I work in a childrens hospital and parents were just delivered some news that the daughter had a very servious, treatable, non-curable and potentially fatal. Cetainly a shock beyond belief. After a few minutes he reframed it to say she has what's like the worse type of cancer possible and chemo was the treatment. He was very clear the first time he described it regarding the potential almost certain fatality if nothing was done. I think the cancer scenario was added to give them a more mainstream scare. I wanted to whip my wig off in the meeting. Not quite sure why, but it would have beened aimed at the doctor. Oh well, not the first time I've heard doctors do this but first time I was sitting there bald.

Sent by Lisa | 7:55 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Dear Leroy and Stephanie,
Plans are our way of trying to make sense and structure in our cancer
'world'. They are a way to make us feel we have some control over our lives. But there are many types of plans. Just as theres is a difference between expectations and hope. Expectation is based on the logic,the research, the facts. Hope is the antithesis perhaps. The 'maybe I'll be one of the 2% of the population with this cancer that is still alive in 20 years or maybe I'm cured...There comes a time when the active planning (like Leroy's) must change to a more passive plan (I really don't know if I'm saying this correctly and I certainly don't want to offend anyone- this is my take on it, and I hope, when it comes to this for me, that I calmly accept this plan) for a peaceful, pain minimized death surrounded by my loved ones with (most) of my issues resolved and the hopes and dreams for my children articulated and recorded. This, I believe, is a plan that with the help of hospice is realizable.
I am a surgical oncology nurse- and have seen far too many women not make this plan 'readjustment'. Maybe some feel that making this switch in thinking is giving up the 'fight'. I don't. I think it's a coming to terms with expectations and changing what you are hoping for. Stephanie, be peaceful with your choices and yourself.

Sent by elm | 8:10 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Hi Leroy,

As I read the statement from the doctor in the novel I heard these car brakes screeching in my head and I couldn???t help but laugh too. You have to laugh at statements like this. As far as dealing with the cancer, it takes one to know one. I was talking with a coworker recently and he was sharing about a cancer scare he had just had. All good news for him so he went on to share that he and his friends went out and celebrated at dinner and toasted that at least he didn???t have cancer! I was kind of embarrassed for him as the words came out of his mouth. I knew that about five minutes after I left the room he would realize what he said to me, with my little bald head flying, going through my second round of cancer. Even though we may be the worst case scenario to some, our attitudes and the way we fight the good fight will be an inspiration to many others.

Sent by Kim Barbato | 8:15 AM ET | 06-22-2007

I have to say that in '04 when all the "fun" began, I sometimes felt that I was living a melodrama. Some good fiction would have been a diversion from my particular story.
As for Stephanie...I don't believe that anyone who has reached the end of the medical options available is a "quitter". If anything, medicine has quit you. There is a difference between being unwilling to put oneself through the rigors of treatment, and having come to a place where medicine has no more answers, and deciding how best to spend the remainder of ones' life. Deciding that hosipice is now the best option is a blessing for many. I've seen far too many patients and families unable or unwilling to realize that there is nothing more curatively to be done, who wait until the day before death to contact hospice. That's really a shame, as the mission of hospice is to allow terminally ill people to have the best quality of life for as long as they live, and to support them and their families emotionally and spiritually throughout the end stages and the family beyond.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 8:17 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Dear Leroy, Books are my escape also.
Currently I am hoping for some lung disease (TB was ruled out) rather than metastasis from my breast cancer. Seeing Pulmonologist today. How about that "hoping for a lung disease rather than cancer" - sure fits your comment today about a bullet being better! Thanks again for your pithy humor - it helps the day for all of us.

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 8:21 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Dear Leroy, You graced me with the first belly laugh I've laughed in quite a while when I read your blog this morning. Thank you. You do have to laugh at the obsurdities we face after our cancer diagnoses. Recently my husband and I traveled to London, where traffic drives the "wrong way." The Brits do their best to warn the rest of us by printing in very large block letters on the streets, LOOK RIGHT and LOOK LEFT. One night I heeded the warnings but my husband did not - he LOOKED RIGHT when he should have LOOKED LEFT and with on coming traffic, took my hand and started to cross. In the middle of the street, I heard the squeal of bicycle brakes and looked left again just in time to be bumped by the cyclist who was by now yelling at both of us to get out of the way. Well, I was trying. However, my right hand was now tattooed with the treads of his front tire and I was trying not to hit the ground. Which I thankfully did not! In any case, when I finally made it to the other side, I was laughing out loud. All I could think of was the bus you blogged about some time ago, the bus that is meant for cancer patients when we are told by well meaning people "well you could be hit by a bus" when told of our diagnoses. I my case the bus was in the form of a bicycle (thank go!). How absurd indeed! Frankly, I'll take the bicycle instead of the bus and certainly the trials of cancer (though mine is terminal) over the bullet - with the bus/bullet scenarios there are no other outcomes!

Sent by Ellie Algatt | 8:47 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Hi Leroy and all

Cancer the worst case scenario? In some ways, not by a long shot.

In other ways, yes, it is ??? especially at a personal and family level. I???ve read many stories from many of you that in the Biblical sense make me weep and gnash my teeth. Some of our situations are outrageous, totally unfair, senseless, very painful in all kinds of ways and???.I haven???t the words.

However, we tend to get self-and-cancer absorbed with this disease, which is both natural and unavoidable. Our worlds can shrink to cancer world and we have good reason to believe it???s the worst world.

So do outsiders. They can only imagine.

There are worlds that I can imagine that are a good deal worse.

*The world of permanent and visible disfigurement and disability.

*The world of mothers and children in Darfur, under constant threat from starvation, loss and attack from the Janjaweed.

*Alzheimers and Lou Gehrig???s disease worlds

*The worlds of the permanently institutionalized and severely mentally ill.

