Last week when I went to Oncologist's office to meet with nurse about clinical trail, saw people that took care of me before and hugged. This nurse didn't know me but said "they really love you here". I felt special although it's not the "KIND" of special I would most want to be. Thank you for writing and keeping us on the upbeat side today.

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 8:48 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Good Morning Leroy, I remember just such a spot in Chicago, Lake Michigan where only locals knew to go. I too am a local at Vanderbilt Hospital. After I retire, in the event that I need a little extra cash, I thought that Vanderbilt Hospital might be a good place to work part time, since I am so familiar with it already, just a thought. Did you hear about your scans yet?

Sent by Ruth White | 9:25 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Thanks for the light touch. You started my morning with a chuckle. I needed that. Enjoy your day.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 9:34 AM ET | 07-02-2007

We've got too many locals going to our cancer center. And our last names all begin with the same two letters. In fact, they're mixing up our charts. We are all women in our 50s. What's going on?

Sent by Cheryl McDowell | 9:40 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy:

Newport Beach, Cali? Awww my favorite place back home.

I can tell when i'm driving in the parking lot where the doctors/patients are together, who is a newbie, and who is a frequent visitor... by the hesitation driving around the curves...

Okay, enough ramblings... I am dreaming of my California avocado guacamole...as I sit here in the stacks of a library trying to cram a 14 hour day of studying... it's like trying to make a dollar outta 10 cents... not really happening.

Be well Leroy... I am pondering smelling the salty ocean once again.

Krupali

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 9:47 AM ET | 07-02-2007

God bless you Leroy!

Sent by Lisa D. | 9:51 AM ET | 07-02-2007

LOL! Amazing what becomes familiar and "almost" comfortable. You always hit the nail on the head there Big L.

I agree, the beach is a far better place to be a local. I always tell other people in the waiting area at the clinic that "we have got to stop meeting like this and should start hanging out in the bars". Maybe it wouldn't be so good for a single 37 year old gal to be a regular at a bar but it's better than the damn hospital!

Now as far as those strips go...I just had breakfast but I now have a hankering for some salsa!

xo

Lori

Sent by Lori Levin | 10:09 AM ET | 07-02-2007

I'm waiting for a phone call this morning to see whether I can get some IV hydration here at our new local chemo center. It just opened its doors on June 20th and I haven't seen it yet. So I will be a local, yet a newbie to this new place. I've been making 100 mi round-trips to the regional cancer center. This will give me a look at this new place and the nurses and layout, and help me decide whether I want to start over here, or continue to make the longer trip. There IS something to be said for the familiarity of the nurses and organization of the regional center. But oh the time savings are tempting!
Who knows, maybe my oncologist would rather I stick with his place. But I get your meaning Leroy. I am a local at 50 mi. away. A change might make me a stranger in my own hometown.

Thanks for getting me to think a bit harder on this subject.
Jill

Sent by Jill Schaudt | 10:15 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Krupali, what is the link to your travels going to be? I didn't bookmark it when you first mentioned it, and now I have lost it. Thanks. (I'm going to stow away in your backpack.)

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 10:18 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy, I feel like a parasite. I've been reading your blog since I saw the Ted Koppel piece on Discovery and have never reached out to you or acknowledged what you've written even though it almost always resonates with me. The Discovery piece angered me (your Dr. at the time who had basically written you off as "Dead Man Walking"), motivated me, brought me to tears, and left me feeling hopeful. I am a survivor of stage 4 cancer, now 6 years out. My chances of surviving 5-years were 0-25%, yet here I am. Some days I feel guilty I've been so blessed while others who had less aggressive, more treatable cancers, didn't make it.

I do a 667-mile bicycle ride each June (just completed the 6th iteration) for Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City where I live and where I did my treatment. I do a blog and photos from each day of the ride and thought you might enjoy seeing them. Especially Days One and Two when I wrote about Adversity and Perseverance. The URL is www.ikickedcancersbutt.org (if the name I picked for the site isn't an act of throwing down the proverbial gauntlet to cancer, I don't know what is!).

I think of you each day - in fact, your musings regularly resurrect memories, feelings, and emotions I'd hoped would be forever forgotten. Now I'm glad they percolate to the surface. Now I want to remember. It reminds me why I hate cancer.

