its funny, i've looked at old pictures of myself before cancer hit and my eyes have a different spark in them, a bit of innocence. i too have been thru more of my share of tragedy before cancer hit, but having cancer is something non comparable to anything else thats tragic n this world. i'm' hoping i will have a different look in my eyes after treatment is hopefully over, a look of contentment would be nice.

Sent by Jenn | 8:51 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Good morning, Leroy -
I have, many times, when recalling some event in the past few years, realized "that was before cancer." And I've become pretty wistful about that time - it was truly a certain kind of innocence, and I miss it so much.

And I love the picture!

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 9:04 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy,

Good Blog as usual. Have a good day. I like the picture

Dorothy

Sent by dorothy | 9:05 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Good morning, Leroy -
I have, many times, when recalling some event in the past few years, realized "that was before cancer." And I've become pretty wistful about that time - it was truly a certain kind of innocence, and I miss it so much.

And I love the picture!

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 9:06 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Good morning Leroy. Enjoyed this one.
Thinking about before cancer. It also suprised me. Guess it suprises everyone. I was a Recon Marine at 20. Worked in construction ( elevators 38 years ). Ran marathons in my 40's. Qualified to run Boston. Ran masters track and in 40 to 45 age group was listed in top 10 800M in Track and Field News. Was training 85 miles a week. When I started slowing down I went into road racing bicycles. Retired from elevators in 2000. Played golf 4 times a week. Now how could I ever expect that cancer would be part of my life? I did every thing right. Good diet, not a drinker.
Well, as many have said..... cancer doesn't care who you are or what you've done. It just strikes like lightening.

Sent by Lou Mayers | 9:11 AM ET | 06-28-2007

I, too, love the picture. I confess that I laughed out loud when I read that you were trying to lighten the horse's load! But it proves once again what a compassionate heart you have!

And I understand perfectly what you and the others mean about how our minds go to the time "BC" - before cancer. It really was a different time.

I hear people say that if this life was perfect and painless, we wouldn't look forward to eternity and I believe that, but there are times that I do wish that there were some things we didn't have to experience and I wish I could enjoy the time I do have left in this life without the big black shadow of metastasized cancer looming!

Love and blessings to all of you today.

Sent by Vicky (NY) | 9:18 AM ET | 06-28-2007

You may not have had any idea what was coming, but you were ready -- because you *are* ready. As ready as anyone is or can be. Readiness is just the moment before the storm.

Sent by Jan | 9:21 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Before.

It is hard for us to see those photos in our house still - before our son was sick, before chemo was a normal phrase in our house.

Each time I see them, I wonder if folks who see us these days actually notice that we might have "lost our sparkle"? Does it show? Do we look war trodden?

I too miss that innocence so much.

I like Jenn's comment that maybe when treatment is over, we could see a contentment, or a wisdom, in the eyes of our photos, knowing we have been through and made it to the other side.

What a joy to see one of your sparkly photos! What fun it was to see that today.

Sent by Melissa T | 9:22 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss!

Oh to be YOUNG again! :-)

Being told "you have cancer will not likely live 5 years" is the ultimate loss of innocence... especially at the ripe old age of 20....

Have a great day everyone!

Sent by Ron Bye | 9:22 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy, poor horse! I'm glad you have those "days of innocence" and funny photos to look back on.

I look at those pre-cancer knowledge photos of my husband and me and our children and I think the same thing, "We have no idea what's about to hit us!" It's like another time from another life. So much has changed since.
And, although I would have preferred none of it had ever happened, not all of what happened was bad.

Take care. Bon courage.

Sent by Marilyn | 9:23 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Good Morning, You sure have been all over the world! It's been so long that I can't remember how I felt before cancer (BC). It seems like its always been around, just when I thought I beat it, it comes back. I always feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall. I am just so grateful for the intermissions. Your photo, Leroy, is adorable. Thanks for reviving BC memories.

Sent by Ruth White | 9:23 AM ET | 06-28-2007

We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway
And I wonder if I'm really with you now
Or just chasing after some finer day

Anticipation, Anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting

And I tell you how easy it is to be with you
And how right your arms feel around me.
But I rehearsed those words just late last night
When I was thinking about how right tonight might be

Anticipation, Anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting

And tomorrow we might not be together
I'm no prophet and I don't know natures way
But I'll try to see into your eyes right now
And stay right here
'Cause these are the good old days

The Above is Carly Simon's song, "Anticipation". We are always looking at the past and wondering about the future and we sometimes forget to just live in the moment and these are the good ol days. Even though these days might be filled with illness or war. My best wishes to all and wishing that we all enjoy every moment we can.

Karen Cop - NYC

Sent by Karen Cop | 9:25 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy,

Yep, in the photo, you look ready to tackle just about any adventure. Like a guy who knows how to roll with the punches.

Cancer's punch is pretty tough. It's in that group of punches that fundamentally and forever change a person's world view.

Your face and eyes appear quite different on the pictures of you in the interviews with Ted Koppel that are on the Discovery Channel's website.

Thanks for being so open about what you are going through. It really is a small world. We are all connected.

About the photo into a card: I think the caption's quite funny. You may have been a bit big for that particular horse, but obviously she/he found the strength to carry you that day. And you had the compassion to try and alleviate the horse's load. That says a lot.

Keep riding Leroy.

