Cancer never leaves us. We are always survivors. As such, we will always be a part of that world.

I am very, very glad to hear about your hope Leroy. I hope the procedure destroys the last of the tumors.

Congratulations!

Sent by Amanda | 4:10 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Mr. Sievers,

You are truly inspiring, even to those of us who don't have cancer. You make me ashamed to complain about the daily mundane problems and annoyances that confront me. I wish you a speedy return to good health and a happy life.

Sent by A.L. Schaffer | 4:11 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Awesome! You go, Leroy!!!

Sent by Sandra Yudilevich | 4:13 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Thank God for new treatments, Amen? I am glad to hear that they are working to rid your body of cancer. Now, get busy and eat whole fresh foods to HEAL your body and stay strong. Keep up the fight — the battle is for God's Glory and your victory in HIS POWER. Congratulations!

Sent by Jacob Henderson | 4:14 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy and everyone,

My mom went through a cancer experience much like yours, Leroy. Then, much to everyone's surprise — cancer-free for several months. But last weeks scan showed a tumor on her liver. I can't help but feel angry because she did not take any measures to fend the cancer off. She drank too much, didn't eat healthily, not enough exercise. I feel as though she was given an unbelievably precious gift and squandered it. I feel guilty for being mad at her. I know the cancer would just as likely come back anyway. But why not do everything within your power to not give it a chance? I don't want to feel resentful, but I do.

Sent by Mary | 4:16 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy, I heard you on the radio this morning and then read your entry. I realized that where you are now is the hope of people with cancer. You may be unclear about what direction your life will take as a result of having cancer, but one thing is certain you have developed an amazing quality named compassion. Be well and continue to share your gift with others.

Sent by Pat Z. | 4:23 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy, I really hope that you will become someone who used to have cancer.

You have already given a lot of your life to the cancer world. Thank you for that.

Sent by Marilyn | 4:24 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Yes, I want my life to return to "normal" ASAP! But, the big BUT, will I be strong enough to put cancer behind me or will I live in the fear of recurrence... I would like to think of myself as strong and determined to put this cancer behind me but cancer truly has changed my life forever... I simply do not know what the future holds but I do know how much I embrace every moment and every person in my life and that alone will help me to a better place in the "world without cancer"!

Sent by Marianne Dalton | 4:27 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Hi Leroy,

I hope someone can answer some of the questions you pose in today's post because I am struggling with those same questions. I am 3 years 7 months post extensive treatment for stage 3C ovarian cancer. I won't be considered a "survivor" until I have lived 5 years without recurrence but as of now I am cancer free. I am still afraid of recurrence and yet feel blessed that it hasn't come back. So, I ask, as you do, where do I fit?

Sent by Sondra Scott | 4:32 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Last week I experienced a day full of problems getting to the NPR site and failed several times in trying to submit a post. Today I believe everything (including my laptop and me) is working properly! Perhaps a metaphor for those of us "copers," survivors and caretakers... I just now finished reading Friday's commentary and the many posts that followed. I think those were the most heartfelt, meaningful, important posts we've read yet. Then I realized how each day is filled with sweet miracles! Leroy's clear scans, Ruth's reprieve from cancer, the connections made on this site and on and on—you all can recognize them in your own lives. Though we are not perfect, there is a certain perfection in the response of the community we (starting w. Leroy) have created here. Love to everyone. Sincerely, a breast cancer coper, 2 months into remission.

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 4:33 PM ET | 03-05-2007

To be someone who had cancer IS a strange place to be. You are thankful for the opportunity to live. However, you may find that planning for the future is a little difficult. When you have cancer, you go into "survival" mode. There is no future, just the here and now. Some of that never goes away, some of it does. As a cancer survivor myself, I can tell you that you might always feel a little "different" insurance companies will certainly treat you differently and so will any health care workers you come into contact with in the future. But beyond that, your friends and family will go back to old relationships as you heal. Those who cannot deal with your illness are probably already out of your life, either literally or figuratively. You will be left with the best. Good luck to you.

As an aside, I hope in the future that you can perhaps look at reporting on some of the research that is being accomplished at the International Civitan Research Center in Birmingham, Alabama. They have developed a shot for a certain type of brain cancer. It was developed for children (they cannot take the radiation and chemo to the brain, it damages too many cells). It is in testing right now in adult patients. It really is quite remarkable. Maybe someday all cancers will have a similar treat. Again, good luck.

Sent by Gayle Kanak | 4:35 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Gosh Leroy, your blog today sent my head in several different directions. Technically, I am cancer free — I had a mastectomy over a year ago and finished up chemo and radiation almost a year ago. And to answer your last question, I don't think you will ever feel like you are not part of the cancer world — that's been my experience, anyway. Because I think you are right about something else you said — most cancer patients "don't ever think it's really gone." My prognosis is great — caught the cancer fairly early, I was otherwise healthy and fairly young (46), I responded well to treatment. But still. I think it will always be there for me, lurking in the shadows. I hate that I can't shake the beast, but for now anyway, I just can't. Maybe some other people who have been cancer free longer can tell us otherwise.

And personally, I don't think that cancer needs to have made you "hopefully a better person." Different, yes, profoundly affected, yes, but why better? Isn't it possible that you were just fine the way you were before getting cancer? I don't ever want to feel like I needed to get cancer to become a better person. Even if I look at all of the "good" things that happened to me as a result of my own cancer, I would trade them all in a heartbeat for my old, flawed, truly cancer free self.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 4:38 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy,

I wanted to let you know that yesterday I, along with 479 others, participated in SpinOdyssey 2007, a six-hour indoor cycling event benefiting the American Cancer Society. In all, the group surpassed the goal of raising $350,000. We raised $460,000 for breast cancer research and I have to admit, we had a great time doing it.

It was so exhilarating to see cancer survivors, friends, family members and members of the community coming together for such a wonderful cause.

My legs are a little sore today but my heart feels full of hope.

Just wanted to share!

Have a wonderful week.

Sent by Erica Friedlander | 4:39 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Hi Leroy,

Thanks you for your commentaries and blog! I heard the most recent this morning. It meant so much because I am now part of the cancer world. I was diagnosed with breast cancer in December. Still, I had been listening to your commentary long before that. Ironically, I'd heard your commentary on Nov. 20 about your one-year anniversary of your diagnosis. It was only hours later that I discovered the lump in my breast. Crazy how things work. I still remember the essay, though, and how it touched me even though I hadn't known at the time that I had cancer.

Thank you again for your sharing your story.

Sent by Cristina | 4:41 PM ET | 03-05-2007

How about once you've completed treatment, you've become a "Cancer Veteran"?

