Optimism is not letting the darkness over shadow the light

We all have good days and bad

Optimism is hoping the good days out number the bad

Ron

Sent by Ron Bye (NH) | 7:46 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I think your comments are just really honest.....and we can chose to live our moments (however many we get) in a place of reasonable hope and happiness or to let them belong to the cancer and despair.
I recognize I can't begin to imagine the feelings that come with some less optimistic diagnosis, and I pray that I never have to come to terms with those feelings. My future seems pretty good, but still no matter what....once you've faced the beast you know it's always in the shadows......
I really feel like if I give in to the fear and despair - it's won.....so, I totally think everyone has to face and has a right to express their own true feelings......but, as much as possible to have as many happy moments and as much peace as they possibly can.....
I've really decided that's the lesson I'm suppose to learn.....everyone with or without cancer should really live that way....
A lot of people are going to die today without facing a serious illness and they will not have had time to make sure they haven't left things "undone"........hopefully many of their moments today are good ones.....they are still "innocent" (to draw on your analogy Leroy) and have no idea their moments are limited.....

Sent by Ruth Chermok | 8:11 AM ET | 07-03-2007

On July 2, 2007 at 3;20 a.m. My husband David lost the battle with cancer. He put up one hell of a fight. He had colon rectal cancer that had also spread into the lungs. We fought this together for 5 years. AT this time I know he is in a much better person and I have learned alot about my self. He did not let it get him down, we to traveled to Hawaii, San Francisco, the Daytona 500 and got to see his new grandson that was born on his birthday.
Keep up the good fight and I hope someday they will find a cure.

Sent by Karen | 8:17 AM ET | 07-03-2007

What a great concept, sometimes we confuse optimism with being happy, pesimism with being sad, you are right on the fact that this is not a Disney movie, I think that to hear and to view the thoughts of others can make us happy or sad, but sometimes I also get mad, I am at the mad point with cancer, but
" anger is just usefull energy wasted "
Jeff

Sent by Jeff Ronco | 8:27 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I have to think positive things or I would not be able to survive. So now I look for the good in every day and try not to dwell on the fear and pain. Looking forward to motorcycle wedding this weekend and getting passports next weekend. I will not let this cancer defeat my spirit. Just found out 5 month wait for disability so HAVE to live long enough to collect!!!!!

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 8:28 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hi Leroy and All,

A quickie (that deserves far more, But I???ve got a Drs. Appointment in just over an hour)

I prefer, as a friend has suggested in his book, Leading Causes of Life to talk about ???informed hope??? rather than optimism. What can those of us with serious diagnoses hope for? We can hope that:

We have helped make the world a better place;

We can live every minute to its fullest, even when we???re feeling rotten;

Someone is listening and watching as we live and tell our stories

Our stories will live on in others and the world

Something of ourselves will live on in our grandchildren

Our pain will be manageable

The health care industry will become patient/survivor rather than profit oriented (this will take some work.

That our communities will remember us well

That cures will be found, not only for cancer, but for other deadly diseases and the deadly ailments that affect our planet and its people.

That???s all I have time for right now.

(I've never liked Disney's commercialized view of the universe anyway)

Thanks for reading,

John Shippee
Atlanta, Georgia

Sent by John Shippee | 8:38 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I am both optimistic and realistic. There are good days, some really great days, some bad days and some really bad days. Perhaps what distinguishes the differences in each of the above days is the prism through which we view our life and how we categorize each day for ourselves. I believe that the categorization of my days hasn't changed but the prism through which I view my life has since cancer entered my world.

I will strive each day to be optimistic and uplifted by each new day and its possibilities. But I also know that there is the very real possibility of some dark days ahead.

I like Ron's opening sentence: "Optimism is not letting the darkness over shadow the light". This says it for me..... I realize that our own reality sometimes makes this a very daunting task. Optimism and Hope are the antidotes for Pessimism and Fear.

Great topic for the day, Leroy.

Belssings and prayers as always.

Sent by Al Cato | 8:45 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Yes, good days and bad days. On the bad days I try to remember that they will not last and that the good days will return. Sometimes it requires great faith and focus.

Someone shared with me a poem about how feelings and emotions should be treated like guests in your house no matter what they are. What I got from the poem is that it is ok to feel very upset and even negative at times because just like guests, these feelings will leave and perhaps even leave a gift behind. This idea has helped me greatly when I felt like I was being a big baby about the whole thing. It is ok.

This is a link to the poem. Maybe it will help someone else.

http://www.gratefulness.org/poetry/guest_house.htm

Thank you again Leroy for another spot on post. Sometimes you may be "faking it until you make it" but that's ok too. Do what you are doing and keep doing it.

xo

Lori

Sent by Lori Levin | 8:47 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy, I agree that in this blog, we sometimes skirt around the less optimistic topics that are on all our minds. A few weeks ago, I was thinking about just this thing, and realized that no one really teaches us how human beings die. Personally, I always do better knowing the facts. Then I can deal better. So, I ordered a few highly recommended books on the topic.

Now, I am well into the first one. It's called "Dying Well" written by Ira Byock (medical director of a Robert Wood Johnson national program to improve end-of-life care). He helped to develop the first hospice in Missouri). In the book, Dr. Byock 'teaches' his readers by describing real life situations of the patients and their families who have been served by that hospice organization.