Kindest regards,

Jeff

Sent by Jeff Warren | 10:23 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Good morning Leroy, You are so right. It is so easy to become a local. I am sure we all would rather be on the 14th street beach. You always seem to know just how to say what we are feeling. I hope you have had good news on your scans. We all care. Again, thank you for being there.

Dorothy

Sent by Dorothy | 10:27 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Hi Leroy,

I read your blog and it reminded me of my 1st time at Roswell Park Cancer Center. I had a assigned "local" escort show me around, then they gave me a little gift bag. It was actually nice, so was everyone there. Now that I've been going there for 6 years, I'm the "local" and can relate to what you said. I can spot the patients, and the new people and am glad to be able to tell them about all the places that they can get extra help for paying parking, or even a place to stay and even things like when your waiting to get your chemo, the nurses will give you a pager so you can actually walk around and don't have to sit in the waiting room and they'll page you when there is an open chair. It feels good to help people and seeing their face of relief or gratitude makes having cancer a little easier, just knowing I helped someone else.

I Hope you had a nice weekend! Here in upstate NY (Western - Central) the weather is BEAUTIFUL!!! My car died (it was a 1982 Lebaron... it got me too and from chemo for a bit so it was a good little car). My friend lent me her Corvette convertible, so I washed and waxed it and did the same for my motorcycle, then went for a little jaunt on my bike. Its great to have a good day!!! (Miss it way too much, but when it comes, nothing can compare!)
Take care all! Shirl Dolitz

Sent by Shirley Dolitz | 10:29 AM ET | 07-02-2007

I remember the first time I went to the Yale Physicians Building...I had transferred after a move from tiny Manchester. Yale has no "flow," no office manager, no oversight of getting patients into any kind of routine. The nurses snarked at me for not going for bloodwork first. Where...? over there, and they waved, not looking. Yep. They didn't make it easy to become a local. I fired my onc and harrumphed off to St. Raphael's group after I was done with treatment. Especially after the my surgery aftercare experience. I didn't want to go have to endure hazing to become a local.

Sent by Alycia Keating | 10:36 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Krupali: At Emory, if you're a 'local' and a PATIENT, you let the valet guys park the car for you. Saves at least 20 minutes of hunting and an amazing amount of energy. It's worth the extra bucks in parking fees.

Thanks for opening your future traveling blog back up! AND GOOD LUCK ON THOSE EXAMS!!! Can you tell us what day(s) you will be taking them, so we can all offer our prayers and positive thoughts?

I hope we get a progress note on Dona from her family (or herself) soon. Sometimes reading this blog is like reading a really good book....only the story is true, not fiction. All the characters (us) are real. Come to think of is, "characters" is a pretty good noun to describe us, isn't it? HA! :-)

Sent by Sandra Shuler | 10:37 AM ET | 07-02-2007

In writing, I think the beginnings and endings are the hardest parts and I think you are very good at nailing them.

Sent by Nancy Robeson | 10:58 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Hi,

I hope everyone had a nice weekend. I have a theory about hospitals. If there is a wall, it will be down, and if there wasn't a wall before there will be one.

Navigating a new hospital is hard. My sister received her care is massive. In fact for one of the appointments they had to give us a map. The hospital has probably 18 buildings all interconnected. I have gotten pretty good at navigating that place. In fact when we have labs and x-rays I put my sister in a wheelchair and get a great workout.

For driving around now, my beau and I use a GPS "Audrey". It is GREAT!

"When possible make a legal U turn."

Have a great day. :)

Sent by Susan Chap | 11:02 AM ET | 07-02-2007

How lucky that new patient was to have someone as special as you to show them the ropes.

Have a wonderful day today.

Amy

Sent by Amy | 11:17 AM ET | 07-02-2007

I always feel for the new people sitting in the waiting room filling out the clip board knowing what's ahead of them. You want to help them but there's not a real good opportunity to engage with fearful strangers. They will learn and maybe someday we will talk.

Sent by Lisa | 11:21 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy, I have those feeling whenever I'm in the New York State-Finger Lakes (specifically-) Skaneateles Lake. Ahhh... No ocean by any means, but so fresh and beautiful just the same. Childhood memories and high school secret hangout spots. Swimming, camp fires and hi-jacked "Boones Farm Apple Wine" (yuck) I belonged...it was mine/ours. All of those crowds in the summer are temporary- even though I'm just the visitor now, it's still mine.
Thanks for stirrin' up the memories!