For over a year I've used the terms "Cancer Warrior," "Cancer Veteran" and "Cancer Veteran Recalled." The brief definitions are:

Cancer Warrior — one who is actively involved in fighting cancer as a warrior.

Cancer Veteran — one who has fought the battle against cancer and forced it into retreat so one can acquit that battlefield and go home.

However every veteran is changed by his/her battle and does not return home the same person he/she left. The veteran's journey includes recognizing and reintegrating this experience and its effects into this new life "at home."

Cancer Veteran Recalled — Getting the notice of being recalled to duty sucks. A Cancer Veteran Recalled has the experience of battling cancer before, knows what can happen on the battlefield and as put by Sun Tzu, "knows when to fight and when not to fight" (hey, would you give up a holiday season or someone's birthday for chemo? or schedule around important activities?)

Sorry for the long comment. Hope it helps.

Don't worry about posting this long message. Just think about it, Leroy Sievers.

From one whose husband had cancer and who has hung around the military culture and oncology ward for probably too long. (smile)

Sent by Retha Sueda | 4:45 PM ET | 03-05-2007

People who are cancer-free after being told there was no hope are some of the best people in the cancer community. They give us hope during the bleakest of times, and hope is what we need to live.

Sent by Erica | 4:46 PM ET | 03-05-2007

We have very similar stories, well, except that part about looking for gunfire (that was just crazy). After my CT scan last week, I await an afternoon meeting with my Doctor. He is going to tell me I am about to end my second year free of cancer, and I wont need to see him for a year. The thought is both scary and invigorating, so I share your concern. But we have to realize we will always be "brothers in arms" when it comes to cancer. Grizzled veterans in that war. Let's just pray we never get called up for the reserve.

Sent by Brit | 4:48 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Glory be! I ask myself the same question every day. Just where do I stand? What can I expect? My tumor has seemed to disappear for no reason. It isn't the result of any treatment. Yet, I am just not convinced it is really gone. I know it is lurking in there somewhere, just waiting to get me. What do I do next? I find it difficult to make plans for more than a few weeks out. I find it difficult to commit to a project because I just don't know if I will be there to finish it. This is like the ultimate in waiting for test results, only the test isn't even scheduled. I think it would help if I understood why my tumor did vanish or where it went, or mostly, what to expect next. I really want to get back into my life.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 4:49 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Good morning Leroy — We work so hard at figuring out why we are here — identifying ourselves by the things we've done in this life, by the diseases that mark us — truth is, we are all strangers in a strange land each day. With cancer lurking, quietly or loudly, I am reminded to focus on the art of living in each moment, breath in, breath out. With each sunrise that I am given, I have purpose and sometimes that purpose is to smile at one other stranger. Cancer teaches us to recalibrate expectations, to redefine the game, one breath at a time.

Sent by Joan Schatz | 4:50 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy,

The point for me is that I am ALWAYS somebody, as long as I am alive. I would like to be defined cumulatively. I believe we are always becoming and that everything, good and bad, that we experience defines who we are now. I don't need to be defined as the waitress I once was or the student I once was or anything else I once was. I want to be defined by who I am now, including all that has gone before. What do you think about that?

Sent by Diana Kitch | 4:59 PM ET | 03-05-2007

I was diagnosed a little over two years ago and finished treatment a little less than two years ago. I still feel part of the cancer world, but in a more distant way. But I can be pulled immediately back in when I hear of someone's new diagnosis, see a bald child who is obviously going through chemo.

I think that once we become members of this club, it's lifetime thing but our roles change as we are not actively involved in dealing with our own disease. The immediacy and intensity fade over time (or at least for me they have a bit). I choose to believe that I am DONE having cancer, though mentally I'm not entirely there yet. That's my goal!

Sent by Maggie | 5:19 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy — like all of our life experiences, having cancer changes us and makes us who we are. It's just that cancer is a particularly huge event and so changes us more than most experiences do. When I think of the directions I've gone in 5 years since having been diagnosed with lymphoma, I am amazed. I am not glad to have had cancer, but I am glad for the people I've met and things I've done as a result of having been so afflicted. If Id not had cancer, I doubt I would have done two marathons with Team in Training for one thing, two of the most amazing experiences of my life. And I know that, with my dear sister starting chemo last Friday for breast cancer, that from my experience I am becoming a source of strength and comfort for her. She can talk to me about what it was like for me, what my experiences were, and know that she will be a survivor, as I am. If I can now help her out as a result, that alone makes the physical misery I went through in 2002 worth it.

I know that I am a different, and I feel a better, person as a result of the total experience. And I know that you are feeling the same way as well from what you have been writing.

So hang in there, Leroy. You've made many peoples days with your recent news. That last tumor? Keep it in the dark and clueless about what is going to happen to it shortly. Give it a nasty little surprise and burn that sucker to the ground — no mercy there! Then enjoy your life after cancer, cause it is great, believe me!

Carpe diem, Leroy!

Sent by Art Ritter | 5:20 PM ET | 03-05-2007

The most common question I get is "Did they get it all?" Of course once you've gone through this you understand that "No detectible cancer at this time" simply means that nothing's showing up on the scans. The odds of recurrence is high in my case, but still I want to believe its gone for good. The cancer has definitely given me the chance to really enjoy and appreciate each and every moment of "cancer free" time.

Sent by Patricia | 5:22 PM ET | 03-05-2007

A lot of people continue to debate the value of the term "cancer survivor." Perhaps a better term would be "cancer veteran." Your personal war with cancer may come to an end, but it'll always be a part of you. And the bond you have with other cancer vets can never be taken away from you.

Sent by Andy Carvin, NPR | 5:25 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy,

After you blast that last tumor, you will be dancing with NED (No Evidence of Disease).

This is a dance many of us long for.

Please don't waste any of your precious time worrying about the "what ifs." There is plenty of time for that if things change. For now, you celebrate.

It's so appropriate. It's Spring, time for new life and new beginnings.

Sent by Karen | 5:26 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy, I think we become part of another level in the cancer community. I will try to illustrate this with one of my own stories: I used to be part of a team of truck drivers, hauling grain around the central United States. My days were filled with CB lingo, coffee, and learning where the roadwork was taking place on my route that might slow me up. Then I stopped driving. I really missed the community, being connected through the CB, understanding the conversations of fellow drivers and having tales of my own to tell to eager listeners. But I could still support that group: through speaking out on trucking issues that came up in conversations or in the newspapers by minding my road manners when driving my little car by saying thank you to truckers I meet while gassing up blinking my lights at them as they pass to let them know they can come back into the driving lane. They don't know unless I tell them that I used to be one of them — I might just appear to be a polite driver — but I know the difference.