I highly recommend it as excellent reading material for anyone....especially for us cancer patients and our caretakers. With a good knowledge base, we can choreograph our dying, to a large extent. That thought gives me comfort.

As always, thank you for your right-on-target thoughts!

Sent by Sandra Shuler | 9:01 AM ET | 07-03-2007

The internet is full of blogs that dwell on the most horrific aspects of cancer. I come here to be able to get a more positive and optimistic take on this subject. Gloom and doom you can find anywhere - THIS is better.

Sent by Lesa | 9:09 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy, This is the truth. It was my husband's attitude towards his terminal situation with pancreatic cancer. You deal with the hand you have been given as best as you can. You fight for every day remaining on this earth and hope for many more.

At diagnosis, the surgeon gave my husband 6-12 months. Instead, he lived for 18 months. People say he did very well. But, we were disappointed; it simply wasn't enough for us.

Best Wishes today and for many, many more to look forward to!

Sent by Marilyn | 9:11 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Right on Leroy! I sometimes reread emails that I have sent out to people updating them on my husband and I think "who is the person who wrote that - so strong, religious, and optimistic - 'cause I am a crying sloppy mess now". I see I have two options here: Be strong and optimistic (with moments of insane grief) or live a life strife with tears and anxiety which make me hate life. For my husband and I, that life is not an option. I don't want our days - possibly the last days, months, or even-from my fingers to God eyes-YEARS of our life together to be that. We are happy and content and fighting the beast as hard as possible. We are choosing to make moments that we used to say "we should ......" like popping open some champagne at the beach and drinking it from crystal or restyling his look as he changes with treatment - losing hair? Shave it off, get new glasses and create a new man! Cancer sucks but why let is spoil the ride? It has already taken too much.

Sent by Sarah Senter | 9:12 AM ET | 07-03-2007

You remind me of one of my most realistic and bravest patients. The day I met her she told me "I know this will get me but I want to fight" She looked the cancer straight in the eye but she also knew when she had enough.
Years later her husband was talking about clinical trials and she looked over at me and said she had had enough. To me that is the way to face cancer, open, honest, on your own terms. Optomistic that the next day will contain that moment of joy that made it worth getting up.

Sent by Janet J | 9:12 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hope is the only thing that keeps us going. Without it, you just lay down, you have no reason to go on. FAITH is knowing that no matter what, in the end, ALL WILL BE WELL!

Sent by Joan | 9:14 AM ET | 07-03-2007

great blog today, Leroy....you nailed it! May your day be filled with laughter, love and no friggin Jurrasic Park dinosaurs!! Enjoy your holiday tomorrow....

Sent by Karen | 9:15 AM ET | 07-03-2007

When I first saw your title, life is not a Disney movie I thought "Leroy, the mom or dad always dies in the Disney movie!"

To add on Ron's comment. Without our bad days, the good ones would not be so sweet.

Sent by Janis (BC survivor) | 9:17 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I read this blog today and it has really helped me to refocus my thoughts today. My fiance found out he is in remission. I asked the doctor what that means and she said the cancer is still there, just not actively growing? What a horrible word to use...It seems so optimistic when in reality it is three months without daily visits to the hospital. We wait....and try not to think about cancer... In the meantime, maybe a cure?, maybe more shrinkage? We are thrilled we have remission, but "gone" would be so much nicer. Cancer is so NOT fair! I am so thankful he does not dwell on the inevitable. It was not my body that ingested all those drugs or was zapped and burned. It was his fight and so far he is winning his battle. Our reality now is to focus on the life we have been given again and we can deal with the crap another time. Thanks to all of you that help me through this fight!

Sent by Laurie | 9:21 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I do not think we can ever to be "to"
hopeful. As circumstances change, what we hope for will also change.
To be told we are more optimistic, does not make any sense to me.

Sent by Kathleen | 9:31 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Optimism means different things at different points on the journey. If you are just starting out, it might mean beating the disease. And maybe you will. If you are nearing the end - it's a different story. I think that we can't help but to sometimes miss the mark -- because the blog is like life: we talk to each other from the place of our own experience.

Ironically, the nicest thing that the blog does is to listen. That's why I read it.

Sent by jan | 9:45 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I am known among friends and family as the eternal optimist.

I schedule too many activities during the week following chemo, hoping I won't feel as badly as I inevitably do.

I think often about taking a trip overseas, although I probably wouldn't be able to undertake anything that arduous right now. But I keep thinking about it.

I absolutely refuse to let go of my "before" clothes, even though I can't fit into most of them anymore due to the damn steroids I had to take. Geez I hate those things.

I even ordered a Pilates DVD off of a cable infomercial, optimistic that I'd feel good enough to actual do more than watch.

But when it comes to cancer, I'm a realist all the way. This tumor is highly reoccuring, so I know it will be back. I know it will probably be the ultimate death of me (if the treatments don't kill me first). I have no idea when, of course.

I am optimistic about the new protocol I'm on, which is not yet FDA approved. But that's because it seems to be working incredibly well. But that's just the facts -- no optimism at work there.

So, I guess what I'm saying is there's still plenty for a dyed-in-the-wool optimist to look forward to in life, even with cancer.

Sent by Jordis | 9:45 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I try to optimistic, I really do. There are times when I have been having a run of really good things happening, no speed bumps that I start to take it for granted. Then all of sudden I can't get ahead to save my life. I lose things, I have to make extra stops for things, I get stuck in traffic that just won't move.

