! How totally wonderful. I remember discussing my "tumor markers" with my oncologist four years ago when I was in a lovely remission from Stage 4 breast cancer. My BR27-29 was 26, and I was very very happy it was so low, that meant cancer wasn't dancing thru this body at that time! I had never had such a wonderfully low number. So I asked my oncologist what that MEANT, and she didn't miss a beat before she said: "That's the number a person without any cancer has!" I could not stop smiling for hours.

I love this blog the way it is, on and off, uphill and downhill, the good, the bad and the ugly. Hearing your experiences and hearing other people's experiences is SUCH A HELP in getting thru MY experiences. I value it all. I value that sometimes we get objective and just look at issues too... the fact of this country's not providing health care for every single person. I value it all. Thank you so much.

Sent by Nancy O. | 6:11 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy, you do a great job of telling it like it is. Not always an easy thing to do as a cancer patient since the emotions are so incredibly intense. This blog, however provides a safe venue for others to release in similar fashion. I feel for the Marshas of the world who battle cancer thru their child, or Megan who realizes that cancer can only be cured from a physical standpoint. The fear can never be erased. I have been cancer free for 19 years and still get insecure when a cough lasts too long or I get a low-grade fever with no cold symptoms. Thank you for allowing cancer brothers & sisters to share strength.

Sent by Gregg | 6:12 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Dear Leroy and all my Leroy friends,

As I support those around me who are "coming down with" cancer, I start to question how to get out and live, really live. Somehow I recently thought that to "really live" meant going on a cruise or flying to Europe. But yesterday when I took my father to the Casey Eye Institute so the doctor could remove cancer from his eye, I started to realize that to "really live" is the energy and connection happens between us, whether it be holding my father's hand as he crosses the street or making our grand entrance into the dining room on the Royal Caribbean. All this time spent with him is invaluable. In between this surgery and maybe a next one, I plan to spend more time reminiscing about his childhood, laughing about my horrible cooking and maybe making plans to take another cruise with him. And I know that being there to share life and laughter, between the pains of bad news and surgeries is what its all about. Leroy and friends, thank you for sharing your stories because what you say makes me value the importance of sharing and the comfort in knowing that we are all in this together.

Sent by Laurie | 6:19 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Great memories... make a great topic. I'm not talking about my moment is better than yours etc... I'm talking about those special moments that help make or lives so special.

As an example: I once was totally paralyzed, told that I would never move again from the neck down. I cried and thought about suicide when I cold get out of the hospital and that I was going to get my gun and pull the trigger. Ironically, I suddenly remembered that I couldn't even pull my own guns trigger... I laughed with tears...I only could get better before doing such a thing... so today I walk with a limp and other difficulties that being a recovering quadriplegic faces... what a moment, one never knows.

Sent by Richard Williams | 6:26 PM ET | 03-05-2007

I would like to address the question asked by Therese who asked what you can do to help those who must spend so much time between the hospital and infusion centers.

I am newly diagnosed with stage 4 uterine cancer and so treatment now is very intense. Due to lack of strength I find myself very isolated from life in general. What I have found most helpful is cards, letters and E-mails from family and friends keeping me up on what is happening with them and what is going on in the community. It serves as a diversion and keeps me feeling as if I am still a part of life.

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 6:28 PM ET | 03-05-2007

My mom had stage IV colon cancer which then spread everywhere. She went through the works — surgery, chemo, more surgery, ablation, lots more chemo. And then no cancer! It seemed naive to think it wouldn't come back at some point, but she did nothing to fight it off and keep it at bay. She drinks too much, too often. She doesn't eat healthily. Not enough exercise. Now the latest scan shows a tumor on her liver. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, but I feel as though she received an unbelievably precious gift and squandered it. How can I not feel angry and disappointed?