Heartlight,
Kim Blankenship

Sent by Kim Blankenship | 9:29 AM ET | 06-28-2007

When I'm telling stories about the good ol' days, I often refer to "my other life - as a hippie," or my other life - as a single woman," or my other life "before kids," or my other life "before [my son's] bi-polar," or, finally, my other life "before the accident." I thought the accident was my last "other life." Now I've got two new lives--the one before my sister died of cancer, and the one I'm in now--the life of a person with cancer. I was diagnosed in the same year my sister died; she had ovarian cancer, mine is renal.

Thank goodness, I didn't ruin any of my life worrying about cancer in my life until it burst its way in.

Thanks for your wonderful words.

Wendy

Sent by Wendy Murphey | 9:30 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy...
I am not a cancer patient myself, but became "hooked" on your blog months ago when I stumbled upon your writing on the NPR webpage. That day, you were discussing the fears and trepidations of those who are the caring "onlookers" of those in treatment for cancer. At the time, a friend had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer...
Your insights, your courage and your humor are a blessing to many. Thank you for continuing to write your story. Prayers surround you...
P.S.What a great photo ;o)

Sent by Retha | 9:30 AM ET | 06-28-2007

do we ever have any idea of whatis going to happen next????? take for instance , yesterday in my town 5 beautifully smart high school grads perished in a horrific auto accident the night before. (drinking and drugs NOT involved). suddenly , my cancer has become very small in comparison to the devastating news to our community, their families and my sons ,who were friends with all the girls. we were all innocent last thursday night as we sat at the arena watching our children graduate, never knowing that in less than a week these beautiful children of ours would lie dead. please keep our community in your prayers today. www.democratandchronicle.com (fairport tradegy)

Sent by marianne dalton | 9:36 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy, I love the picture. You have such humor, compassion and perseverance. I read your blogs everyday and say a prayer for you. Your writings, since your recent diagnosis are more touching than ever. Keep on, you are a daily blessing to so many people. Carol

Sent by Carol Haber | 9:44 AM ET | 06-28-2007

I had another one of those "I just heard the news" phonecalls yesterday from a friend. I told her it's like the curtain has been torn. I no longer have the ability to believe things happen to other people. I saw your program with Ted K when it aired. I was still healing from surgery (colon/Stage IV). I have read your blog ever since. I have read other blogs as well...reaching out, but not touching. I have been a cowardly fly on the wall, in limbo between Cancer World and Other World. Thank you for helping all of me enter this new world. Acceptance is so hard.

Sent by Diana L Santamaria | 9:45 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Good morning Leroy,

In that picture I see a young, handsome, happy, caring, giving man. The only adjective missing now is the word "Young". LOL At that time you were concerned about your horse having a bad day, trying to solve his problems by lifting your body weight higher so that you could alleviate some of his burden. This is what makes you so unique. This is what makes you the "Leroy" we have all come to love and respect. You are still the same Leroy, still helping us carry our burdens. It would be a wonderful idea if this Christmas you would be nice enough to post this picture again. This can become your poster-boy picture. LOL Always in my prayers. Sasha

Sent by sasha | 9:53 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy -

My comment when I read your post today was, WOW. I am continually amazed how you put into words what all of us think at many points during our "living with cancer" journey.
Thank you so very much for all you share. Your post is the first thing I read when I open my email! Andi

Sent by Andi Arabak | 10:09 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Wow Leroy!!... Wow!
After I read your log today, I started looking back at my pictures of the past with me smiling and well... wow... it definitely gave me a different perspective on those pictures and my life. Hmmm made me think. Ahhh, to be back in those pictures and not having a clue about what's to come, to just be... well, happy. I don't mean that I have not been happy now, because I am at times, but cancer is still always in the back of my mind now. Even when friends call and ask how I'm doing, and I reply "good". They always hesitate, and say "really" like I'm lying about it.... (which sometimes I am, but don't want to let them know)...

Now if I want to escape from reality, I can look at my pictures of the past, into my own smiling eyes... and find that happiness without cancer. Shirl Dolitz PS. Nice picture.

Sent by Shirley Dolitz | 10:17 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Mr. Seivers, I must tell you that I am almost sorry that I subscribed to your blog. It is quite painful to read at certain times. Cancer has been a way of life for me, commencing with the death of my mother when I was 6 years old. I am almost 40 and have been fighting breast cancer for five years now. I am very tired of Cancer's constant presence in my life. To me it feels like I should compare it to something cliche and unpleasant that just will not leave me. I wish I could remove it like it is a badly stained shirt and replace it with a fresh clean one. Thank you very much for providing the feeling that "I am not alone." You are a very very brave man.

Sent by janine martini | 10:26 AM ET | 06-28-2007

This is a note to Marianne Dalton, I live in Rochester and saw the news and couldn't believe it... how sad.. you are all in my prayers...Shirl

Sent by Shirley Dolitz | 10:27 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy, Again, you are so right. I've often long for the 'time of innocence' The time in my life before CT scans, before life-threatening illness, before this horror. In my own journal I write about missing the feeling of being naive to cancer. When it wasn't always on my mind. When it didn't control my life and limit my plans to no further than 3 months, or worse, 6 weeks intervals. Lori