*The worlds of HIV/AIDS orphans and their care givers who have little or no assistance.

There are a lot of pretty bad worlds out there of which Cancer World is only one. And, like Dante???s Inferno, each may have many circles.

My own world which is partially cancer world and partially the world of almost unconditionally fatal prognoses (as are many of yours) has some elements that are unconditionally good.

*My marriage has gotten better. My wife and I agreed that this was so just this morning.

*I am still able to write and be creative ??? and more able to do so on topics that are of concern to me rather than people who might pay me.

*What I have to say gets more attention, at least in part because I have a deadly diagnosis and not because I am any more profound or wise than I ever was.

*The people in my life seem to value me more, and I them, again at least in part because of my diagnosis.

*I am probably closer to God ??? whatever God is ??? than I have usually been ??? in more ways than one.

*I treasure the moment more than I have usually done.

*I get more chocolate and barbecue, pretty much whenever I want it.

As my sister, a 20+ year breast cancer survivor (who has also survived stage 4 recurrence for 7 years) advises, take full advantage of all the secondary benefits.

There is also the matter of how we deal with cancer. Reframing cannot make the pain, evil, debilitation and uncertainties of our diseases go away. It can???t get rid of the avoidable suffering caused by the outrageously high costs and insurance cruelties that are often part of them. But it can help us make the most of the time and assets that we have ??? both for ourselves and others. .

And that???s important.

Vaya con Dios

John Shippee
Atlanta, Georgia

Sent by John Shippee | 8:56 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Good morning Leroy,
Wow..........."A bullet wound to the head is simpler than cancer" I love your choice of words, especially where you say that the guy should be happy he got shot in the head, LOL. As you said on the discovery program "You have to laugh, you have to find humor" I guess this is true. All of the people on this blog have so much grief to get through. I for one am starting to believe that grief and pain are a permanent condition. I guess a gun shot wound would be better, if given a choice. But, unfortunately we are not given that choice. Thank you for your great sense of humor. I had my chuckle for the day! Enjoy the book! Always in my prayers, Sasha

Sent by sasha | 9:05 AM ET | 06-22-2007

I think the comments from elm and from Nancy Clark deal with the issue that many of us have been skirting: what to do when there are no longer any acceptable treatment options. This would involve setting new goals about how we want to die, what we want to get done before that happens, who we want around us, what we want to leave as a legacy on earth, how our faith can help us through this time of life. All these goals are important and sometimes we wait much too late to consider them. If we wait until we are too sick and weak to think clearly and do any of the important activities on that list, then that is indeed tragic.

I think all of us should spend time thinking about what is so important to us that we want to spend our last hours doing that, and what we want to be remembered for, and what we want to say to our family and friends before there is no time to say anything more.

No one teaches us how to die. Maybe that can be a goal for me: to be a role model for my daughter in the dying process. Sounds daunting, since I have little idea how to do it. I've just ordered some "how to" books on the subject from Amazon.com.....a few with 5 stars. Maybe reading those will help me.

Sent by Sandra Shuler | 9:05 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Good Morning Leroy,
Your comparison between having cancer and being shot was a good one. I guess we are holding the short end of the stick!

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could all exchange our cancer cells for a bullet, providing it was in a nonlethal spot. Then we could have it removed during just one session of surgery and be well on our road to recovery with no further worries. We could save the first spot in the Cancer Cell Exchange Line for you, Leroy. Oh, the thing that dreams are made of!!

But since that isn't practical, I think I will get my husband out of bed and we can go take out our aggression on a golf ball.

Have a great day, Leroy and enjoy the rest of the book.

Eileen Pruyne
Charlotte

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 9:06 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Being the logical linear thinker that I am LOL.....

The difference and hence "worst case scenario" is that a gun shot is a singular tramatic event resulting from an external force.. you either live or die "in an instant" (typically anyway)...

cancer is an insideous disease which distroys from the inside and over a protracted period of suffering... slowly eating away one's life

As for "wishing I had a gun shot rather than my cancer"..... ummmmm I had testicular cancer.. so maybe not! ;-) LOL

Sent by Ronald K. Bye | 9:53 AM ET | 06-22-2007

To me there is a
"The Worst-Case Scenario".... worse than yours. It could have struck you as a 22 year old instead of an adult....like it has my son.

Sent by Melody | 9:54 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy, I laughed out loud throughout today's message. You articulate the humor and perspective of "Cancer World" in an amazing way. Here's to continuing to read/explore life's mysteries!

Sent by Karen Quinn | 10:09 AM ET | 06-22-2007

A few words on hospice and books.

I loved Sherwin B. Nuland's book "How We Die." It's not for everyone, but I found it fascinating.

As for hospice, they were an enormous benefit. We used both in-home hospice care and inpatient over the course of the final weeks. I couldn't have asked for better care for Terry, and they've stayed in contact since February, just to check in and see how I'm doing.

When Terry died in inpatient hospice, while the nurses were all first rate and encouraged me to get as involved in day to day care as I wanted, I wouldn't call it an especially spiritual or peaceful death...I'd call it more of a relief or release for all of us. It wasn't painful or anything, but it was far removed from the experience that I'd been told to expect. That may be because I thought then, and still do, that this was all completely needless.

I guess you can tell that while I'm trying to move on, part of me is still in that hospital room at 8 am on a snowy February morning saying goodbye for the last time to someone who can no longer hear me.

Sent by Bruce | 10:12 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Thanks for the humor, Leroy! As a fellow brain cancer survivor, I still have to worry about recurrence. When things start to feel right again, that's when I worry most - bad news always comes at the worst times! For a graduate statistics class I was going to do a statistical study of cancer survivors based on various economical, age, race and gender types, but I couldn't find that information - all I found from the US govt was about cancer episodes (not deaths/survivorship), which absolutely does NOT discriminate. I have to wonder about the death rate of poor people in this rich country of ours, though. I personally had to declare bankruptcy after I finished surgery, chemo and the works and I had insurance.