Sent by Mary | 6:29 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Hi Leroy, I just found this site thanks to a brief item on NPR this morning about your great results from RFA. Wonderful news. I am new at this game, having just completed my 4th cycle of chemo (XelodaA) for my colon/liver cancer. My Doc says I would be dead by now without the chemo, but that with luck I have some months left, etc., who knows? I wanted to thank Patricia for her suggestion about planting tomatoes. I have raised spectacular tomatoes every summer for over 50 years and had been wondering whether to plant again this year. Now I certainly will and hope many others will too. Love those tomatoes!! I look forward now Leroy to exploring your great blog site in more depth.

Sent by Ted | 7:43 PM ET | 03-05-2007

My favorite message:

In the presence of faith there is hope

In the presence of Hope, Love becomes possible

In the presence of Love, "Miracles Happen"

This "prayer" was with me when my cousin was so very ill with lung cancer, she is gone now but so much a presence in her family's life.

Sent by Carrie | 12:29 PM ET | 03-06-2007

The most interesting thing about my own cancer diagnosis right after a heart attack two years ago, was what happened next. Acquaintances I didn't even know cared suddenly showed that they were true friends, while some "friends" shied from me as though they might "catch" something. Simply said, my perspectives changed quickly.

This forum of Leroy's "Our" Cancer is a sort of group therapy for those of us who do not like to whine in public for those who may think they are being wimps for those many of us touched by the shared pain and distress of others. "Walk a mile in his moccasins" becomes an experience of hearing someone's story and being able to say "been there, done that, I know how you feel brother (or sister)."

As a counselor and educator, I can attest to the power of sharing these things, even though I find it hard to do so. So ... the ability to talk freely about things usually kept tight to the vest is valuable. It is perhaps enhanced by the semi-anonymous nature of this sort of forum mechanism.

For me, that's a comfortable thing. I know it will have its detractors, but nonetheless, it keeps me thinking in real terms.

Yesterday, I was reminded of a phrase I picked up on the forum and which I say to myself on bad days: "Left foot, right foot, breathe."

Thanks for all the emotional support.

Sent by Donski | 1:14 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I've been following your blog, Leroy, for some time, but have only recently started delving into the comments others have posted. You're right, it's quite a remarkable online community you've all got here!

Dona asks, "how do people cope with the place you are in right now?... So when things are at least temporarily good how do we continue to live our lives and do we dare plan for the future?"

As a Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma survivor, now in remission after chemotherapy, this is where I am, too. Just over a year ago, my diagnosis sent me reeling, and in the ensuing months I did what I had to in order to shrink my tumors into scar tissue. I've been in remission since May, but I'm still hesitant to trust good news to be good. Next week, I go for PET and CT scans: another round of waiting for the test results, to see if I'm still getting the "all clear" signal.

Last December, my life changed. I began to start thinking of myself as a cancer patient. I also began referring to myself as a cancer survivor - although that label still doesn't sit comfortably.

Some, reading here, are still in treatment. Others are in recovery. Still others rejoice in being "cancer free." For myself, I wonder: does there ever come a time when we are truly "over it"?

http://www.cewilton.blogspot.com/

Sent by Carl Wilton | 1:16 PM ET | 03-06-2007

"Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in this life has a purpose." — Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Sent by Cindy H. | 1:37 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I would like to suggest as a topic "How to contradict the public feeling that Cancer is an automatic death sentence."

Sent by Chris | 1:39 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I live alone. No spouse. Kids are grown and in other states, and no family members here either. My cancer has made it so I can't work yet it seems most others (cancer patients) do. My chemo time is my only source of socializing. How do others deal with all the hours of loneliness? It makes me sometimes question why I fight this so hard.

Sent by Louie | 1:41 PM ET | 03-06-2007

It wasn't til I was diagnosed with lung cancer that my family and I discovered how many peoples lives have been affected by cancer. Before my diagnosis, it was a distant threat that hit other people, not my family. Well, now I'm the other, and boy does it change your perspective. I'd like to see more public awareness of the varieties of cancer and how pervasive it is. Sometimes it seems the only cancer out there anyone is interested in fighting is breast cancer. I know that's not true, but wouldn't it be wonderful if all cancers drew the kind of media coverage and sympathy that breast cancer does? Then we might approach a cure faster. Thank you so much for your column, it's helped me get through some rough days. And its great to read the comments from all the wonderful people who respond to you.