Sent by Lori Monroe | 10:33 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy wow! what a timely posting... I will be having treatment on Monday... I say that to say this. I have a dread that usually comes over me as the time gets this close...I don't have to go into detail, for you all to know what I am talking about...
We are having our VBS this week. I am a profiteer benefiting from a crowded city in the market place... people are out all day hungry looking for a snack... Jesus is telling the people wonderful things about God's love for them... business is very good for me in the market place... so this week I have been very busy going back to the historical background (via internet, what a blessing my laptop) to shape my chracter so I can teach of that time, the importance of my trade and what kind of fruit people (fruit by comfort food these days) enjoyed in Galilee. My time by the sea has been so rewarding and tonight is the last night of VBS...
Last weekend was a Relay for Life, the weekend before that was a Relay for Life... a different kind of reward, my team and I did the survivor dinner... and to be with so many who are in this same journey to encourage, one another, the caregivers... you know, we the patient, or how we look at ourself at that moment in time, have the ability to embrace, love, joy, peace, and hope... you mention your look... my daughter says I "glow" at first I said she was full of it...not a very nice thing for a mother to say to her child. She has always wanted me to keep going and have that plan we talked about earlier. So often we get just worn out, we feel every set back not only our own but those we love and others who are in this same journey.
To go back to Jordan... I said travel via internet.
Leroy, today you made my day I have so wished I could have been by the Sea of Galilee... not just to reinact, with costume, fruit, oil, the crowded market place... but to be there. You my friend have and I'm so happy for you... I'm so thankful for this blog... until "Living with Cancer" this mamaw thought reading a blog was only what teens do... and the thought of posting... NOT!!!
Shalom y' all
sandy

Sent by Sandy ^j^ | 10:47 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Good Morning Leroy,
I loved your picture on the horse! It brings back childhood memories of living next to my grandfather's dairy farm and riding the horses to and from the fields. Altho, Grandpa's horses were a little taller. Thanks for the trip down Memory Lane!

As for the shock at a Cancer diagnosis, I can really relate to that also. I think we all can. When the doctor spoke to my husband and me and started talking about a highly malignant form of uterine cancer that was already at stage 4, I actually glanced around the room to see who else he was talking to. Of course, there was no one else there. It took me several months to actually believe that he was really refering to me. During my nursing career I had cared for numerous cancer patients. But I was supposed to be the caregiver and it has been very difficult to adjust to the role of cancer patient instead. An adjustment I am still trying to make. The statement that doctors and nurses make the worst patients is very true!

But Leroy, I marvel at your courage and that of everyone else on this blog. I only hope that I can come up to that level.

I wish we still had old "Topsey" for you to ride. Your feet would not have touched the ground!

Eileen Pruyne
Charlotte

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 10:56 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Pictures seem to have a more poignant effect on us when we're going through cancer, either ourselves or with someone we love. About mid-year of going through my father's cancer, I was going through my wedding album of five years earlier. I didn't realize how hard he'd be fighting until I saw that photo of a younger, stronger him. When you see someone every day, it's easier just not to notice the changes, as they're gradual, and you believe, temporary. Now that he's gone, I cherish that wedding photo as the day he looked his best at I time I'm so grateful to have had him. But the ones that mean the most are the "lasts" -- our last St. Paddy's Day, our last Christmas, Mardi Gras, whatever. And what stands out the most looking back is how, even with the physical and emotional changes he was going through, his smile was always the same. Leroy, I see the same smile in your picture then as the one of you on the blog -- keep it glowing -- your words are SO valuable to so many, even those of us who have lost someone who search for a better understanding of how the disease really effects the person going through it. It's been just under a year and a half now, and your blog has offered me more comfort than just about anything. But I'm learning just how much that's in your nature -- even trying to lighten the load of the horse!!! Well, thanks for lightening ours...

Sent by Tammy Reasoner, Cincinnati, OH | 10:58 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy! You continue to surprise me! What a wonderful photo, how brave to show us a healthier, younger you and know that we would see the difference and, yet, still show us your personal "before and after". Personally, I like the "after". Your whole struggle is in your face now, your whole body shows the ways that only catastrophe can mark us. You are a life. A walking, whole life. I'm reminded of an old American Indian saying...
Barn's burnt down,
Now I can see the moon.
No "but" in there - no rationalization. Just as it is. That's how I think of you. Your barn's gone, Leroy, same as mine and everyone else's here, but I bet we have a view par none that most never get to see.
Hang tough! Susan in Florida

Sent by Susan Schwallenberg | 11:19 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy,

For me someone else's anguish, while I think I am sensitive to it, doesn't impact me in the same way as my own anguish. You can get away from theirs; your you carry with you at all times and it is HARD and it makes your eyes look different.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:31 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy,

T think I am sensitive to the pain of other people, but it isn't my pain. I can get away from it. When it is my pain, there is no escape. It makes my eyes look different.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:34 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy,
The age of Innocence in your case....In my husbands case the age of "Blissfully Oblivious". My husbsand was diagnosed with Kidney cancer in Jan. 2005, no symptoms just a pain in his shoulder.....he thought it was from too much golf!
MRI of shoulder showed a tumor in his scapula....Docs knew that was not a primary site for cancer to begin ....so off for the first of many scans to determine that the primary site of his cancer was originating from his right kidney!
Doc removed his right kidney the following week and said to us that most likely the tumor had been there 20 YEARS !!! The Orthopedist who removed my husbands scapula the next month said that that tumor was there at least 5 YEARS!!!
The scariest part of this is when I look at family photos of 20 years ago... I think he had the cancer in his kidney then! With no symptoms...no metastsis, yet....and religiously had yearly physcials but nothing ever showed up! I look at old photos and think..."if only" we had gone and gotten a "full body scan" back then when "they" (the CT Scan Manufactures) were trying to have everyone to have one as a routine health screening ....almost in the local shopping malls! However, the Medical community said that scans used without "warranted reasons" were unnecessarily exposing people to radiation!
I look back at old photos an say...."if Only" he did one scan then he wouldn't be doing one scan every 4 weeks now!! How's that for overexposure to radiation!!
As if Cancer isn't scarey enough... but then you look at photos and think that you were Obliviously Happy and getting your picture taken... you didn't even know that it was silently growing without even a symptom and 20 years later it rears it's ugly head.....with something as small as an ache in your shoulder!
I feel as if so many people happily walking around, not living in "Cancer World", as you have often called it....they just have NO CLUE..NO appreciation of how VERY VERY LUCK they are... to not be consumed with this battle against Cancer! Especially when battling a type of cancer that silently stalks you like a terrorist... waiting for unsuspecting victims! It's just scarey how you get transported into Cancer World ....Innocently and Obliviously!!!
You are in my constant prayers!
Big Hugs to you and to "small horses"! klm