Sent by Tammy | 10:14 AM ET | 06-22-2007

In nineteenth century literature, the disease-of-choice for incurably ill females was a drawn out case of "consumption" aka TB. After TB became curable, the disease disappeared from most books. At some point we've probably each been guilty of viewing cancer as the worst possible illness one could have. Doesn't that perspective result in the reactions we each had when first entering "Cancer World": the shock on being told "You have cancer," the "Why me?" question, the changes in lifelong priorities, the alterations that many make in diet or spirituality or religious faith? It's only after spending a little more time on our side of the line, that we begin to think of the hope and possibilities for our remaining lives. The day when all cancers become easily diagnosed and thoroughly treatable, or even vaccines developed, will be the day when cancer scenes disappear from literature. Until then, I hope that I can stick around and continue to enjoy those good books and movies.

Sent by Sheara | 10:16 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Hi Leroy,

I also love a good book. But I enjoy reading stuff that people like Dean Koontz dream up. The only thing I hate is, I get so involved in his books, I just don't want to put it down and usually end up reading it in 2 or 3 days and not doing anything else.

Anyway, you were saying how get the doctor in the book your reading said getting shot was better than a tumor and it made me think about how some people react to me sometimes. Every once in a while, I'll run into a friend that I haven't seen in a bit and they'll say something like... "Hi Shirl, OMG!! I was so upset because of (what ever was going on traumatic in there life, like oh I don't know... maybe they got their hours reduced at work or something and then they say).. "then I remembered poor Shirley... and all that she's gone through and then I think... hey... she's got it much worse than me... so that makes me feel better." And although, I'm sure they don't intend it for coming out so bad... my response is usually "well, I'm glad I was able to cheer you up!" And I laugh... and they usually say.. "oops... I didn't mean it that way..." But, you know.. I say.. everyone's got something.. I always say, it can always be worse... I could be living in a cardboard box in the streets somewhere...(and then I wouldn't have access to a computer to read your blog.)lol

(If you haven't noticed yet, I always end everything with something positive... I don't know why... I always gotta try and make it better for some reason). You take care and enjoy your book!

Shirl
http://imskwerally.tripod.com/

Sent by Shirl | 10:23 AM ET | 06-22-2007

It's funny that you mentioned this. I've recently been thinking a lot about how often writers use cancer part of their plots. There is always a relative or love interest or someone who has "cancer". It's so often used as grounds for a character (whether in film, tv, or text) in their acts of desperation. So many movies come to mind (Big Fish, The Family Stone, etc...) where the writers need to instill some type of tragic timeline and do so by giving a family member a terminal illness. And what is more convenient than cancer. An all inclusive death sentence as far as writers are concerned.

I never really noticed how much it is used as a writer's tool until I was diagnosed. It seemed to be everywhere. We are, as you say Leroy, the worst case scenario. It sometimes makes me laugh how convenient our disease seems to be in fiction, but how awful it is in reality.

Thanks for your relentless approach to this blog Leroy. I think so many people will agree when I say that you are a great man for continuing this blog. You're helping so many of us.

Sent by Bobby Silberman from CT | 10:25 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Since being diagnosed, I now find analogies comparing anything to cancer and the growth of cancer bothersome. Remember the Simon and Garfunkel song, Sounds of Silence. Silence like a cancer grows? I replay that in my mind all too often.

The more of us that come out of the cancer closet with our non- cancer friends maybe the literary comparisons will less.

Sent by Janis (BC survivor) | 10:41 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Good morning all,

I like the analogy, cancer:bullet. Hasn't a magic bullet been described as a treatment/cure. WOW!

You get the news you have cancer, its probably like being shot or hit with a brick. I don't know, because I am the care giver. You get the news, it is inoperable, and you didn't have time to duck before the next brick hit. You sit on pins and needles waiting for the follow up biopsies and scans, and hopefully although not always, it will be good news. If the news isn't good you wait for the next phase of treatment to be discussed, planned, and begun.

A good mystery, sort of like life, full of suspense and twists. Escapism, GREAT! Adults should do it more often.

Thanks to all.

Sent by Susan Chap | 10:51 AM ET | 06-22-2007

"You know you're in trouble when you are praying for TB." That is what my best friend said to me two months ago when she was first diagnosed. She went to the hospital in the first place because her lungs had filled up with fluid - so much that x-rays couldn't tell a whole lot, and a biopsy was impossible. Then it was clear that she had a malignancy. While waiting til a biopsy was possible and then for the results, we were all "hoping" for breast cancer. "That would be a good scenario" we were told because there are so many chemo options.

Then came the news - and it was at least pretty darn close to a worst case scenario - stage 4 lung cancer- adenocarcinoma. She's 41 with a new baby.

Her baby's christening is tomorrow and in the midst of this "worst case scenario" it will be a joyous and life-affirming event.

Sent by A.V. Terry | 11:00 AM ET | 06-22-2007

An article I wanted to share with you about another couragous man fighting C.:

Philadelphia Firefighter Wages And Wins His Bravest Battle
June 17, 2007

The firefighter went back to work last week. All it took to get there was everything he had.

He will be retiring in less than two months, anyway. That date -- chosen in accordance with the Philadelphia Fire Department's DROP program -- was etched in stone a long time ago. It's a date the firefighter was dreading, but at least he could prepare himself for the end of his 39-year career.

The cancer didn't care about any of that.

It showed up on his tongue. The doctors found it late last summer, and the firefighter had surgery. Part of his tongue was removed, replaced by tissue from his wrist. Next came the real hell: six weeks of chemo and radiation that left him thinner, weaker and with a feeding tube inserted into his stomach.