Sent by Marcia Greer | 1:50 PM ET | 03-06-2007

After reading with earnest Leroy's blog, I am finally ready to post here. I am a cancer survivor, who took their new lease on life back to college to become a Radiation Therapist. I have one more year of radiologic technolgy to go, pass the registry, then go on to another year of schooling and 40 hour a week clinicals, take another registry exam and then, finally, make use of myself. I'll be 50 when all is said and done. I like the idea of discussing the price of life when it comes to treatment for this catastrophe. If my financial circumstances were other than they are, it would have ruined me. How can anyone possibly cope with these astounding numbers?

Sent by Teri Thomas | 1:52 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Dear Leroy,

As we all know from our personal experiences, cancer brings pain in many forms. But much good can sometimes come out of it as well, including changes in our character, our priorities, and in the new relationships we develop. This forum is a great example. So I'd like to echo Ruth's suggestion that we might discuss the positive aspects of this disease. Our collective sharing may help to breathe new perspectives into our lives.

Sent by Chip Deutsch | 2:10 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I give a little money each year to St. Jude's, because they provide wonderful care to very sick little kids, and their families. St. Jude's may be a model for the future of cancer care for all... all around the world. Thank you Danny Thomas and Marlo.

Sent by A.M.H. | 2:11 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy, As always, a great read and how nice to have a happy ending (to this chapter anyway)

Hey Megan — My wife is 33 and has her TMR surgery for T3N2 rectal cancer on Wednesday. It sucks, but she's still got a lot of things she wants to do before she moves to a higher plain. She's cried, she's sobbed, she's laughed, she's shoe shopped and every emotion in between. Being young is a double-edged sword. You're physically better equipped to beat this, but the emotional strain seems greater. More of the why me and why now? It really isn't fair, but one comment on this site that we read really made sense. In some ways we are luckier to have had the experience. Life on the other side of this is sweeter; your perspective is changed forever. Your stronger, more focused and able to cope with anything that is in store. It doesn't mean that you'd rather not be a cancer survivor, just that this cloud does have its silver lining.

Good luck in your treatment and do your best to stay focused on the goal. When you get there, dust yourself off and get on with living your new life.

Sent by Tim | 2:15 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Learning to live with cancer, fighting the good fight, sharing our concerns with love and compassion, and supporting one another, have all been topics that you have written about and others have shared. Lurking in the background is another topic that does not seem to get discussed as often.

This topic is the inevitability of death, whether we die from cancer or something else. My own cancer has caused me to think about this much more than I used to, especially since my original prognosis was only 6 to 12 months more of life, following an unsuccessful surgery to remove my primary liver tumor. I have now outlived this prediction by 5 months, and my tumor has not yet grown or metastasized, but the threat is always there as I remain indefinitely on a chemotherapy regime of Gemzar and Xeloda.

My interest in a discussion of dying is not morbid. Rather, I am interested in how we can face our own death in creative and helpful ways, both for ourselves and for those whom we love, even as we continue to fight the good fight and live our lives as creatively and hopefully as possible.

Sent by Andy Halpern | 2:17 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I keep coming back to "how do I do it?" I have an obligation to work to secure my insurance. Working has always been teaching — an intense day packed with working with over a hundred students. I know the kids love me, that helps. They are so upset when they have a substitute as it sets all their work off to a different standard that we are all used to. It doesn't bother me so much as I know I needed that day off. The cancer will never go away. I will die from this cancer. It could be a couple of months; I might get a couple of years. It depends on what the chemo is doing. How do I readjust the dreams I had for "retirement?" How do I readjust knowing I probably will never meet grandchildren. I keep trying to figure out how to deal with this end game of disappointment, meantime knowing I have a job obligation to earn the chemo that keeps me going. I don't want to be a whiner and I do have spells of levity and optimism (mostly related to just having a good day). Coping seems to be most on my mind and any more creative or down to earth ideas on coping would be enormously useful.

