Hey Leroy,
As usual you're right on the mark about the fear. I'm just days from the end of my chemo and now that scares me--what will happen when I'm no longer attacking the possible, miniscule cancer cells inside me?

Sent by Katie | 7:28 AM ET | 05-11-2007

yes ,you and susan are very very correct in your thoughts. i am a strong bear of a woman inside a petite,blonde ,(ok used to be blonde) body. i refuse to succumb to cancer or for that matter let cancer take the fight out of my life! i will die ,like the rest of us, someday...just not today..i have a hell of a list of things to do!
on another side note...leroy, if you drink as many matii's (spell check*) as the "crowd" suggests...you won't make it home! but have a hell of a time trying! LOL...have a wonderful weekend and give a huge hug to laurie !

Sent by marianne dalton | 7:57 AM ET | 05-11-2007

'We are not given the burdens we deserve, we are given the burdens we can bear. My message to Susan, and to all of you, and to myself, is that we are stronger than we think. We can bear these burdens.'

Leroy--you've said it quite beautifully.

Susan--i'm sending a virtual hug your way.. I hope you feel less scared...

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 9:06 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Hi Leroy and all

Sitting between life ... as we knew it before cancer, probably terminal diagnoses, etc. and our own deaths is being simultaneously in a different world and the world we once knew and lived in. We still live in it but in a very different way.

I haven't felt a fear of death very much, though I accept death -- probably within the next 1 - 5 years -- as a part of my life. I have been very fearful of the unknown that is part of this journey. This fear as many of you have mentioned was somewhat alleviated when I found out what was going on -- however threatening.

One thing that has helped me is to know that this period has lessons to teach and that we can seize this time and help teach them to others. Personally I have begun to have a bit of success in getting the medical and other --professional caring -- communities to listen to our voices and at least start to respond in like manner, rather than as distanced professionals. I couldn't help noticing that the dialogues we have through this blog and similar forums are very different in tone and what is discussed than you hear in medical, psychological and other professional discussions of the same topic. I want to try to align these discussions more so that the medical and allied communities hear and understand our voices and concerns more clearly.

I am also working on teasing out the parallels between our world and the worlds of those who suffer unjustly and en masse whom you, Leroy, have encountered in your media and human rights work. These parallels certainly exist. Life enhance responses to both may be supported as each "world" learns from the other.

All of this is to remind to us that though we live in a different, scarier world, filled with more uncertainty than most others, we still live. As long as we do, and even in some ways afterwards we can make a difference and can occupy at least some of our time with something other than fear. What we all face is unquestionably a burden. However, what we do with it can transform it, at least in part, into a gift to ourselves and others.

Happy times in Hawaii

John Shippee
Atlanta, Georgia

Sent by John Shippee | 9:47 AM ET | 05-11-2007

I think we all go through the overwhelming fear. Maybe I am overgeneralizing. But, when I got my diagnosis (esthesioneuroblastome in the sinus, right eye and brain) June 7, 2005 I was more scared than I had ever been in my 41 years. It was the last thing I thought about at night and the first thing I thought about in the morning. It also covered most of the day. Cancer (the psychological part of the disease) will take as much as you will give it. I immediately went to see two friends I knew who had succesfully battled cancer for years. I asked, "When do I stop being so afraid?" They both said the fear never goes away. You just learn to live better with it and focus on more positive things. I think Leroy's right. At least in my case, I was a lot stronger than I thought I was. I think we are all strong. We have a strength that "healthy people" (no derision intended) cannot know. Search for peace where you can find it. Even if it is only in small bits, try to enjoy them. I believe Leroy and others call them "cancer free moments".

Sent by Dave U. | 9:59 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Hi Leroy, I can almost hear the waves... they sound very soothing. When I undergo chemo treatments, or if I just need some peace, I play a CD of mine that has wave sounds and ocean sounds on it. I close my eyes and imagine being on a hammock, tied between 2 trees on a beach somewhere, lightly swinging in the breeze, I can imagine actually feeling the moist air and smelling the salty water. (I have a great imagination).

I've had Non Hodgkin's for more than 6 years and its never really sunk in that I have cancer. Until this time. I used to find myself looking in the mirror and saying to myself "I have cancer!" then trying to put it all into perspective. But even though I've told myself, I still truly could not believe it. During my treatments this time, I thought for sure I was going to die. I had a bad reaction to a drug I've had several times in the past: (Rituxan). Rituxan is a monoclonal antibody that works sort of like a magnet and attaches itself to the tumors then slowly over time dissolves them. Usually, the only side effects are tiredness. But during the infusion, my inner ear started to itch (like a food allergy can do) then my throat started to get sore and my heart rate started to increase, I started to call for help... and as they were asking me what was wrong, I started to imagine my death right there and then... I imagined them calling "Code Blue!!" Luckily, after they stopped the drug, and gave me more Benadryl, I started to feel better. We eventually found out that I needed to get the drug very slowly and every few hours have more Benadryl administered. The nurses warned me that instead of 3-5 hours, I'd be there much longer. I told them (each time) I don't care, I'll stay overnight if I have to. That was when I started to really believe, I actually can die here... I never really believed it before. I don't know why. I know I have cancer. I've lost many friend and family members to it. I know it can kill. I just don't think I ever let it sink in before that. Its changed the way I live my life now. I want to smell the flowers more. There are still so many things I'd like to do.

I don't believe I am really afraid of dying though. My children died when they were babies and I almost can't wait to hold them again. But, I worry for my family. My mom. She never really got over my children's deaths and has been so angry. She asks why things have happened to me. My son CJ was murdered by my ex husband while I was at work. I came home and found my son. He was only 9.5 months old. My husband had beat him to death with a baseball bat. Sometimes I think about that night and it feels just like it happened yesterday. He would be 22 this year. I hate mothers day too... but I try to put up a good front for my mom. Anyway, I try to explain or come up with reasons for things like this to happen and it sort of makes it better. You see, through CJ's death, I went on to help others who lost children. I went to Albany and petitioned for some bills an laws to get passed. So I try and explain to her, there is a reason for it. If I could, I would give my life to bring them back, but I can't. And if they hadn't died, I wouldn't have gone on to help others? I stop and think... "would I have helped these people if my son had not been murdered?" I doubt it. It would be nice to think I would, but I know I wouldn't if my life wasn't touched by it.

You Leroy, have helped so many because of your cancer. And I agree... you are only given what you can bear. So I say to you Leroy: Thank you for making a difference! I truly wish the best for you.

Shirley

Sent by Shirley | 10:06 AM ET | 05-11-2007

I really think this is so true; having been through this journey witha family member going through treatment for a brain tumor in childhood. You can travel up to the gate, and some times stand just within the entrance, but what happens between the entrance and exit is completely up to you. That in itself is a burden, but I definitely think Leroy is right, you are always much stronger than you think, and it can take such a severe blow to realize how much internal strength one has. I applaud all of your courage!!!!!!

Sent by Lauren F | 10:13 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Dear Leroy

This is my first post. I am a wife and caregiver to my husband Bill. Amazingly, my husband has had 2 other cancers prior to his latest bout. (Melanoma-non--invasive, surgically taken care of and bladder cancer-non-invasive, surgically taken care of). Both of those cancers were over 5 years ago. Now, at the brink of being empty nesters (we are both 50 and our youngest son is off to UGA), we find ourselves again facing the big C. This time, it is alot tougher battle-Esophageal Cancer, Stage IV diagnosed in Feb. 07. However, after only 4 rounds of very aggressive chemo treatments- Bill is in complete remission. We are not naive though, to think it will not reocurr. I am very strong, very determined-as is my husband. However, after this intense battle, I hope we have some time to relax-to see if this cancer reoccurs and if so, when. I don't want to feel like the movie "Groundhog Day". Bottom line, I saw the documentary and felt like we were there-I have gone to every doctor's appointment with Bill. Inspire me with your words about living life and not being afraid of reoccurence.

Sent by Nancy I Jordan | 10:19 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy,

My thought about bearing burdens is that we all bear whatever burdens are given to us. Some of us do it with great strength and grace; some of us quiver our way through; some of us kick and scream and yell and panic. However we get through the "gate" we all DO get through.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 10:39 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy, I think you cut right to the core of the issue, again. Life is about change and I think cancer just accelerates the changes in many ways. I don't wish cancer on anyone, by any means. But cancer does change things and how we respond is key.

Sent by Andrea Clay | 10:42 AM ET | 05-11-2007

I do't think there could have been better timing then me reading this today. I am feeling so sad, my family and friends say your well get over it. But the truth is you never "get over it". Its always in the back of your mind. Thank you for validating my feelings.

Sent by ellie | 10:56 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Aloha Leroy

Hope you are enjoying your time away...

