Can you hear the crickets chirping? Enjoy the quiet.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 9:22 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Well, Leroy, this much is true: Through it all, you never seem to lose your sense of humor. The stupid cowboy thing made me laugh! Everyone, cancer victim or not, could spend every day worrying about it being "too quiet". It may seem trite, but maybe there is something to the zen-like saying "Be here now." Live for today!

Sent by Marylee | 9:23 AM ET | 03-20-2007

I am very very happy for your results. It is amazing and wonderful for you. I have been thinking a lot about you and how lucky you are the past few days as I read your blog. I hope all of your cancer "warriors" have the same posiitve results. My husband is on a "vacation" of sorts 'til his next scan. He finished his course of radiation and now has to wait 4 weeks to see the results. They say the radiation keeps working for 3-4 weeks and based on how he feels I can attest to that. Which brings me to my point. If this disease has taught me (as a wife and caregiver) anything it is that when I wake up in the morning I will face the day and deal with all the challanges it brings. We are trying to learn to live one day at a time. With cancer you cannot predict one minute, one hour or anything. So why try!!! We try not to worry about the scan he will take on 3/30. It obviously is like a 300lb gorilla in the room and yet I would like Jack to try and have a little reprieve if that is possible. Whatever is going on in his body will be there on 4/2 when we get the results and all the anticipation will not change it. It is time enough to freak out if, g-d forbid, we get bad news. And just think how much effort was wasted if the news is good. So we try to enjoy the moments when he feels ok as best we can. It is so important for him to have as many good moments he can. We have all learned how precious and short life can be so why try and guess at what if? I hope you continue to feel well and get good news. I hope you plan to keep on writing as I know we all look forward to it everyday.

Sent by Amy Wile | 9:26 AM ET | 03-20-2007

I was thinking something along similar lines last night. I was thinking of the saying about there being an elephant in the room.

i.e when everyone is avoiding discussing the obvious - as if they would be doing if there was an elephant in the room and no one mentioned it.

I feel like I see the elephant but that others deny its existence or try to shove it under a cushion. For me, I am squeezing around the room, dodging piles of droppings...and we have even been formally introduced,..so HOW can i deny this? I see it, it's there. I don't know whether it will cause me trouble again....but ,you see, it's too big to go out of the door.

The elephant isn't just "cancer", to me it's "death", so it will always be in the room. Pre-dx it was a lot smaller, less noticeable, but now it seems pretty big to me.

Sent by JJ | 9:30 AM ET | 03-20-2007

For your sake, Leroy, I hope you stay in remission for a very long time. At MDA, they told me that if I stayed in remission for 5 years, the chances of my ACC coming back would be slim.

After 2 1/2 years, I had a root canal done by a "cancer specialist dentist". One month after the procedure, I had a brand new tumor on the gums right above where the root canal had been done.

If cancer comes back a second time, get ready for a fight for your life. It is sort of like the ending of a bad sci-fi movie where the monster has been blown to hell, but just before the closing credits, a tiny little monster rises from the ashes.

Faith and a positive attitude are still your best allies in your battle against cancer. Good luck!

Sent by Larry Hamm | 10:08 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Leroy, I am very glad that you have arrived safely at this "port in the storm." May your stay be long, restful and happy!

Sent by Marilyn Morrissey | 11:27 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Thank you, JJ, for your comment that the elephant "isn't just cancer, it's death". That says so much to me. I feel its so obvious but well do almost anything to avoid really acknowledging that its there, right in our face.

And Leroy, I also hope you continue to keep writing. You are providing a forum that helps so many of us. I'm so glad to hear your good news, enjoy it...you deserve it for as long as it lasts.

Sent by Mac | 11:35 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Yes, I know what you mean, Leroy. On May 4th, I will be finished with 17 months of treatment for a very aggressive form of Breast Cancer (Stage III). That's reason for rejoicing, right? And I feel good! Have even joined a fitness club and am more active than in a long, long time. People cheerfully refer to me as a survivor. BUT - in the back of my mind are some numbers my doctor gave me. Even with all that treatment, my odds of survival are not good. Most likely, it will be back before long. So in a way, I'm dreading the end of treatment, because that's like giving those nasty little cancer cells their big chance to grow. If I had my choice, I'd keep socking it to them indefinitely! Something tells me it's going to be mighty quiet around here after MAy 4th...

