I am a father, husband, and cancer survivor. In that order. Having cancer has changed my life, almost to the point of not being able to truly recall what life was like before I had cancer. For me being diagnosed with cancer followed the birth of my son so closely perhaps it was just easier to see this as something of a "new" life. It is far from "normal", but the fact that I am still here, and living this new life is the most important. So put me down as a survivor, I know you don't like that term, but I think that fits. (They had been trying to kill me for so long with those WMD's of treatment, so I think survivor works.)

Sent by Brit | 9:44 AM ET | 04-24-2007

dear Leroy and the group, I know who I was before I was diagnosed with 4th stage lung cancer.I was a hard working husband and a father who spoiled his kids. There was so much more I should have done but I thought I'd have more time. I miss the financial and physical abilities I used to have. Now I worry more about dieing then living. I can't help it , the thought is always looming. I push forword every day but I know the kids can see my pain, my wife can feel my dark moods. Today I'll enjoy the beautiful spring weather, I'll put on a smile for my family and have a normal day. Who am I? A cancer patient.

Sent by Ron | 10:14 AM ET | 04-24-2007

Great question leroy. It seems to me that I can never know what I truly am, that "what I am" is beyond knowing as an object, even an "object of conciousness", such as a social role, belief or self-image, even the sublime ones. How can I stand outside what I am to observe what I am? Someone said we can only "know" what we "are not", because what we truly "are" is "knowing" itself. And "knowing" is no sort of object at all, not even any image of "knowing". From what I've read, this is what the mystics throughout history have been hinting at.

Maybe that's a too far out metaphysical answer for what you wanted to know from us, but that's where this question has led me, and for some of us once this asking of "who am I, really?" has started it takes on a life of it's own and leads us where it will and may in the process push us past all our previous beliefs of who we are. It's funny what a sudden awareness of our impermanence can do, isn't it?

And "I'm grateful, as strange as that may sound" - as you put it - that this question, which can be so unsettling, has come up.

Sent by mac | 10:32 AM ET | 04-24-2007

During this time that I am between tumors, I am frantically pursuing a "normal" existence. In the daylight, I am a grandmother who enjoys playing with her grandchildren, I am an overweight woman of a certain age who hits the Nautilus machines and takes aerobics classes at the Y, I am a doting mother who goes shopping with her daughter, I am a wife who goes out to eat with her husband, I am an educated woman who discusses management issues with her professional colleagues, I am a friend who kicks back and watches silly television programs, I am a daughter who worries about and checks in with her parents. But in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep and I have only fear and truth for my companions, I know exactly who I am: a cancer patient.

Sent by Sandra Locus | 10:42 AM ET | 04-24-2007

Who am I? I am a wife, mother, nurse and unfortunately still feel like a cancer patient. Why? Because I have a mediport in me that is visible unless I make special effort to cover it(I live in Florida so less clothing). I am still trying to accept that it is "just" a chronic disease that I have but my life is not the same. I am restricted - I cannot get life insurance or disability insurance; I am still weak and don't know if I'll be able to work 40 hrs./week and lift 50 lbs. which some jobs require. I don't know what I have learned from this yet but pray that I can give back to all who have supported me through this. Leroy, you are doing what you should and are a blessing to us all who will remember that we had someone to speak for us and tell the world what it is like to be a cancer patient. Thank you.

Sent by Vicki | 10:51 AM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a woman, 47 years old. Dark hair with streaks of gray. Dark eyes lined with worry and knowledge. I am a mother. I adore my children and all children. I love my husband and he is my best friend. My sister and my friends are my soul mates. I was a breast cancer patient two years ago. I don't know what is going on inside my body right now. Sometimes I am frightened. Most of the time I just live my life.

Patti, I have been thinking of you. Have you heard any news? Hugs to everyone.

Sent by Liliana | 11:29 AM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a mother, wife, sister, daughter, good friend to my friends (I hope), a graphic designer, an owner of a Labrador Retriever (though really she owns me), a compassionate good caring person, a future Harley owner, a person who likes to laugh, who wears Converse sneakers 99 days out of 100, who loves to feel the sun on her skin and smell the plants in the spring, who was diagnosed with and treated for cancer. There are many facets to all of us, and those are a few of mine.
When I was diagnosed and treated, it made me think about how I wanted to be remembered. Professional accomplishments meant little and what became clear was that the human connections were important to me and that hopefully people would remember me with love.