I have "lived beyond that gate" for almost 32 years now... and you are absolutely spot on.... we are stronger than we believe and absolutely we are NOT given the burdens we "deserve" (because after all.. how could ANY of us have ever "deserved" this?).. we are given what we can bear and what will make us stronger and or change us or those around us....

I do strongly believe if you have adequate "distance" (meaning time or emotional) we can indeed see POSITIVE changes which have taken place in us or again those around us....

I for one know positive has come from my walking through that gate!! I have changed in positive ways (too many to mention here) and I have also been blessed with getting to know so many incredible people through my experiences! I do not believe those would have happened otherwise...

I have not lived in "fear" of my cancer coming back.. but I have been cognizant of the possibility for those 32 years and counting! I do not fear death.. I do not cherish the idea of leaving behind my loved ones and the grief they will have to endure... but having a strong Christian faith reinforces a belief I will then be in a MUCH better place!!

I believe your whole life Leroy has prepared you for this past year or so... your training as a journalist and such has prepared you to do exactly what you have done... you have shared with so many here and on the special with Ted Koppel.. giving them insights into themselves.. giving them hope... allowing them to know they are not alone... allowing them to acknowledge and accept their own feelings as they see and accept yours....

No question this all SUCKS.. having to go through all this for any reason.. and God willing there will come a day when NO ONE else has to suffer this way.. but in the meantime... we endure TOGETHER!!

The human spirit is an AMAZING thing!

Sent by Ronald K. Bye | 10:57 AM ET | 05-11-2007

I am a "living with cancer" spouse. I have felt that this IS happening to me also, since the words were first spoken. Your post today is meant for the members who have the -card- their proof of belonging. But I feel it was meant for me too. I feel every word you have written today and in all your past posts, as if I am going through those doors also. I am very afraid for my husband and myself. My own mortality has been questioned. I have a fear of losing my life as I know it. Life without my best friend is not a life I can think of living. My burden. I guess those are my scars, my menbership dues.
I am and will also be a survivor.

Sent by Debbie | 11:02 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Yes, the human spirit can be amazingly tough and resilient. Though I know we'd all prefer to be spared the burden of cancer, learning that we're stronger than we ever thought possible is (or can be) a good and liberating feeling.

Of course, plenty of people die without ever having that realization. Whether it's a heart attack or car accident that does them in, they just don't have time to contemplate death or face each incremental step along the way. So maybe they aren't tested in the same way and thus never learn they can handle great difficulty. Would such blissful ignorance be preferable to the hard-earned self knowledge of cancer?

You ask, "What is it that we are afraid of?" I keep coming back to that question. Is it death? Pain? Ceasing to be -- the unknown? Being seen as "other" by the rest of mankind? The loss of our old lives? Sometimes I think that my main fear is of being consumed by fear: "The only thing you have to fear is fear itself!" My fear has lessened a lot, but I imagine it would come flooding back if I had a scan with very bad results.Reading that Susan is "very very scared" and that you still experience fear and have cried a bucketful of tears actually makes me feel better. I don't know Susan, but I've seen and heard you speak and know you are a strong, admirable person. That sort of gives me permission to feel fearful,too, knowing that afterward, I can pick myself up, brush myself off, and take the next step.

Sent by Doris | 11:04 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy, I am so happy to hear you are relaxing and feeling peace. You deserve this time to yourself to recharge your batteries. An amazing woman I have had the pleasure to know during her cancer journey passed peacefully earlier this week. She often referred to a quote by Albert J. Nimeth which was printed in her obit this morning:"If we learn to cooperate with the inevitable, life can be a joy to the very end." I have printed this out and posted it to my fridge to remind me that, as my dad's journey is quickly coming to a close,there is still joy to be had. I hope you and your blog family, my blog family, can find some peace in this quote. Enjoy the sunshine on your face, Leroy. I hope to visit Hawaii with Mom someday soon so we can recharge our batteries.

Sent by Karen | 11:24 AM ET | 05-11-2007

Facing our Fears is why 40 of us have committed to telling our story of surviving cancer. We are acting on getting that message out. See www.journeysofinspiration.com. Help us spread the word.

Sent by Rick French | 11:29 AM ET | 05-11-2007

I just passed my two yr mark with BC. I stoppped in Wed. to see the onc.(not again for 6 mos!)and brought in some goodies for the nurses and the patient basket. The room was full(they told me they had 72 patients going thru that day) and I felt so guilty walking thru the room, feeling good. I felt like I should stop and say "been there, done that and moved on" so they can see it can get better but I know not everyone will. I put on a very brave face to everyone that it's over but I know, I am afraid, I don't want to get back in those chairs and back under the knife. But just for today, I will see my daughter graduate from college and will put the idea so far out of my mind, I will forget, and enjoy what I have. I love the quote above but one I have posted on my fridge is "Worrying does not empty tomorrow of troubles, rather it empties today of it's strengths." I try really hard to live today and not let fear bowl me over. Sometimes though, late at night......Hope Hawaii is great TODAY!!

Sent by Jenene Koegel | 12:04 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Susan,

It's okay to be scared! You're in a very scary space. I don't know how you cope with fear - we're all different - but anything that helps is fine. Some people need to vent and others feel better if they maintain control.I hope you are surrounded by caring people if that is what you want and I hope you have solitude if that is your wish. Don't forget to ask for what you need...we all slip up on that one! Blessings.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 12:12 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Dear Leroy, I wake up each day looking forward to many things (waking up is one of them) and now your blog is included in these many things. About being scared, it comes when big decisions have to be made, I think I am most scared when I am sitting in the doctor's office waiting for the results of my latest CT, is my life going to change again in a nano second or do I get to go on for 6 weeks more getting used to the changes from last time. So far I am on chemo indefinitely (even writing that makes me want to throw up) and the tumors are there but they are staying put and no new ones are coming. At my last appt. I asked my doctor if he has other "stuff" for me, aka what happens when this chemo doesn't work and thankfully he said yes, sometimes that is the only thing that keeps me going. Lately I haven't been as good as masking my symptoms at work and people have said some incredible things, like "the last person I knew who had some back pain with cancer was gone in a matter of months and did you take this job in good faith?" What do you do with that. The blows were so hurtful that I just stood there and didn't say anything. I recently read something that Martha Beck wrote about dealing with negative people and how to diffuse those kinds of situations. She said to say "All is well", and that leaves the person with nothing to feed off of. So I have kind of adopted that for those situations and when I feel down about my cancer "All is well." for today and that is all I can ask for, Enjoy the sand between your toes and the wind at your back,

Sent by Estelle | 12:35 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Susan - As ou go through the gate remember one thing. I never thought the Serenity Prayer would mean so much to me. I read it nightly. It seems to give me a calm that let's me remember I made it through one more day. I especially pray for courage on the days I get my CT results. There is nothing I can do if it is bad news but it gives me the courage to say"OK where do we go from here?" If it is good news than I still say "where do we go from here?" We all need to know our limitations and except them. We also need to know that even changing our thoughts and small actions gives us great wisdom. At times I feel Cancer has made me wiser. So today I say to all of us "God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change. the Courage to change the things I can. and the Wisdom to know the difference." I'm sure Leroy you can agree with this.

Sent by Cathy Kern | 12:36 PM ET | 05-11-2007

I am stage 4 Hodgekin's getting ready to have a bone marrow transplant. This is not my first bout with cancer. I had Hodgekin's Disease 17 years ago and breast cancer 8 years ago. Each time was a devastating and scary. I would say no more, cann't do this again. Well, I am. This time the most scary. I am strong but when I feel sick I feel sorry forself. I will get through the transplant which is what really scares me but I feel this cancer is a weight over my head. With lymphatic cancer like Hodegkin's it leaves one open to other cancers. I will never know when and if another cancer will appear after this one is put in remission. It's nice to be able to speak what is on one's mind with others. Susan, I hope you are finding support to help you. It's a frightening diagnosis and god does not give us more than we can handle. I do say enough is enough but it keeps piling on. There are lots of good caring people who you can reach out to. This blog being one. I am grateful to Leroy and to the others who share their story. You think your story is the saddest and it is to you. Our stories are the saddest to us, we live it and see it everyday. Leroy gives us the opportunity to know others and the to share compassion. It's okay to be scared, we face fears everyday. We never know what to expect. Good luck to all on your quest to be cancer free. Many blessings.