Sent by Doris | 11:39 AM ET | 03-20-2007

My mother's cancer came back 2 months shy of the 5-year period. She went through a year of hell battling it back and was killed instantly in an accident shortly after. Since moving to NEDland a few months ago I'm often reminded of how uncertain life can be. I'm curious if your statistical odds of recurrence have anything to do with the degree of worry. Mine are 50/50. I know women who at 95/5 (their favor) who still worry and I think to myself that if I had those odds I'd relax and enjoy it, but maybe not.

Sent by Patricia | 11:53 AM ET | 03-20-2007

Strangely enough, I think the period right after treatment is by far the most difficult time. At least it was for me. Afraid to eat anything, do anything, breath anything not knowing if THAT was the cause of my cancer and it if would get me again. Thank God I got through that time. A low dose of Ativan at night helped.

There is one thing bothering me that I keep hearing over and over from a lot of people writing in, "I KNOW it is just a matter of time before the cancer comes back". If you believe this to be true, then you are defeated already. I choose to believe that I have defeated the beast, and my cancer is NOT coming back, and I will live my life and make plans as if that were true. None of us know for sure exactly what is going to happen, so WHY NOT believe the best for yourself? If you are wrong, then so what. What have you lost?

Our thoughts are very powerful. They create who we are and what we do. Be careful what you think, believe what you WANT to happen for your life.

Do you think Lance Armstrong believes that his cancer will come back and it's just a matter of time? I don't think so.

Stay positive Leroy, believe the best for yourself. You deserve that much.

Sent by Suz | 12:36 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Leroy, just concentrate on what you want in your life from here on now ... all the positive aspects. Don't focus on what you fear most. It's like that arrow coming in from nowhere. Reframe your thoughts as best as you can. I am so happy for you at this time in your life and will always include you in my daily intentions for health, happiness and a rich and full LONG life.

Sent by Pat Z. | 12:38 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Two years ago (at 45), I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I went through surgery, chemo and radiation. As far as I know, currently I am cancer free. However, like many of you say, I do not feel "free." Like JJ says, it's not just cancer it's also death that's always in the room.

While I was fighting cancer, I felt that I had to concentrate on "life." I felt I couldn't let go of it and that if I turn towards death and looked at it honestly that it would mean that I had given up and caner had won. These days I feel well physically and psychologically. I feel full of "life" and I feel strong. This is the time I have decided to look at death with honesty and courage. I have read a number of books about dying. I have bought a copy of "The Tibetan Book of the Dead." I feel this is the time to prepare and get ready, because whether cancer comes back or not, death will arrive some day. What do the rest of you think?

Sent by Liliana | 12:40 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Congratulations on your latest remission! Thank you for continuing to share your story with us. As someone who lives from MRI to MRI, your image of the cowboy (it is much to quiet), captures my feelings as my next MRI looms near. The probability that my cancer will reoccur is high and I can't quite believe that I have been in remission almost two years. The last two years, of course, have not been a "free past". I tire easily and it has taken time to regain most of my pre-cancer strength. I have also come to accept other limitations particularly the fatigue that often plagues my body. And I know that the cancer will again spread.

Yesterday I received the "good news" that the mass in my brain has not grown. To tell the truth, I was less sure that this would be the case. Like you, I have begun to entertain a future although I am now more conscious of risk, how long and how far away can I be from medical care and hospital? How can I work in my chosen field that requires commitment beyond three months and presumes relative health?

Volunteering is great and fills in the gaps yet as I feel better I want to do more.

Keep up the good work of writing this blog. The "in between" time is full of many questions and struggles as we redefine what "normal" is and live with a heighten sense of our mortality.