When the doctors say six weeks, they don't warn you about the hard months that follow. The firefighter knew it would be tough but expected that he would be able to get back to the firehouse for his last six months or so.

After all, he had always been a gamer. Broken ribs? He worked through them. Broken collarbone? He missed the minimum mandated time and came back in spite of the pain. Missing work was not something the firefighter took lightly. He had too much respect for the job and for the guys who count on each other to be there day in and night out.

But this cancer was different. The tumor itself wasn't much, barely enough to get your attention. It was the treatment that turned a fit, athletic 66-year-old man -- a snowboarder, a scuba diver, a motorcyclist, a hunter -- into a patient too weak to get out of his chair some days.

He lost weight. He lost the muscle tone he'd maintained all his adult life with a daily workout regimen. And then there was the fact he couldn't eat. The radiation left him without saliva, so even soup went down like so much flavorless cardboard.

Hence the feeding tube, which suddenly became the next-to-last obstacle between the firefighter and his wish to return to work.

It was like this: The city doctors wouldn't clear him to work while it was in, and his surgeon wouldn't take it out until he was able to get enough nutrition without it for two months. With his DROP date locked in, the firefighter was suddenly facing the prospect that he'd never work again.

This happens to athletes all the time. They have an idea how long their careers will be. A sudden injury can change that, can rob them of the time they believed they had. It's difficult enough for a man or woman to hit retirement age and deal with the sudden inactivity without being cheated of that final year.

The department made it clear he could work down at headquarters on administrative duty. But after 39 years of putting himself on the line, of working with and supervising the best people he knew, the firefighter wanted to end it the right way. He wanted to wear the uniform he wore with pride all those years, not a clean and pressed lieutenant's dress uniform down at HQ.

This had something to do with honor.

He convinced his doctor to remove the feeding tube. That left the final hurdle. Literally, the firefighter had to fight City Hall. He had to get the cancer doctors to communicate with the fire department's doctors and persuade them all to clear him for active duty.

The firefighter's son listened to accounts of his father's quest with mixed feelings. He knew his dad really wanted this and worried about what disappointment would do to a spirit already brought low by the cancer. The firefighter's wife and son talked about putting aside their own fears -- fears the families of every firefighter, police officer and soldier somehow live with -- and supporting this crazy quest.

Why not just let it go? Why not be grateful to make it through a long career in one piece? Why not just relax and enjoy the rest of the life you won in a brutal fight with cancer?

The only answer came in the firefighter's stubborn determination. This is a man who dropped his Eagles season tickets because he didn't like the way Norman Braman ran the team -- and who never looked back. He sticks to his guns, and that's how he came to be back at the firehouse last week.

He has less time left before his retirement date than it took him to deal with the red tape and bureaucracy, but he made it. That's what counts. The firefighter is once again what he wanted to be. A firefighter. And there isn't much left for the son to say about it.

Except: I love you, Dad. Be careful, please. And happy Father's Day.

Contact Lt. Phil Sheridan's son at psheridan@phillynews.com. Read his recent work at http://go.philly.com/philsheridan.

-----

Copyright (c) 2007, The Philadelphia Inquirer

Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.

Sent by Sue | 11:08 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Something I have been struck by again and again during my treatment is how indiscriminate cancer is. Here's a healthy 20-something athlete with stage III lung cancer... there is a 5 year-old with leukemia... there is a 70 year-old man with prostate cancer... we can all end up with it and we never know when it is going to strike.

Why is it that cancer has successfully found a way to hold nothing against anyone and we, as humans, struggle so greatly to be equally as indiscriminate?

Not to be negative, though...I have also seen how beautiful people can be, how caring, compassionate, and most important, how we maintain our sense of self - boldly, with as much grace as possible - in the face of this disease.

If only it didn't take cancer to show humans how to treat one another as well as ourselves.

Sent by ejd | 11:10 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Dear Leroy,

Your blog always takes me to a place where I know "someone gets it." Thank you. People say the darndest things, writers write the craziest things, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry.

I'm crying now. I wish I were laughing instead. This is a hard time. I've told myself, buck up, focus on something else for this day, put the worries about cancer off to the side for a little while, at least until I receive some answers to my questions.

Problem is that I can feel it in my body, it's a large tumor in my uterus. Two months ago, told it was a fibroid, and needed to have hysterectomy; now it is getting much larger, quickly, and the possibility of leiomyosarcoma is looming, and I've been doing some research.

Surgery isn't for another 31 days. I'm scared out of my mind. (Both of the possiblity of it being malignant, and of surgery, period. I've had to endure some rather traumatic -for me- surgeries, for multiple osteochondromas/chondrosarcoma over the years, and it's very hard for me to make myself have yet another surgery.)

For many reasons the movie version of RENT and it's soundtrack keep playing in my mind, and on my cd player. "How do you measure a life? Measure in love."

Leroy, you bring a lot of love to your blog and these postings. Thank you. I'm finding it to be of tremendous comfort to be able to come here, read your blog and other people's posts, and leave my own post. Thank you for giving us all this place. (Thank you NPR, too. :)

To Gene Koeneman: Thank you for your post to me. I did go ahead and send my questions via email to my doctor, I used some of the courage you sent me to do that.

Sent by Kim Blankenship | 11:25 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy,

This isn't personal to you, but general to all. Elm and Nancy - I'm right with you as a hospice worker. Too often, we get patients admitted for hospice care who are already in a coma! The whole idea of hospice is to have some time with the patient and family to ease the transition into whatever lies beyond.

That said, it is still a matter of individual choice about when to call hospice. I think people don't do it sooner partly because they aren't ready to give up the fight to live (which is fine) and partly because there is still much ignorance about all the things hospice can do to make things easier.