Sent by Debra Joy Albin | 12:43 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Hi Ellie:
Those words,"...get over it." I have heard them soooo many times at our Support Group meetings, when members are talking about comments by friends and family members. I'm quite sure you've never heard them from a survivor, or anywhere on Leroy's blog.
Your family and friends are well meaning. They think they can jolt you out of your sadness; they're asking you to, somehow, by sheer willpower, become the old Ellie. It doesn't work that way in Cancer Country.
You will heal, you will regain a happy outlook, but not their way. Try to be patient with them, they want the best for you.
Love, Don

Sent by Don Winslow | 12:44 PM ET | 05-11-2007

I live with the fear, but I don't let it take control of my life, the fear has always been there but it decided it wanted more than I wanted to give it. I squelched the fear before the awake craniotomy but as they pushed me toward the operation room, I gazed up to the doctor with a tear in my eye and said to him "It's okay for me to be scared now." I was trying to be so brave for my husband, and I didn't want him to know how I was truly feeling, but they caught me on film saying this. There is not one day that goes by that I don't think about the brain tumor, the fear, the unknown, and the slightest headache I say to myself "Is this the beginning of the end". This is what makes me different from someone who has not been diagnosed with a terminal disease, I have the opportunity to look at life at the moment that it is occurring, enjoy every moment, laugh away the fear, and the moments when something upsets me I examine the thoughts and determine is this truly significant and I am often surprised by my answer. This is a new normal for me, but I treasure every new normal that comes my way. My last MRI Scan show no growth, Yippee!

Sent by Patricia Gorman | 12:59 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy,

You have given a voice to my emotions that even I could not explain. My mom has leiomyosarcoma and from the moment she was diagnosed, it has taken our collective breath away. She is fighting a brilliant battle and is recovering from a grueling surgery that removed an 8lb cancerous tumor from her abdomen. The cancer cells are in her blood stream and have taken root in her lungs. All of the medical jargon and explanations aside, two weekends ago, my husband and I and my brother arrived at my parents house for a weekend. The sky was blue, the swimming pool inviting, the grill smoking and I took my Mom shopping while the guys hung out by the pool. It was so painfully normal that it broke my heart. I couldn't understand why I was so upset, but after a day or so of reflection, I realized the weekend was a snapshot of our former lives as a family. You know, the one you know you are lucky to have, but don't grasp the miracle of until it is taken away by that hideous diagnosis of cancer.
You are right on the money when you wrote that the greatest fear is losing your old life. We have lost that life, but are determined to forge a new one with just as many laughs and memories.

Thank you for what you do and for sharing.

Aloha!

Sent by Melanie Hunkapiller | 1:44 PM ET | 05-11-2007

How's the surf? More importantly, how are the umbrella drinks? Relax and enjoy.

I know fear of which you speak. We all know the fear that cancer brings. My demons always came at night. I could not turn my mind off so that I could sleep. All of the second guessing; all of the woulda's. coulda's and shoulda's came out at night to torment me. Sleep was elusive to non-existant.

Let me say that I am a Christian, a believer in Jesus Christ, life everlasting. One turbulent night, I got on my knees to ask God to help me, to give me some relief, to lift some of my burdens. I must say that a calm and a peace came to me and enabled me to enjoy a peaceful sleep then and now.

This way of dealing with our fears may not be for everyone but it worked and is working today for me. For those who are believers, ask and it shall be given.

Peace and blessings to you as always, Leroy.

Sent by Al Cato | 1:56 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Strength to Susan. Enjoy Hawaii. Have a strawberry daiquiri (used to be my favorite drink before I had health troubles).

Sent by MT | 2:25 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Hello Leroy,
A dear friend of mine sent me a quote when he heard of my diagnosis. Sadly, I don't know who to attribute it to. I have it taped to my bathroom mirror so I can see it and my bald head at the same time. It is:" Courage is not the absence of fear but the conquest of it." It sends me out the door daily with new resolve to meet each new fear head on.

Sent by Gene | 2:37 PM ET | 05-11-2007

I may have passed through a gate but I'm still here! Earlier today during my daily train commute into work and school, the burly train conductor checked my son's and my commuter ticket as usual. He then bent down and said to me 'have a nice mother's day'. I'm still here and I'm still a mother to my beautiful children. Somethings are not meant to ever change and cancer cannot change that. So Happy Mother's Day!

Sent by Jessie | 2:40 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy, It's wonderful to read your note from Hawai'i...And more wonderful that you are there. Enjoy every minute of it!

I went last year, between treatments, and spent the most serene mornings on a little beach with five sea turtles who came to shore & sat with me. Peace and many mai tais.

Sent by Karen Thielman | 2:46 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Thank you for sharing your gift of words......articulating what cancer survivors are feeling. My husband is now treating for recurrent colon cancer with mets to the liver. We were both touched watching last week's television program and we appreciate the voice you are giving to those living with cancer. Thank you.
--From a caregiver who's honored to be a part of your journey.

Sent by Marcia | 3:19 PM ET | 05-11-2007

I heard you on the radio a week or two ago for the first time and then watched the television special. I wanted to get up from my chair, log on to the web site and start writing to you but I've held off. I don't mean to be forward or overstep the bounds of social etiquette but I'm going to say it anyway. At times in my life, I have not been known to be the most compliant person anyway; why start now? I said it to a new girlfriend I met at a landscape design class and I'll say it to you. When we were parting after our last session of three classes, I gave her a hug, held her hand and told her sincerely, "You are one of those people that when you first meet them you know you love them." She replied, "Geeze, you should write Hallmark cards" and we both laughed. While you and I have never met, I feel the same way. We need more of that kind of feeling in the world instead of disliking someone at first sight. I was 14 when I lost my 36-year old beautiful-spirited mother to suicide. She was to have been admitted to the hospital that very day, a Sunday, for rectal cancer surgery. I remember saying she might have to have a "bag" and she said that long, scientific-sounding word that meant something strange to me and I couldn't quite understand it at the time. I wondered if I would have to put food in it so she would receive nourishment. I remember times at night when she lay in bed moaning from pain and I wanted to help her so much but did not know what to do. I'm 50 now and that seems such a long time ago but it seems like yesterday. I have had the lesson that saying what is in your heart now is important because you just never know. I definitely did not enjoy the lesson but I get it. And so I pass it along to you knowing that you will "get it" and accept it as kind and loving encouragement from someone you don't even know. I wish I knew you. I think I need to look for Hawaiian shirts to wear in the office on Fridays in your honor. Just might do that, friend. Loose the vacation guilts. Enjoy. Savour. Take in some fresh ocean air for me.

Sent by Pamela | 4:30 PM ET | 05-11-2007

"We are given the burdens we can bear" sounds a lot like what I heard when my 12 yr. old son was diagnosed with non-Hodkins Lymphoma - "God only gives you what you can handle". That really made me mad at the time. I didn't want God to see me as being able to handle my son's cancer. I wanted to say to God, I'm not strong enough to deal with this and neither is he. Hearing his diagnosis was like having an anvil come out of the blue sky and hit me on the head. He was so healthy looking and enjoying sports - it was so hard to believe. But the paperback book-size tumor in his chest on the x-ray and the other areas where it had spread were hard to deny. I thought if I was a weaker person maybe this wouldn't have happened.

Well, Johns Hopkins came to our rescue and he was 'cured'. He is now a strapping, seemingly healthy 33 yr. old who loves to climb mountains and teach people about the wonders of the outdoors.

We all got through those two and a half years - day by day - hour by hour - the 9 different chemo drugs and all the nasty side effects. We found that indeed we could bear it.

Since 2000, and after having two surgeries to cut out my lung cancers and one surgery to find out that there was no cancer, just scar tissue - I realize we all have found the strength to deal with the fears, the pain and the weak knees once again. That strength always comes from within and without - those special people who pop up when we need them - at home and the hospital.

I'm don't get mad anymore - I just look for the help to keep the stiff upper lip to deal with whatever stuff hits the fan. And help is out there - that's the good news.

Thanks to Leroy and all the blog angels who find the words to help all of us - some in desparate straits.

The air in Hawaii is like silk - lift up your fingers, rub them together to feel that special air and enjoy your much deserved vacation, Leroy and Laurie.

