I'm with you about the fun...i'ts the best thing to have! I'm in a similar situation. I'm still working at physical rehabilitation, which, with having had the TRAM reconstruction, and the resulting loss of my abdominal muscles, is an ongoing process. I've found fun in water aerobics, which I do three times a week. I recently took up making jewelry, and it seems that rather than a hobby, it may become a little business. I'm hopeful that I'll get to travel somewhere fun this year, and just spend more time living, and less time treating for breast cancer.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 8:38 AM ET | 04-23-2007

It is interesting that as a loyal follower I do remember you mentioning side-effects, etc but you gave us so much more. I remember one of your commentaries that really touched home with me was when you spoke about telling people about the diagnosis and becoming the comforter. Sharing your continued experiences whether they are "temporarily normal" or not enriches the lives of cancer patients and caretakers.

Sent by Dona | 8:48 AM ET | 04-23-2007

Here's to the new normalcy, Leroy! Your life will return to normal, but as you and many others have discussed in your blog and comments, going through cancer changes us. It makes us different (hopefully better) from how we were before, and becomes part of who we are now. I don't often think of being so ill five years ago, but a day rarely goes by that I don't spend at least a few minutes reflecting on my graditude for surviving.

Rebuilding your body is key. We suffer a lot physically going through cancer treatments. But the nice thing is that our bodies are automatically programmed to heal, with physical activity helping the process tremendously. I will always remember my first real post-chemo hike, about 7 months after wrapping up cancer treatments. It was in July 2003, and was the Rip Rap Hollow Trail circuit hike in Shenandoah National Park. It totally wore me out but felt great to be healthy enough to do it, even if I was slow and tired. I do that same hike every July since then as a celebration of life, good health, and good memories.

Enjoy the day!

Sent by Art Ritter | 9:21 AM ET | 04-23-2007

I had my last Herceptin treatment this past Friday (yay!), so for the first time in a year and a half, I don't have a standing appointment at the chemo clinic. I still have some remaining medical stuff (my reconstruction surgery is scheduled for June), but my cancer treatment has officially come to an end - for now. I hate that I felt the need to add those last two words, but like you said today, Leroy, it's hard to shake that little cloud on the horizon. Maybe when I'm further out on the survivor road I'll feel like I'm really done with it all for good.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 10:42 AM ET | 04-23-2007

A friend recently made the cogent comment that, "You'll know you're cured of cancer when you die of something else." Until then...

Sent by Ann | 10:51 AM ET | 04-23-2007

I think the whole key to the new normal is accepting it and the loss of control. We fight back by trying to enjoy life-maybe even more than we did before, because we are so conscious that time may be limited. The new normal includes knowing what is really important - and that is a good thing!

Sent by Mary | 11:05 AM ET | 04-23-2007

It is a weird place to be in; at least, I find it weird. I was thrust into the world of being a patient, but now am trying to ease back into the land of the living. It feels strange to move my "future horizen" from a month or two at a time to, possibly, years.

I visited my oncologist recently. I had been with Hospice, but it became evident that I wasn't dying, so we mutually agreed to move on. Anyway, I thought my oncologist would want me to have a scan. No, not now and not for my next appointment in July. I asked him if I made it to the magic mark of four years, would he consider me "cured" and just ignore my recurrence since the tumor went away on its own. He said yes, pretty much. I think his reasoning is that pancreatic cancer tends to kill quickly, so if I'm not dead in 4 years, I will have beaten it. I'm not sure I feel that confident, but it is fun to imagine.

So now we are faced with making longer range plans. We are planning a trip in January, will be getting a new car and have planted some blueberry bushes. It will take a couple of years before they are big enough to give enough fruit for a pie. I am looking forward to that day.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 11:52 AM ET | 04-23-2007

"New Normal" is a complex thing to consider when treatment ends. My son has a ways to go, but already my wife and I are talking about what the next chapter will be. The hardest part is trying to figure out what kind of a life to rebuild, and what choices we should make, based on what we've been through. Do we assume that this is a cure, and return to our former hopes, dreams and aspirations? Or, do we keep in our thoughts that his cancer could return and take him from us, so perhaps we shouldn't scrimp on a job with benefits, or move too far away from where he's being treated.