Since I am now a member of the "No Evident Disease" category, I feel responsible to take on some of the harder issues surrounding cancer: maybe I can be an advocate for more promotion of consumer health information sources for all cancer patients maybe I can speak for fellow cancer patients on issues surrounding health insurance coverage maybe there will be a place for me to instruct health professionals on the ways they can communicate more effectively with cancer patients, particularly when giving bad news. I think I have harder work to do, now that the healing is pretty much done. I know I have a chance that my cancer will come back, but in the meantime, I feel that I should use my new strength to work for the others that are still gaining theirs.

That feeling led me to enter a contest that I won the other day: my photo will be in a time capsule to be opened in 2015. Check me out on this page under People: http://www.planetary.org/explore/topics/time_capsule/selections.html. Part of me is guaranteed to be around in 2015, at least! Take care, and know that you are more than cancer - but still part of the cancer community. Best wishes from this Cheeky Librarian!

Sent by Teresa Hartman | 5:30 PM ET | 03-05-2007

I had it at 29 and am fine four years later but don't know what to do with it. I've been reading your postings but not responding.

For me, I've packaged it in boxes along the way, hospital wristbands, appt. calendars, hair, scarves, cards, letters, flowers, inspirational rocks (don't ask) they exist on their own now, shut tight with packing tape, too superstitious to throw out the mementos from an unlikely trip.

When I try to make sense of it, I think of this quote, "When in doubt, twirl."

Sent by L.D. | 5:33 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Dear Leroy,

I heard your commentary this morning on my way to work. I was so touched by your story! Your words brought no only tears to my eyes, but thankfulness to my heart for the gift of life and for your sharing your journey with all of us. Please know that I have added you to my list of people I want to pray for every day. I will look forward to hearing about the successful operation next week and your continued recovery. Stay strong and know you have many like me who are with you in Spirit. You are NOT alone. I am here for you.

Sent by Rosemary Fansher | 5:36 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Hi Leroy, I am 63 and HAD cancer in 1984. IT was breast cancer. My grandmother had it bi-laterally at age 39. Sounds like a death sentence, right? Well, she died of a massive stroke at age 83. Since I was 41 w/ mine cancer had to be only an unpleasant interlude in my life. It took 2 years to get rid of the fear and feel normal, but w/ a huge appreciation for life, and much more empathetic forevermore. Live, laugh, love!! I wish you joy.

Sent by Gail | 5:38 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy — it is hard to be someone with cancer, and yet still be anything else. As if our lives are only about our cancer. As you have shown, life is so much more than just the cancer. We must continue with the mundane things and the fun things—-as well as the treatment.

I know only too well about being Googled and finding only the cancer. I have done a number of things in my life, yet Google, lately, only finds cancer too. I have to admit, that angers me. I am more than just someone with cancer. The nice thing about your blog, and others, is that we can show the world that cancer, while a nasty thing, can be merely a part of your life — just as your hair color, sexual orientation or preference for coffee or tea.

Keep up the good work and good luck with ridding your body of cancer. I plan on kicking my cancer in the butt!

Sent by Kaleb | 5:39 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Your acknowledgment of the other things that you are and have been was a refreshing change from reading about "your cancer." It appears you are giving up possession of it. Great.

Will you be part of "the cancer world"? Yes. You will have survived the onslaught. You will get to wear the tag: Cancer Survivor, if you so choose. It will be a fact, I pray that you do not choose to make it a banner. I had cancer. I choose to pretty much ignore the fact. It did not define me. I don't want pity for having had it. I fought to get rid of it, I won the battle, and I moved on. Generally weeks pass between times that I think about, or even remember it. Every once in a while I'm reminded of it. When the cancer that invaded you is gone (when is a very important word), rejoice. Climb the steps of the State Capital building and pump your fists. Then become you again. While you offered a list of who you have been, that list was merely things you did. You are so much more. You are a human being capable of love, able to think and create, able to affect the world around you in many ways. Revel in your greatness.

See that last tumor dead. See yourself strong, healthy, and moving forward with your life. See cancer as a distant memory, an unpleasant chapter in an amazing book of life. Be well.

Sent by Mandell Winter, Jr. | 5:42 PM ET | 03-05-2007

For a moment last week I felt like an intruder in the close community of individuals with cancer, but today I realize afresh that we are all strangers in a strange land because our life is ours to live only once, and our responses to what we encounter along the way are what shape us. Though experiences differ, we each have to deal with what is handed us. I have prayed for years to be "melted like butter, not baked like clay" — the same sun that melts the butter bakes the clay and it's ours to decide whether to remain fluid and vulnerable or become brittle and ungiving. I'm thrilled at the good news you have been given and pray that the last tumor will be killed along with the others. My prayers continue with you.

Sent by L. Stone | 5:45 PM ET | 03-05-2007

To Mary, hang in there and be patient with your Mom. Sounds like she enjoyed her cancer free days and began to have a bit of quality of life again. Yes, the disease may well have come back again, but putting the onus on her will not help her as she returns to her fight, or your relationship. Be gentle with her and with yourself... enjoy what time you have and see if you can find a support group for caregivers... or someone to talk with yourself who is familiar with this disease. Life unfolds as it should... blessings to you and your Mom and to all Leroy's cancer team... each of you who write in daily, or lurk behind your computer screen. We are all in this together!

Sent by Karen | 5:47 PM ET | 03-05-2007

What marvelous news Leroy — my heart goes out to you. I hope you find a way to make this adventure enrich the rest of your long & happy life. I am now into the watchful waiting game & will have my CT Scan in May to see what we will see — hopefully no recurrence. I finished my Chemo. (for Stage 3 bowel cancer) in early December and have been back at work full time since January. I have got back into running and will run my first half marathon of the season in early April (I hope to be under 2hrs), after that I will take the family of a cruise of the Canary Islands — a thank you to them for putting up with a difficult year. Apart from that I must remind myself everyday how lucky I am & not get sucked back into work & other concerns — for that I have my LiveSTRONG bracelet.

Take life by the horns Leroy & jump back into the saddle — life is for living, & we really don't know what is around the corner (mixing my metaphors here :-))

Kindest regards (from across the pond)

Sent by Julian | 5:48 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Dear Leroy,

Congratulations. I am so happy for you. Thanks to all of you and the wisdom you have imparted. While I read this blog from a non-cancer-patient perspective, I find all of your comments very grounding and insightful. I always walk away from reading these posts feeling like I have been eavesdropping on a conversation between one big family. What a blessing.