I know I take the good times for granted. I know that some people are fighting for each day of their lives. I know that I might not wake up tomorrow. I know that I must live each day that I have to the best of my ability, because we can't take that for granted.

Have a safe 4th of July one and all.

Sent by Susan Chap | 9:56 AM ET | 07-03-2007

People I meet and even on this blog often comment on my "wonderful attitude" about my cancer. I wouldn't call it optimism, but more like the acceptance that Michael Lewis talked about yesterday.

I have done all I can do to actively fight this cancer. I have sought and tried all the available treatments. The cancer is going to win this one, but I don't want it to conquer my soul. I will live each day, in the moment, to the fullest that I can. I will drink in the beauty I see around me, I will be grateful for all the gifts I have received in life, I will cherish the love of my family and friends. I will be sad to leave, but in the meantime, I want to revel and rejoice in what I do have.

Call it optimism if you like, or hope, but I have seen false hopes rob people of the quality of time they do have left. They spend the remainder of their days sick and not at peace, pursuing further treatment, reaching for the elusive brass ring, instead of engaging with their loved ones. Their choice, but not what I want.

Sent by Stephanie Dornbrook | 9:59 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hi Leroy! Hi All in cancer blog world.

I agree Leroy... about finding a way... somehow things will be the way they're supposed to be and life will find a way. And I just believe, no matter what, if I live longer or not... it's OK! I'm OK. I'm OK knowing I probably will die from this, but you know what? The only certainty in Life IS that one day we will all die... so its OK... no matter what happens or when it happens... I'm not going to sit around and worry about WHEN its going to happen because that would just drive me CRAZY! And, for that matter... it (death) can happen to any one at any time, healthy or not... I think that "WE" just have a little bit of a "tip" off and a "reality check" so "WE" don't take life for granite! So, what is better? To be oblivious to the fact that one day we will die or to look DEATH straight on in the face and say "BOO!" I'm not afraid of you!

We all have a choice on how to feel... me personally, I say "BOO!"

Take care and Carpe' Diem! Shirl Dolitz

Sent by Shirley Dolitz | 10:08 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Life is never a Disney movie...but trying to remain optimistic...is the biggest challenge that anyone ever faces.

-Krupali

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

Leroy I had to write to thank both you and all who participate in this blog. Last night as I laid down to sleep it hit me that it was the 3 month anniversary when my sisters and father were rallied beside Mom on the last day of her life. This time last year we were beginning our journey of my Mom's Phase 4 Pancreatic cancer. This moment was one of the most significant of my life. It is hard to put into words the emotions that flood my thoughts when I think of this time. I am so grateful that we as a family were able to come together and give Mom everything we had ??? for her. I can see our positions as we gathered around her stroking her hands, her hair, her face, whispering into her ear the last words she would hear from us. The emotion. Teresa touching Mom???s hair and the bond that was so evident - the look on both of their faces as the heartache and loving memories of times in Teresa???s back yard just screamed out. I see Anita across from me stroking Mom???s arm and being the good daughter she always was. Dad, oh Dad all he has lost is still so hard for me to comprehend ??? WE ARE STILL A TEAM being whispered in her ear until the end with I LOVE YOU ??? Mom knows she had both my Dad and us to the end and I know that this had to bring her so much comfort. Being there with my husband Al at my side is the time I honestly feel Mom came into my soul ??? it was electrical to me as I looked in her eyes and felt whatever was coming from her to me - her spirit -it is alive in me and I will keep these memories and the time we were able to offer back some of the love and comfort Mom gave to us our entire lives as some of the fondness and most loving I will ever know. The hope, stories and understanding this site provided and still provides me also holds a special place in my heart. Leroy, Nancy Clark and all those who have brought me invaluable insight THANK YOU! Hospice Too! Sharon Viscito I miss Mom so much.

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

Hi Leroy and everyone,

I agree while optimism is crucial and attitude is everything, at the end of the day it is about determination and perseverance. Most of the time I feel optimism on the inside and express it on the outside but I am not na??ve - this cancer will probably be what kills me and I have learned to live within the framework of that reality. What I have found in me though is precious. It is a gift to know that on a daily basis I am still me, cancer and all. The cancer cannot claim my soul - the essence of me is still the same. I cannot imagine a better reason to remain optimistic. I refuse to let the cancer - that nasty beast have any more than a physical piece of me. And darn it, if I can stop it from having that I will. I have stage IV metastatic breast cancer that recurred after about a year in remission and surfaced in my lungs in the form of tumors throughout both lungs. I had a CT yesterday and learned that after 10 months of trying the chemo that I have been taking has now stopped working. On Monday I find out what new chemo awaits me. I hope and pray that the new chemo will take away this disease. I pray for remission. And I pray that research dollars will pour in to buy me time and to buy you time. But if none of that happens I will still live each and every day as optimistically as I can. I have to, it is who I am. "???with God all things are possible."

Sent by Kim Barbato | 10:13 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Good morning Leroy & everyone,
Great post as usual, Leroy. When I look at my situation, I consider myself 'realistically hopeful.' I needed to consult with my cyber resource - good ole' dictionary.com and I searched through all the definitions for "optimism." This is the one I find I can related to the most:
optimism - "A tendency to expect the best possible outcome or dwell on the most hopeful aspects of a situation."