Sent by Carol | 12:42 PM ET | 03-20-2007

My diagnosis was a long drawn out process. In the middle of all it my dear Mother( who I had cared for 5 years) was dying of dimentia. I got the first inkling something was wrong on May 22nd with a re-call to have another mamogram done. Through the next several months my diagnsosis went from suspicious to 6 MRIs 30+ biopsies and finally mastectomy. Lymph node invovlement made it a stage 3 cancer. In the meantime, we buried my mom and steadied ourselves for the fight ahead. I didn't have time to think about myself and I put my life and faith in the surgeons and doctors. Now that things have settled in and I have had time to reflect, I still have to wonder....will it be gone after the chemo and surgery. Patricia, my odds are 75/25 that I will be cured. And to answer your question, I think that anyone that has had cancer, no matter the odds, the severity, the prognosis, will forever wonder..will it come back in some other form. Did I do all the right things to fend it off? We don't know....and to tell you the truth, I feel guilty with odds like mine, worrying about something that others don't get the chance to worry about. Their fates are sealed.

Sent by Patti Greening | 12:48 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Leroy, I just wanted to write to you to tell you that your commentaries on NPR are truly inspirational and incredibly moving. I do not, to my knowledge, have cancer. At 47, one might add the word "yet." I hope I never do. But I find when your commentary comes on in the morning, the shower must be delayed, the dogs can wait a few minutes for their walk, all things must be quiet while I listen to you. Please know that I will hold only good thoughts for you and hope that you will be with us for many, many more years.

Sent by Suzanne Williams-McAuliffe | 12:50 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Excellent point about death, Lilliana.

It will come to all of us including those who do not have cancer.

Those of us with cancer (me liposarcoma since march 2006) just might have a clearer idea of what we will die from.

Most helpful to me when I was diagnosed last year was this - as a believer in essentially what we would call destiny or fate being pre-ordained I know that the span of life allotted to me has not changed as a result of my diagnosis - in other words my life span is what it is and will be what it will be - when i will breathe my last breath and when my heart will beat for the final time has not changed since my diagnosis - that is liberating on many levels for me - of course this necessitates a belief in a Supreme Being and that the Decree of this omnipotent Entity is reality and truth - that is a bridge too far for many but thanks be to God not for me.

Sent by William | 4:22 PM ET | 03-20-2007

Patricia and Patty...

I am the one with the 95/5 odds. Very early diagnosis of breast cancer and a decision to go with a bilateral mastectomy (and a clean sentinel node biopsy) actually put me at about 98/2, I believe. I am 38 years old and have a 7 year old son and a soon to be 4 year old daughter. I don't know if I will ever feel secure that I will be there for them until they're grown...most excellent odds or not. And on top of that anxiety I feel guilt for being so very lucky.

Hearing that you have cancer cells in your body - no matter how contained they are - shatters your ability to trust that all is well within your seemingly healthy body.

Wishing you all good test results and peace...

Sent by Jenny | 4:25 PM ET | 03-20-2007

It was too quiet for me for 10 years. That was my last cancer bout, it was with lung cancer. The cancer before that was breast and before that was Hodgins. I am home now recuperating from esophageal resection, (esophagus cancer). This was the really BIG ONE. Someone told me that I am here for a specific reason or God would have taken me a long time ago. Leroy, I worry now about what am I going to do if I get it again? This may sound weird but if I do I hope it is something less severe than what I've just gone through. I hate the feeling that it will come back again, but I cannot think otherwise since this is number 4 for me. Right now I am fighting off depression. Has anyone else suffered with depression after surgery? I really liked what one of your reader said "you are what you think". I must think positive and get out of this ridiculous slump.

Sent by Ruth White | 4:26 PM ET | 03-20-2007

NED ? it's a strange place to be, isn't it? There's something to be said for actively fighting the disease when you have visible tumors, are taking chemo, etc... but once that's done, it's eerily quiet and you can't help wondering when the evil serpent is going to strike again.

I was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer 18 months ago, and fortunately for me, the chemo worked wonders - all my tumors disappeared in a short period of time. But now, I'm not sure what to call myself - am I a cancer survivor? How long do you need to survive before you can call yourself that? The odds of my cancer recurring are tremendously high, I know that, so I'm not sure what I am right now.