Sent by Kathy MacD | 11:42 AM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy,

I've been thinking about your last several blogs. Particularly the one about taking days off. It wasn't until Monday evening that I understood how many days I had actually taken off during my course of surgeries and chemo. No, I didn't take those days off from fighting cancer...in fact, that was the only thing I was doing. But I did take days, entire months, almost three years off from my family, my friends. I think I allowed cancer to turn me in to a very selfish person. I realized this Monday evening when my sixteen-year-old son, in a moment of frustration and anger at having to take summer school, punched out a lamp, severely lacerating his hand, nicking bone and cutting tendons. As I sat in the ER with him, I realized that, along with my fear and concern over my son and whether or not he had permanently maimed his dominant hand, I was feeling anger at him for "making" me have to deal with his injury. Afterall, I have cancer. I deal with cancer. I don't deal with anything else. I shouldn't have to deal with anything else. My plate is full. I don't think we ever have a day off from cancer. But I think we allow ourselves, or at least I did, to have days off from life and all it's ups and downs, pains and great joys. That is what cancer took away from me and I am determined to get it back.

Loved the picture, by the way. And the grand sense of humor.

Best,
Mo Spikes

Sent by Mo Spikes | 11:46 AM ET | 06-28-2007

I am almost 49 and lately have been wondering where the last decade went, I look back at when I was almost 39 and I feel like I was so innocent back then, but if you had asked me then, when I was emotionally recovering from a bad marriage ending, I would have said my innocence was already lost going through that. The innocent part of me 10 years ago was I thought I'd had my share of bad things and the rest of my life was going to be good.

Hah! Life sure doesn't work that way. A few bad things happened between then and now but definitely the worst was being diagnosed two weeks apart with two different kinds of cancer, the battle to get rid of those cancers, and the health problems and scares since then.

Now I wonder (and I know this is gloomy) if that isn't part of life is an increasing loss of innocence and unfettered hope for the future. I feel like that horse carrying a load a little too big for it.....but I'm still glad to be alive, wouldn't trade it for the alternative!

Sent by N.R. | 12:04 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I like many others think of cancer every day, but have to say I also look a the age of 42 and feel I have had a wonderful, and very full life, and nothing to the extent you have Leroy in regards travel, but as someone said the other day its been a very ???vibrant life???.

I think if we all look at our lives and really think about them, we all are full of happy moments which we wouldn???t change? Maybe we all should just realise that for all we have cancer, it???s just another stage of our lives, which we have to deal with, and not suddenly a turning point that our worlds have changed to something alien. Don???t get me wrong I haven???t had a perfect life, but it???s been full and with each challenge I have faced it, and with each heartbreak cried through it. Don???t get me wrong, finding out I had cancer was the hardest thing I had to hear, cos lets face it hearing you might die is scary.

What the main thing we have had in my eyes is an advantage over many others though. We have faced mortality, and with that its given us an opportunity to actually do something we may never had done prior to our diagnoses.. cos most people are never hit with the fact they will die, which is a fact of living. One of my favorite lines from a movie is from Meet Joe Black ??? there is nothing as certain in this life as ???Death & Taxes???.

At least we have had the chance to look back, and if we so desire do something with our lives that we might not have done not knowing we might die sooner than later. And I don???t mean go and climb Everest .. but simple things in life like I have decided I want to learn to play the piano, and if I can just do one song I will be happy.

Writing bloggs btw whether for work or personal choice I think is a great therapeutic way for cancer people to ???get it out???. I have found writing every day I can has helped me in so many ways, and reading your comments page it makes me realize I am not alone, and there are many facing the same thing, have many of the same problems and more importantly makes me feel still normal.

Sent by Jill | 12:11 PM ET | 06-28-2007

One of the miracles of life is that the human spirit seems to have the capacity, or grace, to rise up and "be ready" for what comes along. Of course this doesn't always happen, because human will is a powerful force of its own, and can sometimes muddle our inate (God given?)ability to show up for what the next thing is that calls us to the ready. But often we find that though we weren't ready for what has come to us, we rise to the challenge. Unfortunately, there is the thought, "what choice do I have?"

A second miracle is that we do have choice, in the arena of free will, to fight for a life worth living, or succumb to despair while waiting and watching for the worst-case scenario.

A third miracle is that we are not given a calendar of our future days and what they will entail (or heap on us). If you'd had an inkling of what was to come when you were sitting on that horse, all the ensuing years could have been tainted with fear. Rather than serving as time to prepare and strengthen for the upcoming challenge, likely it would be serenity sapping and life draining.

Your continual showing up not only for yourself, but for your fellow humans who walk similar paths, is an amazing gift and inspiration, even to someone like me who has not been diagnosed with cancer, but has abjectly feared it to the point of neurosis at times. Reading of your day to day journey with cancer has lessened my fear tremendously, because I see you, and so many others, LIVING with it.