Sent by Sara | 4:37 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Wow. You've hit the ol' nail on the head again, Leroy. What a gift you have with words. Reading your words, and the words of all the bloggers, I am just amazed at all the wisdom and the universality of our feelings and emotions. It's as if we were in a huge club with this common bond we have of cancer. I am afraid, too. I don't like to think about the world without me in it, but from the minute my breast cancer showed up in my right lung two years ago, I began to imagine what that would be like. Moving out of my office at work. Teaching my last class. Counseling my last student. Hugging my daughter and granddaughter the last time. Funniest thing was how amazingly good looking my husband suddenly became. No joke! I looked at him through rose colored glasses, and he started to look more and more like George Clooney! HA!HA! I don't like to think of him with another woman. Guess that's me being selfish. I laughed out loud when that woman with ovarian cancer in the chemo room with you on the documentary said, "I've never been afraid of dying. It's getting old that I've been afraid of". Well, maybe we don't have to be afraid of that, now do we? What else am I afraid of? Not death. I figure that either I am right about there being an afterlife, in which case, I think I'll be in heaven. My life has been a pretty good one, after all, and God is loving. Or, I'm wrong and there is nothingness after death, in which case there won't be fear or suffering or anything else bad either. It's the dying process that scares me. Swollen belly? Pain? Debilitating fatigue? Incontinence? Pneumonia with the feeling of being slowly smothered on my own secretions? Yuck. Let's not dwell with those thoughts. I'll put them out of my mind!!! After all, they are not REAL, they are only THOUGHTS and what is real is that today is good. You, Leroy, are in Hawaii, and I am not in pain. I even got to have breakfast with that granddaughter at her preschool and give her hugs. Yippee! One of my favorite quotes is this one: "I know God doesn't give me more to bear than I can handle.....but sometimes I wish he didn't trust me so much." Mother Teresa said that! Even she had her bad times of fear and sadness. But, it appears she laced it with a sense of humor. That is quite inspiring, isn't it? Peace to everyone, Sandra

Sent by Sandra Shuler | 4:47 PM ET | 05-11-2007

I still have the fear especially since in June I have to have to have another CAT scan. My husband is overwhelmed with the "fear" and that upsets me. I try to control the fear and put it in it's proper place - ie: The Serenity Prayer. Thanks again Leroy for writing for us all to express these feelings. I hope you are having a wonderful vacation even though you are still working!

Sent by Vicki | 4:49 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Hello Leroy,
I remember my first trip to Hawaii, It was 1969 I was with the 82nd Airborne, in Vietnam, I was able to meet my wife for R&R in Honolulu. We had a great time, we watched a movie True Grit, we watched man walk on the moon, and walked the set for the TV show Hawaii 5.0. A wonderful place to get away from the War..
Today you talked about FEAR. I know what it stands for:

F???ind
E???radicate
A???ssesment
R???emission

You find the MONSTER, you eradicate, you make an assessment of your treatments, and then you go to remission. When you have done this the first time, You start over as many times as necessary. I welcome F.E.A.R. everyday when I wake up, because I woke up.

Sent by Sam Means | 5:33 PM ET | 05-11-2007

For a while now I have thought God really had some kind of humor....I mean being diagnosed for the 3rd time with stage 4 in the middle of a midlife crisis and my youngest moving to New York City from Florida. What the heck (acutally I used a different word there). So my husband's response was to buy me another dog, assure me that without hair or breasts he still thinks I'm the sexiest thing on Earth and we will just simply handle what comes our way together. So I guess the real gift in this fear thing is being able to love and be loved. To admit some days I don't feel as strong as other day and on one of those days I can ask my husband, children or friends for help. I have learned to cry openly. I have learned to trust in something greater than me....and to know that no matter where I am, God is. Susan, you're not alone. And thanks to Leroy we have a space to be as open and truthful - no matter how trival we may think is - we have a safe place to say I am really really really scared. God Bless.

Sent by Kay | 5:36 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy/ Susan
When you get a chance, go to that place that you dreamed of when you felt so alone. Stand and look into the sky and breathe. You are still alive. After all the triumphs large and small, that is the epitome of surviving.

Sent by Ehren Heyer | 6:23 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Dear Leroy,

You are absolutely correct. That is what life is. A door closes, a door opens. While I understand Susan's fear (we would all be lying if we didn't acknowledge that fear), I don't believe there is anything between life and dying. I plan to live until my last gasping breaths, fear and all.

Best,
Mo Spikes

Sent by Mo Spikes | 7:38 PM ET | 05-11-2007

I really can't add anymore to what Al Cato said. God has been my strength through these past 2 1/2 years of my Colon Cancer journey. I have gone to HIM many times with my fears and for strength and I have always gotten it. Fear of death? I have never been scared of death because of I am a christian and believe in heaven as my eternity. I do cry sometimes and worry about my husband and family left behind though. Those thoughts are normal human behavior I guess because I know they will be fine as well, but it still happens. Go to GOD with your fears and needs Susan...HE will be there!

Hope you are enjoying the sun and surf LeRoy. Our thoughts are with you. Thoughts and prayers are with you as well Susan. Hugs!!

Sent by Peg | 8:03 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Dear Leroy,
When I saw your interview with Ted Koppel, I felt an immediate bond. My cancer has relapses too, and in a few days I will have t third bone marrow transplant. While I am grateful for the honesty, expertise, and humanity of my medical team, on some level having cancer makes one feel so alone. So many people can be kind and helpful, funny and needy in that blessedly normal way the seriously ill need to feel human too. But ultimately, what happens to us is a lonely uncomfortable thing. And today has not been easy. In the past I have felt quite alone in these feelings. After hearing you articulate your experiences with cancer, however, I feel as if I am walking next to a fellow traveler. Apparently, you are in Hawaii enjoying yourself with an umbrella in your drink. (Such remembered luxury) Your cancer blog and the fearless way you have shared your life with others has helped me feel a member of a community. Thank you so much,
Sandy Elkin

Sent by Sandra Naylor Elkin | 8:08 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Hi Leroy, I watched the special with Ted Koppell last week. I was recently diagnosed with Mesothelioma in March. Hearing you talk about your cancer was like hearing an echo of so many of the thoughts I have had. While it's not a great club to belong to and nothing to brag about, I feel like I am in very good company and am really glad to have this blog to come to.

You are making a difference and I think that is one of the things that you will be remembered for. You should be really proud of yourself.

Sent by Martha Ryan | 8:15 PM ET | 05-11-2007

It's funny, I was thinking just this morning about what a different person I am now than I was 3 months ago. How much I've learned, the things I can do that I didn't realize I could do before Terry died, how much stronger I am than I thought I was. I knew I was tough, I just didn't know how much so.

The lessons I've learned aren't lessons I would have chosen to learn,
but it's what life has handed me and I'll make the best of it and
muddle through. I've learned that by leaning on family and friends, I
can somehow get from morning to night, even in the worst of times.
I've learned that isolating is not OK, and I've learned that thanks to Terry's degree of fame, I have hundreds of friends all over the world
who just want to help however they can.

I guess I've learned that people are basically good.

Sent by Bruce | 8:16 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Hello,

I have no idea if by replying to this e-mail, that Mr Sievers will ever see it, but in case he, or someone else connected with the recent "Living With Cancer" program does, I wanted to compliment all involved with it.

I too hope to become a cancer survivor, but will not know for sure until the next pet scan at the end of May. Of course that is no guarantee.

I found the program very well done, able to express many of the things I wish I were eloquent enough to say.

Cancer has certainly changed my and my wife's lives in it's typical dramatic fashion. Diagnosed less than a year ago with an exceedingly rare form of cancer of the tongue, I have had a near total glossectomy, radiation and chemotherapy. For someone whose job requires speaking, a real setback. So we are just beginning the long journey of battling this disease. Though not quite ready to head to Hawaii and drink Mai Tai's, I can certainly understand the thought.

Thank you for opening the dialog in such a meaningful manner.

Sincerely,

Jim Winslow

Sent by Jim Winslow | 8:36 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy,
Thank you for your gift to me and all those who have those moments of fear....a friend who understands and loves us. Happy Hawaii!!!

Sent by Judith Tynan | 8:39 PM ET | 05-11-2007

For me,the fear is not so much death, but what will happen to my children. I am a mother of three children 5, 8 and 11. The fear that grips me is not so much death, but what my death will mean to them. What is it like to lose a parent this way at a young age? How does that kind of grief change who you become?

Sent by JS | 9:41 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Hi All,

I am blessed to be here - we all are blessed, To feel like a sapling in a hurricane is hard to bear. In 1995, I was diagnosed at 31 with Stage IV breast cancer, Yes, the stats seem to be against each of us. I remember looking at the stats and wanting to be one of the outiers that cannot be explained. One of the cases that are discounted and cut out of the data tables, because it messes up the curve. What it boils down to is that no one but God knows when I wil die or even that I will die from cancer. In all likleyhood, I will die from cancer, but hell - no one gets out of this alive. My cancer loves my bones. I worked full time in market research and my emplyer approved my LTD in January of ths year. I miss work - I miss people. So, I am volunteering and need to treat this as a chronic disease with chemo until whenever.

Peace,
Adena
p.s. I'll be 43 in September - it's good to get older!

Sent by Adena Hostetler | 9:46 PM ET | 05-11-2007

My name is Angelia Lemons,I'm 35 and a CANCER SURVIVOR! I was diagnosed in October 2001 with Acute Myeloid Leukemia 13 days after my oldest's sons' 9th birthday and about 36 days after my youngest son, Kyles'birthday who had turned 2. Although I am a nurse, I didn't know alot about Leukemia except people die from it! Leroy, I've been reading your blog ever since the LIVING WITH CANCER special on TV. I have to say, you are an amazing and interesting person that I'd love to be able to communicate with about being PROUD SURVIVORS of this thing called CANCER. I would love to talk to other survivors also, so please share my email address. I hope you are having a good time in Hawaii, you deserve it! Angel

Sent by Angel Lemons | 10:47 PM ET | 05-11-2007

Leroy,

This is my second post. I feel for Susan because the Cancer gate is something one goes through once and can never go back to being the same person ever again.