Sent by Maggie | 11:48 AM ET | 04-24-2007

Oh, college students still have existential crises, and not just because they're considered "cool." Maybe it's because they are thinking adults living off on their own for the first time, and many of them have had experiences (like us) that make them wonder who they are and what it's all about, where they fit in this world? And then there are 40-yr.-olds with their midlife crises and 65-yr.-olds facing retirement, etc..We've all been through some of them, and those crises were real, too. But the immediate possibility of death does tend to focus the mind in a way nothing else can quite match!

Who am I? Well, I'm a loving mother, always, but my kids are adults living elsewhere now. Nothing matters more to me than them, but they're in charge of their own lives now. And I'm a wife who loves, admires, and appreciates her husband. But that's all about relationships, not who I am. I have a job, but it's not really a meaningful career. It doesn't define me. Sooo...? This is a hard question. In trying to answer it, I think of my 92-yr.-old mom, who died a few days before my diagnosis with cancer. She didn't have any huge accomplishments in this world, yet many people looked up to her. Who was she? Someone who tried to live honestly and fairly, who was unpretentious and generous and kind. Someone who read widely and used the brain she was given to try to understand this world. A responsible, hardworking, ethical person. So part of my answer to "who am I?" is " a person who tries to live the way she did -- but often falls short." In addition, I'm someone who has learned a few things in recent years, such as humility and a deeper appreciation for the beauty in nature and in other human souls. I'm someone who tries to keep an open mind and curiosity and a sense of wonder.I wish I were a creative person who could leave behind musical compositions or great art that would move people, but unfortunately, I don't seem to have any such talents! But just like you and your drums, Leroy, I'm taking up new hobbies these days. This week it's knitting; maybe next week, it will be oil painting.

To the degree that I am now defined by the words "cancer patient," it's at least partly my own fault. Even though I'm doing pretty well right now and look "normal" again, cancer has been more or less constantly on my mind for almost 17 months now. I don't mention it to everyone, but in conversations with those who are close to me, it probably comes up constantly. Right now, one of my goals is to consciously seek new topics of conversation! Maybe for awhile, at least, I can save the cancer talk for this blog.

P.S. I love Lori's Onion quote about the "cowardly fight with cancer" -- started my day off with a laugh!

Sent by Doris | 12:11 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Perhaps my view of this experience is different than others, but I felt this was a test in the truest sense of the word. Was I going to become less of what I thought I was, or more? Would my spirit be diminished by this experience? Cancer challenged me in so many ways, and I have discovered to my delight that like you, Leroy, I have risen to that challenge. Cancer will never beat me because it will never DEFINE me.

Sent by Lesa Shipman | 12:11 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a witness to this, my strange and wonderful life.

I am NOT my body. I'm surely not the steriod-induced 30-pound-overweight person I've become thanks to cancer. I'm not an anaplastic astrocytoma. I'm not a cancer victim. I don't identify with being a chemotherapy patient. I'm not, yet at least, a survivor.

I'm the soul in this body. And this body has decided, probably because of something I've subjected it to, to manifest this cancer.

I'm the soul who totally and completely loves my dear, sweet husband. We celebrate a mere 16 years of married bliss this weekend. I owe so much of who I am to him.

I'm the mother of an amazing 10-year-old boy, who has what could be one of the sweetest souls I've yet to encounter here on this earthly plane. I am honored to be his mother.

I'm a member of my Baha'i community, the only place I've ever found that makes any real sense to me when it comes to my belief in God.

I am a good friend to my friends. I've learned that because I've experienced so much love and friendship and support in return during this insanity we've been thrust into.

And yes, before cancer I used to be a professional with my own thriving business, busy doing what I love and contributing to my family's financial success. When I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, that identity was stripped from me immediately. It was so hard, because I now realize how deeply I identified with "being" that person. I'm learning that "doing" doesn't really equate to "being."