Sent by Deb | 11:33 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Good Morning Leroy,

Ah-h-h, the beach!! Certainly a favorite place to be. Have you been on a beach at night with a full moon above and just walk along in the edge of the surf. It's truely amazing!!

Then there is the challenge of parking at the clinic, another story entirely!
We do have free parking at our clinic, which is very nice. But finding a spot is the challenge! And yes, we can tell the new residents of Cancer world by the fear in their eyes.

Good luck on your scans and I pray that you will get good news on the follow up treatment.

My next scan is on July 26th, please keep your fingers crossed for me too.
Thanks!!

Eileen Pruyne
Charlotte

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 11:37 AM ET | 07-02-2007

Yes, I had forgotten about the wonderful strips and salsa way back then in NB! Thanks for the memory jog! Enjoyed your funny and sweet blog today.

Barbara

Sent by Barbara Langan | 12:02 PM ET | 07-02-2007

When I went to Penn for my initial visit I was overwhelmed. Everything from the Schuykill Expressway to finding the hospital to navigating the parking garage to going through the Skinner Box that is Univ of Penn hospital seemed like a major task in and of itself. After about two or three times, you figure it out. Then, when you see someone with the "stardust" in their eyes you help them...just like people helped you. That's what it's all about. It matters not whether you are working your way through cancer or if you're at the grocery store and the short lady can't reach the box on the top shelf. It's about helping each other. The way LeRoy helps us and we help each other on this blog. John Lennon was on the money - Love is the answer.

I now live thousands of miles away from the people who helped me get better two years ago at Penn. But, we are going on a family vacation back to PA late this month. I have one day set aside to go back to Penn and see my doctors and nurses who helped save my life. I just want to say hello and show them that, at least today, I'm in one piece. I anticipate a lot of hugs and handshakes.

Been too busy to post lately. Sounds like I need to re-prioritize. Take care all out there. Stay strong and take any joy you can get.

God bless.

Sent by Dave U. | 12:27 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy,

a lesson to us all about how, no matter what is going on, we can still be helpful and of service to others. Bless you for being the kind of person who likes reaching out and doing nice things.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 12:28 PM ET | 07-02-2007

I wish it were the beach I identify with, but instead it's the new patient. I happen to be a patient at Hopkins, too, so I could visualize your description even more than usual.

When I go for my next scan, I'm going to check with you to see when you will be there. It would be an honor to meet another warrior. Especially one as eloquent as you.

Sent by Wendy Murphey | 12:42 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Hi Leroy!

Funny you should mention....

On Saturday we had family over for a cookout. My sister-in-law was in town from Monterey CA, and it's always such a delight to see her. After dinner, I headed toward the house to take my dishes inside and grab a tray for the remaining ones. I started toward the the house, arrived at the steps and after climbing one I promptly tripped. I fell, dishes shattering on the concrete steps. My arm went between the wrought iron railing, crushing every capillary and vessel in it's path, wrenching my wrist, and smashing my knee. Aside from feeling very clumsy, I didn't think anyhing was too wrong.

The next day is always another story. My arm looked horrid, but it was my wrist that bothered me the most. So I went to a hospital to have it looked at. I went to one near my home mostly because my insurance would cover me there. I wanted to go to the hospital I am doing my clinicals at since it is home to me. My home, professionally speaking, but my insurance dropped them. From a cancer patient's point of view, my home is a large hospital where a non-life threatening ER visit would get me a 5 hour wait. So I went to the smaller, covered hosptial near me. I called first to see if one of my clinical instructors who works there in Radiology was on duty. He was and said to come on in.

I had been there only a couple of times before, but not as a patient. So I was out of my element, away from home, asking for directions, seeing docs and nurses I never saw before; all strangers except for the Rad Tech. All was good, just a bad sprain, nothing broken, and I was treated well. I have this gorgeous splint that is my new fashion accessory for the next few weeks. It matches the color pallette of my Pirates of the Caribbean tatoo band-aids.

This will take note taking and test taking to whole new level!

Sent by Teri Thomas | 1:09 PM ET | 07-02-2007

It's like being a part of a club that one really doesn't want to be a part of but has no choice. Maybe one day you won't be a local anymore. There's always hope.