Sent by Cheryl M. | 2:33 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I belong to a great group of young women who have been treated for breast cancer, the Young Survival Coalation. I just loved how one of the girls in our group describes cancer. It is not mine, it is not yours. She will not take ownership of this BEAST that has found a home in her body. She sees it as more like something that has invaded her body rather than something her own body has created. IT does not belong there. IT is THE cancer. It is as if calling this "my" cancer somehow gives it more of a relationship with her than she wants it to have. Just food for thought. Glad things are better for you now.

Sent by June | 3:03 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Megan, you ask THE question, as far as I'm concerned. The age of the questioner doesn't minimize its relevance, either. You asked, "I don't know how to go on without knowing if I have 5 years or 50 left. How do you all deal with that uncertainty?" Here is my answer. Please use any of it that is helpful to you.

Much of how we are usually raised helps us to build walls of denial about our own mortality. Once you face your own mortality and that knowledge becomes part of your being, then each day becomes the gift from God it is meant to be. In earlier times, the communities we lived in created rituals for its youth that taught them that they could face death and still live full lives. My mom, unconsciously, created her own "rite of passage" for me to comprehend this important lesson that we now seem to want to protect our youth from learning.

My mom was a WW2 Holocaust survivor who taught me that every day could be the last day of the rest of my life. One lesson I learned from her at a young age was that nobody or no thing can really protect you from death. That understanding helped me to be more present and not to live so much for the future. My emphasis became living, mostly, in the present. Not for the "Tomorrow" which Annie sings in the play of the same name and can contribute to the keeping one stuck where they are today.

So, when my stage 4 non Hodgkin's lymphoma (5 years) and then prostate cancer (1 year) were diagnosed, I did not freak out. I just kept on living "one day at a time." My life actually got better and better, as I relearned my mom's lesson. Cancer became one more way for me to die, today.

Being able to live each day as if it were the "last day of the rest of my life," has also helped me to overcome lots of other fears. After all, what can be scarier than knowing that this is your LAST DAY?

Not a bad way to live, once I also learned to plan some for the future. After all isn't life what happens while you are making plans?

Sent by Free Polazzo | 3:10 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I love the "favorite quotes" sent in by Anne, Don and Penney. Here's one that speaks to me:

Dirge Without Music — Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains, but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the

love,?

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not

approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the

world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Sent by Doris | 3:16 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Hi Leroy & everyone!

I'm still an introvert, but no longer quite so shy. One of the hardest — and best — things I've ever done was to start writing email updates to a few friends & relatives as I was going through diagnosis for ovarian cancer in 2001. I have been amazed with not only the support I have received from those folks (and it's a longer list of email addresses now) but also with the messages I get back thanking me for writing, and also with what has happened within myself from doing this journaling. Have others experienced this?

I'm still in treatment, and there's a nice local support group, but due to schedule changes I can only go rarely these days. Your blog, Leroy, has helped fill the empty space left by that schedule change. Thank you.

By the way, this is the first, and only, blog I've ever read I'm not really a full member of this computer age. Started reading it a while back, need to find out how to read them from the start.

Sent by Ann | 3:19 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I just want to commend you on posting your trials, tribulations, ups, and downs with dealing with the disease... insight like this is beneficial, as I am finishing my training in radiation oncology in 3-4 more months time. My question to you is, what advice do you have for me, as an up and coming cancer specialist? More specifically, what did you like/dislike about your physicians, what could we do to be better? I know everyone has differing sets of opinions on the matter, but I would appreciate any input.

Sent by Krupali Tejura, M.D. | 3:49 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Hello Dear Leroy and all..

This forum has been such a Godsend, safe space and connection for so many.