Sent by Leslie Erickson | 12:21 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy,
I was just looking at photographs of myself prior to cancer. I agree we never know things do change in a blink of an eye. Cancer comes into our live fast and hard. And I don't know I think we grieve the loss of innocence for some time to come.
I was thirty when I started having major health issues. I was forty one they told me I had cancer. I kept thinking this is insane I have 4 kids to raise and you are all telling me I have three months to live. It was really a tough reality punch. But then cancer has no bourdries to age limit..anyone can be affected by it.
Pictures are a true test of time. As a photographer they speak tons.
I am willing to be everyone here has a photograph that speaks volumes. One that speaks of the past..One that shows us as invincable or ready for anything. I know I do as well.
Who knew? But hey we are all still here and taking a day a time the way it should be..
Take care and have a good day

Sent by Kerry | 12:23 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Hi Leroy,

Thanks for writing about this. I have to argue just a little bit with you about whether the Leroy in the picture was ready to handle anything. He sure was! Look at all you've been through.

I look at pictures of me before diagnosis and think about how I hated my hair and fussed about so many things that just seem rediculous now.

Today I think "look at that gorgeous hair! Why wasn't I happy back then". Today I just appreciate so much. I appreciate a sunny day, the sweet pleasure of a deep breath, the fact that I can, today, ride my horse.

I'm not sure I would want to go back to the old me. I'd like the cancer to go away but I like the new awakened me. A bad hair day is bald. Anything else is glorious ;-)

Sent by Karen D. | 12:41 PM ET | 06-28-2007

the song 'this is the end of the innocence' is playing in my head right now..by don henley...

leroy.. you look fantastic on the horse... and am loving your sense of humor by you making this pic into a xmas card...

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didnt have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standing by
When happily ever after fails
And weve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly
But I know a place where we can go
Thats still untouched by man
Well sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
O beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
Theyre beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king
Armchair warriors often fail
And weve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers clean up all details
Since daddy had to lie
But I know a place where we can go
And was away this sin
Well sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair spill all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
Who knows how long this will last
Now weve come so far, so fast
But, somewhere back there in the dust
That same small town in each of us
I need to remember this
So baby give me just one kiss
And let me take a long last look
Before we say good bye
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 12:51 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I am 67 years old and before cancer for me was at 21 years old. It is hard to remember the BC years, but the good news is that I am still here 46 years later and after five times being told I have the big "C".
I lived with my grandmother as a child. She was a cancer alarmist and I think that is because she took care of my father when he died of cancer at the age of 30 years. Because of that I grew up being afraid of cancer. After I had colon cancer at the age of 21 years God took that fear from me. I lived for 25 years without the fear and without more cancer. Now I don't fear the cancer but the results of having cancer...the pain, the treatment, having more chemo.
In spite of that I try to keep busy and not dwell on the negative. If I only have so many days left I plan to enjoy them as best I can. After all I have all those unfinished quilting projects that I really need to finish and my grandkids aren't grown up yet.
I hope you all have things in your lives to keep you going!
God bless you!

Sent by Charlotte Kewish | 1:03 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy-
I continue to be amazed by your candid thoughts and the thoughts of those who post to your blog. Your cancer blog is helping so many- and as you continue to say it- is helping you too. And it is helping me- as I see folks I hold dear in my life going through the same things that you are going through. I love the picture- and I hope it gives you some great memories- and adds a smile to your heart. Thank God for our memory and eye sight....that is something my mom (breast cancer survivor 30+ years)does not have anymore. OUR blessings are all relative. Yes- we HAVE to live in the moment! Thanks so much again for all of you who share your innermost thoughts on Leroy's blog. It is a most unique community! And a blessing.

Sent by jeri | 1:04 PM ET | 06-28-2007

While I was spending most of my time worrying about my husband's cancer, a friend called to tell me her brother-in-law was in a head-on collision with a tractor trailer. He's alive but pretty broken. It's true, no one knows what's in store. We're really all in the same boat. Ours just doesn't have any oars.

Sent by Elaine | 1:16 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Ohhhh you've been to Petra. Of course you have. That's one of my dreams. I am so sad, it seems we Americans may not be safe even in Jordan. When I was young I knew everything too. I was ready for anything and picking my battles was not a phrase I paid attention to. What I wouldn't give for that kind of psychic energy now. When I got the news I had cancer, I kind of spiritually battened down my hatches and prepared for the challenge. I was doing fine. I don't know when it happened but I guess it was after treatment, when emotions I had stuffed came roiling to the surface. It was as if I had stood upright in the ring despite Cancer having delivered a resounding blow to my head, gone back to my dressing room, and collapsed where the crowd couldn't see. It's a good thing we don't know the future. It's a blessing. At least we have the blissful ignorant span to enjoy. Then again, if we did know the future, would we have made more of the past?

Sent by Alycia Keating | 1:18 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy, and all,

As I mentioned before. I tried to learn my way out of rectal cancer. It was a noble attempt, however, it failed in the end I was just frustrated. Now I am working out like a mad man. If only I had done this effort pre-chemo, I would look, sorta, like Rafael Nadel who is playing tennis at Wimbledon. Looking back at photos taken just before I was a cancer patient, it is remarkable, I am there, in Greece, Santorini and Mykonis with my children, 17 and 15 and I look very happy. A month later, I have had an emergency ileostomy, and a cancer diagnosis.

The remarkable transformation from normal me to cancer me has been a long hard ffing journey. In the midst of chemo now and post major surgery I have a hard time with depression, family stress, and career impotence... Where this all ends will be a story.