Overall, my prognosis is low, but I try to fight every day by living my life as I did in pre-cancer days (to the best of my ability, of course)! Don't get me wrong, I have had some pretty down times. It is then when I search for any morsel of hope I can find.

I love what you say about 'snatching another day out of the claws of the beast.' On good days I try to do that and I try to show that beast that this gal has a mean left claw :)

Wishing you all a good dose of hope for the day!

Sent by Lisa | 10:16 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hi Ron, Leroy, I've come to think of this blog as a place where we can share/quiet our fears. Like a teddy bear a scared kid can hold on to. Ron, thanks for your words the other day. I responded in that thread and was very grateful to hear from you. To jump to another movie, Leroy, may the force be with you.

Sent by Lorraine | 10:21 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Good blog Leroy. Non cancer people want cancer people to keep their chin up and fight as hard as they can. I think that makes them feel better to say that. But the fight is in the heart and mind of the person with cancer, not outwarding seen and not always verbalized. I can't imagine what you all go through but I see the difference it makes the eyes. A fear like no other.

Take care Leroy and thanks again.

Judy

Sent by Judy Voller | 10:21 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Optimism is being greatful for the memories of enjoying lunch out in a Thai restaurant with your mother-in-law, while she was recieving needed home hospice services.

This blog helped me create those small, but important, good times during the hard times.

Sent by Barbara in NJ | 10:21 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hi Leroy,
It is true to me as well that life is difficult and as soon as we acknowledge that it gets "easier". And yes, I agree hope is the antidote. May God bless your optimism. Love, Jan

Sent by Jan DeBerry | 10:27 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hi, Leroy-

Why not be optimistic. So much of what we say to ourselves is like The Little Engine That Could. If we believe we have a chance, we rally every resource we can lay our little hands on. That's our power, that's our strength over cancer. It's only got one way to fight - divide and conquer. But we are the stronger species with countless ways to overcome. We not only have modern medicine, but we have the power of positive thinking and spirituality.

During chemo, my husband got a hold of a dvd called What the Bleep Do We Know. We got so much out of it, my Christmas present last year was the follow-up Down The Rabbit Hole, to help me stay positive while fighting my second completely unrelated cancer.

The premise is that we can effect change through our attitude. If we're always negative, we will attract negativity. If we're positive, we will attract positivity. I highly recommend it to anyone who needs a boost. Positive thinking isn't always going to give us the edge to ultimately beat the cancer, but it sure can make our time more meaningful.

I saw the premise of the movies play out in many ways over the last two years of my battle. But it was thrown in my face daily by my two small children. If I had a bad day and my attitude was in the dumper, they followed suit. If I adjusted my attitude and became more positive, they were happy and content. I've watched this film several times to remind myself how powerful my mind can be even when my body is beaten to a pulp!

Stay strong and stay POSITIVE!!
Kathy Bero

Sent by Kathy Bero | 10:29 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Leroy, it seems so fitting with Independence Day tomorrow, to talk about how your independence through all of this has been an inspiration. You have allowed us to walk on this journey with you, as we walk on our own journey. We all rush to our computers daily to reassure ourselves that you are doing well, and thinking of us. Your selfless honesty has given us the permission to do the same, and I'll be forever grateful. Although it is my husband who has cancer, (3 years of colon, liver & lung)my fears & worry are overwhelming, and I thank you and everyone for being there for all of us. You are my inspiration Leroy, and a "Happy Independence Day" to you and everyone. God Bless, Pam

Sent by Pam Lever | 10:38 AM ET | 07-03-2007

And all that you said, Leroy, boils down to hope. We all have hope, and why shouldn't we? If you string enough days together you get a week, then a month until you've hoped your way to a year....and so it goes. Meanwhile, they're coming out with new treatments, new radiation, new ideas and we'll string a few more days together, hope-fully.

Kate

Sent by Kate Sullivan Fuehrer | 10:39 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Good Morning Leroy,

Your blog this morning really hit home. Being a basically optimistic person, much of the time I do feel that my cancer will be cured. Often, when I'm not feeling optimistic I play a game with myself. The one where I "act as if" I'm going to beat this thing.

Deep inside I fear I will be like most people. That the ugly alien being inside me will reappear and ultimatly kill me.

But I know that attitude is so important in the healing and living process. Why can't I be one of those rare people who's cancer gets cured?

I think that a positive, optimistic attitude can make a difference. If I'm going to stick around here, even for a short while I want to enjoy my time. If I were to stick around and be miserable I would be defeating my purpose in life.

Easy to say when I'm not in pain. Easy to be optimistic when I'm not exhausted from the battle.

In any case, I want to live and I want to love and I want to laugh. I do all of those things better when I feel optimistic.

Sent by Laurel M. Jones | 11:05 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Lderoy,

I admire your optimism, being a natural pessimist myself. I don't think there is anything wrong with whatever anyone does to help him/herself, including raging, ranting, being depressed, being realistic, being optimistic. We all have our ways of coping with a very difficult exit.

Personally, I am using Stephanie as a role model, not because I am like her, but because I would like to be like her.