Sent by Bethany | 5:49 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Hey Leroy, First and foremost, I want to tell you that you should take that trip to Hawaii. I've been meaning to write and tell you that for the longest time. Don't wait to go there at the end. Please do it now and ENJOY!!! (Pssst: Go to the Big Island) Rejuvenate yourself and get a change of scenery and take as many of your loved ones with you as you can. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer two years ago had surgery, chemo, maintenance chemo and six months later, its back. I went to Hawaii when the doctor was starting to suspect it was back. And it was the best thing I did to prepare myself for coming back for a biopsy. (It's back. Started chemo last week.) Maybe you'll get to enjoy Hawaii as a welcome to a new phase or maybe just calming you before the next storm. Whatever we do, it wont be easy for us to live without cancer shadowing over us but those sunny skies of Hawaii really help wipe it out for a while. But I'm with many of the people in wanting to know how we can keep from getting swamped by the whole cancer process and it taking over our minds and hearts and consuming us. How to live between treatments, how to live between reoccurrences, how to hold your family together when you cant hold yourself together.

Leroy, enjoy and savor your cancer-free days. My prayers are with you. (And I know of a great B&B on the Big Island.)

Sent by Martha | 5:52 PM ET | 03-05-2007

"Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!"

Sent by Winston | 5:53 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy,

I listened to your commentary this morning and was moved to comment. As a spouse of someone who has battled cancer and is surviving and thriving, I have been able to develop a "sideline" perspective of some sort. What my wife has become, and what you and others who endure and survive great personal hardship have become as well, is what the Jainist tradition refers to has "Tirthankaras". This Jainist term literally translates to "forde-crosser" or one who is chosen to guide others to safe passage across treacherous terrain. In Buddhism these folks are called Boddihsatvas, or those who have chosen to defer complete enlightenment in order to help other achieve theirs. This may seem quite a burden when taken in full-scope, but when looked at in the "one person at a time" perspective, it is possibly one of life's greatest honors.

My wife has since devoted her life to reaching out to help others who are faced with this disease through yoga and other complementary healing practices at our yoga studio in Michigan. Her heart beams with love and fulfillment when she is able to fulfill this task, as I am sure yours does as well.

I commend you for speaking out about cancer for those who are facing what you have and hope that you are emboldened by your new role.

Sent by Brian | 7:40 PM ET | 03-05-2007

I also saw you on the radio this A.M.

Well said.

Praise Creator, Praise You, Praise Life.

Sent by Marsha | 8:00 PM ET | 03-05-2007

I listened to your radio broadcast early this morning going to my daily radiation appointment and it made me feel great knowing that your treatments are having positive results. It also made me feel that we have a real community of positive people with the awful disease.

Anyway, I was comparing my new cancer diagnose in December 2006 with my heart attack in 2003. My heart attack was like getting hit by a bus in many ways. The event and treatment happened very quickly. In my brief stay in Cancer World (I'm a newbee) everything happens very slowly with way to much time to think and make decisions based of very little knowledge. I have come to realize that once I entered Cancer World the kindness of the staff and other patients is overwhelming. I have never felt the kind of compassion before with my other forays into medical treatments.

Leroy, Thanks for being there and thanks for being on the air...

Fondly —

Sent by Frank Hall | 11:26 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Although I am not generally pleased to turn on my radio (always tuned to NPR) and hear about cancer, I was in fact pleased to happen upon your (Leroy Sievers) commentary this morning. First, because it told me about a new cancer treatment (which I fervently hope I will not have to use), and second, because you sounded sane and concluded with mention of how positive an effect cancer has had on your life.

On March 3 (not that I keep track) I marked the 4th anniversary of my mastectomy, and as the years—and the follow-up appointments with oncologist/surgeon—go by with no sign of recurrence I am less and less panicked and more and more grateful for my cancer. Thanks to what I call the "cancer effect," I have lived a better, more fulfilling life since I underwent surgery/chemo/radiation. I have spent my time/money more freely—on things I really love: my kids, my home, my work, random pleasures—been less hard on myself (trying to reduce the number of "oughts" and "shoulds" that litter my thoughts), and sought out new friends and enjoyments. This has all been good, very good.

I have, from my very first post-surgical moment, eschewed the term and the notion of "cancer survivor." Thinking of myself as a "survivor" is as unproductive as thinking of my divorced self as a "marriage survivor." Instead I refer to myself (when necessary) as a "cancer alumna," a term that suggests a period of my life that has not only ended but that was even (in the oddest of ways) cheerful. I look at the funny pictures I took of myself as a bald person and laugh I wear my killer-sexy blonde wig (I'm a brunette) from time to time as a joke and recently a fellow breast-cancer alumna and I wrote and performed a mastectomy song (complete with popping balloons, johnny coats, scull caps, and general hilarity).

I try not to sit around worrying that the cancer will come back, but neither do I don't count on its NOT coming back. I hope that if it does come back I will be able to fall back on my sense of humor and ride it all the way to wherever such a recurrence takes me.

Sent by BB | 11:34 PM ET | 03-05-2007

Leroy — we will be glad for you have you join the ranks of "cancer veteran," but I have a very selfish request. Please promise to keep your blog running for the rest of us who are trying to also get past the "warrior" stage and become veterans too.

Sent by Bob Maimone | 9:58 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy and others!

My brother just beat bladder cancer only to run into lung cancer in December of 2006. He has five beautiful children and a wonderful wife. I have been fighting his battle within myself since early December. He is a special person and I want him around for another 20 plus years. We have just entered the battle and we intend to win. Your words and those of others kind enough to share and encourage us are a special gift. Please continue to send messages of hope.

Sent by Bob | 10:30 AM ET | 03-06-2007

As an energetic 71 yr old, type A personality lung cancer patient, I have found that a positive attitude is the best way to go. Following Chemo, which seemed to be breeze (except for lack of energy which was frustrating for me), I went into a clinical trial. Left lung tumor is gone, right tumor is very small. I was given a year, hit it today and intend to amaze the nurses, doctors, et. al. Stay positive, don't think about it as the end, but a new challenge and adventure in life! My very best to you.

Sent by Polly | 10:31 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Dear Mr. Sievers, today was the first time I've heard you on NPR. I have lung cancer (non smoker)... five tumors. Because I also have myleo dysplastic syndrome... chemo was a disaster. I was diagnosed May, 2003. So we started me on iressa January 2004...and here I be. I see iressa has had minimal efficacy and was pulled by the FDA. Fortunately, my gene pattern seems to match the preventive elements of iressa. My tumors just sit there...I get a cat scan every three months. Your description of the new "burn baby burn" treatment would possibly have a chance of reducing my tumors...and I thank you greatly for sharing this treatment this morning. I have a cat scan and appointment with my oncologist and will discuss with her. Thanks again.

Sent by Terrence Ohara | 10:51 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy, sounds so inspiring. Where do they do this Radio Frequency Ablation? I know Memorial Sloan is so full of protocol — not sure if they would be willing to use this method?? May God bless you with continued success and a clean bill of health.