I've learned that I'm still who I always was, but now I've got this hard, hard lesson in front of me. I'm trying to get whatever it is trying to teach me -- that makes me a student, a novice, a beginner. That can be a hard place to be, but it also has so much to offer. I'm trying to let go of that ego identity I used to cling to and simply be the witness to all this. Learn from it. Grow from it. Accept it. Fight it.

So, I'm not really sure who the heck I am ??? maybe a flowing, ever-changing process that coheres due to memories and ongoing relationships with those I love

Sent by Jordis | 12:23 PM ET | 04-24-2007

My view of my father's identity cannot help but be linked with his cancer. My dad was diagnosed with Leukemia when I was in 4th grade, just an 8 year old girl. I have very few memories of my dad "before", but I am frequently reminded by my family that he was different; that he found opportunities to laugh, smile, read with me, hunt and fish with my brother, hold hands with mom. After 8 long years of not knowing whether or not he would be at home or in the hospital when I returned from school, he passed away. It was the day after my 16th birthday and I still needed him, but had to let him go.
It has now been 9 years with out him and I am always asking questions and trying to understand who he was "before".
Today would have been his 60th birthday.
I believe that whether or not one has or has had cancer is not their identity, but it certainly shapes who they are. My dad's battle with cancer certainly has shaped who I am, and for that, especially today, I am grateful

Sent by Elizabeth M | 12:27 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Well Leroy, I am finally at a place where I am taking back control over my life. It's a scary place to be though. For ever so long, my life has been in all my doctor's hands not mine. Do chemo, do scans, take this and that, don't do this and that, etc. Well my surgery is over and I am still home recuperating. I was told by my oncologist that, to be on the safe side, he wants me to do more chemo, my lung surgeon's opinion is that he wouldn't do it. My husband and sister's opinions are no also, no more chemo. Now what is my opinion? It feels very strange to come to the realization that I can do what I choose to do at this point, and scary to take control of my life back, but that is what I am going to do. I do not want anymore chemo and I don't want anymore tube feedings. I want sooo much to get back to living and get off this cancer merry go round. I know that I will need to blindly accept whatever the consequences are regarding my decision, but someone has to draw the line somewhere, don't you think? More chemo could kill me in my fragile condition, so what is the lesser evil? I know that I will never be considered "normal" again with the type of cancer that I had, but at least temporarily, I canenjoy field trips to Wal-Mart, Lowes and Home Depot not just field trips to doctors' office and hospitals. I am in a scary place right now, but hopefully the other shoe won't drop for another 10 years or more. Who am I? Who knows?

Sent by Ruth.White | 12:40 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am Mom, with a daughter graduating college, getting married and moving out on her own. With a 13 year old having multiple crisis, EVERY day, because of a boy, her hair or what she does not have in her closet. I am keeper of the home zoo, 3 mutts who are always hungry, a very chunky guinea pig and sand crabs(anybody want them? college dorm pets who seem to be staying!)I am a daughter who lost Dad to cancer 15 years ago and my mom worries about constantly. I am sister to three who all finally went in and had exams(and altho two of them got a scare, turned out ok!) I am a coworker who enjoys my job, immense satisfaction from going to work with same family owened company for 20+ years. I am a former Marine(never an ex!) who is proud of it. I have wonderful friends who I should contact more often but always seem to be ready to listen whether it's been a day or 3 months. I was told I had cancer a couple years ago and it scared the hell out of me, but not anymore. If it comes back, I will deal with it. I have told my kids that no matter what, my obit, should not say cancer anything. Just that I was a mom, a sister, a daughter, a friend and loved to sing. That's me.

Sent by Jenene Koegel | 1:32 PM ET | 04-24-2007

There is a line between some diseases and others. No one is ever "the mumps patient" and yet I am "the cancer patient." I think it has to do with fear. Any disease that can kill or severely debilitate you gets you "the patient". But I don't think of myself as Cancer Megan. I just happened to have my DNA make a mistake and now I have to do everything I can to get rid of the cancer, just like I would for any other disease. I think for me is a more unique situation because I am so young (34). To think that my life may be over now just because I had a random DNA mutation seems absurd. I have barely started to achieve all the things I want to do. So, I see this as one more of life's challenges to be conquered. However, it does change you, for better or worse, in a way that mumps won't. So who are we? We are humans dealing with a really crappy roll of the dice. It doesn't change all that we've experienced, learned or done.