Have a good holiday everyone.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:30 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Thank you Leroy for this blog, it really came at a great time. As I gear up to face yet another round of chemo (my fifth in a row) I wondered why I keep doing this to myself, and you are right, to buy time to stay around, a day longer, a month longer, a year longer, who knows. I went to a support group once, where someone said they were planning their death, and I was really angered by that, I understand it and applaud them for what works for them, but for me, I want to plan my life, death has its own plan, I just want to avoid it as long as possible. Thanks for hanging in there with all of us, Best, Estelle

Sent by Estelle | 11:32 AM ET | 07-03-2007

I have been reading your blog now for a couple of months. It is one of the activities I look forward to every day. I have been battling my cancer since 1999. I had a couple of years "off" and then have been fighting two recurrences since 2004 - currently receiving weekly IV chemotherapy and daily oral chemotherapy.

Now you would think that battling this beast would be enough to deal with but last Friday I lost my best friend to cancer. That best friend was my mother. My mother, my rock, my confidant, my biggest fan...but most of all my best friend. My father and I did our best to keep her comfortable and at home. She left us while being held in our arms and surrounded with love and wishes for a safe and carefree journey.

The logical part of me is grateful for the end of her suffering. The selfish part of me is aching for her smile and touch. And the whole of me is numb.

I have done my best. What else is there?

Thank you for providing an avenue for your fellow warriors to share, listen and reflect.

~Marcia

Sent by Marcia Nolan | 11:34 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Hey Leroy..great blog...I think that being optimistic is a good thing. I am a glass half full and whats left is filled with air. If that makes sense.
I think we all have our days Optimistic or not. It gets to me at night times when I try and rest. Other times it doesn't. Cancer is like that.
I think its a fight at times to stay Hopeful sometimes but we all of us here are only Human.
I think when its rough we admit to ourselves rise up from there hanging tightly to hope and move on. It might be one step at time. But we can do it.
I love reading here its so comforting at times to know so many have the same feelings as I do..
Have a great holiday.
Kerry

Sent by Kerry | 11:36 AM ET | 07-03-2007

Aw, can't we have one place where things are positive? There is so much gloom, doom, bad scans and "poor prognosis" out there. I really appreciate the positive, supportive, upbeat atmosphere of the blog. Sure, we address the tough subjects but overall, it's an island of peace compared to what we are bombarded with on a daily basis.

And, to Karen, my heart goes out to you on your loss. This disease sucks.

Sent by Karen D. | 11:42 AM ET | 07-03-2007

" Every day is a new begining". Everyone commented on what an amazing attitude I had when I found out my melanoma had progressed to stageIV. I would laugh and tell them that I'm just the queen of denial. Now, 6 months later, I've cried, been angry, felt alone beyond words. However, I guess I figure: Today I'm not nauseous, in pain or actively dying. I feel so fortunate-right now, today. I know when one is depressed, no one wants to hear about having a positive, grateful attitude. When I feel happy, for no good reason, I just think that's great. It feels like a gift,not an attitude I chose or work hard to keep. Leroy, you don't preach optimism. Your honesty allows us to admit to alot of feelings. You being friendly to folks at your hospital and blogging to us patients and caregivers are gifts you freely give. Little moments like helping the frightened new patients with directions...these are so huge. They mean more than you know. You care, you are open and relective and we all appreciate you so much!

Sent by NancyGM | 12:14 PM ET | 07-03-2007

The optimism is good, I think the problem with the blog is that it is not realistic for the average patient. Many of the treatments you receive are just not available to the averaqge patient even with insurance. My wife once had a doctor tell her he wouldn't have discussed a treatment she had if she was on medicare, because they wouldn't pay for it. Most cancer patients are struggling to pay for what limited options they have and can only dream of the trips and things some people use for an escape. Hopefully the successes you have had will help let people know there are still options and the publicity will make them available to everyone.

Sent by Robert Mardock | 12:27 PM ET | 07-03-2007

This "place" is one of the most amazing places I have had the honor of participating in....

The inspiration I have gained from so many of you here is unbeleveable! I read almost every day.. and your stories of strength and courage and in some cases triumph and in many tribulations and loss..... and yet you all are so strong and full of LIFE!!

My cancer journey was certainly not "fun".. being told I would not survive at the age of 20.. was impossible to get my arms around... but I must also say... by comparison to the journies of so many of you... I had it so easy.. I survived... I have thrived in the 32 years since and have not suffered a single set back.. no recurrance.. no long term affects... I have enjoyed incredible health since...... I have truly been BLESSED!!

I do have very strong and deep rooted spiritual beliefs and hence I do believe death is NOT the end but a new beginning... that it is a much better place than here... I do not fear death.. but I still grieve for those lost from my life and the lives of those I care about.....

I am deeply moved today.. more so than usual here.......

First... Karen I extend my very sincerest condolences on your loss.. I can possibly imagine the grief watching your spouse suffer and ultimately pass out of your life.. I grieve for your loss and hold you in my thoughts and prayers

Stephanie.... you are an incredible woman and I only wish I could possibly get the honor to meet you.. you are so full of grace and strength.. I am truly awed by you... I agree completely with you and your decision... quantity does not equate with quality and I would NEVER say "cancer will win this one"...

Stephanie you are DEFINITELY the victor... it has NOT stolen your soul... cancer will NOT defeat your spirit!!

THANK YOU.. each and everyone of you for the inspiration and support we all get from each other.. and yes to you as well Leroy! :-)

If only I can help even ONE person to LIVE their LIFE no matter their circumstances or the ultimate outcome

Lorraine I am glad you got my message......