Since you asked Leroy, I would welcome a discussion regarding the fact that such a large percentage of cancer patients utilize CAM (complementary modalities) and yet rarely is that recognized or supported by our western medical model. In this day and age, when we have numerous research studies showing the efficacy of specific mind, body, spirit medicine modalities, why is it not routinely incorporated?

Oncology patients require so much more than surgery, chemo and radiation.

I utilized accupuncture, reiki, creative visualization, meditation, gentle yoga, beautiful uplifting music, affirmations, herbs and whatever resonated with me to be of benefit.

It helps me greatly, and I know I'm not alone in this.

Sent by Kathleen A. | 3:51 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Dear Leroy,

Many thanks for your blog and congratulations on your good tumor news.

I agree with both Tom Clarke and Shirley Gossett. 1) There are a lot of people out there who cannot afford treatment for cancer, even basic chemotherapy and this is wrong, wrong, wrong. 2) Stem cell transplants are being done, often successfully, today in large numbers at many hospitals throughout the USA, but many health insurers resist covering the costs and Medicare is at least 5 years out-of-date with respect to current treatments using stem cells. This means that a number of people are either unable to have a stem cell transplant or are using up most of their retirement savings to pay for one.

My husband is now working through a stem cell transplant (he's at Day +24) and we are cautiously optimistic. It's the only remaining treatment left for him — he's gone through all the possible chemo regimens for his Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. (FYI - stem cell transplants can run from $250,000 to $500,000.)

Obviously I-d like to see more our political representatives pay more attention to this issue, as well as to the issue of funding more stem cell research.

Sent by Betsy B. | 3:53 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I have only written once, I think, long ago, but I read often. I often wonder about recurrence and, even after a year of no recurrences, how long I will keep thinking, worrying, wondering about it. The statistics fill my head: I have an 80% chance of recurrence. I have a 50% chance of getting another type. My type of cancer is a catalyst to more. And I always wonder: what next?

That's no way to live though, right? So I go on. I'm finishing my master's degree. I'm creating a career in a field I enjoy.

Still, though, in the back of my head, that little voice says, "What's next?"

Sent by Dawn | 3:55 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Dear Leroy — I came across your blog a couple of months ago and have since read every one of your postings and many of the comments submitted by others. Two of my co-workers are currently battling breast cancer. Both of my grandparents passed from different forms of cancer years ago when I was a teen and in my early twenties. Just over a year ago one of my closest friends passed from a brain tumor that she received treatments of one sort or another for, for a year and a half. Cancer has touched my life in many ways.

I've thought of writing several times, but today can wait no longer. You and your writings have become a part of my daily routine and have helped me through some of the feelings I've had for years. You are and the others who provide comment are so appreciated. God Bless you all and may he stand by your side as you continue to fight the good fight!

Sent by Valerie | 4:48 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I have spent most of my adult life fearing cancer. The good news is that I no longer have to be consumed with that fear. I have turned my energy towards fighting the cancer I was diagnosed with 1 1/2 years ago.

Sent by Karen | 4:50 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy, I am only a second time visitor to your blog, so I don't know whether this topic has been explored: counseling.

I spent 15 months "working the plan" given to me by my cancer team to address my bilateral breast cancer: scans, MRIs, lumpectomies, mastectomies with expander implants, implant expansions, dense dose chemo, 28 right side radiation treatments, physical therapy, and implant exchange surgery. Along the way, I had to deal with some unexpected twists in the plan: pneumonia, infection and necrosis in surgical incisions, and a possible lung cancer scare.

And unexpected life situations happened. My husband went into end-stage liver failure (he's doing remarkably well now, thank you), and serious illnesses identified in all 4 of my very dear cats, one of which I lost this summer and another I probably will lose in a week or two.

My breaking point came when my implant exchange surgery failed on the radiated side. I went through 11 months with the expander on that side causing me more and more pain every day, just to end up with a chest with more scars than Frankenstein's monster had.