Sent by Ray | 10:53 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy,

You are certainly in my prayers and I hope your procedure goes off without a hitch next week. It would be wonderful if you can become cancer free.

My question: Is there a way to get the ear of the media to get more information about uterine cancer out to the public? I was diagnosed with Malignant Mixed Mullerian Tumors of the Uterus in October and I was stage 4 at diagnosis. The cancer has already spread through my pelvis, abdomen and into my lungs. I have had surgery but they could not get all of the cancer and I will go back on Chemo this week.

The frightening thing is that uterine cancer has such vague symptoms in the early stages that the symptoms are largely ignored by busy women. Slight vaginal discharge and a vague feeling of fullness in the abdomen. That was all the warning I had. When I developed symptoms of a urinary tract infection and it didn't respond to antibiotics, a pelvic exam revealed the cancer. And by that time it had spread.

Please warn women that if they have any unusual vaginal discharge, even a tiny amount and a feeling of fullness in the abdomen to get a GYN eval immediately.

Uterine cancer is rare, but it found me and now the odds of me surviving for more than 2 years are about 80% against me. And I have to admit that I am scared.

I am a retired registered nurse and I was blindsided by this. I know that many other women do not know the early warning symptoms either. Please help get the word out. Bless you!!

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 11:09 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy,

Like so many, I hope that you will, indeed, be cancer-free after the last Radio Frequency Ablation treatment.

May God grant you complete healing, and may He bless you.

Sent by Greg Sheryl | 11:10 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Your story is the reason why cancer patients and their families believe in miracles. I knew how sick my dad was but I always thought maybe he could win the fight... a miracle. It didn't happen for him, but it's amazing that it's happening for you. No matter what happens, you have beaten the odds given to you and you give hope to so many others. You also give information... radio frequency ablation was not mentioned to either my dad or my uncle... both of whom had lung cancer. Good luck to you and stay strong.

Sent by Kelly Rimshnick | 11:15 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Whether it is cancer or something else, we never go back to the "other" world. We are forever changed, and hopefully for the better. We may get to live like we did before, but we can never see other people quite the same way again. Bald heads, wheel chairs, whatever — we have empathy that just wasn't there in the same way before. I don't think I'd want to go back.

Sent by Chuck | 11:36 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy,

I don't think you can ever go back once you've seen or experienced something. This isn't a negative construct, its just you will never be rid of the feelings, sights, sounds and emotions you have been through. This isn't something we needed to go through but have and most of our friends haven't. It bonds those of us in the same boat, a bond that can't be explained. You will see someone with signs of cancer and acknowledge maybe in your mind, I understand where you are. To me it's like any trauma you share with someone. You don't need to go through with it again to have that special bond and we are all different because of it. Not necessarily better or worse, different and bonded.

Sent by Lisa | 11:46 AM ET | 03-06-2007

I hope, Leroy, you will be cancer free. This new procedure sounds like a dream compared to chemotherapy. I am rooting for you!

Sent by Maureen J. Patton | 11:48 AM ET | 03-06-2007

Today I go for a PET/CT scan, to check whether my non-Hodgkin lymphoma is back (I finished chemo in May). My initial biopsy showed 2 types of lymphoma cells, one aggressive, the other "indolent" (but harder to eliminate, once and for all). My doctor says that, if I get to the 2-year point without a recurrence of the aggressive-type cells, I'm statistically likely to be done with that aspect of the disease. So, these periodic scans are nerve-wracking. If I make it to the 2-year mark with no malignant cells, will I be able to pull on the "cancer-free" t-shirt? I'm not so sure. The more I live through this, the more I'm realizing that "cancer-free" is not so much a place, as it is a process. We all wish for clear, black-and-white boundaries, but we live, instead, with shades of gray. It's tough, as you're discovering. Keep up your sharing, through this wonderful medium. It helps us all to read your reflections!

Sent by Carl Wilton | 11:51 AM ET | 03-06-2007

That is what we could all hope for — someone who had cancer and that is that!

Sent by Jeri | 12:13 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Hi Leroy, Happy to hear about your good news. I have a friend who was only recently diagnosed with cancer, and had an operation to remove it from the facial bones and sinus. Not a great prognosis, but the op wasn't as bad as doctors and family thought it would be. He hasn't been able to check his computer lately so I printed out a few of your blogs and showed them to him. He was interested, but focused on his upcoming operation. This is one blog I will print out and send to him, as he faces a long and difficult battle against Mr. Evil C. But it demonstrates that there can be light at the end of a very dark tunnel. I hope there is nothing but sunshine ahead for you. Cheers.

Sent by Tom | 3:34 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy, I found it was quite the battle once they told me the cancer was gone. It changed me so much, and I didn't really know how to go back to normal. I'm making progress, yet it is another battle for some, just in a much different way. I am so pleased for you, and hope the best for you.

Sent by Sher | 3:36 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Dear Leroy:

I think you got it right when you considered the jobs you have had in the past. You were always the same person, just with different jobs at different times. The experiences of what jobs you had developed from, and helped further develop, the person you are, but underneath, its always you.

Once you get The Diagnosis, you are still you, but your job becomes Cancer Patient. Not your self, your job. Your goal each day is to survive treatment, and keep yourself as strong as possible in mind and body to survive the next day's treatment. Toward the end of graduate school, when my job was get a degree, everything else — recreation, relationships, expenditures, was measured against one big question: will it help me finish sooner. Similarly with the job of cancer patient — will this help me keep going? This visitor, finding the answer to that question, that support group, that nutritional supplement, this pain med?

And then, it's over. Major relief, elation followed by exhaustion, followed by getting a new job. In my case, happily, going back to my old one, which I was able to keep up some of the time from home, on my good days. Sooner than you expect (within the year) you will forget, some days, that it ever happened. (Port and surgery scars, radiation tan, shorter hair, and all.) You've moved on to your next job.

But you don't leave the community. You move on to a new capacity within it. I call it the cancer coach. I had a few survivors who coached me on how to survive the rigors of the situation. The onco-docs can give prescriptions and advice, but the coach is the one who's been through it, and lets you call just to whine, when you need. Each in their own very different way helped me though. So now, I am a coach to others. Offering support, tips, and evidence that it can all be just the lousiest temporary job you'd ever choose — but temporary and survivable.

Sent by Two years out | 3:46 PM ET | 03-06-2007

I am very happy for you. Your pain, agony and memories thereof will recede with time. Eventually, you'll be as robust as you want to be.

Please, when you reach that robust state don't run off to cover the action, you know like Karbala or interviewing Bin Laden.

Sent by Joseph P. Lyons | 5:31 PM ET | 03-06-2007

Leroy, I wish you the best possible result from your remaining treatment.