In some ways, this thing called "survivorship" is more complicated that treatment.

Sent by Vampdaddy | 12:04 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Yes, Leroy, "normal" is overrated. I find it funny, in an odd sort of way, that even though we are encouraged to "be normal" everyone's definition of what normal means differs as much as our individual eye color... I've been reading your blog since you began writing it and this is my first time to comment. I have lost several important people in my life to cancer, even caring for my father-in-law as he was in the last stages, and learned many truths about myself in the process. I want to thank you for so openly sharing your life and experiences and encourage you to continue even when you think you may not have anything relevant to say. Your words are at once healing and insprirng to us, your readers. Few people would put it all out there with such honesty as you have, even the hard subjects come out sounding better when you examine them out loud for us... I hope the day never comes when the docs tell you that it's back and you have to fight all over again, but if it does, I know I for one will still be here, reading, laughing, crying and learning from you. My positive thoughts and prayers are with you. May your new normal become what your old normal needed to be! Never give up the good fight!

Sent by M.L. Koger | 12:10 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Dear Leroy,
You seem to always hit the nail on the head so to speak by your writings. It reflects so much how I personally feel and I think also resonates with the others that write in. Although my last chemo was in Aug. I am not at full strength but am working on it by exercising and eating right. Today I feel sciatica in my leg and nausea. Is that from the chemo? I have other lasting side effects like numbness in my toes so I really don't feel "normal".
I am struggling financially and trying to find work that doesn't overwhelm me but that will sustain me. I haven't played the piano in a year - it seems like too much work. The other thing I'ld like to mention is how are people managing financially? Money is out there for research and support during treatment but what about when you have exhausted your savings - what then? My daughter is working tirelessly on this issue trying to find some help for me at least until I can sustain regular work. I even wrote to Oprah about it!

Sent by Vicki | 12:25 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Leroy,

For me, a good definition of normal is balanced. Cancer unbalances us, among other things that it does. Regaining balance doesn't mean going back to bc, but it does mean accomodating the new situation in your life so you can return to some level of functioning. Balance. You have started caring for your body,buying clothes, making plans.I think that is achieving balance and accomodating the cancer as well.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 12:53 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Good morning Leroy.
"Normalcy" is just a state of mind. I remember when my son was diagnosed and we were in the middle of scans, tests and massive discussions, I was unable to take my other son to school. We had to have him stay the night at a friends house so they could take him. It may sound minor, but when you've had the luxury of this, it seemed like a big deal. I remember when I was talking to him about how he was going to get to school, how he was going to get home, when we would be home, etc, etc, I told him, "things will get back to normal. It may not be what our normal is now, but it will get back to normal".
Now, our normal is going to the doctor, taking a new drug, having scans, having blood work, having dark circles under the eyes, not answering the phone because of bill collectors, grabbing a bite to eat because we are getting back so late we don't have time to cook at home, and most important, enjoying the times when we don't have any of this.
Yes, it's a "normal" alot of people will never understand, it's a "normal" that I see people almost wince when they hear what our plans are for the week, but it's our "normal". And you know what, ask me today, we're doing just fine right now, as for tomorrow, who knows, but today...today, we are having a "normal" day.

Sent by Rhonda | 1:15 PM ET | 04-23-2007

my husband thinks i am insane when i remind him these spring days that we were "so lucky" to have gone through chemo during the blah winter months! now that spring is here and radiation is nearing an end (10 more to go) i am ready to burst with energy into the summer ahead!!!!!! i am stubborningly refusing to submit to cancer "fatigue" ...no matter what....

Sent by marianne dalton | 2:35 PM ET | 04-23-2007

My son was diagnosed at 18 months and went thru four cycles of chemo and multiple surgeries. Although he did not get completely bald, it did take about 6 to 8 months before his hair was back to normal. It took about a year after the end of chemo before he gain his energy back.