Sent by Ron Bye (NH) | 12:50 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Karen,
I am so sorry for your loss. I pray for peace for you. God bless you and may the memories of your husband David and the time you had together traveling and seeing your grandson provide you with comfort. I will be praying for you during this difficult time.

Kim

Sent by Kim Barbato | 1:10 PM ET | 07-03-2007

WOW! you have an ability to put what at least, the way I feel into words. Powerful statement today. I do believe we have to be optimistic to deal with all the day to day stuff we deal with. The drugs dripping in, waiting for the nausea and other side effects to hit. Having people tell you how great you look, like your supposed to look terrible? It is cancer, not an immediate death sentence, just one that requires constant attention and viligance to all the treatments and tests. It is a chronic disease and on the optimistic side one never knows if it will disappear with the next treatment. When you lose hope, it is over.

Sent by Rita | 1:27 PM ET | 07-03-2007

That's funny, I always found that quote, "life finds a way" disturbing. It's so defeatist.

The cruel, uncaring juggernaut of nature will never relent, and will continue to endlessly spawn new tendrils of pain and horror.

Sent by Jody Sol | 1:27 PM ET | 07-03-2007

To Karen:
Though we have never met, we are connected because of this wonderful blog. I want to send you my deepest sympathy on the passing of your husband David. I want to believe that Leroy and everyone in this special community made a difference over the months that led up David's final moments yesterday, and that you know we will continue to care about you from this day forward. May his memory be a blessing always.

Sent by Harriet H. Liss | 2:13 PM ET | 07-03-2007

I was diagnosed with colon cancer over 3 years ago. That tumor was removed, but they said the inoperable metastatic liver tumors would have killed me by now. For over 3 years I've been waiting for liver failure to take me. It hasn't happened yet. I've been coughing for about a month and that is new, so last week I week in for a chest x-ray, and they said the tumors have spread to my lungs. They gave me some cough syrup. Now I'm signing up for hospice. I'm tired and I don't want to fight anymore. If I lived in Oregon I could ask my doc for medicine that would peacefully end my life at home. Most of the Oregonians who get medicine under this program never even take it, but at least they have the peace of mind of knowing the option is there. It's called an assisted death and it's been legal in Oregon for 9 years. Not even Alberto "I Do Not Recall" Gonzales and the Supreme Court could stop it in Oregon. It's a sucessful death with dignity program. Oregon has compassion and gives terminal people like me a choice to stop their own suffering. I wish my state had that same law. Lawmakers here in CA tried to introduce it, but I was told religious fundamentalists in my state blocked it. They want to force their religious beliefs on someone like me so I do not have the choice to end my suffering. Welcome to the land of religious freedom, where my own religious beliefs about my own assisted death are trumped by a few nuts in the state senate. I cannot move to Oregon either. I simply want to die painlessly in my home, with the help of a doctor. But our law died in committee. So I get to suffer and cough and cough and cough and cough and wait for more metastases in other organs and bones. I get to watch more and more of my abilities to care for myself to fall away, until I am utterly helpless and the hospice people stop giving me water. I'm not afraid of death. I am afraid of the suffering and indignities ahead of me. I'm afraid of my loved ones looking at my withered body, wracked with pain and disease. In some ways we still live in the dark ages. I just wish I could extend the same compassion to myself that I extended to my beloved pets. That's possible for people in Oregon. In most other states, they seem to value extended human suffering over dignity. With a government like ours that condones torture and shrugs at Abu Ghraib, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I was hoping the human race would be a little bit more advanced at this point. But I'm wrong.

Sent by Kevin | 2:20 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Karen-

I'm so sorry for your unmeasurable loss. Thank you for sharing the strength you and your husband showed during your battle. I hope you can now find peace knowing your husband no longer suffers.

Kathy Bero

Sent by Kathy Bero | 2:23 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy:
Isn't interesting that we all feel the same way when it come to cancer. We have our good days and bad days. Ups and downs. I have said that cancer is like a roller coaster. Up and down. Sometimes it is hopefull and sometimes it feel like someone took the rug right out from under you feet. On the days I feel strong everything lines up and all goes well. I am at peace and my world is a safe haven. On the days I don't feel well. I can't help but think is this it. The end.....When is the beast going to get me.
All in all, nothing is wrong with the way we feel this is the way it is. It's the human condition. We laugh,we cry, we love,we fear and all of the emotions are ok. At least we are here to feel them. I really think as long as you find a balance.
However, with this disease,finding a balance may be a daily job. Or it may be a minute to minute job. I would like to be always optomistic, but I am not sure that is realistic. I don't want to be a pessamist, however sometimes I am. I am not sure how to do this. I have never done this before. This is all about learning and really isn't that what life was like B/C. Now it is how to find happiness through adversity.

Thanks again, Leroy great blog.

Love and prayer to all.

Beth Morrison

Sent by Beth Morrison | 2:56 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy, I don't think you are overly optimistic, if anything you are a realist. What other choice is there, you accept you have the disease, and you do everything you can to fight for that extra day.
I was at the Hospital today, and got a good report, but I know the fight is not over. It does make me happy, but I'm not giddy with joy, it just doesn't work that way.
Please continue to be optimistic, it is one of your weapons against the monster. Have a great holiday, Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 3:02 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Well Jody's comment above is sort of the "evil twin" version of my own.