Once again, I am Carole and have hereditary colon cancer (FAP) and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS). By having two hereditary disorders I have often wondered what was God thinking? How can I handle this? I have, like most of you, heard God gives us nothing we cannot bear. But I think I would say it is more like He gives us nothing that You, God, Friends and Family cannot bear all together. Then there are Doctors, Nurses, and the Support Groups. All these things make it all possible to bear the Big C.

Leroy, thank you for telling like it is. I have a disabled placard and I do not look sick enough in some people's eyes to have one. I get stares all the time. Some days I feel like making a shirt saying "I have chronic Cancer, my joints dislocated by turning a peanut butter jar; including my hips that just dislocated by walking, and my ex just cancelled my health insurance, I DESERVE this parking SPACE!!" But of course I do not and suffer through all the looks. So, I am all for the cancer lane especially in LA!! Or in any big city.

BTW, I think you should have taken all of us to Hawaii...Just Joking!! It is hard to let go of the cancer mind mode. I tell people it is like being on a sailing ship for many years. The effects stay with you for a long time.

Also, I love Mai Tais and have the best recipe for them. Can't have them anymore - too many meds. So, have one for me and smell the sweet air of Hawaii. Kauai is my favorite place in the world. Mango and papaya are so yummy. Enjoy it all as you have been through hell and now you are in paradise
and that is only fair!!

Swim with the fishies, and Hang Loose,
Carole Ehlers

Sent by Carole Ehlers | 2:43 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Unbelievable well said Leroy.

Even in remission, the fear never leaves. Once a year when they test my blood I call it Mortality Day, the day I remember where I am, where I was, where I could be again.

The fear is not something you get over, it is something you learn to live with and you grow stronger and better through facing it every day.

Sent by Janet | 8:18 AM ET | 05-12-2007

We are only given burdens we can bear is comforting to me but that implies that cancer is something we are given.
I don't believe that. I believe we are born imperfect and our bodies break down as every person's will. We are sinners who have polluted our bodies and earth. I don't believe in a God that would give me metastatic disease. I don't believe cancer happens for a reason. I do believe life happens for a reason and death is an inevitable part of life. Burdens are part of the wonderful life we are given and I believe God is with me and I feel closer to him than ever before. I believe he helps me to carry my burdens and helps me to make meaning out of them in my life. But I think people give cancer some sort of cosmic power when it is simply "cells gone wild". In facing death we truly do face God in a way others do not. Through him and the support of others we can face any burden. I have been amazed at the things my brain can actually wrap itself around. I can face death and still remain a functioning wife, teacher and parent. I am focused on helping my children be strong enough to bear the burden of losing a mother. That is the burden that keeps me awake at night.

Sent by cindy | 8:25 AM ET | 05-12-2007

At great risk of a pile-on: Sometimes being able to carry the burden is just not enough, or is crazy-making for the family member with cancer, and for the other family members. Right now, we're not doing so well. If I (the caregiver/wife) am bone/psyche weary of it and feel barely able to carry my share of the load, what does that imply? That I'm hoping he'll die, and soon, so I'll get some relief? From the financial struggle, the lying at work about my caregiver absences struggle, the always on alert to make sure all possible avenues are pursued struggle?

Actually, I/we need a bit of a miracle, or at least a respite longer than 2 weeks. Yes, we're surviving it and bearing our burdens but it is exhausting. Gratitude for the ability to withstand all is sometimes hard to muster when the battle is eating the family and all of their resources from within.

Sent by Teri | 8:44 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy, thanks again for your words, which hit true to the mark. We all face different gates at different times, and our response to them is partly how we define our lives. I have had my surgery for colon cancer and have endured the first two chemo treatments. I worry about the future, I also have some 'survivor guilt' for working around the house on the days when I feel good. It really helps to read your blog and the comments each day. It is now part of my morning routine. Thank you for bringing us along on your journey.

Sent by Lou Loggi | 9:07 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy, this is my first post but won't be my last. I have recurrent breast cancer and am in remission. The minute my PCP felt my enlarged lymph node and suggested a stat CT scan I passed through the gate. What's on the other side is scary but doable. In order to make peace with my fears I've become a hospice volunteer. I just absolutely need to know what is ahead. This is the perfect choice for me. My patients and their caregivers need me and appreciate my real understanding so much. Otherwise I'm living a "normal" life. My SO is moving in soon and I've bough a new home, taken 3 trips, and generally lived as though I'm not dying.

Sent by Sue | 9:22 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Okay. So I finally carved out the time to watch the Discovery documentary last night -- it was fabulous, Leroy. I cried. I laughed. I related. Very well done. And thank you for opening up your life to that annoying camera for so long just so we could have this piece to watch. That was a huge gift to each of us out here in Cancer World. Thank you.

I have to mention that I wasn't so crazy about the town meeting piece, as your "audience" was a PR person's dream -- if I heard one more person stand up and promote their particular organization or cause... I guess there was no way to screen that out, being live tv and all. Ah well.

To Shirley, your post earlier today just broke my heart. I am so sorry for that intense sorrow in your life. My cancer is a cake walk compared to what you're going through. I'll be thinking of you all day today, and on Mother's Day, and my prayer will focus on you and your children.

Speaking of prayer, and Cathy Kern's comment about the Serenity Prayer, I'm sorry but it's never really done it for me, having appeared, no doubt, on too many motivational posters and polished rocks. When I need serenity, here's the prayer I turn to: Oh God, refresh and gladden my spirit. Purify my heart. Illumine my powers. I lay all my affairs in Thy hands. Thou art my guide and my refuge. I will no longer be sorrowful and grieved. I will be a happy and joyful being. I will no longer be full of anxiety, nor will I let trouble harrass me. I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life. Oh God, Thou art more friend to me than I am to myself. I dedicate myself to thee O Lord.

Sorry to turn all prayerful here, but prayer is the only thing that gets me through the fear and anxiety, the scary nights, the wait for my latest scan results, or when I think of losing my cowardly fight (still laughing about that Onion headline) and leaving my amazing husband, incredible son and all this glorious earthly life behind.

Happy Mother's Day tomorrow to all you mothers out there. And thanks, again, Leroy, for the lovely gift.

Sent by Jordis | 9:33 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Hi Leroy,
First I would like to thank you for sharing your journey with us. Your thoughts and feeling put into words help many of us feel that we are not alone with our emotions and fears.

I was dx with Follicular Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma stage IV in Sept. 2006 at the age of 42, I have finished my tx and am currently in remission.

I just wanted to add something to the question you asked "What are we afraid of?" "Death?" I'm not so sure its "Death" that I'm afraid of. The thought of death seems kinda peaceful to me. Now don't get me wrong....I'm not ready for it...no where near!! I intend on fighting this cancer with everything I have and then some! But like you said, I think more that its the sadness and the greiving over the loss of who we once were. Our lives will never be the same. Our relationships will never be the same. The look of fear I see in the faces of my Husband and my children. The thought of being a burden to my family as my disease progresses. As we look ahead to the future of our spouses, children, loved ones and see the pain that our deaths will cause them and the thought of leaving them in so much pain causes a sadness in my heart that is unbearable. The pain and loneliness I will leave my husband with. The thought of not being at my daughters college graduation, wedding, the birth of her children is overwelming. Worse yet to me is the thought of how she might feel on the happiest days of her life thinking through tears "I miss my mom"...."I wish she was here to share this with me". The thought that my grandchildren may never know me or remember me because they are to little. These are the things I am most afraid of.

So I live day by day....one day at a time. I cherish every little thing that I used to take for granted. Cancer has made me take a good hard look at the way I was just sliding through life without taking the time to stop and enjoy the little things. I now prioritize my time because I don't know how much I have left.

Enjoy Hawaii Leroy...you deserve it. Stop and really take in the beauty and wonder of it all. The world is bigger than we are. Peace and Blessings.

Sent by Waynette | 9:48 AM ET | 05-12-2007

That gateway, Susan's space between, is what you experience when you are forced to face your own mortality. It is not necessarily fear, but it is always uncomfortable, disconcerting. You learn to deal with it, but the knowledge will always remain.

Everyone knows, on some level, that they will die eventually. However, cancer patients (and others with life-threatening disease) must confront just how uncertain that "eventually" is. It could be next week, next month, next year, or 50 years from now.

Most people have the luxury of not facing that uncertainty: we have to face it every day.