Sent by DiAnn | 1:09 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Dear Leroy,

If I had my way, everyone in the world would be blissfully ignorant of war, disease, poverty, hunger, loneliness...

I hate knowing my way around hospitals. Knowing to turn left instead of right at the confusing juncture.

I deeply appreciate all the doctors, nurses, physician's assistants, office staff who work with me. I'm a jumpy, stressed-out, need lots of information kind of gal, with multiple medical conditions, so they have got their hands full. Yet, they unfailingly remain kind, compassionate. It frequently moves me to tears, because of course, each one of them has her/his own stuff, of which I usually know very little if anything.

So, in some way, I hope you folks out there in the medical field, in whatever fashion, know that your patients do appreciate all that you do for them; every bit of kindness warms their overwhelmed hearts. I'm lucky. (and blessed.) Caring encounters help me to continue to face yet another day.

Thanks for your blog, Leroy.
I hope you are getting the news you want. Check out Mary Oliver's poem, "The Journey", in her book, DREAMWORK.

Heartlight,
Kim Blankenship

Sent by Kim Blankenship | 1:21 PM ET | 07-02-2007

I remember recently when my son was having his quarterly check up at his oncologist office, a father kept calling the office to ask for directions. The oncologist office is across the street from the hospital, but there is only one parking garage. On top of that, if you get out of the wrong elevator from the garage, you really cannot find your way around if you are not familiar with the area.

The father called when we checked in, the receptionist tried to help him. He called again when the nurse was preping my son for a blood draw. I felt really sorry for him. This has to be his first time visiting the office and it is not any regular pediatrician, it is a pediatric oncologist office! After my son's blood drawn, the father called again. I told the receptionist to tell him to stay put at a stop sign, tell me what the cross streets are and I will go pick him up. Poor man and his little four year old daughter was just right across the street. He looked panic and confused. He apologized and thanked us repeatedly.

Hopitals and all their surrounding buildings and offices are confusing anyway. To bring your child to an oncologist office for the first time is nerve wrecking and depressing. I wanted to hug that father and tell him everything is gonna be ok....but I couldn't. I wish I could tell all those parents with a child with cancer that everything is gonna be ok and you will have your child back....but I couldn't.

I count my blessings everyday that my son is in remission. And hope that the god aweful disease never come back.

Sent by grace | 1:25 PM ET | 07-02-2007

A few months ago, I was late for some doctor's appointment at UNC so I was in a hurry in the parking deck. Being a local, so to speak, I knew that there wouldn't be a parking space until about the 4th floor at 10:00. And of course, I was behind a car that was vainly looking for a space on the 1st and 2nd floors. My first thought was to be annoyed, since I was late - and then I thought, maybe it's their first time here, and they don't know the ins and outs of the parking deck, and they're as scared as I was way back when. So I took a deep breath, decided it didn't matter if I was late, and hoped that they were just visiting someone at the hospital.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 1:37 PM ET | 07-02-2007

How I love those CA beaches!! Good luck with your exams, Dr. Tejura! Thanks for a fun post today, Leroy....when patient's begin their journey at our cancer center, I reassure them that, before long, it will be old hat for them and they will be waving at staff and patients alike, like they won the place! Once the fear is gone, they settle into their treatment routine and manage to smile and crack jokes along the way......trying to enjoy the ride.

Sent by Karen | 1:43 PM ET | 07-02-2007

I saw a clip on the Michael Moore movie "Sicko". I like the proposed idea that people with cancer or other terminal illness could be considered paid in full and just get whatever treatment they need. Being sick is work enough, shouldn't have to go without treatment or fight with HMOs and insurance companies. Being an American here in Germany I had the additional issue of translating bills from German to English and converting the currency, which we usually got hosed on. I kept very good records and at tax time in 2005 and 2006 had about $60,000 that the insurance wouldn't pay in deductions for medical related expenses due to cancer. At tax time I went through all those bills and got everything in proper order for the accountant. It meant that I got $2000 back. Honestly it was emotionally trying just reviewing each bill and reminding myself what particular torture my husband (now gone) was going through at the time. Should have let them keep the $2000. But still grateful that we had the best treatment we could come up with. Grateful I had a job to keep us going.