Once you been thru cancer, I don???t think you can go back to the life you had before. We are constantly being reminded of his cancer nightmare because the chemo damaged his hearing. He has to wear hearing aids now and we are negotiating with the schools to get him some help because he is not passing the assessment tests. He has quarterly check ups which requires that we spent half a day at the hospital for all the tests. He is almost six years old now. Last week was his quarterly check up and he asked if he ate something wrong, that???s why he had cancer. He wanted to know exactly how the chemo damaged his hearing and how the tumor ruptured in his stomach??????so we might try to be as normal as possible, but we will have to live with the aftermath forever.

Sent by grace | 3:36 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Having just received an 'all clear' from a breast biopsy and being a lung cancer survivor for the present, I'm figuring out my new normal as well. I'm glad to hear the drumming is improving. I wondered how your 'flamadiddle' and 'paradiddle' were coming. Thanks for giving the opportunity to ask - hard to fit those words into everyday conversation. Keep enjoying the everyday non-medical things.

Sent by Sara | 3:53 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Leroy,

Indeed, as Stephen Jay Gould once reminded us, "[v]ariation is the hard reality, not a set of imperfect measures for a central tendency. Means and medians are the abstractions." Most folks think of the abstraction of a central tendency as "normalcy" for all intents and purposes. In other words, normal doesn't exist in reality as a fixed value.

Readers of this blog may find hope and inspiration in Gould's book, "Full House," which goes into some detail about probability distribtions. Understanding statistics can make an optimist out of a person--believe it or not. Here's to optimism, and right-skewed probability distributions!

Sent by alan | 4:18 PM ET | 04-23-2007

"The new normal" is a phrase some of your readers have used, Leroy, and it's one that speaks to me, as a cancer survivor in remission (I finished my last chemo treatment for NHL almost a year ago). I'd like to be able to say I'm now "back to normal," but I can't. Normal is a moving target, these days.

I'm glad I'm no longer where I was a year ago, dealing with chemo. But, on the other hand, I feel that the door back to where I was, pre-diagnosis, is closed and locked. The new normal is the country I now find myself in, and I'm still exploring the terrain.

When I was in the midst of chemo treatments, there was a very clear map to follow. I went from treatment to treatment, weathering the more-or-less predictable side effects. Now, I find myself in a featureless country with few landmarks. It's better than where I've recently been, but I'm still trying to figure out how it compares to the place I was in, when I commenced this cancer journey.

"A Pastor's Cancer Diary"
http://www.cewilton.blogspot.com

Sent by Carl Wilton | 6:06 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Is it "normal" or "now"? For me, "normal" is not just overrated, it's impossible to define and a fool's errand to try to do so. Is where Leroy is now different from the middle of his treatments? Yes. But normal???

One could just as easily say we're all "in between". In between path results. In between appointments. In between diagnosis. One could focus on that.

I've only been on this roller coaster for 14 months and two surgeries, but I gotta tell you, I'm opting for "now" over "in between" as I sit here with a pending path report and an appointment with the God of Radiation/Chemotherapy in Boston scheduled in a couple of weeks.

I am now going to go cook dinner because I can do that now. Was that the norm last week? Nosiree. But it's my now now and I'm gonna have fun with it.

Sent by Nancie | 8:04 PM ET | 04-23-2007

There really is no clear passage back to normal. As good health has returned to me, I have found quite a new and different life, one that is slower and more intentional. Three and a half years past diagnosis, I notice more time during the day when I do not even think about cancer. For so many months I awoke each day remembering the hospital bed and how trapped I felt there...grateful to be free at last...happy to be comfortable in my own bed. Those thoughts are more distant now. It's as if the cancer experience caused me to fold up. The new normal seems to be a process of unfolding myself and smoothing out all the parts.

Sent by Pat | 9:02 PM ET | 04-23-2007

Leroy, I agree with you. When I was first diagnosed, I thought that I needed to stop all my volunteer activities. My feeling was that I need to focus on my health. Well, later I decided that my various activities were my life. I am not dead, I still have a life to live. I continued my board positions during all my chemo treatments. All my friends knew what was going on, so I was careful not to take on too much. If I just sat around the house "taking care of my health", it would have killed me. I still have a life and I intend to live it.