I think I would like a pony.
I would send my pictures with my family in Greece but it does not work on this blog.
Cheers RW

Sent by Robert White | 2:10 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy, Would you want to know? Isn't life more fun when you don't know what is around the corner? I would not want to know, not back then when I was younger, and thought I had the world by the ... Things work out or they don't, when they don't, you move on to the next thing. I am waiting to move on to the next thing, it has to be better than the thing we are dealing with now. That house does look small, but so do you. I'm sure he was fine, he got you there. Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 2:20 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I came home today from work and running errands. My sister had an appointment with her internist, so I checked how it went. She said not good. I sat down. The scan she had last week showed something in the right lower lobe of the lung. I expected her to say liver. I then asked about her labs (one of the liver enzymes had been up) they were fine. So, in September he will repeat the CT scan without contrast.

I look at pictures when she was 28, dark hair, eyes, slim. I look at the picture of us gave our parents we had both gained weight her more than me at that point. I look at her now... my God how much she has aged. I am concerned. I am thinking what could this be in her lung, mets?, artifact?, what is out there next.

I am scared again, and there is nothing I can do but hope and pray.

Sent by Susan Chap | 2:23 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I have a picture on my dresser taken Sept. 20th 2005. It was the night of our 25th wedding anniversary. I look at that picture and wonder if my cancer was already growing. (I had surgery for Pancreatic cancer Dec.21,2005). We were so happy - smiling like we did not have a care in the world. We were celebrating the past and looking forward to the future. Cancer was no where to be found in my mind. So look at your horse picture and remember the good times. We all deserve to have a horse picture to look at. We had a life before cancer and we do now. Happy times should not be left out of our lives now just becasue we have hit a bump in the road.

Sent by Cathy | 2:41 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Hi Leroy,
It's amazing when we think of our lives before cancer. We were, in a sense, innocent, almost unaware of our mortality. I always thought that I would be safe from cancer's reach as my husband had been diagnosed with lymphoma 6 years before my breast cancer diagnosis.
Now I think shouldn't our odds of winning the lottery have been greater than both us of being inhabited by cancer...whose whims never seem predictable. Stranger yet, my husband was diagnosed with melanoma five years ago. Yet, here we are, both seemingly heathly.
You sure look sweet on that horse !!

peace and love,
susan

Sent by susan | 3:11 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Charlotte Kewish

WOW what an inspiring story!!!! I am 32 years "out" and was 20 when diagnosed

Thank you for sharing your story.. I do hope you share it with others.. people NEED to know it is possible! I invite you (and of course anyone else) to also share your story on our blog... http://www.canceradvocatescoalition.org/CSC

I have been EXTREMELY blessed in that I have never had a recurrance nor any long term affects from my treatments!

Again... THANK YOU Charlotte!

P.s. Leroy.. just being my usual smart ass.... just because you "rise up in the saddle" does NOT relieve the horse of your weight! LOL :-) Sorry.. couldn't help that one

Sent by Ron Bye | 3:55 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Another errand cropped up and on the way out I stopped by my sisters. Did I mention we live in the same condo building, same floor, just around the corner from each other. (More to that story latter). I needed more info about the internist visit. I feel a DUH! coming on right now.

She has a PEG (her feeding tube directly into her stomach). The CT scan was with contrast, and she had to put that wonderful barium into the tube, and of course, some comes back out into the main tube. It is possible the "spot" was the PEG with contrast because when slightly reclining (she can't lie flat) it lays on her upper abdomen.

I guess, the internists lack of concern in a good thing? I sure don't feel so smart right now.....

Still prayers and hope and always good.

Sent by Susan Chap | 4:07 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy,
I am trying to remember the thoughts and fellings I had just the day before diagnosis, and it all seems to be a blur now. I have many things to remind me there was life before CANCER, but even those material and even spiritual possessions seem a bit surreal now.
Your post on loneliness three days ago, which touched me deeply because of the loneliness I have felt like a hot, sharp knife piercing my soul, shocked me back into peeking my head outside the door, once again, knowing I am NOT all alone in this fight, by any means. My life is not the only one that will never be the same, which I already knew, but with a bit more empathy and a lot less self-pity than I had before reading all the testimonials of those who are walking this lonely path with me. At least we all have each other, and that makes us very, very wealthy, indeed!!!!!!
I would also like to thank my friend, Diana, who wrote me, kindly encouraging me to come back to this board and post, share, and not keep the pain I feel bottled up inside. It is true that our pain, when divided by sharing, becomes less consuming and insurmoutable than it was prior to having the priceless opportunity to give of our hearts to each other.

Love, Briana

Sent by briana | 4:13 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I have thought of making my husband a T shirt with a picture of his "old self" on it, kind of to let people know that he is still that old self inside. My work screensaver is a nice pix of him (hale and hearty) in amongst a flower garden with our then 3 year old. At home, we have pix from just 3 summers ago when he looked that way, too. I stare at these pictures and wonder, in wonder at how much happier and carefree we all looked.

I shouldn't mind, but it does bother me when people see him and just see what cancer and chemo has done. Purple blotches on his arms, really bad teeth, very skinny. He looks more like a preternaturally darkhaired 77 than 57.

Sent by Teri | 4:19 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy, Today I lost my innocence also when the Oncologist confirmed that my cancer had spread to my lungs, chest and brain. I now have to make treatment and life decisions. My family is devastated. My daughters although grown already lost their father, my husband lost both of his parents to cancer. I really didn't think I was going to die until now. I will get treatment and hopefully extend my life to be with my family as long as God wills. Thank you again for voicing our thoughts.