Sent by Irene | 2:26 PM ET | 07-02-2007

We're all "locals" in our Cancer World. Hugging fellow 'locals", fellow survivors, has become the norm for me. It recognises the unity, the love, the compassion, that we share on this journey we all walk together.
Love, Don

Sent by Don Winslow | 2:30 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy, You hit the nail on the head again. Day after day you express how we think and feel. It's not a club I would have asked to join but I am now a local too. We need to have little buttons made up that say "ask me about cancer!". Anyway, maybe by being a local we ease the pain and anxiety of the new folks on the block. When they see us cool under pressure maybe they also sense our hope. Take care! Kim

Sent by Kim Barbato | 2:41 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy & All,

Guess you can call this a postcard from the "Road Less Traveled".
Sometimes I have to take a day or two off from the blog, because the "busy-ness" is just too much. I always return to catch up, especially with the regulars. But, the theme always seems to circulate around our incredible need to "fix" things. Sometimes things just cannot be fixed...or fixed in the way we want. Then, I caught the June 25 post from DiAnn, Asking, "If he had done nothing, would he have lived a bit longer and felt good enough to do a few things with his family?".
I know this will appear as blasphemy to many, but there is a very thin line between giving up and reaching acceptance. When re-diagnosed with lung cancer the second time, following surgery with "curative intent" I asked my oncologist if this would kill me. He said it would, but could not tell me when. Possibly six months to a year, maybe two, but not three. That was early spring of 2005.
After riding the chemo train for a round of brutal treatment, I decided that nothing was worse, since the chemo robbed me of any usefulness to myself or family. At that point, I reached total acceptance and made the choice of no treatment for the forseeable future. That decision has given me two wonderful years, alive, awake and aware with the family and many friends. My point is, that it's OK to do this. Choosing quality of life over quantity gives me a daily reprieve from the physical and mental busy-ness and allows me to work with other cancer patients who may be mentally exhausted. In fact, the further I got away from treatment, the better I felt and feel. Yes, the cancer is always there...it always will be. I can carry it without having to wear it. Doing nothing was and is a decision.
For those who have trouble with this concept, I heartily recommend Scott Peck's fine book, "The Road Less Traveled".

Michael Lewis
Seattle

Sent by Michael Lewis | 3:03 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Great blog today! Never thought about it in the way you explained it but it is so true.

Your gesture of helping the couple find their way was a kindness that will come back to you many times over!! I'm sure each of us can remember the times before we became one of the "locals" in this strange, intimidating and scary cancerworld. Let us not forget so that we can do as Leory did, extend our helping hand to those who are new to the cancerworld.

Blessings and prayers as always.

Sent by Al Cato | 3:10 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy, you made me laugh because I've experienced such a parallel experience. For 9 months I had chemo at a private practice in Bethesda. The chemo room was huge and open with loungers and other acoutrements scattered around. It didn't take me long to strike up a friendship with a perfectly charming man who was 75 and had been battling lung cancer for 4 years. After a couple of months I asked him if he remembered the lunchroom at high school and what a claiming process was the maneuvering involved in sitting next to a particular cute guy or girl until it was your territory, undisputed. I gestured around and said "See, nothing has changed. Oh, we're all older but I am still grabbing the seat next to the cute guy." But I was wrong--other things had changed too, and Stan died not long afterward. "ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."

Sent by Ruth Crawford | 3:53 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy- 14th St. in Newport Beach is where I went as a teenager. 17th St. was the busy ara but 14th was the spot-why? I miss strips- now you cannot find them and my kids- ages 13 and 20 don't even know what they are.

I hope you have a great day- I know you are able to find some fun and interest in each day. It is a talent and you use it well.

Sent by Linda H. | 5:13 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Hi Leroy...Three weeks ago I was a stranger in a strange land. Week 2 I had a literal melt down when I couldn't find a parking place at the radiation center. I sobbed uncontrollably over something that small. Week 3, I am a local. I know the parking tricks, I know everyone on my teams at both chemo and rad, I talk to the newbies if/when they want to talk, I bring home-baked goodies to both places every week, I am more "myself" than I was those first few weeks following diagnosis and the beginning of treatment. I would much rather be in my old summer stomping ground, Wildwood, eating a Hoagie, Italian Ice, Mac's Pizza, staking out the best spots one on the beach, one under the "boards". But this is where I am a local right now and if this is where I have to be, I might as well make the best of it!