I have been living by the calendar for the last 15 months: when is my next appointment? Do I have to have labs or scans? Do I have to fast tonight? Do I have to renew any scrips? How do I fit my appointments around the hospital and ICU and nursing home hours for my husband?

When I finally broke, I found a PhD resident in psychotherapy in my cancer center who counsels for free. I was in there in a heartbeat. I poured out my story. After 15 months of showing my physical body to almost everyone, what's to hold me back on showing my soul.

I am hoping the counseling will give me some measure of control back over my life. My life is chaos, and I have always been a very organized person. The chaos, coupled with a failed outcome to the cancer plan, has me frozen. I can't accomplish a thing.

Sorry to ramble on, but I think many people might need counseling after their cancer experiences, just to "release" all the pain, heartache, and disappointments they have been through, and find a way to put a new life plan in place.

I need to dissect and recover the last 15 months. I went through most of it like a robot. Do this! OK! I was given less than complete information by some of my doctors about my choices (I find in retrospect).

I need to get over what has happened to me to be able to move on.

Sent by Venita | 4:52 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I am a young :) mother of two children located in Wisconsin. Christmas Day of 2006 as my family was waking to open Christmas gifts I went into a grand mal seizure and was rushed to the hospital. Later in the day, a diagnosis of brain cancer was relayed. Another day and a half later, I had brain surgery to remove as much of the tumor as possible. A week and a half later, once finally home and celebrating Christmas, my young son was bit in the face by a relative's dog. A week and a half following this, I developed a tremendously painful blood clot in the lung.

We are all reeling here, kids and parents alike. I have found great camaraderie and comfort in reading through Leroy's posts and the comments of others. Thank you all for peeling back the layers and exposing the rawness of cancer, as well as offering the courage, humor, persistence and hope involved with this journey.

I look forward to connecting to others in "our world" via this site as I begin to forge my own path of discovery.

Sent by Lori | 4:55 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I am very new to this blog. My mom has cancer and on behalf of her I am raising the question: What do you do when your insurance company doesn't want to pay for treatment? My mom is eligible for a somewhat new/experimental treatment that could significantly reduce the size of one tumor and the insurance refused it 3 times. Perhaps that could be a topic of discussion or someone else knows a resource. Thanks.

Sent by Becky | 4:56 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I want to know and I don't want to know, is it going to hurt? How much will it hurt? How long will it hurt?

But mostly, I want to know how to LIVE as many minutes as possible in my remaining days.

Can I strap the oxygen bottle on the back of my saddle and go riding?

How much of my life do I have to devote to dying and how much can be spent just living life to the fullest?

Sent by Karen | 4:57 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy and everyone,

Are you familiar with Naomi Nye? There are 2 poems of hers that I love "The Art of Disappearing" and "Kindness." Check them out when you have a chance.

There's an element of kindness that comes through in your writings as well as the responses in the blog. Naomi writes something to this effect: "To know kindness, you must know sorrow..." We've all felt a sense of sorrow and loss by being handed a cancer diagnosis. For the most part, however, we haven't stayed stuck there. The blog probably has served as a means to help some get "unstuck." It has also served as a way of sharing a special form of kindness that we have amongst ourselves an exquisite sensitivity to living with uncertainty. Thanks again, Leroy, for bringing us together.

Sent by Betsey Kuzia | 4:59 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I would love to hear what others opinions are regarding young children and what they should know/be told about cancer. My husband (36) has brain cancer (oligoastrocytoma) and we have 2 young children, ages 7 & 9. He was diagnosed July 2006. We struggle with what to tell them. So far we have been honest with them, but is that too much for kids? I believe they need to know, but when I find myself struggling with the day to day emotions. I feel guilt that our children must have that struggle too. We have good communication with them, but they are only 7 and 9. They don't have words for much of what they are dealing with. I'm 36 and I don't have the words. Just wondering if this could be a topic.

Thanks for all you do. This blog gives me strength and comfort.