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 4:33 PM ET | 06-28-2007

May God bless you, Leroy Sievers as you have blessed my life daily and many others. Until tomorrow much love to you. _Jan

Sent by Jan DeBerry | 5:01 PM ET | 06-28-2007

REMEMBERING
All to myself I hold and know
All of the days of long ago;
Wonderful days when you and I
Owned all the sunshine in the sky.
he days come back as the old days will
And I keep their tingle and their thrill
All to myself.
Wilbur D. Nesbit

Sent by Leah | 5:11 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Really cute picture, Leroy. It's unbearably superficial of me but the injury to my narcissism--to my experience of myself as an attractive physically vigorous woman--has been rough. I hate the havoc cancer has wreaked on my hair! But thank god for innocence. Illness, and wisdom, I hope, can be the provenance of old age--or at least some age. Sometimes I see a really irritable elderly person and I think, "Stop complaining. You had the opportunity to grow old!" With all the caveats about respecting another's subjectivity and unique life experience, etc...

Sent by Sally Jenkins | 5:30 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I'm reminded of the biblical story from Genesis 32:22-32, that has Jacob returning from the Fords of the Jabbok, having wrestled with a mysterious adversary until daybreak. Jacob survives the deadly encounter, but not without paying a price: as he walks off by the dawn's light, he walks with a limp.

The Norse peoples told the story of Odin, chief and wisest of their gods, who gained his wisdom by giving up one of his eyes. He, too, was changed by the encounter - but wiser.

Yes, we were more innocent back then, pre-cancer. But, we were not as wise as we are today.

It's a heavy price we pay, for wisdom.

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

Sent by Carl Wilton | 5:31 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Leroy, Great picture. I think that the people in that region have lost their innocence. I hesitate- when I read the stories the children who are victims of the adults choices over there. Not a pleasant visual for me.
What a treat peek into some of your "other" memories. thanks...

Sent by Deb | 5:33 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Hi LeRoy: Loved the picture. I think people like receiving pictures so please send some more.When I look at pictures I had taken prior to my cancer I think how I really didn't have a care in the world. Thought I would sent one of my pictures taken on a cruise that my husband and I took to Mexico. Love that crusin'. Keep up the fight. JO P.S. Couldn't figure out how to send a picture to you!

Sent by Jo Paola | 7:10 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Oh, boy. You've done it again, Leroy. You've crawled into my psyche and described my feelings. When I now look at photos of myself before cancer, or just even before metastatic cancer....I feel like I'm looking at someone who is about to be shot and doesn't know it. She is innocent, vulnerable, happy, naive, and trusting. She doesn't really know suffering yet.

Now, I'm heavier, my hair is thinner, my physical appearance is different. People tell me all the time: "You look GREAT!" HA! If they think this is great, they should see those pictures of that innocent, beautiful woman
'Before Cancer Metastasis'.

I almost feel sorry for her. I want to take her in my arms and protect her. Tell her what is about to happen and that she will be alright, because so many people love her. But it hurts me that she is so innocent and vulnerable.

What she doesn't know, this woman in the picture, is that she is very, very strong. In ways she doesn't fathom, she can meet adversity head on and deal with it.

Thank you for describing your feelings which are so close to my own. You are amazing with your writing skills and your introspection.

Sent by Sandra Shuler | 8:00 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Well, the horse is wearing red and green ribbons for Christmas!

Sent by Joyce Smith | 8:25 PM ET | 06-28-2007

LeRoy, You write about innocence. How can a non-cancer person prepare? We have cancer in the family and without sounding too paranoid, it seems like "it" is approaching. I don??t dwell on its approach but I do wonder how to get the most out of today. I haven??t come up with the answer. It seems like the days move so fast and before I know it, it??s tomorrow. Of course, I??m starting to make that infamous list of "what-to-does" before my time runs out but it seems like the list is only a small part of it all. Indirectly, our blog addresses those of us who have not yet got our diagnosis, not that every one will, but boy do I know a lot of people with cancer!

Sent by Laurie de Gonz??lez | 8:49 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy,

We found out about my mother's pancreatic cancer this past April. It's Stage IV, B and inoperable. We're taking a couple of chemos to extend life and the quality of that life until she decides otherwise. I say we, becasue truly we are there as they insert the line to her port and we are there to hold her when the oral chemo causes her to lose her lunch, supper or whatever is in her system. I know that she is the one that has this invader in her body, but we are all supporting one another as though it's our body too. I can't imagine not being there with her.

Last week we took her to the beach. She wanted to go to the beach when we first found out about the cancer and we found the perfect spot right on the beach. She wanted to get family portraits done on the beach while there, so I enlisted the help of friends to shoot with my equipment. When we got the photos back, Mother was so upset with me for taking somewhat close shots of her and my sister. She couldn't stand the way she looks. To me and my family, she is beautiful. She is here with us and she is still able to enjoy life. When I look at her I see her courage and her strength. I do not see cancer, rather I see my mother living. I just wish she could look through my eyes to see that beauty.

Thank you Leroy, for giving us all a place to have a voice.