Although, Leroy, I have to say that your situation scares the crap out of me. I also have colon cancer and all my doctors keep telling me I'll be fine, just get through surgery and chemo and get my yearly colonoscopies and I should live a long life. You prove that's not necessarily the case. And that is why cancer can define you. It's the monster in the closet that can pop out at any moment.

Please feel free to look at my blog (shortcolon.blogspot.com) and read more about this. I've written *a lot* about this topic and welcome anyone who wants to read my ravings.

Sent by Megan | 1:38 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Leroy,

I am an old lady who has had her share of both pain and pleasure. I prefer the pleasure, but it never taught me anything. Pain did. I am grateful to my teachers and wouldn't mind at all some more pleasure.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 1:40 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a changed person who now clearly understands the challenges, pain and lessons of cancer.
I am a person with a new outlook on everyday life.
I am a sister who cherishes an oldest brother who is now cancer-free, and a daughter who misses the most positive and good man whose life was cut short by cancer.
I am a changed person dedicated to making personal and professional choices that will help us all move toward the that incredible future - a world without cancer.

Sent by Carol A. Beach | 1:42 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I was a child diagnosed with cancer at 21; I am now a woman living with the disease. I am not defined by my cancer, but I am not removed from it either. The rouge cancer cells that still course through my body do not define who I am. They are merely along for the ride.

Sent by Sarah B. | 1:49 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Hi Leroy,

I was treated for breast cancer last year and recognize since Elizabeth's Edwards' recurrence, that I may face the reappearance of the disease at some point. That possibility certainly changes how we go about living our lives. I am reminded of the myth of Persephone who got snatched from the earth (while picking flowers) and was taken down to the underworld of despair and darkness. After intervention by Zeus she was allowed to return to Earth (to the joy of her mother, Demeter), but because of having eaten pomegranite seeds, Persephone was required to return to the darkness several months of the year. How many times do cancer patients gain "remission", return to the land of the living, but then get snatched back to the land of anxiety and darkness with relapse? There may be many myths or metaphors for cancer, but this one seems to fit.

Sent by Cay Welsh | 1:50 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a mother of two wonderful boys who have all the values I could have dreamed them to have. I am a wife. I am an advocate both professionally and personally for the homeless. I am a volunteer. I love politics. I am fortunately, surrounded by wonderful, interesting friends. I love life.

Sent by Dona | 2:09 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Leroy, I am a grieving widow who lost her husband to pancreatic cancer 11 months ago. I am also a mother of 3, a nurse, a sister, a daughter and a friend to many. Those are my roles but I am trying to figure out my new identity now because cancer changed and took away so much.

Cancer absolutely changed our lives. I cannot go back to who I was before everything changed. I already knew that my husband was the smartest, bravest, person that I had ever known and cancer just proved that. It also made him a kinder, gentler, wiser person but it cost him his LIFE at the age of 59.

My 17 yr. old daughter said to me about herself, "I'm not who I was before Dad got sick. I'm different from other kids now". Not all kids get the news at 14 that their father has incurable cancer. Not all kids read "Harry Potter" to their fathers as they are dying in the dining room. Yes, she's different -deeper and sadder and wiser beyond her years.

We all go forward with all of the experiences, good and bad, that have shaped us. We learn from them and, hopefully, we share the lessons that we have learned.

One thing I learned about cancer was that it was bad but it wasn't all bad. It brought out the best in us. As a wife, I learned that my husband loved me deeply and trusted me implicitly with his life. My husband learned that we would take care of him no matter what. The children learned that their father and I needed them and that they could be of help. They also knew that he fought to live as long as he could to stay with us. Those were good things for all of us to learn.

So, who am I? I'm just beginning to figure that out now.

Sent by Marilyn | 2:17 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Just lucky, I guess. I say that because I have had Cancer twice, chemo twice, countless surgeries and a few nagging side effects; tearing, brain fog and fatigue. I say that I am lucky because I have no other explanation of why I have survived and others with similar diagnoses have not. I have faith and I believe in God's grace, but so did the friends I have lost to this disease. One of these (deceased) friend's spouse asked me once, "Why did you beat this and and my wife could not?" I have no idea, but I really liked the quote, "You have survived Cancer until you die from something else." I hope I die from something else.