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

"I did not die there, but I came close, and there was a moment, perhaps there were several moments when I tasted death, when I saw myself dead. There is no cure for such an encounter. Once it happens, it goes on happening you live with it for the rest of your life." — Quote from Paul Auster, The Locked Room, The New York Trilogy.

Not positively inspiring, but it describes how much I feel changed by my cancer and surgeries.

I have had 5 ops in 5 years — 4 of them reconstructive surgeries. I am in a happy long-tern relationship but was talking with a friend who was single and had put on weight in the recent year. She said she felt too self-conscious of her size to have an intimate relationship again. I laughed wryly and said I would have too much explaining to do!! I also wrote about this issue in my own blog, some of which is "locked" but the post is called "Manky boob" if anyone wishes to read it.

http://www.cctrust.org.uk/article3.htm : This article is the best I have ever found on the feelings I had after the end of treatment. Perhaps some of you might find it helpful.

Take care all of you.

Sent by JJ | 5:24 PM ET | 03-06-2007

This is my first visit. I am cancer free for over five years yet no one that is a survivor cannot reach out to all that are in treatment or first stages of healing. Thank you this morning for the reminder and the gratitude for my life and yours.

Sent by Iris | 5:25 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Thank you for your story and words of wisdom. I wish and pray for your success with the new treatment. It is exciting news. God Bless...

Sent by Unknown Friend | 5:27 PM ET | 03-06-2007

For Louie, Please don't give up. I, too, spend much of my time alone at home. Because of the cancer I am no longer working. I have joined a support group,(and I see the counselor from this group one on one) a Bible study class, a free yoga class through our cancer center and a free strength building class through another cancer center. I find the fellowship of these groups to be very helpful. And now I get together with individuals from the groups for coffee and a chat. Maybe there are some programs like this in your area. I know it's not always easy to ask for help so just know that there are people out there who will want to get to know you.

Sent by Cindy H. | 5:34 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Perspective is everything.

I remember a nurse told me that the chief doctor where she worked complained because people bring things in from the Internet and want these "untested" treatments. They complained about these people but I think even the medical profession loses perspective. I could see going through all the schooling and thinking maybe someday you can make a big difference to get swept up in car payments and house payments and who gets the next promotion just like in anybody in any other field.

I lost my husband to cancer and could not let her comments stand. I say is the problem these desperate people or a government or medical community with too few answers following a 30-year war on this disease? Everybody loses perspective from time to time.

Sent by Irene | 5:37 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Wow. Leroy... I just heard your daily piece on the radio yesterday, which stopped me in my tracks and led me to this site. I am one of the fortunate ones... very early diagnosis, very thorough and allegedly successful treatment. It has been 2 years since my bilateral mastectomy. Yet still, the anxiety is always there. I don't believe that it is really gone, but is instead lurking somewhere waiting to "get me" before my kids even make it to and out of grade school. I read some comments here and thought... holy smokes! I'm not a nut! What a relief. Thank you, thank you all.

My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Jenny | 5:45 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy,

I have been reading this blog daily from the beginning and like others recommend it to others. While I don't have cancer I have found this helpful in understanding those who do and what may help.

I'm with I think it was Patricia above happy that you must be doing so much better to be asking the question.

The area I don't recall you touching on is faith. Certainly many of us have been praying for you. I wonder how faith fits into the equation.

Sent by Geoff | 5:46 PM ET | 03-06-2007

My mother has had two primary breast cancers, twenty years ago, and now is terminally ill from a recurrence. A world-renowned pathologist told me that you are never cured of breast cancer. Leroy, I love you and your reports. Keep the faith, my friend. My mom is still around after almost 30 years.

Sent by Stuart Hookey | 11:41 AM ET | 03-07-2007

Dear Leroy-

I've noticed your blog advertised everytime I log onto my computer, but have never gone further than to just read the "ad."

I've just completed 18 months of fighting two rare forms of cancer - Inflammatory breast cancer and high-grade parotid gland cancer. I am 43 years old and have two young children, and at times the fight seemed unbearable.