None of us are going to get out of here alive. But we can choose to keep living while we are here, or we can surrender and go quietly into the night. When you have cancer you know that the choice of when you go is going to be made sooner then you would have liked, but you can still choose to make the most of what you have.

Sent by Brit | 3:04 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Karen..

I am so sorry..

Krupali

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 3:18 PM ET | 07-03-2007

To Karen,

I'm so sorry to hear this. It opens up wounds that have really just started healing for me. Lean on your friends, loved ones, family???whoever offers. I think you'll find them infinitely helpful in getting from morning to night, even when the day seems unbearably long and it all gets to be overwhelming. Many of us have walked the path you've just started on. It's not easy at all, but you'll find the strength to do it.

To Kevin,

I agree completely that the death with dignity laws really need to be looked at and enacted in every state. Nobody should have to suffer needlessly. I stood by and watched it happen, and I wouldn't wish it on my very worst enemy. How absurd it is to have "freedom" and yet be legislated into living a life with low to no quality.

Sent by Bruce | 3:33 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy, I've been reading your fascinating blog since your trip to Hawaii. I hope your doing well. Me, I'm currently in chemo for multiple myeloma, also doing well. (You gotta have a sense of humour) Your column today made me think of something that came with a cancer quilt my sister-in-law sent me. Victoria's Quilts Canada continues the tradition begun by cancer patient and quilt maker Victoria Ann Morrison who apparently spoke of being cold during her chemo treatments. VQC makes their quilts in her memory.

A bookmark, included with the quilt reads:

What Cancer Cannot Do...

Cancer is so limited
It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot corrode faith
It cannot destroy peace
It cannot kill friendship
It cannot suppress memories
It cannot silence courage
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot steal eternal life
It cannot conquer the spirit

Author Unknown

I thought you'd appreciate this.

Sent by John Bray | 3:33 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Leroy,

I felt your essay today afforded a forum/outlet for so many to address, each in their own magnificent way, their attitude about their, or their loved one's, journey that precedes death on this earth.

I am 71 years old, and this is how, at my late stage in life, I feel about the certain end of that journey - death. I've spent only 18 months being treated for stage IIIC ovarian cancer, the silent killer. I've felt discomfort, but never "pain" from the cancer - only from the treatment and its process. I went into treatment with my eyes wide open and declared to my family that I had no intention of suffering end-of-life pain from this beast. I do not fear death, but dying is another matter. I am a wimp and plan to self deliver when I determine that I want no more of this dying process. I may have a big surprise waiting for me at the inevitable end, but a couple of sleeping pills, a plastic bag, and a rubber band should give me the relief I crave. I don't feel bound by the views and "rules" of religion regarding my plan and have found a world of peace and contentment since the decision was made, strangely enough, years ago as I witnessed so much needless suffering by the dictates of the laws of 49 states. My Living Will states that I wish to be kept free from pain even if it should cause my death. It is my understanding that Hospice can only go so far and that euthanasia is criminal. I may be misinformed, but I do have a Plan B in place.

Not fearing death, I will continue treatments until I decide with my family - "no more." Now I thoroughly enjoy my good days, and "just be" with my bad days, and am planning a trip to Ireland in October to do some genealogy work. I may or may not get to make that trip . . . I do participate in studies, however, just in case some great discovery is made to abolish this tenacious beast.

My best wishes to Leroy, who opens the door each day for us soul mates, and to all of you who step through that door to contribute comfort and insight to those of us who faithfully read this blog.

Betty Pratt

Sent by Betty M. Pratt | 4:30 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Krupali,

I re-read you post to make certain you
said it was alright for me to address you by your first name, and I thank you, another testament to your humanness, and not placing yourself above the rest of the human race, as some of those who wear the title "MY DIETY" on the lab coats.

I mean every word I said in my post and I am happy you were able to see the sincerity, even though sometimes it is difficult to relay the feelings of the heart in black and white. I have a thought I would like you to pass on to your father, if you will, that he has every reason to be proud of you and it is a very tangible example of how much he loves and admires you, believes in you, and supports you in following your calling to become a fine physician. I know he has been your biggest fan and supporter, and he has done a fine job of raising a truly caring and wonderful human being.

Again, thank you for your response, which evoked a few tears from my eyes, as well, when I read your response. I hope you know every word is sincere and comes straight from my heart. I will be keeping in touch with you while you are away, and hope you have the time to let me know how your are doing and continue to share your wonderful mind and beautiful heart.

With Love and Respect, Briana

Sent by briana | 4:34 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Karen;
I am so sorry for your loss.I know your heart is broken. Please know you and your family are in my prayers.

Love,

Beth Morrison

Sent by Beth Morrison | 4:47 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Leroy,
Frist, Karen, my condolences to you and I sincerely hope you will continue to join us and share as you process the grief you are feeling. We are here to help you through that, as well, and you will continue to be in my prayers.