When I was diagnosed with my brand of cancer, statistics showed the 5 year survival rate at only 10 percent. Six years cancer free, I was until last Thursday. I thought my doctor would advise that the CT scan taken to check the minor swelling of my right side was showing nothing more than muscles agitated by over exertion. But no, the monster is back. The expedient, "gold standard" for this type of cancer is surgical excision and if necessary, followed by super powerful "big boy" chemo. Then Monday morning I overheard you telling my wife (and many other NPR listeners) about Radio Frequency Ablation. That your story was broadcast on that day at that time probably wasn't a mere coincidence. My wife and I are now hastily researching to see if there is a facility and doctors who think that RFA is a better option for me. Thank you for your incredible timing and this extremely pertinent information.

Sent by Bob Majors | 10:31 AM ET | 03-07-2007

I am a registered nurse who used to work with cancer patients. Listening to you on NPR articulate your fears and successes puts into words what I used to see on my patients' faces. I listen with my ears and soul when you talk to capture the nuances of your journey. Your courage is remarkable and admirable. So many of my former patients "went it alone" in those days. How welcome your voice would have been for them. Fight the fight.

Sent by Patricia | 12:40 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Leroy — I was on vacation last week and missed your blog — I mean I really missed it and you can imagine how happy I was to read last week's blogs.

I do not have cancer or any other illness — I cannot express how much I love your spirit and humor. You help each of us every day by having us look at others and ourselves differently.

Don't be afraid to be a former cancer patient ? we'll still love you! We'll even help you think up subjects for your blogs. Oh, won't it be great!!!

Sent by Linda Hilsen | 12:50 PM ET | 03-07-2007

I was interested in your question about what happens after one no longer has cancer. I have been cancer-free for over 15 years and you are right that a part of me always expects it to come back. I admit to a bit of survivor's guilt. Why me? Why did I survive when so many friends of mine did not.

So now I am a cancer survivor and will be one for the rest of my life, whether I want to or not. There are times when I find it embarrassing that people consider me some type of hero, just because I'm not dead. But when I hear of someone being newly diagnosed with cancer, I feel compelled to come forward and tell them about my experience after so many survivors came forward to help me.

No, one may move to the fringes of Cancerworld, but you never really leave it.

Sent by Christina Verderosa | 12:52 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Dear Leroy: I struggled with whether to write you until I clicked on the "contact Leroy" window — and behold, across the top of the mail window it said, "Contact My Cancer." What a hoot — that's just what I want to do! I want to tell it to get the hell out of my body and let me live long enough to see my four-year-old son grow up and have his own life. But, I also want to thank it for the perspective and life-realignment it has forced on me, my family, and my friends and colleagues. Every day really is precious, and now I know it in a way I never have before. So, My Cancer, thank you...and now move out!

Thanks for helping me contact my cancer, Leroy, and for sharing your own process so candidly and frankly.

En lucha siempre.

Sent by Gabriela Arredondo | 12:57 PM ET | 03-07-2007

On my way to work this morning, listening to NPR, is the first time I heard about "My Cancer." I cried half way to work. I was diagnosed 9 months ago with adenocarcinoma of the lung. I was lucky. I had one small tumor that was removed with surgery and I am, supposedly, cured. No chemo or radiation for me. But when you talked about no longer being part of the " cancer world" I couldn't really relate. My lesion was removed for biopsy, and then the lobe of the lung was removed before I came out of surgery. I received my diagnosis and cure all at the same time. I do not have the support of other cancer patients because I never got to know others at the hospital. Never had to share that experience you talk about. But I do live with the knowledge that any day the cancer could return. Maybe next time I wont be so lucky. Just 3 weeks ago I got a phone call, "There is a new density on your most recent chest x-ray". I was terrified. It turns out all is well, this time. And it seems around every corner is some kind of reminder of how fragile life is, like listening to the radio about the experience of one mans journey through this horrible experience.

So thank you for sharing your story. I finally get to hear someone else express the some of the same thoughts and feelings I am having. I am not being obsessive, after all, just having the normal thoughts of a cancer survivor.

Sent by Theresa | 12:59 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Thank you for being so brave and writing for us what it really feels like to have cancer. I read with great interest how you are coping and feeling, not so much the physical aspect of cancer but with more interest on the emotional. I've been there, 3 years ago and I know exactly how you feel. Thank you.

Sent by Donna | 1:00 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Funny, this section is labeled "body" and my first thought was, "I have to write my body part?!". Of course, my second thought was, "Pfff, body of the letter...duh!"

That's how it is having cancer. Every reference in conversation has to run through a mental filter: Cancer related? Please step behind the red line. Not cancer related? We have a nice cushy sitting area for you where we can chat.

Anyway, I need a place to converse with others. Five neck surgeries, third cancer occurrence, no treatment works other than surgery...sigh. This has been going on for a year this time around.

Sent by Valerie | 4:42 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Forgive me for writing since I have not had cancer myself. I'm writing on behalf of my wife Tara McCarthy, now a three year survivor of ovarian cancer. She was in Stage 1C when her tumor was removed, a very fortunate early diagnosis, and has had no further signs of cancer since the surgery.

Tara's surgeon decided to be very conservative and gave her six courses of chemotherapy as follow-up. After the third course her ability to write began to deteriorate, and by the time the six courses were completed she was having great difficulty using and spelling words. This has been a crippling liability for someone who has been a full time writer for most of her life and can now hardly write out a shopping list without difficulty.

I know there is a term for this problem ("chemo-brain") and that it's a common result of chemo. We've been told by some doctors that it will go away with time but so far there are no signs of improvement. The problem varies in intensity sometimes she can actually write pretty well. Most of the time she can't write at all.

I am hoping there will be someone who reads this who has some experience with this problem and has some idea of what can cure it. Our doctors so far have not been able to help. We did try an experimental treatment with the drug Focalin which was touted by a clinic in Cincinnati but it did nothing.

Sent by Leslie Gerber | 4:47 PM ET | 03-07-2007

I, too, know the highs and lows of cancer. Mine was diagnosed on August 30th 2004. I am strong and I stay strong. Nothing much has changed for me and yet everything has changed. Life was always sweet and it still is. I always thanked God for my blessings and I still do. I am lucky, and yet, if I could chose to be cancer free I would. I hate this disease and I hate the way it has stacked an irreversible claim on my life and the life of my partner and our families. Sometimes I think longingly of the Days Before Cancer knowing I will never know their innocence again.

Sent by Brenda Mottram | 5:13 PM ET | 03-07-2007

This week is the 13th anniversary since I was diagnosed with a pituitary brain tumor. I had surgery to remove most of the tumor and had 26 radiation treatments to kill what was left of it. The tumor was finally declared gone at the 5 year mark and I had to start a new life with severe heat intolerance, no pituitary gland, hormone replacement for the rest of my life, diabetes incipidus, I am now a high school special education teacher since I could no longer work outdoors. I thank God everyday for each new day.