I guess I'll just stick with "happy to be alive"!

Sent by Lee B. | 4:37 PM ET | 03-20-2007

So glad for you, Leroy. After my son's surgery, people in the office were happy to learn there were no cancer cells in his groin - but they were in his sentinel node. He has a 50/50 chance of the cancer going to his liver. So, you live with the worry about the cells taking root elsewhere in his body. He is at Stage III. He made the joke about his recent brain scan and his having a brain. You worry each day and are thankful that he feels well NOW. Hope you have a long, long respite from this beast.

Sent by Maureen Patton | 10:26 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Leroy,

Ken & I learned never to say "it could always be worse" Each time we did it got worse! We haven't lost our optimism just learned not to give the arrow such an easy target!

Sent by Ken & Maureen Francis | 10:27 AM ET | 03-21-2007

To Ruth-

Bless your heart..you have had more than your share of heartache. How can it be that one person must go through 4 cancers? yet, you are an inspiration. Try for those positive thoughts and get outside with the daffodils and crocuses and plan your summer garden..breathe in the spring air (when it returns..)

To Lee-

I too was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer 9 months ago and have had a similar response to chemotherapy. So far NED for me..but I continue the chemo every other week. For how long, Im not sure. Now I am doing something to slow this cancer and if I stop..who knows what will happen. I have accepted and accomodated the quality and routine of my life. What about you? any of you? Do you continue with the chemo indefinitely after achieving NED? how does one decide??

And thank you for making something more clear for me..I never felt that cancer itself was the elephant. that's out there..everyone knows and almost all acknowledge it to some degree.

What is not acknowledged- and is met with downcast eyes and altered body language-is the nearness of death for the person with cancer. or maybe its the reality of death. We all know were going to die sometime- but those of us dancing with cancer know with more certainty that it will be sooner rather than later. So yes, the elephant is not the cancer- it is death.

Sent by EM | 10:31 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Leroy — as a 2-year "survivor" of breast cancer, I found that there was a big difference between fighting cancer, and living with cancer. All my physical and emotional resources were poured into treatment and when treatment was finished, I realized that I now have to deal with the threat of cancers return. They are two very different struggles. I read somewhere that now we have been "brushed by the wing of the raven", and I know whatever life remains will be very different. It is both sweeter and more sad for me these days...I feel a richness and intensity I never have known before. I have been stopped in my tracks with your NPR series....

Sent by Rebecca Bauder | 10:33 AM ET | 03-21-2007

I don't know if it is just me but I feel extremely anxious. I just finished 16 rounds of chemo and I am about to finish 6 weeks of radiation. I was used to going to the chemo center every week and now I go every 3 weeks for an antibody but it is not the same. I keep waiting, wondering, what will come next. I feel my journey is ending yet I keep expecting something else to happen. I know I am lucky we caught my cancer early but I too feel it is too quiet. The cards, phone calls, visits, etc. have almost come to a stop but yet I keep wondering am I done.

Sent by Karen | 10:39 AM ET | 03-21-2007

I am glad my comments were well received by some of you. Thank you.

I had a T3, 5cm lump with 4 or more nodes affected, at the age of 36 - the stats for surviving 10 years is about 26 to 44%, less than 50/50. I am 5 yrs on and don't know if it happened 5 years ago,(so I am getting further away from it). Or whether I am on a roller coaster heading towards "trouble". Hubby's family act as if I had a bad cold - hence the feeling of my elephant being around.

Like another poster said, we all face death - even those who don't have cancer will die. I do not have the comfort of a religious faith, but am moving towards a more comfortable place after reading Irvin yaloms book on "Existential psychotherapy", where there is a chapter on Death Anxiety. One of the things he discusses are the writings of various philosophers on the issues of being a human, and about how life can involve a good, hard look at death.

He also mentions an exercise used with harrassed business executives where they are asked to draw a straight line. One end of the line represents birth and the other death. they are asked to put a cross to represent where they are now and then to meditate on it for 5 mins. For me, this is how my cancer has treated me... it has meant that I have considered where my X might be on that line. Another piece of fiction he wrote raised this issue, and I wrote about it for a counselling course I was doing.