Sent by hans | 10:44 AM ET | 05-12-2007

HI,
I just would like to note, and I have a serious iummne based illness (CVID), and have seen others in my family with serious illness, That you have made a very harmful , tho well meaning mistake.

It simply IS NOT TRUE, that everyone can bear the burdens they are given. I know many that were broken, in every way , by burdens they could not bear and were just destroyed by. Please do not keep speading this lie. There are thousands of example, in any given population, of burdens people could not bear and were destroyed by, on a mental , spiritual and physical level. war, tourture, ( you have seen those broken by these things ), etc. So please, do not keep repeating the lie that everyone that was a burden, can and will bear it, will rise above it and will not be , in any way, destroyed by it. It simply is not true. please do not ask me to recount the many terrible examples I could give in my own life experience. Thank you.

Take Care, be well and stable.

John Wettstein

Sent by john Wettstein | 11:01 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Hello Everybody, I still or had a tumor in my brain. I had it remove three times in 3 yr. One thing i what to say is attitude and humor is what got me so far. Think positive, I had radition and gamma ray i even went to Dana-Farber Institute. Not chemo yet?

Sent by Gary R Tetrault | 11:20 AM ET | 05-12-2007

Hi Leroy, I am a brain cancer survivor as well. I just still deal with leftover anxiety and insomnia. You are an inspiration although I can tell how humble you really are and I agree we are not brave...we just do what we have to do. I will try to hold on to you last statement "we are given what we can bear."

Sent by Tammy Malachowski | 11:56 AM ET | 05-12-2007

"We are only given the burdens we can handle" is one of the only ways I can try to make sense of this--this thing which cannot otherwise be made sense of. I remember a biology professor in college years ago who said he was always fascinated by cancer, in a way, because it is a disease of growth. Usually disease refers to killing, dying, ending, no longer able to grow. But cancer cells grow on their own, their power is in the growth. So if we look at cancer as a disease of "growth", maybe that means we can apply the growth to other things in our lives, our souls, our relationships, our purposes. We aren't taken suddenly by heart attack or car accident, but we are "allowed" to grow in our minds and lives in ways that others can't know. Even if that growth means finding peace within ourselves.

Sent by Cassandra Kniffin | 12:12 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Hi Leroys
My husband, Mikie, passed away Feb 8, 2007. He was my soul-mate. We talked about everything but it was always difficult to talk about his throat cancer, which had metastized throughout his body. I just wanted to let you know that you remind of him. Your phrasing of thoughts and your compassion for life. When I read your blogs I feel I am still communicating with him and that I am finally understanding his cancer. Thanks for the comfort and peace.

Sent by Roxanne Coulon | 1:21 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy, thank you, thank you, thank you.The Discovery Special was SPECIAL. I watched with my youngest son,26 and my husband. I am 53,married for 33 years to the same man, mother of 3 sons and a Physician Assistant for 11 years. I was diagnosed with NonHodgkins Lymphoma on April 16,2007 after finding an enlarged node in my neck on April 6th. How could I tell my mom and dad,on my mom's 74th birthday? I didn't, I waited. I have adopted Tim McGraw's song "Live like you were dying" as my theme song. That brings me to you and Hawaii, I'm sure that you are experiencing every moment, enjoying every sound, smell, taste,and feeling like no one else on that island, unless of course they have cancer.
I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your journey and your innermost thoughts with all of America. That was a very special gift to give. I'm now in the Club, the membership fee was high, but the benefits will be worth it.

Sent by Joyce L. | 1:35 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy- thanks for that wonderful quote at the end. I will always try and remember it when I'm feeling sorry for myself. And I don't even have cancer. Thanks so much.

Sent by DiAnn | 1:54 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Teri: Caregiver to caregiver, I think (if you're like me) you'll find that when the caregiver mode ends, either by recovery or death, you'll wonder what you'll ever do with all your new-found free time. Granted, we didn't have kids or pets to look after.

After Terry's death in February, I had all this time and really nothing to fill it. Once I feel up to the task and finish getting affairs in order, I'm going to look in to volunteering as a public speaker. For now, I've got memorials in 7 US cities and 3 other countries to conduct. That'll fill some of the time, that's for sure.

The frustration you're feeling is normal. I know that doesn't help a lot to hear, but do try to take an hour or two a couple of times a week just for you to get away from it. You can't be effective as a caregiver when you've let yourself get run into the ground and you're so tired of the crap that you just want to scream.

I went through it for over five years. I've been there. I sympathize. Even though we didn't get the result we wanted, it's OK. It has to be, or it'll make you crazy.

Sent by Bruce | 1:56 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Hi Leroy,
My daughter told me about your tv special. I enjoyed watching it and hearing your thoughts--so much like mine and the kind you don't share with your family. I have metastatic breast cancer and was given two or three years of survival. My husband has had Parkinson's Disease for the past 22 years and is not able to accompany me to chemo treatments or Oncologist appts. I miss having my husband's support at this stage. On the other hand, my children have taken on the role of caregivers and support network which is God's gift to me. I have lived to see two weddings and the joy of my first granddaughter. I feel very blessed that I can still be the main caregiver for my husband and babysit my grandchild. The future is uncertain, but we both try and enjoy each day and not let cancer or Parkinsons dominate our thoughts.

Enjoy your time in Hawaii!

Sent by Joy | 3:58 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy,
My husband was diagnosed with Stage IV Lung cancer on December 4, 2006. After his first 3 rounds of Taxol and Carboplatin his PET scan SUV marker was 2.2 as opposed to 8.9 last December. Because he was suffering from peripheral neuropathy from Taxol and the PET Scan report looked good, he was put on Avastin to keep the cancer from advancing while he recovered from the side effects of the chemo; mainly the peripheral neuropathy. However, he now has 3 new tumors in his left lung and a new one in his right lung. His MRI of the brain last Wednesday also revealed he has multiple Calvarian lesions and a questionable parenchymal lesion in the left cerebellum. He is starting back on chemo Friday, May 18 with a different drug called Alimpta.

We are at a phase right now that is very trying and I know you have experienced these times as well. I continue to search the internet to look for new or alternative treatments to hopefully provide a turnaround to give him more time and quality of life with us. I've read numerous books as well to help me understand what he is going through and look for holistic and spiritual solutions in addition to the chemo.

We enjoyed the 3 hour program on the Discovery Channel last Sunday and found it quite informative. We just happened to be channel surfing and found it. Will it be aired again? I've seen snippets on the internet, but we would like to see it again.

Again, thanks for sharing your story and helping others who are in a similar struggle with this devastating disease that continues to mutate and morf to become resistant to chemo and other treatments.

What sticks in my mind the most is the comment you made that you were at a good hospital and now you are at a great hospital. You stated you believe you would not be alive today if you had not made the change. I believe we are getting the best treatment available in the Kettering, Ohio area.

The decision to look elsewhere is something I keep thinking about, but my job constraints seems to make it very difficult to seek treatment elsewhere for him. I wrestle with the thought that the best solution and treatment for him lies somewhere outside our area. If it is just a 2 hour drive, that is doable. Unfortunately, we are not close to a great treatment center like John Hopkins. What factors did you consider in making the change?

Sent by Jean Schindler | 5:12 PM ET | 05-12-2007

For Teri....
I know how hard it is to be a caregiver...to not want to let go, but also to wish this nightmare is over. As my colleague tells me, there are worse things than death and living a horriffic live, one without quality, one with pain and suffering, that is worse than death. It is ok to wish your loved one passes from the pain and into a pain free world. Blessings to you and your loved ones. Consider yourself hugged!

Sent by Karen | 6:08 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Hi Leroy and everyone, I am new to your blog, but already addicted. I saw you on the "living with cancer" show and was just in awe of your story. I am a nurse, mother, wife, daughter and now breast cancer survivor of just one year. I have been thru chemo, and bilateral mastecomies amongst other things. I am 37 yrs old. I went into complete remeission from chemo alone which my doctors all try to tell me is a good thing....but the fear is ridiculous at times. Every time something hurts , i wonder. Things hurt alot as i am a runner ...ran all thru my chemo and still do. I think deep down , I am running from the fear. I don't worry about myself...I worry for my boys. They are 7 and 4 and when I look at them somedays, I want to cry as I feel they don't deserve to not have their mom. I'm not naive. I know this disease doesn't care if we are needed here so that is why I worry so much. It was almost easier while going thru treatment as I felt I was actively fighting...but now...I am just left with crazy thoughts in my head. I'm glad to read your blog--you have such insight and I value what you have to say. Thank you for sharing your innermost thoughts and feelings so we as survivors can be helped and feel at home. I look forward to continuing to read your blog. God bless you ....Kelly

Sent by Kelly Reichart | 6:46 PM ET | 05-12-2007

I agree we just do what we have to do to get through. Cancer is like that.I don't feel for one second I was brave. I just did what needed to be done to try and regain a some what healthy life again.
We are given what we can bear..I really agree with that. However I think at times its overwhelming and hard to handle at times.
One thing I have learned after fighting hard through treatments three times. Is no matter whats thrown at me..Its a just do it situation.Being on the other side and stable. Was it worth the fight heck yes.
About that gate. Yes its hard to be on the side of uncertianty. Something I learned about it.. Is this life is a lot of uncertianly with or with out cancer bad stuff happens to great people.