I laughed, too, at the bullet/tumor joke and all that implies.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:27 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy, I just told my employer that I will be retiring at the end of August. I've worked at this same place for over 25 years, love the job and the people, and I really thought for the longest time that I'd be here until I was 90, retiring was never an option, never entertained that thought. Just goes to show that you never know what the future brings. Cancer dictated this major move to retire. I'm 62 years old, returned to work after my surgery, and it hit me. I am due for my 3 month CT scan in August and got to thinking, what if....I've used all my sick and annual time while recuperating, if I need treatment again, God forbid, I be without pay. This pushed me into thinking about retirement. Enjoying the time I have before something awful happens again. This was a HUGE decision for me. I've worked all my life, no other choice and now I am going to retire. Cancer sure does rule our lives.

Sent by Ruth White | 11:27 AM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy,
I love good mysteries and have not read this author. I will have to get a book to see how I like him.
Once you have cancer the whole world changes. The first time I had cancer in 1961 a friend brought me a stack of magazines to occupy my time. One article was about medical errors that kill people....interesting but a touchy subject at the time. When I had my second colon cancer in 1986 another friend brought me some mysteries to read. I had a pulmonary embolism after this surgery and was taking coumadin (sp). One of the books was about an evil doctor who was killing people using coumadin. Actually I thought this was pretty funny!
To change the subject I agree with elm that we need to be ready to accept each stage of living and dying. I saw a great example of this when my x-husband died. He had a life long struggle with alcohol that he never won. It is what killed him. When he found out he was going to die he was at total peace. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from him. He was finally going to defeat the "beast" in his life. I did take care of him through his last days with the help of wonderful hospice nurses. I could not have done it without them. When he did die, a nurse came to call the coroner and take care of the details. She asked me what my relationship was and I told her I was his x-wife. She said that might be a problem. I told her that if I was going to kill him I would have done it years ago. I am not sure she saw the humor in this.
My daughter leaves on vacation today so I hope she will be able to free her mind from her "cancer world" for a week or so. She will resume treatment when she returns. The good news is that her PET/CT scan shows no visible signs of remaining cancer.
Well, enough babbling for today. Leroy, I hope you enjoy the rest of your book!
Charlotte in Temecula

Sent by Charlotte Kewish | 12:04 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy, You reminded me of one of my Favorite lines today.
When I was treated for Hodgkin's Lymphoma 33 years ago. One of the steps was removal of the spleen. It was the heart of the lymph system so you removed it, them chemo and radiate every where.
I would wager my friends at work, if we got in a car wreck, I would not die because I did not have a spleen to rupture like they had. I would back this up by telling them "EVEL KNIEVEL" actually had his spleen removed, so when he crashed his motorcycle he stood a better chance of living.
I know having my spleen removed helped me have a wonderful life.
On books "The Alexandria Link" by Steve Berry was a good book, especially since you know Egypt so well.His "Amber room" is also very informative.
Keep rebuilding and preparing for the next battle.

Sent by Sam Means | 12:10 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy, Right now I am reading Ghost Soliers, about the POW rescue near Cabanatuan City on Luzon. These guys went through hell, a 30 mile trek, in unbearable heat, against a determined and ruthless enemy. A good analogy for cancer, determined, ruthless, unbearable. I lose myself in this book. It helps me understand better why my Uncle hated the Japanese until the day he died. I will hate cancer until the day I ... Enjoy your read, and continue to hope for good news from the other hospital. Have a great weekend, Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 12:17 PM ET | 06-22-2007

This morning I was feeling a little sorry for myself because of the pain in my hip and my whole recurring cancer situation. I couldn't even pick out something to wear to radiation out of my closest, which is jammed with clothes. Instead I went and laid down to figure out how to get through the next 5 minutes.

As I laid there I realized that I have a goal. My goal is to get through this second round of cancer with grace and humor. I keep remembering a really funny cartoon in the New Yorker magazine a few weeks ago. A doctor is in with his patient and says, "Anyhoo, it's malignant." I just love that cartoon. Most people look at me like I'm crazy when I tell them about it. My best friend whose husband died of cancer said, "what's funny about that?" But my husband and I just laugh about it all the time.

Humor is what will get me through this. Thanks for making me smile today, Leroy.

Sent by Laurel M. Jones | 12:49 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Thanks for the book title. I loved Gorky Park. And yes, after treatment, I had absolutely NO FEAR...after all, the worst had happened, had it not? Silly me, now I am looking over my shoulder again. Leroy, do what permeates you with joy. It's literally keeping my old ninicat alive. She should be dead of kidney failure but she lives to sit in the sun and let me pet her, or nap with me, nose in her belly fur. I bring her perrier. I carry her around. She's the princess. Be a prince. Gosh I don't know what made me write all that. I would rather a slow death from cancer than a quick one from a bullet. It's that next second, just one more second...I'm posting all my artwork and it kept me up all night at http://www.myartprofile.com/butshebites - another thing to ask for a few more minutes, please.

Sent by Alycia Keating | 1:01 PM ET | 06-22-2007

cancer is tragic and unfair..

right now a friend is trying to find a bone marrow match.. in south asians, there are few registered.

if i can send out a plea to register to become a bone marrow donor to anyone out there, you could potentially save a life, and give someone a better-case scenario...

http://www.helpvinay.org/dp/

vinay is a physician with leukemia who is at the final days unless he gets a match.... there are bone marrow registry drives going on nationally...

please take a few seconds, and think about it..

thanks.

Sent by krupali tejura md | 1:06 PM ET | 06-22-2007

If you learn from your suffering, and really come to
understand the lesson you were taught,
you might be able to help someone else
who's now in the phase you may have just completed.
Maybe that's what it's all about after all...

Sent by Karen | 1:12 PM ET | 06-22-2007

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on tight. Don't let go, and don't give up.

Sent by Karen | 1:16 PM ET | 06-22-2007

I found this statement a few years back, and never forgot it.