Take care - Jennifer
http://knitforknot.blogspot.com/

Sent by Jennifer (from MS) | 9:32 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Dear Leroy, have been away from the blog for awhile while waiting for my own "shoe to drop". My Ovarian cancer has recurred; scans show small implants in and around liver. Now I have a whole new chemo protocol; because the cancer recurred early, my Gyn.Onc. fears I may be platinum drug resistant, and we have chosen Topotekan/Avastin regemin instead. Entirely new protocol, entirely new set of dangerous or deadly side affects to think about, entirely new way of feeling ill and exhausted - we began the chemo the day after the announcement that the cancer had returned, after a certain amount of consideration to other chemos. Like you, I am not quite ready to say I'm done fighting, not nearly finished with the things on my list that I want and need to get done before I die. But now I know quite clearly that I don't have all the time in the world to do those things in, and since my own break only lasted about 5 months, I'm guessing I have a lot less than the 5 years I had been hoping for. I am in a bit of a daze right now; could be the new drugs, could be shock, could just be cancer.
Was struck by your blog today and the picture, and how you say you saw yourself in the picture. I have been putting together scrapbooks for each of my graduating grandchildren as their time comes to walk the aisle (2 out of 5 down, and don't know if I'll make it to the last one, who will graduate in 2012). As I sort through photos and see some of me, pre-cancer, I do see a different sort of light in those eyes, but I also seem to see a sense of forboding of what is to come. Maybe just projecting my current feelings, but in all honesty, the few months of my break from cancer were the only ones in my 53 years when I felt totally, truly, physically and mentally great. I would love to get that back! Hang in there, everyone. And remember, No matter where you go...there you are!

Sent by Katherine from San Juan Island | 10:05 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I looked at a family picture taken just six months before my husband discovered his colon cancer. If only we had known! I think they call it "dead man walking" when the condemned are waiting for their turn to go.

Nikki

Sent by Nikki | 11:43 PM ET | 06-28-2007

Beautiful post, Leroy. Thanks again for sharing your words with us.

Vicki, you are in my prayers on this difficult day. Please know that all of us are thinking of you and walking with you in spirit.

Marianne and Shirl, I am also from Fairport, NY, and was horrified to read of the accidents in today's news. I live in NJ now, but that village will always hold a special place in my heart - my prayers are with all of you.

Sent by Amy | 1:33 AM ET | 06-29-2007

one of your better ruminations - enjoyed it!

Sent by Martin Boyce | 2:25 AM ET | 06-29-2007

What a big white smile! I wonder if Americans know how much our big white smiles give us away. I lived in England for three years and watched a comedy sketch about Bay Watch and all the lifeguards had blinding white teeth. At first I did not get it then I realized that our stars and most Americans have very healthy teeth or buy healthy teeth compared to the rest of the world - but the English especially. It cracked me up to be made fun of our bought healthy looks.

Funny thing about my cancer, I grew with my dad battling intestinal cancer all his life. So I was ready for it and did not blink an eye at 19 to have most of my large colon removed except the rectum. I knew it had to be as I had hundreds of polyps on my transverse colon so OK out goes all of that. Then many complication with surgeries caused more surgeries. Then the rectum had to come out due to high dyplasia polyps in the rectum ...OK out goes that; then I had an the internal pouch made from the small intestine and was good for awhile...now I have to have the duodenum out, OK with that also. May have to do bladder surgery as there are polyps there also but these are all the same type of cancer from the same gene.

But when my brother got Kidney cancer I had a shock. What another type of cancer - he had all the surgeries I had - how #@%$#! unfair! Now my eyes are not so bright and neither are my teeth. We may not be that super star anymore looking for the next adventure but we have gained so much more knowledge on what really counts. Like Harry Potter!! She doesn't make Harry's life pretty. I think that is why I like her. She makes it real. Harry has a lot of loss in his life and we all can relate to that. To whom great things are given - great things are asked.

Leroy you seem to have lead a really great life and have seen mankind at its worst. Now you get to see mankind at its best and that is this very blog. I like your posts a lot but what I really love is everybody's comments. You all are funny, sad, uplifting and very brave.

I think cancer would be more bearable if people would be more open to discuss it. Many people like me have it as a chonic illness and I know it will cause my death some day; today I am mamaging it by surgeries. Not the most enjoyable way but I do not have many choices. I am just tired of people telling me I have had cancer for a long time now. Some think I have lied about it. So, I try to explain and show them the scars and apologize for not being dead yet. Then they wonder when will I give up. I told them when I die I will not try to come back a get better. I am amazed on what people say but at least they are talking to me about cancer and are being honest and that is what I treasure.

I watched a show on TIME. It said they are looking into ways to keeping humans alive till 150 years old. I am not sure that if I was ill I would like to last that long. Then they said they are looking into keeping you prolonged at a certain age. I bet when your picture was taken you could hardly wait to get on to the next adventure. Leroy would you take something to keep you at that age you were in that picture or would you let life set its own course??

If I could stay the same at a certain age I would have taken it, thiry-five forever!!
Carole Ehlers

Sent by Carole Ehlers | 7:53 AM ET | 06-30-2007

Thanks for the picture. You should send more. I feel that pictures can truly show the journey I'm on. I even take bald headed pictures of myself. Again, keep up the inspirational work!

Sent by Jane | 10:17 AM ET | 06-30-2007

Here's a possible way of looking at you, the beautiful horse, and his owner. That horse can carry your weight perfectly, he's well-fed, watered, cared for, even loved, his work enables his owner to feed his family. The Mongols invaded huge parts of the West on horses smaller than that; they lived, traveled, slept, and ate on their horses.

Symbolically, that "beast of burden" carried you to one of the world's most awe-inspiring places, spiritual architecture carved out of rock, by people who transcended their personal pain and deprivation to create beauty.

May that magnificent horse still carry you through your journey. He never suffered a moment and I would suggest that you not see him as suffering under your weight, but supporting you in your journey, as do your readers.

Peace, Sally.

Sent by Sally Siegel | 9:50 AM ET | 07-02-2007