I also know that I have grown and blossomed to a new person passed the gate. Do I have fear yes I do even ten years later. It would be a lie if I said no. But one thing I learned is knowledge is power. It helps me to navigate the uncertianty. As well as being pro active in my care.

Sent by Kerry | 7:12 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy - You will never realize how much the interview that you did with Ted Koppel helped me. It was excellent! Thank you!

I'm dealing with breast cancer metastisized to my bones and now into the lymph system of my chest/lungs. They tell me so far it appears to be slow growing. My original dx was Sept 2000.

Karen - Thanks for sharing the quote..."If we learn to cooperate with the inevitable, life can be a joy to the very end."

That in turn leads me to share that I believe I've learned to cooperate with the inevitable in my life and have chosen a poem I am going to have on the little "memory" things they hand out at funerals. It's by Calvin Miller.

I once scorned ev'ry fearful thought of death,
When it was but the end of pulse and breath,
But now my eyes have seen that past the pain
There is a world that's waiting to be claimed.

Earthmaker, Holy, let me now depart,
For living's such a temporary art.
And dying is but getting dressed for God,
Our graves are merely doorways cut in sod.

from - "The Divine Symphony"

Sent by Vicky | 10:07 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Dear Leroy,
My Name Is Jarred Daugherty and
I was touched in many ways by your interview with Ted Koppel on Discovery Channel. I think your an amazing person and i see a cure within your reach. I just want you to know that i think that your interview has touched me and that you have touched the lives of many all over the world.You are a hero to me for fighting with all you have and never giving up hope. Thats a life Lesson that everyone should know...Never give up on hope.

Sincerely,
Jarred Daugherty

Sent by Jarred Daugherty | 10:16 PM ET | 05-12-2007

Leroy,

I enjoyed the "Living with Cancer" program and was glad to see you looking so well during the live portion. My boyfriend and I have both signed up to receive your daily blog, very inspirational.

I was wondering if your wife Laurie was planning on writing about her experiences, thoughts, emotions, about how she has dealt with your cancer? My boyfriend has prostate cancer and I am finding it difficult to locate this type of information. The few blogs from people in the same position I am in are very helpful.

This feeling of being on the outside looking in is such a feeling of helplessness and frustration that I find it difficult to deal with. I was just wondering if either of you knew of a place someone in my position could find support or suggestions on how to help and support our loved ones that are dealing with cancer?

Please enjoy your vacation and relax and just ahhhhhhhhh!

Thanks for your wonderful gift of words and sharing.

Sent by Nancy | 12:48 AM ET | 05-13-2007

I finished my last chemo in Feb. I know the fear you all talk about. Whenever I feel something strange in my body, I worry. I calm myself by saying that my next check up is soon and I will address it then. For now I have a life to live and lots of things I want to do. I cannot let the fear control my life. I give my fears to the Lord, that way I am free to do His work. I wish this kind of peace for all of you.

Sent by Betty in Germany | 5:15 AM ET | 05-13-2007

I am 47 years young and going through chemotherapy and radiation treatment currently.

What we talk about when we talk about
death?.....hmmm.... that's what I want to comment on-specifically on the possibility of "Chemistry of the desire/will to Live"- and if "scientist" will create it/measure it in a test tube someday?

When are we going to look at metaphysics in all of this? We talk about life and death as if they are separate. My entire life in chuch I was told there is something called eternal life-what is THAT really? I read in my lymphoma book that the targeted antibody syrum(aimed at my "rebelious cells" can be "immortalized" producing an indefinate amount. Whew! How do we reconcile all these words and metaphors. Sometimes I think we've become so mutant or disensitized-not FEELING or expressing our FEELINGS in this culture that we don't recognize that right in this moment-this very PROCESS of our bodies, our mind, our souls, is the miracle-THE phenomenon.

This thing called cancer-this war?-this phenomen of molecular "whatever"-I don't feel like I have to be a scientist or a priest to EMBRACE what we DON'T know as much as what we DO know. I've recently discovered that we DO indeed hold emotional memories in our bodies. Painful distructive memories need to come to the surface to move out of our bodies as to not distroy them. Loving memories and a relaxed plesurable state remain. Not sure HOW it works-just know it's so. I'm interested in what we don't know yet about what's going on emotionally in our cells. Is there TRUTH to "the chemistry of the WILL to live-the desire to live"? If a person is ready to die or pass on then they are ready. I don't align with the belief in the case of- If I don't FEEL I'm dying or I don't want to -it's not my time-etc... why would it be true for any "entity" to tell me otherwise including science and percentages and predictions about HOW the SYSTEMS of the body work. In other words isn't what we call modern medicine just ONE way of knowing whats going on in this cancer phenomenon?

I only just recently tuned in to the "Living with Cancer" production and a few things that stuck out to me are: Leroy mentioned that he has cried more at this PLACE than ever--there is chemistry in FEELINGS. Also I've heard mixed emotions in Elizabeth Edwards-fear ect.. but the part about prognosis's being information that doesn't really serve toward healing. In regards to Lance Armstrong-I resonate with so much of what cancer means to him.

I apologize for not being completely articulate at 2:30 am, but having this cancer to deal with in my life has "pushed the envelope of my life"vlike every cancer patient. I believe in this CONSCIENCE moment we are either 100% dead or 100% alive. I'm just not sure about the inbetween part.

I'm praying/hoping that we talk and feel more about our feelings, our truths, our history, and what is does to our bodies and our life long process. We talk about making a difference. I think WE are the difference.
Linda

Sent by Linda Mowbray | 5:59 AM ET | 05-13-2007

And the latest in the "This I Believe" series says it well:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php

Sent by Bruce | 9:47 AM ET | 05-13-2007

My sister died of lung cancer that metasized to her brain and then throughout her body. It was very fast.
I have thought alot about all this in the intervening two years. I have just completed Hospice Patient Volunteer training. In one of our lectures about the very end of life, two men of god/or spirit, who have had much experience with people at the end, said, in response to a question, 'no, people mostly aren't scared at the end.'

Maybe what scares us all the most is that space that Susan describes, that time between what we've known and what is unknown, as we fight to get back to where we were, to what our lives were. I think, though I've not been there, that being between the two must be the very hardest.

My wishes for you and for Susan are what they were for my sister, that she have no pain and that she be at peace.

Sent by Jennifer Jolis | 2:57 PM ET | 05-13-2007

Hi Leroy, My husband has lung cancer and we watched your program togather. first let me tell you that I am so very happy for you and that you do not have to be sitting in that room as my husband is still doing. We are glad you can walk in the sunshine again. We also want to thank you and Ted Koppel for the doctors appt that we have on next wed. It is with a doctor who will be telling us if phil can have the Radio Frewuency Ablation done. We would have never known about it if we had not seen your program. I am not as good with words as you all are, but I do know what it is like to love someone that has cancer and it is not nice. I so wish you had covered that in the program altough I can see why your mate didnt want to do it. It is a very painful thing to watch someone you love suffer, hurt and be ill and yes even to face death. The hardest thing for me is that feel that I have to be strong so he will be strong all the time. And for the children friends and even thoses that I meet on the street. Keep smiling even when I want to just hide for a while . You were right , it does change you and your family, for us it has been positive. It has brought us as a family closer togather and has tought me to live one day at a time which is really hard for a person who plans everything 6 months a head of time. It has also tought me how strong my husband is and how much I truly do love him. It has been heart breaking and yet has changed our lives for the better at the same time. I just wanted you to know that I belong to a womans group that is now armed with one more bit of info that they will pass on to the thousends of woman that belong all over the world that might be able to have done what you did. You and ted Koppel have done a wonderful service. Thank you for being who you are and for a new hope for many. Carol Smith of Knoxville Tn.

Sent by Carol Angel Smith | 3:29 PM ET | 05-13-2007

Leroy and Susan,

This is a first post for me. I???m a member of the club, however, having passed through the ???gate??? in January, 2004 with the blessings of stage IV Non-Small Cell lung cancer. I say blessings because the diagnosis has been and continues to be just that; a blessing.