Thank you, Leroy, for bringing lightness to this thing called cancer. You help me frame things in a fresh, positive light.

Thinking positive thoughts for you and everyine.

dww

Sent by Daria Wilber | 8:09 PM ET | 07-02-2007

I related very well to your story today. I have been in remission for 19 months from colorectal cancer, but last week I had a CT scan and they found 6 lesions on my liver. I had to visit my oncologist and of course he ordered a PET scan and MRI. While sitting in the waiting room at the oncologist office I noticed how everyone knew where they were soposed to go. It had been several months since I had been there and they had just remodeled the office so I felt like a new cancer patient. I kind of chuckled to myself because I was not sure where to go, I didn't even know where the lab was. I just thought how wonderful the last few months of staying away from treatment rooms have been. I guess I felt like a guest at the oncologist office. Hopefully I won't have to feel like a local again.

Sent by Karen | 9:21 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Hi Leroy,
I have been cancer free for 5 years now. However my doctor insists I still be checked every six months. I asked him why and he said "because I like you". My breast cancer was stage III so I'm sure that is the more likely answer.

I am always surprised that the waiting room at the treatment center is full. It's a strange feeling and I know it's not rational but I keep expecting that there will be less and less patients.

I guess we recognize each other by our bald heads perhaps covered in scarves or hats (I always preferred flaunting my baldness), our ports, our bandaged arms, our anxious faces or even the tears that someone we love is brushing from our face.

Is there light at the end of this tunnel?

And yes, California beaches, chips and salsa sound like good medicine.

love and peace,
susan

Sent by susan | 9:26 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Isn't is amazing how life puts things into perspective. I remember the same experience when I went with my sister for her chemo. Hang in there.

Sent by Fern | 9:37 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Leroy, your helping folks in the parking ramp is a personification of what you are doing every day in this blog. For those of us who aren't personally in Cancer World, the blog serves as a swift kick to the hindquarters when we start feeling sorry for ourselves over something petty.

For all you do, thanks a bunch. I've spread the word of the blog to those dealing with cancer and those who are helping them.

Now, visualize the exploding fireworks as cancer getting zapped in the next procedures.

Sent by Marie | 9:46 PM ET | 07-02-2007

I'm sorry, Leroy, but I get a laugh out of the mental image of this lost couple going home and excitedly telling people "We met Leroy Sievers today and he told us where to go!"

;-)

Sent by Bruce | 10:07 PM ET | 07-02-2007

Thank you Leroy for taking the time to share your thoughts and insights. The way you are able to hit the nail on the head in describing cancer, to do it so precisely makes me feel a little more at peace in the cancer world. I can connect with your decriptions. It can be a really lonely world...I was surrounded by family during treatment almost every moment of the day, and yet I have never felt so alone and separate. I have never been one to spend a lot of time online, but I look forward to feeling a little less alone when I read your blog. Thank you.

Sent by Beth | 12:36 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy,

I use to play volleyball around there.
That was that other life I lead BC (before cancer). I found as a girl the locals were pretty nice. I could make friends easily and partying was fun especially with margaritas.

Now, I do not make new friends except here or at hospitals. I have no energy to do so and who wants to make friends with a dying person. I just do not feel apart of this world any more.

I feel like I have one foot in this world and one foot in the next.

Carole Ehlers

Sent by Carole Ehlers | 2:02 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Stephanie & Others:

My blog site is:

http://thewanderingnomad.blogspot.com

The exam is Friday the 13th (July 13), ironic, eh? I'm a bit nervous.. I suffer from TSS (test stress syndrome)...as soon as I finish reading, the facts literally leave my brain... more in, more out... nothing seems to stay 'put'... alas, just another one of those hoops that one has to jump through.

We took care of the patients and paid for their valet parking...alas my parking card was taken away at the end of residency...thankfully, I have another spot to park in...can't keep me away from the library.

Be well & thanks again...
Looking forward to traveling with all of you,
Krupali

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 10:09 AM ET | 07-03-2007

It's ironic for after my Mom passed away I realized that I missed being a "local" with her.....

Sent by SA | 11:10 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I took my girlfriend with me to get my portacath removed last week . she had never gone with me to any treatments before. She commented on how many people I knew. I said after 2 years of going for treatment every other week its how it is. I never thought of being called a local. It felt good to say to the Dr that put my port in I bet you didnt think you would be seeing me again with a stage 4 colon diagnosis . He smiled I bet he doesnt get to take as many out!
Leroy, hang in there.You are so on target with everything you write.
ps they remodeled the area at my treatment too and I was lost after only 2 months time.