Sent by Liz Zancer | 2:22 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am the sister (twin) of Patti, who visits and posts here often and derives quiet but powerful support from all of you who share her struggle through your own. She is being treated for breast cancer. And I am sitting in front of my computer at work surfing the Web instead of attending to all those pressing matters of dire importance to someone. Today they aren't important to me. I can't work effectively (ah, hell, let's just forget the adverbs and say I can't work) because of the distraction at hand, which is waiting for the verdict on Patti's latest biopsy. Is it cancer or is it something else? ***Email just now says "The path lab will call Dr. Swanson with a verbal report, so I guess we'll have to just be patient."***

The waiting--the all-consuming agonizing waiting. I don't want to be patient. I want this to go away. I control things, I fix things that are broken, I come up with strategies to get things back to normal...so today I guess you could say I am a bit of a mess waiting for the news. Today that is who I am, Patti's nervous sister.

I know who Patti is and I can say a little about those of you who frequent this place, based on the intimate thoughts you share in words that often approach prose--precisely because of their intimacy. The wonderful knowledge you convey, your spirit, the ways you have chosen to deal with your set of circumstances--you are an intelligent, sensitive, honest, and honorable collection of people, bound by an unfortunate commonality.

Patti's the other half of my heart and soul, my best friend. She's kind and loving and has a boundless capacity for empathy. Since she was diagnosed with cancer and then introduced to this blog by her husband, she's also become the member of Leroy's amazing community--a place of solace where a warm and loving and courageous group of people can share their anger, their pain, their fears, and their joys.

Who you are not is a cancer patient, a cancer survivor, a cancer victim. To call you that is somehow, to me, belittling. You're teachers. Teachers that show the rest of us--some with cancer and some not--how precious every day is or should be. I have learned from my sister and I have learned from you, and I thank you all for that.

Sent by Penelope Kellar | 2:36 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I'm a Mom, a Wife, a Daughter, a Sister and a Friend. I've had cancer and it has altered me and all those close to me for the better. I learned I was stronger mentally than I thought I was and more vulnerable physically. My kids learned even though I was sick,
I was still Mom and though we had to adjust to a new schedule, we could do it together. My Husband learned that though he treats cancer patients daily as an Oncologist, the disease could still touch us. My Mother learned that people with cancer can recover. My Brothers learned that they could still tease me and I could tease them back with our same low humour about having rectal cancer. Of course, I've put it all "behind" me now. My friends taught me how much they cared and who they were, even though I didn't know all of them before. I learned who could talk about it and who couldnt. I also learned that not being able to talk about it didn't mean they didn't care, just that they were afraid. We all took a dark and frightening journey and now we all appreciate the light a little bit more. It's like the Robert Frost poem, "I took the road less traveled by and it has made all the difference."

Sent by Chris | 3:18 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Dear Leroy,

Thank you for your so much for your blog. Thank you for so openly sharing your journey. Please may I ask you or your readers for guidance with a question that was asked me. A dear "email friend" recently found out she has breast cancer. She is soon to start treatment, a lumpectomy followed by radiation. She wrote me the following,

"I have a question for you though. Do you ever get any feelings, visions or messages about me? Just wondering, because since the night before they told me I have cancer I keep seeing my mom, grandmother etc. I get the feeling that maybe they are waiting for me. but then again maybe they are just trying to give me a message."

I know she is scared and reaching out for answers and comfort. She has young teenage children she worries for. She wants answers I cannot give. How do I encourage her? How do I comfort her? What do I say? We live on opposite sides of the country and I cannot visit her. All I have are words and they fail me. I want to cry and hold her and tell her I love and appreciate her. How do I tell her I don't have the answers and that I can only imagine life for her?

Any thoughts you may be able to offer would be greatly appreciated.

Leroy, you and your family are always near in my thoughts. Thank you
for sharing.