Just 10 days ago, I had my last surgery - reconstructive surgery. I feel almost normal now. The pain of recovery is starting to subside and I can see a future.

I wanted you to know the hardest time for me was after chemo, radiation and surgery. Once I started to recover and feel a little better, I became quite scared and depressed. More so than I did that first week of processing my new role as a cancer patient. I think it has everything to do with using up your arsenal and waiting for the dust to settle. We just don't know what's going to rise from the rubble. In my case, the doctors wont tell me I'm cured for 10 years. UGH!

However, things were different for me the second time around. With my second round of cancer, a very close friend of mine introduced me to a reiki master. He thought he could help me by lessening the side effects of treatments and boosting my immune system to make me stronger for the fight. In the end, he did so much more. My energy level was so much higher this second time around and my side effects were neglible. So much so, that my doctors at the UW-Madison Hospital were shocked. They've asked my "reiki guy" and I to come and speak to the head of their integrative medicine and a cancer support group. Well be doing that in June.

He has also helped me recover quickly from this last surgery. By all counts, my doctors are amazed at the results. I've made this my new mission - to make reiki masters known to all cancer patients. As you know, anything we can do to lessen the effects of treatment is a blessing.

I hope you will look into this for yourself and help spread the word. We surely need to advocate for eachother.

BTW, I was really excited to hear about the new technique they are doing for you. I wish my friend, who recently passed of pancreatic cancer (40 years old), would've had that available to her. There just doesn't seem to be consistency from one cancer hospital to another. That really must change.

So, good-luck to you. Stay strong and know you've done all you can do right now. Enjoy, the simple things and look into a reiki master (with a good reputation).

Sent by Kathy Bero | 2:48 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Leroy, you don't know it, but you have been my companion during my journey with cancer as well. Each post seems to be connected to my own experience, incredibly. And like you, I am now facing ambivalence as to what the future holds.

Is there a way for us to capture the energy that this extended online family seems to share, and channel that towards some good?

Sent by Lesa | 4:25 PM ET | 03-07-2007

First, let me say, this is more my opinion, from a business perspective — to stimulate the internal conversation within NPR and Leroy's office. I didn't intend it for publication, as such — unless you think it will be helpful.

What about "The Next Step" and where to go from here—

My opinion is do not mess with the formula of "Classic Coke" ... Remember that fiasco from almost 30 years ago ?

That having been said, yes, Leroy's right. There's an honest question of where to go from here. How to evolve to something even better.

I believe that the beauty of the present formula is that Leroy's story provides the trunk of the tree. The comments provide the foliage. And generally they tend to be on-topic or at least add to the richness of the experience. Leroy has artfully moderated and navigated this. Other important identifiable elements of the success mix are: the NPR brand, credibility, and unique technical and journalistic capabilities. Treat it with the same kid gloves you would, with anything where you put the NPR brand.

One way to move forward is to add an occasional guest commentator ( once a week, for starters? or a trial balloon ? ) — this could be one of the NPR correspondents, or one of the bloggers whom you identify as having something important and universal to say. We've only lightly touched many allied topics, like the science, public policy ( but keep on the high road), spirituality, grief, physician's perspective, etc.

I worry if you abdicate some continuity and management of story line, that it could gradually drift over to a forum for rants about the healthcare system, politics, and endless discussion of individual ailments and anecdotes. Other forums already cover all of this — and it strays away from the zone where NPR adds value.

Sent by Emile Bellott | 4:38 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Leroy,

This may sound selfish on my part, but one topic that you might address is from the point of view of the caregiver. I cared for my husband during his 3 1/2 year battle with bone marrow cancer — multiple myeloma.

I, too, have been changed. I still live with hope but also sadness and quilt. I wish I had done more. More in our relationship and more in his battle. Being a care giver is a lonely battle too. But I never let him see my pain too often. We did talk, but mostly we fought it, laughed when we could, and get it together.

Sent by Deborah | 3:36 PM ET | 03-09-2007