I will paste an exert below

"When Nietzsche Wept", Irvin D. Yalom, 2005, HarperCollins, USA

StoryLine:-

Josef Breuer, a doctor and Freud's friend and mentor, agrees to treat Friedrich Nietzsche with his "talking cure" without him being fully aware of this undertaking. Breuer asks Nietzsche to help him with his own demons, thinking that he can switch roles with the philosopher and ultimately end up taking the therapist's role to help Nietzsche with his problems. However Breuer finds he needs and receives Nietszche's help?.. and in his own cure can then best help Nietzsche.

B lists his problems to N, and N replies. (2005:167)

"You've talked a great deal about the second item on our list 'besieged by alien thoughts'. Perhaps we have today exhausted that category, for I now have an appreciation of how these unworthy thoughts invade and possess your mind. Yet they are nonetheless your thoughts, and it is your mind. I wonder what benefit there is to you in permitting this to occur ? in making it occur"

"???.It feels like it happens to me??" B

To me this passage is about taking personal responsibility for one's thoughts.

Also, it is interesting to consider why B is thinking these thoughts. What he might think of if his mind was not taken up with these particular thoughts. What do they aid him in avoiding him from thinking about.

B and N discuss B's fear of death and oblivion. B asks N how he bears the horrors of death. (2005:247)

"I do not teach, Josef, that one should 'bear' death, or 'come to terms' with it. That way lies life-betrayal! Here is my lesson to you: Die at the right time!"?."Live when you live! Death loses its terror if one dies when one has consummated one's life! If one does not live in the right time, then one can never die at the right time"?."have you lived your life? Or been lived by it? Chosen it? Or did it choose you? Loved it? Or regretted it?"?.

?"No I've not chosen! ..I've lived the life assigned to me. I- the real I ? have been encased in my life"?"What does claiming my freedom mean to my everyday situation? How can I be free? ?I have a family, employees, patients? It's far too late?"

"My friend I cannot tell you how to live differently because, if I did, then you would still be living another's design. But I can give you a gift, the gift of my mightiest thought?. What if were some demon to say to you that this life- as you now live it and have lived it in the past ? you will have to live once more, and innumerable times more and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and everything unutterably small or great in your life will return to you???imagine the eternal hourglass of existence turned upside down again and again??. Consider the implications of eternal reoccurrence of your life?..it means that every time you choose an action you must be willing to choose it for all eternity. And it is the same for every action not made,?every choice avoided?.Do you hate the idea? Or do you love it?"

"I hate it! Breuer almost shouted. "To live forever with the sense that I have not lived, have not tasted freedom ? the idea fills me with horror"

"Then", N exhorted, "live in such a way that you love the idea!"

B gets Freud to hypnotise him and he imagines giving up his wife, family, practice and leaving to see Bertha and Eva, (as in his dream). When he wakes up he says the following.. (2005:274)

"What have I learned? Perhaps to live now so that at 50 I won't look back upon my 40's with regret?.

(B speaks with his wife)

"It is a strange day but an important one ? I've decided to marry you"

"I thought you decided to marry me 14 years ago"

"What's important is that I choose to do it today Mathilde. And every day"

The moral of the tale is to live now AS IF you were offered that Eternal Hourglass, and where you can to make your life experiences into something you would love to re-live. Take responsibility for the choices you can make, even the ones you may not think you make consciously.

Sent by JJ | 10:51 AM ET | 03-21-2007

Sympathy and empathy to Ruth - a slump after a resection is not "ridiculous". Mine was tracheal, but it is taking a long time to recover from it. See if some mild exercise will help. I am always amazed at the parts of my body that *can* do things without discomfort, even if my neck feels weird. All the best to you.

Sent by Genevieve | 11:04 AM ET | 03-21-2007

My last scan for NSCLC was clean, technically I've had no visible evidence of cancer since my chemo ended last May. But some samples of lung fluid have shown individual cancer cells floating around with the potential to grow and spread - kind of like a B horror movie. Most the time I am pretty hopeful and positive, but I've noticed the week of each scan, before I get the results, I am moody and teary. Like everyone else, I hate scans, but the positive side is they are a way to catch things before they get really out of control. Plus, ignorance in my mind is not bliss, I'd rather know than be guessing what's going on in there. Leroy, I hope your scans come out clean!