"The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude to me is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than success, than what other people think, say or do. It is more important than appearance, gift, or skill. It will make or break a company...a church...a home.
The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... The only thing we can do is play on the string we have, and that is our attitude.
I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you... we are in charge of our attitudes".

Sent by Karen | 1:20 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Having TiVo'd Ted Kopples "Living with cancer" and finally having the chance to view it I was amazed at your positive outlook with your cancer. There are so many cancers that when found it is already into stage 4. Back in Oct of 06 while seeing my family Dr. he reminded me that it had been 3 years since I had my last colonoscopy and I should get one done soon since I had 3 polyp's removed the last time. So I made the appointment to have the test which was done early Dec. After the exam the Dr. called my wife and I into his office to go over the results. He stated that the colon was clean but (don't you hate that word) while trying to get around in the colon there was something pushing on the outer wall of the colon and that I should have a CT scan done just to be sure it was nothing. After the CT scan the Dr called and said that something suspicious was on my left kidney and that I should contact my family Dr. as to the next move. He said that he wanted me to get an MRI which I did. It confirmed the CT findings. He then said that I should see a uroloigist. Went to one late Jan. and after he viewed both tests and showing me the cyst he said it should be removed as he though it was cancer. The cyst was less than an inch in size. On 2/22 I had laparoscopic surgery to remove the cyst. The biopsy was positive for renal cell carcinoma type 1. He stated that due to the friable state of the tumor that he had to use cryoablation to destroy the tumor. After awaking and having him tell me and my wife that it was cancer it became a blow to me at first. The usual questions go through you mind like did he get it all, was everything looked at carefully on the CT and MRI tests. Right now I thank god everyday for listening to my Dr. If I had not and maybe a couple of years down the road I started developing some kind of symptons like pain then I could be losing a kidney or worse yet have it spread throughout me. Right now I'm watching my step sons father-in-law at the age of 56 suffer through stage 4 colon cancer because he waited till he had bleeding and discomfort before he went to his Dr. The chemo he was going through was so aggresive that it started to erode the lining of his colon. He now will have a permanent colostomy. I know in your case having started out with colon cancer and being told that the cancer is gone gives you hope. But then to be told several years later that you now have brain and lung cancer is what has me scared that several years from now I could be in the same boat. Most of the people that read you blog's are living with cancer everyday. Right now I being told I'm cancer free. Maybe it is because I listened to my Dr. to have the screening. Maybe if everyone would have the usual screening tests (breast, PAP, colon, prostrate) done at an early age then there would be less people being diagnosed with late stages of cancer. It is predicted that 170000 new cases of colon cancer will be detected this year and that there will be 52000 deaths from it this year. Right now I feel very lucky and wish I could get the word out to everyone to get cancer screening tests done. I's praying for you and everyone else with cancer that there is a miracle to cure cancer around the bend. In the mean time god bless you and you family.

Sent by R Pyle | 2:06 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Melody I am sorry about your son. That has to be hard..I always was glad it was me not my child. My thoughts go out to you and yes there is always someone that is fighting a harder battle when it comes to cancer.

Sent by Kerry | 2:25 PM ET | 06-22-2007

I believe if you worry and concentrate on the worst case scenerio it will come true. When I was told my cancer was back I was told the WCS would be 4 months to a year. Well that means I should be preparing to pass next month or at least this year. I told them that would not happen. Even though I am on chemo and another spot was found I look for the Best Case Scenerio. Looking to the future of graduations and happy times for the family. BCS is the best drug I could have and I plan on taking alot of it.

Sent by Cathy | 2:30 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Cancer definitely doesn't discriminate and doesn't care how heathly or unhealthy one is, how good a person you are or how well you live your life, or even if their is or isn't family history. I also wanted to comment briefly on yesterday's blog. I've been thinking about what I wanted to say. Though I'm not the one with cancer and instead lost my Mom to cancer I could feel the words that Stephanie wrote. I kind of equate a "plan" as being the same as "option(s)" and I think it is truly wonderful that you, Leroy, have what looks like could be a good plan in front of you. When it kind of came to the end of the line for my Mom's options I guess it was her ultimate decision to stop treatment for Stage iv BrC and enter a new phase, Hospice. Of course there really wasn't much left to try but she did seem at peace with it and frankly I think she was sick of all of the many chemos, radiation, and surgies. I will admit that there have been those times when I have wondered how she could be at peace with knowing she was ultimately going to die sooner than later and miss out on me getting married someday and having kids, and basically leave me. But the majority of the time I do hope and pray that she was truly at peace with her decisions and how she lived her life and with the hand that she'd been dealt, so to speak. And I hope that someday if I am ever faced with a similar situation I hope that I can be as strong and brave as she was.

Sent by SA | 3:51 PM ET | 06-22-2007

This is so very strange. I commented a few days ago how parallel our thoughts have been. Just yesterday I was watching local news and commented to my husband "at least I've never been shot". I sort of think being shot would be a worst case scenario, even as I sit here not knowing if my chemo is working and knowing there is only one more to try. Hmmm, it's all relative.

Sent by Cheryl McDowell | 4:04 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Hi Leroy,

I, too, had to laugh as I read your posting this morning.

I've experienced a few things about what people say about cancer and the worst-case experiences of life. I've endured a few when I was bald and in rigorous treatment, with more
comments/questions of me afterwards and now, whose very essence hit at cancer survivorship and life after treatments. (What am I allowed to do in order to live life normally without endangering my remission. Essentially limitations at an age when others around me do not
seem to have any.) I have learned to take them in stride mostly, although I could use a few snappy answers since at my new job were no one knows my medical history. (I am incognito for practical reasons.)

I also started to read books I loved as a teenager and young adult again because it seemed that every adult fiction I picked up had a character with cancer who died, even though that wasn't mentioned anywhere. People with cancer do live.