Sent by Kevin Garvin | 5:16 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Great story and I completely identify with if I am cancer free, do I still have cancer??? Almost 5 years post surgery (breast cancer), chemo, radiation, medication, etc.. I will have a few more months of Aromasin and then no more.. I own Cancer proudly and proudly announce to the world that I am a survivor, which includes "I have cancer".. [I will always have cancer.] Most exciting is the world of intentionality which I have discovered via cancer.. Immediately following my mastectomy I enrolled, at 53, in graduate school, completed last spring and now am about to accept my dream job of working for the VA in Portland, Oregon. Dream job-VA: working with survivors and giving my life to a cause I believe is important.. The message I received over and over again during treatment was to "have goals". These were my goals and my motto is "no regrets".. My only worry is that my cancer will fade into the background and I will forget all I have gained, i.e. no more rushing around and complete mindfulness. Blessings to you. Go for it.

Sent by Claudia Corson | 5:18 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Dear Leroy,

My father was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer that had metastasized to his liver, he was given 3 months to live when the doctor delivered the news to us in the surgical waiting room. My fathers story is very amazing...he was a miracle patient! He was a survivor for seven more years after that day! Thanks to the cutting edge care of Dr. Kelly McMasters (his surgical oncologist) and Dr. Renato Larocca (his oncologist). Like you, my dad had RFA done on his liver after his colon was removed. Dr. McMasters had done maybe 1 or 2 RFAs before performing the procedure on my father. I wanted you to know that there is great hope for you as well! If it were not for the team of doctors and nurses my father would not have experienced the quality of life he had after cancer. I heard your story this morning on NPR while driving to work and it touched my heart. Your story mirrored my fathers, and I wanted you to know he played many a golf game after being diagnosed, treated and beat cancer for seven years. Wednesday will be the first anniversary of my fathers death...hopefully it will be a joyous but not sad occasion because having him around for seven years not three months was wonderful! Four months after my father's death I was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. I now know what it is like to live with cancer and my journey is only beginning. My favorite words come from Dr. Keating and the team at MD Anderson "Making Cancer History". Let's hope and live like those words are possible. Thanks for listening!

Sent by Linda Morgan | 5:21 PM ET | 03-07-2007

Dear Leroy,

First of all I will say congratulations for getting this far!

You have put my feelings into words with your last blog. I also am grappling with the same. I had my liver resection in May 2006 so essentially I have been cancer free (those wonderful words) since then. I have side effects from the chemo so I am dealing with those but the most difficult thing is the uncertainty. I am waiting for the results of my last CT scan and blood test for CEA. One thing that helps is the stage IV cancer group I go to every Monday morning. I am able to talk about these things there.

Hugs —

Sent by Lynne | 10:48 AM ET | 03-08-2007

Leroy,

I was recently diagnosed with gastric cancer after a total gastrectomy in December 06. No tumors, but cancer cells basically all over the place. I've gone through 2 chemo treatments and each one had to be stopped half way through due to the adverse reactions. I am hopeful this next time the dose will be just right... Jed Petty, sent me your link and I have shed many a tears just reading and being a part of this site. You are an incredible human being, and I am so happy that things are looking so much better for you- and I know everything is relative. I am 47, and find that it is so difficult to just let go of the daily thoughts of the disease and our finality as a result and what that may look like or feel like. I find comfort in all the support I get and when I am able to hook up with someone like yourself.

Thank you for sharing every bit of your experience... Take care,

God Bless.

Sent by Liz | 4:36 PM ET | 03-08-2007

I could not agree more with the comment that cancer makes you a different person. My cancer is now gone but I am a different person. I struggles through the chemo, now struggle through living life after cancer. People think that the day your doctor tells you your cancer is gone must be the most wonderful day. It is a relief but the battle is not over. The cancer changed me. Even though my cancer is gone, its effects are not. I find that people do not understand that I am still feeling the effects of cancer. It is physically gone but "it" is still with me.

Sent by James Heath | 4:43 PM ET | 03-08-2007

I am a 7-year survivor of stage IV bladder cancer. I had 6 months of chemo and then surgery to remove my bladder and rearrange my plumbing. I was very active in my treatment and did a lot of mind body stuff along with my medical treatments, the most helpful of which was developing and remaining closely connected to my cancer online community. The idea of dying from this is getting farther from me, but the idea of having had cancer is something I have to deal with daily— I now pee by sticking a catheter through a hole in my abdomen. I am well, but whenever I go to a new doctor and have to fill out the medical form— yes— other than cancer, I am in perfect health. It is always there.

I have been writing about the many issues of cancer survivorship, but have found that because bladders are not sexy organs [they do not look good in tight sweaters] no one is terribly interested. Cancer changes you. I have been mentoring other bladder cancer patients and giving talks about the special risks for women [we get diagnosed a year later than men with the same presenting symptoms, etc], but all the altruism and advocacy run into the wall of public and media disinterest in the bladder. I have written a book about my cancer journey and the issues of being a survivor, but have not been able to get a publisher— again, it is not a sexy organ.

Sent by Karen Greene | 3:54 PM ET | 03-09-2007

Hi- I was diagnosed with breast cancer 7 years ago. I do feel I have an uncertain status. Am I cancer free? Who knows. When I hit 5 years with no cancer, I thought I had hit a major milestone. Then my doctors told me they were seeing more recurrences in years 7-10. So once a year before my annual mammogram, I get pretty nervous for about 2 weeks. Then I breathe a short sigh of relief until next year. I still live with my cancer every day. From the scars, the lymphedema that forces me to wear a sleeve and glove to keep my arm and hand from swelling to not being able to fly without fear of making it worse. I've gotten to the point when folks say, "but everything's okay now, right?" that I just agree. It's easier than trying to explain the truth. I'm actually okay with the truth because we all die from something, but most people aren't. I never wondered "why me." A lot of people in my family and others that I knew had had cancer and some died of it. Bad things happen to people all of the time. I do try to honor the gift of knowing I don't have control of my life. The fact that it can change drastically at any moment, reminds me to enjoy my life now and in the future whatever it may hold.

Sent by Andrea Hawkins | 3:58 PM ET | 03-09-2007

Thank you for using your words to empower us.

I'm interested to know if your treatment is totally new and is it still in the experimental stages?

I've been fighting colon/lung and now brain cancer, I like to keep my options open!

Thank you for giving a part of yourself to us.