The space we now mutually occupy between diagnosis and death can be filled with self recrimination, fear, anger and sorrow. We fill our lives with activities unthinkable pre-diagnosis, such as chemo, blood draws and scans. We become crabby with ourselves, spouses, children and employers a week (or more) before scans and appointments. Some friends now avoid us. Perhaps it is too painful for them. We do many ???last??? things, such as holidays, vacations and birthdays.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross described the five stages experienced by terminally ill patients in her book ???On Death and Dying???. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance are simply stages we all go through. What???s important to remember is that our families, employers and friends must process through these stages as well. What???s especially important is that none of these are necessarily fatal, and that each may open another door, formerly unseen, into self-growth and understanding???maybe wisdom. Each may allow us to take chances formerly unthinkable, behavior such as beginning a blog.

For me, it began with a call from my oncologist; highly unusual. He asked a favor, also highly unusual. He had a patient, newly diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, who just needed to talk, with another man who shared his diagnosis. He thought that my experience with a twelve-step program might be of help in simply listening. Thus began a journey of immeasurable joy.

Socially, ethnically and historically, we had no background in common. He raised in killing fields of Afghanistan, me in California, he Moslem, me Christian, etc., etc. My wife and I entered their small, spartan home on a nasty, rainy Seattle night. We sat on rugs for a lovely traditional meal and small talk. At last, he and I separated from family for a one to one conversation. Two dead men walking became two dead men talking. We laughed together, we cried together. We shared some secrets. We talked about the disease, fear, sorrow, financial concerns for family and children and our future. We cried some more, we held hands, hugged in the stiff manner of men in western civilization and parted. Three hours had passed, the rain had cleared and the stars were brilliant as we left, silently.

It was a long time before my wife and I could talk, for as I had talked with him, she had talked with his wife. Somehow, the burdens we shared seemed lighter on our side. I also knew how I must spend the rest of my remaining days.

The calls come irregularly, usually from some young oncologist, sometimes a little embarrassed. They usually begin, ???Doctor So-and-so gave me your name. He says that you might be willing to talk with a patient of mine, newly diagnosed????????? See, this young oncologist cannot cure us with his brutal drugs. And Kubler-Ross left out one stage; that of Loneliness. I can help with that. You can help with that. And ultimately, Leroy can and has helped us all with that, simply by speaking the unspeakable, sharing what is so difficult for us to share. We are all lonely, frightened and unsure of a future we must endure but suddenly hate. And we cannot and should not do this alone no matter how separate we feel. That???s why we are drawn to this blog and others like it across the Web. For an electronic moment, we can hold another???s hand and likewise feel the warmth. Leroy had no idea, when he began his blog, that the world would come, sit, share and comprehend his pain. But he carried us with him through each session of chemo, surgery, radiation. So, a great work began for him and others. How does it end? It does not. So Susan, hook in. It???s in sharing on some level with others that you will find your answers. They are there if you look for them.

There is a quiet spot I go to within myself. Where there???s an inner peace, where there is no fear. It???s not religious, not meditative, not something I usually capture except right after one of those phone calls or after two or three hours talking with another cancer patient. In my quiet spot there is a connectedness that I never previously felt in life. I think it???s the gift of cancer.

Michael Lewis
Seattle

Sent by Michael Lewis | 3:45 PM ET | 05-13-2007

Leroy, I caught the special with you and Ted and thought how wonderful it was for you to say all those things in front of so many. I am battling Renal Cancer which is metastatic. On Chemo now and have seen reduction of 50% in active tumors. I am encouraged by your bravery and success.
It is a different world we are all in, and it robs you of so much, the little things that we all think we will always be able to do.
I hope you have a wonderful time in Hawaii, not too many Mai Tai's.
Wish you the best. Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 4:09 PM ET | 05-13-2007

Note to Kelly Reichart - Your post above reminded me of Melissa Etheridge's song, "I Run for Life". I bought her album specifically for that song. I've listened to it over and over and it gives me hope and it gives me strength. There's another song on that album about her time in the chemo room. (I personally have chosen not to take any chemo over the years).

Sent by Vicky | 6:55 PM ET | 05-13-2007

Dear Leroy,
Thank you so much for your special with Ted Koppel. I am not a cancer victim myself personally, I was my husbands caregiver for 18 months for metastatic colon cancer. Rob lost his fight to this dreadful disease on Dec. 2, 2006, and what a fight he gave. So many of the things I heard you say on the special while reading your blog brought back many memories. I spend every waking moment, and believe me there are many now...thinking about what was going through Rob's mind during the long nights. I spend this time wondering how I am going to do this which is what I think he was also thinking. Keep up your fight....

The world is ever so lonely now.

Sent by Cindy | 11:52 PM ET | 05-13-2007

My husband has refused to ask me about my last CT scan; he knows I had one and he knows I haven't felt well since before Christmas. I've got breast cancer mets and he's not asking or talking. I feel so much hurt and resentment about this. I want to talk and make some "plans" and get that out of the way and then I want to LIVE until I die!!!

My Mom taped the show off TV for me and I am so grateful and from the documentary I found this blog. It keeps drawing me back here.

Bless you, Leroy and all the rest of you who are willing to share your stories and struggles.

Sent by Anonymous | 10:23 AM ET | 05-14-2007

I have metastasized breast cancer. What am I afraid of? I don't think it's dying. I think it's the pain and helplessness associated with dying. Will it be painful? Will I be aware of what is going on? Will I be able to bear the sadness of my family?

I read through the other comments and didn't see any others that mentioned this aspect of fear.

Sent by Phyllis | 9:10 PM ET | 05-14-2007

When our son was diagnosed with esthemianeuroblastoma he just kept saying "Mom, I'm not brave. I can't do this" But I kept assuring him ONE DAY AT A TIME and through all those terrible treatments - 11 hours in surgery, then raduation for 7 weeks and chemo for 4 days continuously for a period of three months we (his Dad and I) could see him getting less fearful and more determined to survive. And THANK GOD he did and is in remission and we are still doing ONE DAY AT A TIME. Do you know anyone who can do more than one day at a time? only the patient goes through the gate those who love them so much can only stand at the gate and love and encourage and let them know whatever happens we are always going to be here for them. It has made all of us whatever it takes.

Sent by Evelyn | 1:10 PM ET | 05-15-2007

My best friend has lung cancer with pleural effusion and mets on her spine. I've been in touch with Johns Hopkins since seeing the show and your story gives me hope. But my friend, she's lost hers. I'm moved to comment on the notion that we're only given what we can bear. My friend's only child was killed in an accident 3 years ago. Now this. How much more can a body bear? I fear, not very much. But thank you for your messages of hope because on the other side of fear is acceptance and I hear its wonderful. I want so much for my friend to get there.....

Sent by Ellen | 3:53 PM ET | 05-15-2007

tHE FEAR,THE ANXIETY,THE NOT KNOWING. i'M 39 WITH STAGE FOUR COLON WITH MET TO LIVER. i'VE BEEN IN REMISSION SINCE MY SEVENTH TREATMENT. THAT WAS IN NOVEMBER 2006. I FINISHED MY LAST ROUND IF CHEMO IN FEB. THIS YEAR. bEFORE DIAGNOIS AND SURGERY MY LIFE COULD NOT HAVE BEEN BETTER. GREAT FAMILY,GREAT FRIENDS, NEWLY MARRIED,GREAT FAMILT OF DOGS-FOUR.MY LAST SCANS ARE CLEAR. NOW WHAT ? MY PROBLEM IS I'M AFRAID TO LIVE AGAIN BECAUSE OF THE FEAR OF REOCCURENCE.

Sent by BETH D"AMELIO | 6:10 AM ET | 05-16-2007

To anonymous posted 5-14 regarding your husband not asking or talking about your cancer --- perhaps he thinks YOU do not want to talk about it. Maybe YOU NEED TO TELL HIM WHAT YOU SAID IN YOUR BLOG "you need to make plans" In any case I feel ( as a mother of a cancer patient) that sometimes you need to talk about it- it is not going to change the physical aspects but it might help with mental and emotional fears. In any case, if nothing else express your feeling on the blog. May God bless you and give you peace and comfort.

Sent by Evelyn | 9:32 AM ET | 06-01-2007

I finished chemo 2 and 1/2 years ago and am just now feeling somewhat "normal" again. After having part of my brain removed, I have to not only grieve for the "old" me, but I have to find the "new" me. There are only subtle differences, and only people who have known me for a long time can tell, but I can tell and it's hard to grieve for yourself. This is possibly harder than the other aspects of cancer and chemo - not defining yourself along with the "C" words.

Sent by Tammy | 9:06 AM ET | 06-14-2007

All of you are so wonderful and brave. I have just been diagnosed with lymphoma in the left supraclavicular neck node. I had MRI and CT of the whole body and will get results day after tomorrow. I want to be brave like all of you. I feel grief for the loss of the person I have always been. My son died in an accident over two years ago and that is the worst event in my life. My husband died of myeloma 21 years ago. I am sad today, but trying.

Sent by sarah | 8:03 AM ET | 10-09-2007