I have to say that sometimes cancer does feel like a fortunate thing. There are diseases without treatment options of any kind. As far as the bullet goes, you are only lucky if it hits a good spot that doesn't cause too much damage.

Enjoy your book.

Sent by Lilly T. | 4:11 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Leroy ???
I read your posts each day and greatly appreciate your ability to put into words what so many people with cancer experience. One topic I???ve not seen you write about (and that fortunately you haven???t experienced) is the necessity of having health care power of attorney and living will. My good friend is experiencing her second relapse of Non-Hodgkin???s lymphoma. This relapse is going on 18 months and has worn her down physically and mentally. The past several days have had her hospitalized with changing mental status; some days she is unable to speak, move and can in no way direct her health care. Multiple specialists come into the room asking for decisions to be made concerning her treatment plan. My friend has discussed some basic issues about what she potential treatments she would like but nothing is in writing and no one legally has the power to speak for her. I write this hoping you will address this subject and make others aware that they should plan for the worst while hoping always for the best.

Thinking of you and all the others who share the diagnosis of cancer.

Sent by Leslie | 4:26 PM ET | 06-22-2007

I went to my rheumatologist, Monday, I am having pain from my arthrits, at the moment it is in a flare. Ordinarily I can handle them, but this one is rough, made more so, by the feeling I had that he was treating me differently because I had a recurrance of cancer. I am to have a referral for a block in a joint, that, I need a pain specialist for that. It is Friday and no referral yet, I want to scream how can I put my self in the best psychological state to deal with cancer when you don't help me fight my pain. I used to have a good rheumatologist, he had to retire and now mine is not so good, so I wait. What upsets me, is I don't want to spend the time when I feel relatively good, in pain. My next chemo is on the 2nd and nausea with pain will not be pleasant, some Doctors just don't get it - quality time is precious, and with cancer it is all about time. I guess I will be finding a new rheumatologist - or just not bother dealing with this one - who needs it. Thanks for allowing this vent

Sent by Rita | 5:25 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Dr. Tejura: I just sent a broadcast email request to the college of nursing where I teach in Atlanta. On it, I gave Vinay's website address and briefly described his situation, asking for help for him to find a donor.

I do have a few south Asian students, so you never know! Maybe something good will happen for your friend! I hope and pray that he will get his donor.

Sent by Sandra Shuler | 6:04 PM ET | 06-22-2007

A little more on the hospice issue, if I may.

It's not just nursing care. There's a whole team that includes nurses, social workers, aides, clergy and others who will come to your home. Our hospice nurse came 2-3 times a week to the house, our social worker did as well, the aide came a couple of times a week to help with bathing. They all also called often.

Post-inpatient care, I have the grief counseling team calling me every month or so just to check in, and I'll have free grief assistance for a year as well as pastoral care, which I've elected not to take advantage of, and support groups, which I've also chosen not to participate in so far.

We were lucky enough to have 5 weeks once Terry decided to stop treatment to get affairs in order and say what needed to be said. I'm glad for that.

And Leslie is right--get those power of attorneys and health care POAs and wills and all of that kind of thing done--and legally NOTARIZED.

You never know when you might get shot. Or hit by a bus (giggle). Or "worse."

Sent by Bruce | 6:47 PM ET | 06-22-2007

In my role as mental health counselor, I am sometimes called to "debrief" (support) individuals and groups in private industry when an unexpected death or event occurs. Today I spoke with individuals whose young co-worker had unexpectedly died. Many in the group thought "at least she didn't suffer". Implied of course is "at least she didn't have a long drawn out disease like cancer". Who is to decide the definition of the worst case scenario? Maybe those that have time to consider how they will live have appreciate the living a little better.

Sent by Fern | 8:54 PM ET | 06-22-2007

Yep, it does fee odd to have the worst case scenario be the scenario you or your loved one is living. Actually, my husband has two feet in this camp: (1) He has recurrent, persistent cancer (ongoing chemo), and (2) he has an ileostomy. Every time a joke is made in a movie, or on TV about some guy being "on the bag," my back stiffens a bit. His doesn't exactly, as he tends to agree, even though he's lived pretty well with it for the last 8 years. He's in the hospital right now, and the older gentlemen in the next bed was asking him about the ostomy as he's about the have one. Sez my husband: "Well, it keeps you alive and you can take a sh** whenever you want." Black humor rules in our world...living the worst case scenario just about requires its.

Sent by Teri | 6:31 AM ET | 06-23-2007

Every once in a while, someone will make a comment like that about cancer in my presence, either because they don't know or have momentarily forgotten that I have (HAD!) cancer. Then they look so stricken when it suddenly dawns on them. Mostly I feel amused and also sympathetic toward them, because I've done similar things myself in the past. I remember one time regaling a whole room full of folks with a hysterically funny story about my cross-eyed Siamese cat going berserk and climbing the Christmas tree. Then I suddenly realized the person standing closest to me was cross-eyed! What's really strange, though,is that when people tell stories about that dreaded disease, cancer, I often feel a moment of shock to realize that I AM that "worst case scenario" they are shivering over! (Guess there's still some denial going on...) Of course, in their blessed ignorance, they don't understand that there are many levels in Cancer World, some far worse than others.

Sent by Doris | 10:24 AM ET | 06-23-2007

Leroy,
I loved what you wrote today. It is so very true. I'm still trying to employ some magical thinking in regards to my husband's cancer. I would like to think that if you try really, really hard, you can find a solution to inoperable cancer. So that is why, we are going for a third opinion about what can be done. It's just too difficult to sit back and let it happen. We've both been self-starters all of our lives. We've always been able to find solutions.