I also agree about what you say about fitness. I too am trying to loss weight and exercise more. I too feel that by making my body healthier that when or if cancer shows it's ugly face again, I will be ready to give it a good battle.

Sent by Betty in Germany | 1:20 AM ET | 04-24-2007

Well that hit a nerve. You have the right attitutde. I had childhood cancer, and despite one fewer legs, have felt lucky and as if nothing else bad could happen.

But it did.

I had a strange chemical zap that cause mild but life altering brain damage more than 25 years after my cancer. (I still dont think related, but who knows) It is now 3 years and Im about 99% back, but that 1% lingers.

I wasnt "normal" for well over 2 years (hving no leg was *nothing* compared to the brain injury), and you hit the nail on the head: "nomal" is over rated!

Sent by zeke swartz | 1:34 AM ET | 04-24-2007

Leroy, Getting physically healthier and stronger is a good, life-affirming direction to move in. Good Luck with that!
And the hobbies are great, too. Sounds like a plan!

Sent by Marilyn | 6:10 AM ET | 04-24-2007

Although one never knows for sure with cancer, it now appears that I will be on chemotherapy for the rest of my life. The side effects have become part of my "new normal," determining in part the rhythm of my days. Working through an upset stomach, taking an extra nap to deal with fatigue, responding to well-meaning but endless queries about "how I am doing," these have all become part of my new normal. There are times when I long for my life before cancer, but mostly I feel grateful that I am still alive in the full sense of the word -- open to and seeking out those experiences that make life worth living and not dwelling on the limitations that have been imposed by my disease. I think that as cancer survivors we are all in a similar set of circumstances.

Sent by Andy Halpern | 7:18 AM ET | 04-24-2007

I'd love to hear about the lessons you've learned.

Sent by Anita | 9:18 AM ET | 04-24-2007

This morning I saw a slender 6 foot tall box elder sapling growing out of a crack between a supermarket wall and the pavement....Some of it's branches had been broken off, but it was budded, reaching upwards and very much alive. I thought, "That's us!" Anne C.

Sent by Anne Coulter | 1:11 PM ET | 04-24-2007

After two years of cancer treatments and surgery, I just had my chest port removed today. Reconstruction is still a work in progress, BUT I no longer have active treatment. To celebrate I am taking a two month trip to Europe. A dream that will no longer be deferred. This is my signal of returning to normalcy. When I return, I will be a person not a cancer patient.

My new life starts on May 1 when I leave for Paris. Wish me luck.

Sent by Robin | 7:41 PM ET | 04-24-2007

The light that shines in your eyes when you get the diagnosis of cancer blinds any "future" you thought you had. It's now today and only today that is seen clearly.

Sent by Marilyn Millar Cowles | 6:21 PM ET | 05-04-2007

Mr. Sievers, my friend Jonna Rae Bartges wrote this incredible story of her husband's journey with cancer. It is probably unlike any you have ever read. Enjoy! http://www.wnc-woman.com/august06/page3.html

Sent by Julie Parker | 7:45 AM ET | 05-06-2007

My name is Alex Oden, I am a 19 year old Psychology major at NAU. I am also a two time brain cancer survivor. I just listened to your interview on NPR and it brought me to tears, because I admire your courage and attitude. Since my diagnosis in 2000, when I was twelve years old, I have been trying to make a difference in the lives of cancer patients and survivors. I have spent hundreds of hours volunteering in hospitals talking with patients, trying to inspire them to never give quit fighting. I just wanted to let you know that extremely impressed with your attitude toward your cancer. It takes true inner strength to take up such a positive outlook on an unsure future. I wanted to leave you with two small quotes,that I live by and I think you will understand and may help you get through where ever your life may take you. I believe that Hope is the most important thing a patient can have, "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all. I have heard it in the chillest land and on the strangest sea, yet never in extremity it asked a crumb of me and sweetest in the gale is hear and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so any warm."__Emily Dickenson. Hope is the most important thing a person can have; never, never, give up hope, there is always hope! I think you already understand these as well, but I think you will appreciate them because you understand that life is often uncontrollable, and that can only do the best we can with the time we have. "If you have some fear of pain or suffering, you should examine whether or not you can do any thing about it. If you can then there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything about it then there is also no need to worry because you cannot do any thing to change it."__His Holiness the Dali Lama. Lastly, "If you are mindful of death, it will not come as a surprise, you will not be anxious. You will feel like death is merely like changing your cloths. Consequently at that point you will be able to maintain your calmness of mind."__His Holiness the Dali Lama. I believe that if you keep up a positive mind and never give up you will beat this! Good luck and Live Strong