Sent by Bonnie | 3:31 PM ET | 04-24-2007

Dear Penelope, I found your message very moving. During my breast cancer treatments, my sister (two years younger than I) was my champion. She took care of me, my family, her family, and organized everything. She took me to my doctor???s visits, chemo; cooked, cleaned, took the kids to school. Seeing your words about your sister brought tears to my eyes. People care for each other and love each other; they help each other. There is hope in this world.

Sent by Liliana | 4:02 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a daughter, a sister, a fun "favorite" aunt to my neices and nephews, a professional in the cancer world, a wife, mother to a crazy labradoodle,a caregiver to my Dad who has end stage cancer and a friend and sounding board to my Mom as she struggles every day to have patience and try to find some sort of control in her life, when her life is completely out of control. I am gearing up to facilitate a retreat this weekend for women who are living with, and beyond, cancer, and have printed out several of Leroy's blogs to share with this amazing group of women....today's in particular. I believe it will spark quite a conversation and I am looking forward to the discussion and the lessons these women can teach me.

Blessings to you all, fellow bloggers...and hugs to you, Patti. We are sending you happy thoughts! Hugs to all of you who are struggling to get through another day.

Sent by karen | 4:24 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a 54 year young women who has gone through life not quite sure of herself. Always doubting the choices I make, but then looking back, thinking they turned out pretty well. I wear my heart on my sleeve, I give too freely, I trust too easily. And at times this has gotten me into trouble. My lack of confidence has always led me to believe that somehow I have been invisible to the really intelligent, driven, confident people with whom I have somehow managed to surround myself. I married a self made man, who pours his heart and soul into every project, every friendship, and every task he takes on. My other half in life, my twin, has more degrees in science than you can imagine. I googled her name one time and she had two pages of published scientific articles. I reveled in my pride for her. To think I have this remarkable woman for a sister and who loves me more than anyone is more than I can say.

I have to thank you all for making me a part of your world. Every time I post a note on Leroy???s blog I have to check and make sure it really is there. And I get a little thrill to think that I am writing where doctors, lawyers, teachers, the best of people write; extraordinary people who write such beautiful thoughts and share such poignant moments. Not to mention someone like Leroy. My point is, I guess, that this disease has taught me to reflect and to really examine what my life is about. I am not afraid to die, (my family thinks I am nuts when I say this) because I know that I have never intentionally hurt anyone. I have lived my life according to how I want others to treat me. I have had a good life and I have accomplished what I wanted to. To love a man so deeply that he is still my source of pride and comfort after 34 years. I have a sister that will somehow make this next hurdle bearable and whatever the outcome of the latest biopsy, she will be with me.

Thank you again dear friends???..I await the call from my surgeon on the results of the latest biopsy and I will let you know.

Love to you all!

Sent by Patti | 5:00 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a mother, a grandmother, an aspiring photographer, a senior citizen, but I too will always be a cancer survior. I laugh, enjoy life, but there are moments when I remember I had cancer and wonder... It took my energy and left me with a 'fuzzy brain' that thankfully I learned can remain for longer than most doctors acknowledge... so there is a chance my old brain will return! I still learn and teach, but have to work at it.

Sent by Barbara Zarrella | 5:01 PM ET | 04-24-2007

How kind of you, Leroy, to ask us this question. Cancer is so often such a lonely place; your blog gives us all the chance to say what we think and how we feel without fear of judgment or lack of understanding. I like to think of myself first and foremost as a musician. I'm also a mom to two teenagers, wife, daughter, sister, and a serious dog-lover. I long for the day that "cancer patient" is an afterthought, but it's still pretty present in my life right now - it stares me in the face every day when I see my mastectomy scar.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 7:15 PM ET | 04-24-2007

you, penelope, are the truest meaning of the word sister. how fortunate patti is to have you at her side.

Sent by marianne dalton | 7:19 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I'm with you I hate the term survivor. I view having had cancer as more of a contest, making me a veteran. My kids sometimes call me Cancerman, with super napping powers, but it's not who I am. I'm just a regular guy with who knows he can make it through the dark parts of life.

Sent by Crawford aka Cancerman | 7:35 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a physician who learns from each and every single one of you out there..

You are my hero's.. who are faced with something unexpected, unwanted, yet face it with courage, insight, and compassion.