Sent by Elaine | 11:18 AM ET | 06-23-2007

To Melody whose 22 year old son has been diagnosed. In a way, I can relate- my son was 42 with 2 young boys and is a cancer survivor. As a mother you feel that there HAS TO BE SOMETHING YOU CAN DO MOTHER'S TAKE CARE OF THEIR CHILDREN'S HURTS but not this time. Just be there for him every day in any way you can. Tell him how much you love him. I must have asked myself a million times why my son he has never been anything but a kind loving gentle man but you finally realize there is no answer. Cancer does not discriminate good or not so good old or young rich or poor..... Just enjoy any bit of happiness you can share and do whatever it takes to help get through the terrible "treatments" and hopefully have some sunny days ahead.remember ONE DAY AT A TIME

Sent by Evelyn | 8:06 PM ET | 06-23-2007

Leroy, Thanks for expressing what many of us have trouble articulating: It is that bad. It's really bad. For some of us, treatments buy time, but the poor prognosis remains the same. It is absurd and ridiculous, you know, always on the verge of feeling unreal. As for the woman that finally finds love...What about the single moms who are dealing with this? I think only Lifetime movies cover that too bad to be true scenario. "Hi, I have 6 cats, two teens, a yappy chihuahua and, oh yeh, an 8% chance of being alive in 5 years!" I wouldn't want to date me! Gotta laugh, though. This thing we call life is absurdly beautiful and exsquisitely painful, all rolled into one.

Sent by Nancy | 11:40 PM ET | 06-23-2007

I have a PET scan coming up at the end of the week. Today I had a meltdown figuring on the worst case scenario. That is if the test came back positive. For some reason I have focused on this test to come back with bad results even though I know the outcome of the test. I know the next step that will have to be taken if it comes with bad results. I have had a fixation that I could not get rid of. It apears as my wife has figured it out . That the cancer maybe coming back to a point to where I am going to die. This is to addition that my oncologists have told me no such thing is going to happen.To me that is the worst case scenario for me is to deal with the death and whether or not I well be at peace. Enough of this fear. I have decided to stand up, hook up and live kive the way it was supposed to be lived. I thank you all for listening to a man who worries about nothing rambling on.

Sent by Clark | 8:17 PM ET | 06-24-2007

My wife is now playing the part of the Heroine; we found love toghther 8 years ago, 4 years ago she got appendix cancer, and 4 weeks ago they told her that she now has months, not years left. We have a new treatment regimen for her peritoneal tumors, but the expectation is that this will only give us additional weeks.
I'm hoping for the surprise ending, like the documentary "Living with Cancer" had; there's a screen wipe, and I find out that her 'death sentence' has been stayed because of a new therapy. I wish I could skip to the end; beyond the pain and vomiting and just know what the end is without her actually having to experience all that is in-between now and that time. We all die a little each day; but with cancer you actually become acutely aware of it.

Sent by Alan Cardenas | 9:50 PM ET | 06-24-2007

This goes to Kim Blankenship who is currently awaiting a diagnosis of her uterine tumor: I was diagnosed with uterine leiomyosarcoma earlier this year and if your diagnosis should turn out the same, I would be more than glad to walk with you through this. Please let me know. You are in my prayers.

Sent by Ellie Algatt | 12:27 AM ET | 06-25-2007

Sandra:

Much appreciated... you never know... the world & life is full of the unexpected..thanks again!

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 8:42 AM ET | 06-25-2007

I was diagnosed with stage 4 melanoma just a year ago. All of the doctors just said, "Sorry". I started treating my cancer with diet. I tried to make my body as alkaline as possible. Acid feeds cancer. Please try to change your diet so that you eliminate sugar, animal products, coffee and alcohol. Eat vegetables and whole grains. I highly recommend the book, The Ph Miracle Diet by Robert Young! It changed my life. I have been cancer free for about 6 months now! I go for a scan next Monday to see how I am doing. I'm nervous...I know you can relate, but I need to tell you how your blog has helped me cope! After reading your note today, I worry about your diet! Please consider eating lots more vegetables and whole grains. It does make a difference.

Diane Jacobsen
Sisters, OR

Sent by Diane Jacobsen | 1:35 PM ET | 06-25-2007

This is off topic, but I have to salute your friend Ted Koppel for going on The Daily Show and saying "KOPPEL HUNGRY." Then later on he said "Dance for me Funny Man, dance for Koppel." I know Ted is your pal so if you wouldn't mind passing along my thanks for the laughs, I'd appreciate it. I salute any serious news man who could pull of a comedy bit like that. I hope you saw it too, we could all use a laugh once in awhile. Cheers! (with a cranberry juice)

Sent by Kevin | 7:43 PM ET | 06-25-2007

Hi, i am really glad i found this site. I have an oligodendroglioma, it had been quiet for 3 years now it has come back. i am ffacing chemo, i have never really had any seizures. but i am terrified, we have a 8 year old who remembers the two surgeries in the past, i dont dare tell him about the chemo unless i really have too.
Everyone is so positive here, i am trying to be.
If anyone wants to give me any support, i do have support but not from anyone who really knows.
Thanks again
Kelli

Sent by Kelli | 2:49 PM ET | 06-26-2007

Dear Leroy, Right you are about living in this world, it is difficult to have one foot in the other world and one foot in cancer world. How we long to be in that other world, completely.

Sent by Judy Kolbaba | 1:23 PM ET | 06-28-2007

I have been diagnosed with grade 3 tumor but have not started treatment which will be Temador and radiation. I feel fine and told the doctor I felt as though we were looking for something to "fix". She said there was no doubt something was " broken". Since I feel so good I have a problem with all the "help" I get. Family and others behave as though I am already undergoing something BAD. I am talked about but not to. Sometimes I feel like a pet goldfish. My wife speaks for me a lot and often does not reflect what I would say. I worry that the doctors will treat what she thinks I feel instead of what I feel. She is trying very hard to make things work so perhaps I should say nothing but still I have my frustrations.

Sent by Mike L | 1:36 PM ET | 07-05-2007