Sent by Alex Oden | 5:40 PM ET | 05-06-2007

Dear Leroy,
I saw you on TV with Ted Koppell and connected with you - I also am fighting cancer and will beat it I hope. I have a blog also:
http://prostate-cancer-log.blogspot.com
Best of luck and keep a positive attitude, that is so important in beating cancer.

Sent by Joe C | 9:02 PM ET | 05-06-2007

Leroy, I just watched your documentary and found much comfort in it. I had surgery for thyroid cancer two weeks ago. I am to be scheduled for a full body scan in the near future. I have been going through a roller coaster of feelings in the last three weeks. I wish you the best Leroy.

Sent by Sandra Girard | 11:11 PM ET | 05-06-2007

Mr. Leroy Sievers:

I watched your documentary with great interest. I am glad, as the program closed, it seems that you are doing better. However, I was paying close attention to what you would say about your spiritual beliefs before and during this great trial in your life, but I missed this or you did not say.
I would welcome any insight that you might provide. It also seemed that none of the other cancer survivors said any thing about this either.

Thank you for sharing your life???s struggle.

Chris Jones

Sent by Christopher Jones | 11:19 PM ET | 05-06-2007

I just watched the Ted Koppel show tonight. I want to say, you all did not say enough about the poople in your lives, be it a wife or life partner, who had staid by you. And how they cope. I know, from personal experience, my husband has hepetics C, witch in turn gave him liver cancer...and so many other side effects to numerous to mention here...I must agree with Elizabeth Ewards...I would so really like to hear from your partner. She seemed so calm and opptistic, when called on it. How does she do it? This dieing be inches is so hard...yet she seemed to be ajusted to it and well, for the lack of better terms, tear free when talking about it. Maybe you could encourge her to write her own blog. If so, please let me know if she does!

Just remember, the person who loves you the MOST is suffering too!

Sent by Peggy Flett | 2:40 AM ET | 05-07-2007

What would I be doing and what kind of life would I be leading if I had not been diagnosed with breast cancer in Feb. 2007? I would be living my "normal" life of being a wife of 40 years, a mother of 6, a grandmother of 15, a volunteer at church and on and on, but now I am living the "new normal". Everything is suddenly revolving around me and I hate it. I am trying to come to grips that even with "catching it early" ( less than a centimeter), having had a partial mastectomy with clear margin & no node involvement and having completed radiation I am still facing 62 weeks of chemo. It is not supposed to work that way but my invasive ductual carcinoma is so aggressive that is my "new normal". I am trying to come to grips with why in the 5th largest city in America I had to wait 6 months to get in for a routine mammogram and why the top rated mammogram facility waited a full month to notify me my mammogram was irregular? Why did they want to schedule me 4 months out for a follow-up mammogram - which incidentally I went somewhere else the next day - and started advocating for myself! I am happy to say I now have a wonderful team of oncologists who realize time is important. I am grateful, but hate the "new normal" and what lies ahead. I can't help wondering if my mammogram had been 6 months earlier would my tumor not have been invasive and the dreaded chemo avoided As LeRoy said tonight on the outstanding "Living With Cancer" program,"I don't have time for what-if's." I only have time to be grateful for what is... but sometimes that is hard and that doesn't mean I have to like it or not wish things were different.

Sent by Julie Darling | 2:46 AM ET | 05-07-2007