Sent by Marcia Greer | 5:53 PM ET | 03-21-2007

To Lee B.: I believe you are a survivor every day you get to live and beat the disease. Keep on living.

In Mexico we have a saying: I am killing time, before time kills me.

The same goes with cancer. Think happy, positive, long living thoughts and they will be so. Your mind is extremely powerful and has a lot to do with how your body recovers and remains healthy. It is not coincidence that we get the most ill when we are depressed and have too many things on our plate.

To Jenny: you say you feel guilty for being so lucky.

That is like teliing people "oh, you shouldn't have" when they give you a gift.
Just say THANK YOU, and enjoy it.

We all have read those Kids Say The Darnest Things excerpts somewhere, and this is one of the best I have heard personally.
My neighbor's father died. So Molly (another neighbors kid) told John (the grandson of the dead man) "I am sorry about your Grandpa", to which John (then 8) responded: You didn't kill him, why are you sorry.

So be thankful, enjoy being on remission and keep praying for those who are not.

Best wishes to all of you.

Sent by David Abad | 6:08 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Thanks once again, Leroy, for giving us a way to support each other through this journey. My dads still hanging in there in the ICU here at Mayos - if he makes it, we work on ridding him of cancer next -if all stays calm, I'll return to Colorado and get my next CT Monday. Right now focusing on supporting Mom and Dad is keeping me "in the now" w/less apprehension than usual (3+ yrs out from Stage 3 CC, NED today) I sometimes respond to questions about my "prognosis" w/"Alive today, don't know about tomorrow - and were all in the same boat - sometimes its just a lot more apparent!"
In response to Liliana, my experience so far is that working to learn how to approach death can be incredibly liberating and helps keep you fully alive now. From seeing my Buddhist teachers examples, I know it can be done, but its a daily practice to hold that bigger view, and not settle into denial, while being kind to ourselves and others as we do our best with this challenge. Pema Chodren writes well about living with uncertainty, and working with the places that scare us. Giving each other support is such a blessing, for everyone - thanks all, I keep you all in my heart.

Sent by Susan Ross | 6:11 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Leroy,

I consider myself lucky. I had pneumonia and a collapsed lung which led to the early discovery of lung cancer. I've had my lung removed and done chemo. I just got my PET-Scan and CEA results and I'm now cancer free. Keep in mind we are all born with death around the corner, its a given we all live with and can never avoid. There are no guarantees that we will live one moment beyond birth. But what is most important is NOW. If anything this experience has taught me is that what we do have is now, this moment is the only thing we truely know. The only thing that is real. The past, even if only a moment, is gone and the future isn't here yet. Though we can try to live with the future in mind, the only thing we truely have is now. I am now free of cancer, I am now alive, I now love myself, I now love those around me, I now think positively about the future, I now see the future as filled with health. Now is the thought and what we fill it with that matters. And a positive now is important. Don't waste your now time with the negatives. Now can lead to a better next.

Sent by Ann Meyers | 9:43 PM ET | 03-21-2007

Hi -- I am in the same "predicament." My cancer is non-dedectable. After 16 months of chemo, my oncologist has suggested that I have my port removed. But I can't. Everytime I consider it I think of Murphy's Law. I have had so many people have recurrences that I am afraid. When the port comes out, I have a recurrence. With my life-affirming trip coming up, I want to be okay but instead just want to forget the past two years. What do I do: remove the port? Keep it? Ignore the whole situation? My PCP has sent me to a psychiatrist for survivor's guilt. Probably true.

Sent by Robin | 1:25 AM ET | 03-22-2007

Thanks once again, Leroy, for giving us a way to support each other through this journey. My dad's still hanging in there in the ICU here at Mayos ??? if he makes it, we work on ridding him of cancer next -if
all stays calm, I'll return to Colorado and get my next CT Monday. Right now focusing on supporting Mom and Dad is keeping me "in the now" w/less apprehension than usual (3+ yrs out from Stage 3 CC, NED today) I sometimes respond to questions about my "prognosis" w/"Alive today, don't know about tomorrow - and were all in the same boat - sometimes its just a lot more apparent!"