Sent by Sue Reed | 11:31 AM ET | 03-13-2007

I have listened to you on NPR for quite some time. Within the last hour, I have found that my 49-year-old sister has inoperable lung cancer. I am a breast cancer survivor and know what it is like to hear the words, "You have cancer!" but I cannot tell you how devastating it is to hear these words about someone you love dearly. She lives in NC, me in MO. I haven't read your blogs before, but what can I do for her? I feel SO SELFISH, thinking of how her diagnosis affects me. I love her dearly and need to hear something hopeful!!

Sent by Jodi Englehart | 5:38 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Hello - I've never visited this site before, but this morning a colleague sent me the link to read about a different topic. I clicked on Health to see what was there and found your blog. First, thank you for helping others as they face cancer I'm sure many relate to your story. I have a couple of questions for you: first, why have you allowed the doctors to determine your life span with their outlook of your condition? Second, your tumor was in your lung and liver. I would ask you what and/or who you are still grieving over (grief is held in the lungs) and angry (anger is held in the liver) about in your life? I was "labeled" with MS in 1997 at the time I had 7 brain lesions. I declined all drug therapy (a very personal decision) but saw my neurologist and had an MRI every year. Each succeeding year, my brain lesions decreased. In 2003, all seven of my brain lesions had disappeared. My neurologist said that wasn't supposed to happen and shed never seen it happen in all her years as a physician (she is a world renowned neurologist specializing in MS). She asked me what I was doing. I told her that since 1997, I had engaged in finally working through some issues that I had been avoiding in my life. I also began engaging in Energy Medicine and many hours of daily visualization. The MS was nothing more than a physical manifestation of the REAL issues. I am now MS free. It won't be back. Think about it. I wish you many blessings, optimum health, and a very long life.

Sent by Annette Beck | 5:59 PM ET | 03-19-2007

Remember Captain Hook in Peter Pan? Always listening for the tick-tock of the croc that had swallowed a clock after taking off Hook's leg? That's how I feel about my cancer. Try to forget about it but always have half an eye open for those little lumps, bumps, pains, coughs, headaches that might be something more. Ugh!

Sent by mj borrelli | 10:53 AM ET | 03-26-2007

THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR SHARING, it is so helpful. was just diagnosed with lung cancer. A pet scan revealed a possible "one spot" in my lower back. Tomorrow, I will have an MRI to clarify. Chemo to start thrusday. I would like to check out the blast procedure that has been so successful in your case. Is there a source of who, what when where type information. I need to know quickly.
THANKS!

Sent by Charles E. Moller, Jr. | 9:34 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy,

As many have, I heard about your blog on NPR and thought I would pass on to you a site that might be of interest.

I had prostate cancer last year. I say, 'had', because I had my prostate removed using the di vinci robot method. In the process of researching the choices I came across www.yana.org. It is hosted by an Australian and seems to be a wealth of information about the many options available to prostate cancer suffers and how their choices worked out.

Good luck to you and your family.

Regards,

Kip Foss

Sent by Kip Foss | 10:58 PM ET | 05-05-2007

i just saw the Discovery Health program. Thank you for taking part and sharing your journey.

On the subject of this commentary of yours, I will never be someone who "had" cancer; I have one of the rarest forms of the non-Hodkgin's Lymphomas, one which for the foreseeable future simply isn't curable. As a hematologic, non-solid tumor cancer, there's nothing that can be surgically removed or ablated, or irradiated. The chemo and biologic agents available do not offer a cure. What people fighting my lymphoma, Waldenstrom's Macroglobulinemia, can look forward to is continuing cycles of chemo, periods of response, relapse, then more chemo, for the rest of our lives. It's said that we'll die with this disease rather than from it, so in that sense, we're survivors. While we can hope that the next round of chemo will give us a response that lasts longer, we don't currently have the luxury of hoping that this time the disease won't come back, of calling ourselves people who once had cancer. I'm a survivor only in the sense that I get through every day, but not in the sense of having my disease treated and conquered. But I am a cancer fighter.

On another point, I would like to see an end to describing cancer as a disease, rather than as a word denoting a family of diseases. There are too many types of cancer out there for there to be "a" cure; some are curable, some are not. In describing my lymphoma, I always have to answer questions like "what surgery can they do?" or "will you need radiation?" Too many non-cancer world people think it's a monolithic disease that simply hits different organs, and that "a cure" is going to be found that will work on everything. It's a disservice to us and to our loved ones to use the blanket term.

Thanks for "listening" and for keeping the story out there!

Sent by Rob | 3:55 AM ET | 05-07-2007

I wish you would address how you went from your original doctor to John Hopkins. My graddaughter is 20 with cancer from intentines, to colon to liver in four years. Her doctor is not responsive to me concerning experimental treatment which I also think works.

Sent by Mavis Adams | 1:40 PM ET | 05-10-2007

HI MY NAME IS COLLEEN AND I HAD A MASTECTOMY 3 YEARS AGO AND 2.5 YEARS OF TREATMENT (SUPPOSED TO HAVE DONE THE FULL 5 YEAR THING - TOO HARD ON ME SO I DUMPED THE TREATMENT) WELL BY THE GRACE OF GOD GO I. I AM STILL HERE, HAVE GIVEN UP ON DOCTORS AND TREATMENTS, WHY BECAUSE IT ALL DEPRESSED ME TOO MUCH. SINCE I HAVE SHELVED THE WHOLE THING AND GOT ON WITH MY LIFE I AM REBUILDING AND DOING THINGS I AVOIDED BECAUSE I WAS A VICTIM NOT A SURVIVOR. I FEEL FANTASTIC AND HOPE THAT I WILL JUST GO FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH. I BELIEVE MINES HISTORY. LOVE ALL THE SURVIVORS OUT THERE.

Sent by COLLEEN VAN DER POEL | 8:38 AM ET | 10-02-2007

Leroy, I'm sure your blog is giving comfort and inspiration to many, BUT, I'd like you to put these thoughts at the TOP of your blog! I'd had a major health scare at age 59 with a case of ATHEROSCLEROSIS that I solved without going to an MD! While I respect others' choice of the AMA"s chemo, cut and irradiate protocols, why you and NPR rarely, if ever, mention the options offered by ALTERNATIVE THERAPIES? Does everyone consider their side-effects of their treatment into the "5-year" cure period an end target...while many who opt for alternative treatments sustain their normal lives during ongoing improvement. Check the web for Alternative Cancer Therapies and you'll find a plethora of choices. How about a treatment for one of the worst forms, Pancreatic Cancer: Dr.Nicholas Gonzalas uses proteolytic enzymes and nutrition which has,on a noteworthy case, taken a 2-week "death verdict" from oncologists to a 25-year survivor! Place this up against the AMA's track record of prescribed suffering! Want more?

Sent by Hank Wurster | 6:43 PM ET | 07-09-2008