Sent by anita | 12:52 PM ET | 07-03-2007

It's funny that I'm reading this today. I try to keep up with your blogs everyday, but sometimes I'm just too busy. My dad was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer approx 2 months (well, April 13 to be exact.. dooms day) so everyday is different. Between doctor's visits, chemo, a son and a fulltime job.. I'm pretty busy. I know what you are saying about being a "regular".. I feel that way now and I was talking with another lady in the waiting room as I was waiting for my dad to get done with chemo. Everyone feels the same way and you want to comfort all the "newbies". I pray for you every single day and I want you to know that you are amazing!!! I wish you the best and the Lord has done something awesome with your life already!!! You've touched so many!!

Sent by Kim Cason | 5:12 PM ET | 07-04-2007

Leroy,
I know what you mean about being a local. I suppose one of my defense mechanisms when I spent countless hours at M.D. Anderson was to never allow myself to admit I was a local. My thought process at the time was, "If I don't allow myself to be considered a 'regular', then the cancer will not be a permanant fixture in my life." When it finally came to facing reality, I had to acknowledge the disturbing familarity of the hospital. I came to know what was going to be served at the nearest cafe. My primary oncologist, and all his staff and students, came to know me. I could no longer hide behind the facade that I was merely a stranger in the cancer crowd. Indeed, once I let go of my denial, life somehow became more manageable, and my liberty was restored when I was finally declared "in remission". Those two words are truly music to the ears. It is my hope that everyone will get the opportunity to hear that music.
Am I still afraid? Absolutely. If and when my cancer returns, I will be much stronger, and I will not have a problem admitting I'm a "local"

Sent by Michael McGalin | 6:56 PM ET | 07-05-2007

Hi Leroy:yOUR BLOG ABOUT 14TH ST. MEMORIES AT NEWPORT BEACH STIRRED a lot of mine. DAYS AT NEWPORT AT 14TH ST. WITH MY SON, MY BEST FRIEND AND HER KIDS. BLISSFUL TIME AS THE KIDS HAD A BALL and we could catch up on our happenings and be totally relaxed even on the 91 freeway back to Riverside. And yes, the strips were the best even eaten with bits of sand.
Thank tou for bringing back these wonderful memories. Hang in there, you can defeat the beast. Thoughts and messages to Angels to help you through this difficult time. Your blogs are such an inspiration to me.

Sent by fran | 8:58 PM ET | 07-05-2007

Dear Leroy

I recently criticized you on the lung cancer survivor community page. I feel a need to apologize. You cancer is serious and I should not have been so hostile. It is just that my wife is suffering from cancer symptoms, whereas you are not.

I feel a need to explain myself further and to tell you about me. My name is Ray Moreno. I do not have cancer. I am the caregiver and my wife, Lamai has NSCLC-adenocarcinoma, the most common form of lung cancer. Unfortunately she is stage 4 (like you) and so there is no cure. Even more unfortunate, she is suffering from a host of symptoms. Which is another reason why I am writing to you now.

You need to get out and go to some tropical island and enjoy yourself now, while you are still asymptomatic. If you wait until cancer symptoms present themselves you may find it difficult to enjoy yourself. Since the Novalis folk said wait, why not take a week off and go.

On the program, "Living with Cancer". You asked the doctor whether it was time to go to some tropical island and drink Mai-Tai's (sp). He said no. The problem with this is the 2 extremes. One extreme is you stay put, worry, do all the tests. The other, give up all hope and spend the rest of your days on some exoctic tropical island. What about a compromise? Go for a week and come back and continue your tests? Why is it life is put on hold and frozen until cancer is killed off? Why can't you be like Elizabeth Edwards and actually live with cancer?

That's right, a common theme you presented on "living with cancer", was how you could not buy that new suit until after Radio-Frequency Ablation. Then afterwards you bought the suit. The theme was more how ONE CAN NOT LIVE with cancer. The implied theme was actually about how cancer either kills you or you kill it.

Now get yourself on that cruise ship and forget abou cancer.

Sent by Ray Moreno | 11:15 PM ET | 07-13-2007