In response to Liliana, my experience so far is that working to learn how to approach death can be incredibly liberating and helps keep you fully alive now. From seeing my Buddhist teachers examples, I know it can be done, but its a daily practice to hold that bigger view, and not settle into denial, while being kind to ourselves and others as we do our best with this challenge. Pema Chodren writes well about living with uncertainty, and working with the places that scare us. Giving each other support is such a blessing, for everyone - thanks all, I keep you all in my heart.

Sent by Susan Ross | 9:35 AM ET | 03-22-2007

I was diagnosed with Leukemia last August. After months of Chemo I am finally back to work. I am on maintenance pills for the next year. While I struggled greatly with the treatments themselves (sometimes the treatment seemed worse than the disease), the only thing that really bothered me was seeing children fighting the disease. I'm 47 and have lived a good life. But the children are innocents. They haven't even had the chance to live. When death finally does come I have to ask God the question "why?". Not why I got Leukemia, but why the little ones must suffer. It makes no sense to me. Seeing a bald headed child with IVs breaks my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

Sent by Bob Payne | 9:37 AM ET | 03-22-2007

Read your post about not being able to relax even when tests come back clean. How do I deal? Man, I just try and stay busy. But the fact is that if there's a sore somewhere - especially in my mouth area (I had a head and neck cancer) you think about it. You watch it. One time, I had to make an appointment with the dentist who biopsied me back in 2005 because there was I thought, a sore on my tongue. Turned out to be nothing. That nothing cost me $78. Well, how much is a peace of mind worth (in this case $78. Really, I'm surprised at how little I think about recurrence. Usually, two things force me to think about recurrence. One, is when I hear about someone having a recurrence like Elizabeth Edwards and two of my friends who got pulled back in when they thought they were out. The other time that I think about recurrence is scan time. Those are just those loom large type of events that you can't ignore. I was thinking about my last round of scans in late Dec./early Jan. when I wrote this poem. Hope y'all can feel me on this one.

Always in the background and foreground.
Prayer for deliverance and song of victory lay dormant on my lips; waiting to issue a plea for rescue or Psalm of liberation as the appointed time.

Entreaties revolve around the cancer patient's orbit.

The scans.
Oncology's go around and go around...
CT/PET, chest x-ray, MRI - cities set upon a hill perpetually looming and receding in my mind.

I pray for the cycle to assume the orbit of remission - a circle widening from quarterly, to semi-annual to yearly. I ride the current that moves further away from diagnosis, surgery and treatment like ripples on a bond when someone throws a rock in the water.

Life is what happens between the waves.

Stay healthy.

Sent by Howard Dukes | 6:00 PM ET | 03-22-2007

It will be seven years in April that I was diagnosed with Stage IIIA Rectal Cancer. Since chemotherapy (5-FU/Leucovorin) for five months by bolus and one month continual pump with daily radiation (what a trip!)I have no cancer. My check up is April 17; I am hopeful that my regimen of East-West prevention (supervised by a leading post cancer wellness doctor in NYC) will allow me to hear the words; "Your CEA is fine. All is good. Get a colonoscopy in June."

Yes, with every cramp and pain, I am concerned. I could say, "Pshaw, it is nothing; pshaw, it is merely ulcerative proctitis flaring," or I can say, "It could be a recurrence or new primary tumor and I will fight it with the will and optimism that I did seven years ago." And try to believe it.

For Robin, my port is still with me. My surgeon is reticient to take it out; however, he will. My other doctors want it out. I did, until a recent surgical check up. And now, anything remotely invasive and involving anesthesia freaks me.

And after the April oncology visit and my trip to "Cancerland," (does one ever leave it completely?) I will decide whether to take it out or continue the eight week flushes and visits.

Sent by Deborah | 9:48 PM ET | 03-24-2007