You teach me how to think, how to behave, and how to respect, and cherish every single day and moment.

I have been questioned several times why I chose the field of oncology....and the reason simply is: You.

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 8:45 PM ET | 04-24-2007

I am a law student, a sister, a friend. Just a 23 year old trying to find my footing and place in life. The words cancer patient or victim will never describe who I am.

Sent by maria a | 2:31 AM ET | 04-25-2007

Near my home is a memorial bench that is dedicated to a man who "lost his brave battle"....
To me that can only mean that he died of cancer, as people do not usually use the battle metaphors for other illnesses.
I felt a sense of anger when I saw the inscription as I felt that If I was to have a memorial bench I wouldn't want it to just say how I'd died, but how I'd lived!

The question of who we are is a great one. I "lost" a breast. (I hate that phrase...now where did I put my breast..?).But does that make me less of a person? Or if I was unable to walk, or talk or work?
The way that patti describes herself reminds me in part of a friend of mine- she thought she wasn't bright and was amazed at people who she regarded as intellectual accepting her and listening to her ideas and thoughts. She had always been told how stupid she was and had believed them. During a college course she took the opportunity to be assessed and was found to be dyslexic and with a high IQ - so not stupid at all.
So what is the "reality" of ourselves? We might use labels to describes ourselves and the labels are only our opinions, our perspective at that moment. What is my "core" being, and not all these add-ons that i could lose?
I admit that having cancer, surgeries,& an altered body has changed me and my view of myself. I think it has also changed me in a fundamental, psychological way as well.
I have a clearer idea of my core values, of what meaning I get and put into life. One of those is intimacy, the feeling of closeness to people, and a feeling I get from this blog that helps to overcome the sense of isolation i have from my cancer

Sent by JJ | 7:41 AM ET | 04-25-2007

Who am I? I'm a wife, daughter, caretaker, professional, jogger, artist. And I am a girl who got cancer. One year ago, I was concerned with neutrophils. Now, I am concerned about office politics. One year ago, I couldn't go up one flight of stairs. Now, I am back in an aerobic step class. How quickly life changes.

Yes, I 've had cancer. Yes, I survive. Who am I? I am NOT my work, my religion, my things. I am not cancer. I am just me. I am Stephanie.

Thank you Leroy for being you. I appreciate your blog so much. You often puts in words what I'm going through.

Sent by Stephanie Leeper | 7:25 PM ET | 04-25-2007

Yes, you could say I've been touched by cancer, LeRoy, and I've also been touched by your self-aware and wrenchingly honest blog. I'm a 56-year old artist and author of books on strange phenomena, just finished with four months of chemo for stage2 breast cancer, looking at radiation, a year of Herceptin infusions and years of hormone drug therapy...and grateful for all of it! I've posted my own blog which has evolved into a strange melange of photos and inner revelation...if you visit you may want to visit early archives for a better understanding and my bald photo, but it's where I'm at. I think blogs are a medium perfectly suited to the cancer journey because they are both one day at a time and ongoing...just the way we live. http://blog.myspace.com/lindagodfrey

Sent by Linda S. Godfrey | 10:50 AM ET | 04-26-2007

Well. I'm a late comer to this blog as I mull over what I'll read & what I won't regarding cancer- I've learned that some piece of info. may jump out at me that I'll later regret having in my head - but beyond that, I'm just me. A wife, step-mother & now grandma. I guess it's hard to really know who I am post cancer. I want to just be who I've always been - I do not want to be defined by my cancer yet I fear that sometimes I'm my own worst enemy in that quest. I try to not bring the subject up too often but sometimes I do. It seems to put some people more at ease if I bring it up rather than making them do it - they never know what to say...in much the same way that I didn't before I got sick and really, in the same way that I guess I don't now. I love music, laughter, dogs, flowers and life in general. I'm not afraid of death but I'm surely not ready for it yet. I wish this hadn't happened but it did and I can't change that. I sometimes feel like a character out of "Candide" -I keep having parts of myself cut off. But as dear old silly Pangloss said in that wonderful story, "All's for the best in this best of all possible worlds". So I suppose I take the advise of the finale lyrics of the musical of the same play and "make my garden grow".

Sent by Jean Jones Valentine | 10:03 AM ET | 05-05-2007

I spent most of last fall and winter trying to lose 70 lbs. I finally reached my goal around March but I didn't feel as well as I thought I would. I was a bit nauseous and tired. I had had a sore shoulder I was seeing an orthopedist for and this spring a strange shadow appeared on my x-ray. One day I was on top of the world and in an instant I was told I had stage 4 renal carcinoma. My cancer had already spread into my bones and it had eaten away at the very top vertabrae in my neck. I went right from what I thought was a healthy person to terminal cancer. I saw doctors regularly. Had physicals blood work even several x-rays and MRI. this went unnoticed for a long time. I am just devestated. I don't understand how this could have gone so far for so long. I don't know what the future has in store for me. I don't even know yet how long I will live. I am scared and in a lot of pain. Your blog meant a lot to me and touched me deeply. You said so mnay things I have been thinking. Right now I am just trying to live as normal as possible. I can't work anymore and have a lot of time to sit around and think about things. it is wonderful to read the stories from other people. We are on the other side of that door now like you said. I will never be like I was but now who am I? I don't want to cry every day of my life. But I feel like I have a right to. I just wish this had never happened and I could go on thinking about the future and all the things I wanted to do but won't be able to do now. I always feel terribly alone with this. I want to be happy and sometimes I worry I will never be happy again.

Sent by Debbie Waite | 10:24 AM ET | 05-07-2007

Leroy,
WOW! Thankyou so much for sharing your insights on such a horrific disease and topic. I do not have cancer. No one in my immdediate family has cancer. So many people in my life have died from cancer or are in a fight right now, a battle to stay alive. This show really helped me to have a better understanding of everything especially how to talk with them on a regular basis. Really important was how can you tell you have cancer when you don't look like it? What does cancer look like. Testing like Lance said should be a right all Americans/people really should be able to get, like the flu shot. Thankyou for sharing! Enjoy Hawaii! I am going to Hawaii next week too. No time like the present to live!

Sent by Barbara Iafrate | 11:47 AM ET | 05-07-2007

Your story has hit home!!!!!!Fred was diagnosed in late July with lung, bone, and spinal cancer. We started treatment right away. After 4 chemo treatments, we had 2 weeks of radiation, which knocked the socks off of him. He didn't give up, he went in for the second faze of chemo, after only one treatment, the doctor told him, no more, he was too weak for the chemo, that was in October of 2006, he is on a new drug called "Taceva", takes it daily, has gone from 190 lbs, to 132 lbs, and is now at 145 lbs. His appetite is coming back, he is more talkative, the anxiety is subsiding and, and getting stronger every day.
Your story put him at ease, he knows now, he is not alone, with this kind of cancer, his doctor told him, there was no cure but, he can give him more time, honesty was the best policy, no matter if you like it os not.
Should we be told what stage he is in and, how long the doctor thinks he has?
We have not asked, maybe for fear of the answer, what is your opinion?
You are an exceptional person to share your story with the world.
God Bless You

Sent by Joyce Lovdahl | 4:59 PM ET | 05-07-2007

I saw the TV special with Leroy yesterday. I appreciate the candid comments made. I am a 65 year old husband, father and grandfather who has had two kinds of cancer removed from my tongue. I do not know if the fast grower cancer has traveled into my neck or brain at this time. I am now begaining to understand the state of "Limbo", that a cancer victim begains to live in. My future is yet unknown. I have not smoked for 36 years and now wish I had never lit the first cigarette, as it might be the cause or part of the cause of my cancer's.

Sent by J Johnson | 8:49 PM ET | 05-07-2007

I have no idea who I am anymore. Diadnosed December22, 2006 with two brain tumors, i had surgery the next day, at which Time I found out they had metastised from the lung. The really sad part for me is that I am a photographer, but now my hands shake and my vision is worse. I am alo a journalist, but the sentences don't string together.
I know not who I am or why this is happening.
There seems to be a space between life and death that takes on a form of its own, but i am just now walking through that gate. I am very,very scared.

Sent by `susan reece | 9:18 PM ET | 05-09-2007