What an appropriate topic for me today, I went to another physician yesterday, with optimistic anticipaction, and he did not even examine me, just said, "THIS IS NOT MY DEPARTMENT" and I left his office in tears, once again. My fight to find the proper medical attention has reminded me that life is not like it is in the movies, where everyone get the caring attention of their caregivers, not everyone is treated fairly, especially if your case is complicated like mine, and I believe what I need right now is a contrarian, like DR HOUSE, one who is sarcastic, gives the impression he is a jerk, but underneath he is a loving human being, with fears of his own, and not afraid to show that sometimes life is not a fairytale, and it takes some travelling down unorthodox roads in order to find the answers, but find them, he does! Even if his outward appearance would give you the impression he does not give a flip. Those who take all the time in the morning to put on their best "white coat of perfection look", should take a little more time in thinking of those of us who are suffering, and less on how they are going to be physically appealing. I would rather pay a dissheveled doctor who cares enough to help me than to shell out these big bucks to the ones who are thinking, while they are in the exam room with you, how they can make their office more appealing in order to bring in more paitients and generate more income. No, life is not like a Disney movie at all, and I am heartsick, but still fighting to find someone who will be willing to earn their paycheck and at least read my chart and give me the care I deserve.

This blog sometimes gives me the impression I am the only one who has fallen through the cracks in the medical community, but I am very guilty of trying to find the most positive
words and be as eloquent as possible in my writing, but I can be brutally honest at times, and many people misunderstand this as bitterness, but is is nothing but speaking the truth. I believe in the truth, and it hurts sometimes, and I wish there were more who felt as I do that sometimes we need to write about the "other side of the coin" and that life is not always fair or beautiful. Not all of us have supportive families, good friends who have stuck by us through thick and thin, and I have left this board crying more times than I care to tell you because I feel like I have really built some really awful KARMA along the way to be in the situation I am in at the present time. I hope to see all sides of the true feelings of the people, because some days are not filled with roses, and those of us who are stuck in this living abyss need to hear we are not alone in our struggles, as well.

Briana

Sent by briana | 5:07 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Leroy and all, I read this late in the day. I have been a little stunned into reality because I do not have cancer but I have gone down that road with my best friend of 40 years. She died of colon cancer in 2004 after 2 years of bad news, followed by more bad news. The day after Christmas a younger friend of mine called to say that he had stage 4 cancer, neck and hip, and they said make your peace. He started aggressive chemo and we would talk through the months of January and February but the "cancer death flags" were flying all over with each conversation. I had heard this before but I just couldn't succumb to not having hope for him. He was confident! He was young (46) and in exceptionally good health other than the cancer. I was elated by your vacation in Hawaii from cancer and thinking just maybe ... the both of you have beat the odds and won't have any more issues for now. My buddy died on June 21. Was I a Pollyanna hoping and thinking that miracles do happen or just delusional? I don't know; it doesn't matter. All I can say right now it that whatever it takes to make it right for you, each and every day is all that matters. It may not even be about hopes and wishes but the realization that everyone with or without cancer has a certain element of wishfulness nested in the harshness of days gone bad, treatments not effective, sickness brought on by chemo, body changes beyond recognition, and finally that quiet moment of here and then not. I am usually not this serious but it seems appropriate for today???s theme. I want flames stenciled on my casket when I die and Norman Greenbaum singing ???Spirit in the Sky??? super loud.

Sent by Pat Zalewski | 6:23 PM ET | 07-03-2007

To Karen,

My deepest sympathies for your loss. Be kind to yourself...

Sent by Susan Chap | 6:57 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Briana

I've read your posts about your struggle, and each and every one breaks my heart. I wish I had some kind of advice I could give, or a referral to someone in your area (I don't know anyone there) or at the very least, REALLY REALLY long arms that could just reach out and give you a huge hug.

There's got to be someone near you you can get to--have you checked out local CA support groups to talk to people there and maybe get suggestions? Also, your local ACS might be able to help, and some of the online forums may be a help. Somebody somewhere knows someone near you. The net is kind of like a worldwide game of "6 Degrees of Separation."

And karma is overrated. If it weren't, none of us would be in these positions.

Namaste

Sent by Bruce | 7:46 PM ET | 07-03-2007

It cannot shatter hope
It cannot corrode faith
It cannot destroy peace

That was obviously written by someone who doesn't know and hasn't dealt. Probably a Hallmark writer who got paid by the word.

Because it certainly can.

Sent by Bruce | 8:41 PM ET | 07-03-2007

It's near the end of the day and I've just had the chance to read the blog and want to thank all of you for your contributions here.

I went to "visit" with my regular primary care Dr - I check in with him from time to time,because he is willing to take the time to answer questions and explain things to me that I don't get from my oncology team.

I'm at Stage IV (Br cancer with mets to bones and lung/chest area) and oncology "pushes" chemo, although the percentage rate is only 5-10% of it helping and putting me in remission - but even at that low percent they can't guarantee a temporary remission and there's no way they can prove/disprove if it will give me extra time or not. If it would, is a few months of living (while feeling like death) worth it?

Sept of this year will be my 7 year mark since my dx - with no chemo although they told me I wouldn't make it past 6 months without it.

My Dr told me today "You're an anonamly." I'm beating the odds and I'm grateful and yet I know it's getting more difficult. My body feels it.

I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you, Leroy and all the rest of you for helping me get through my days!

Sent by Vicky (NY) | 9:12 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Dear Bruce,

As tears roll down my face, I think of all you are going through and you are writing to console me? I think if I had one wish right now it would be that we both had arms long enough and we could give each other a big hug. Do you know how long it has been since I have received one? I ache all over to feel the caring touch a hug provides and your post is the closest I have come to feeling the love I know is out there, somewhere, and I appreciate every
thought and word you so eloquently expressed in your writing and I felt, for a brief moment, LOVED again. You have truly given me a most beautiful gift and I will always remember the power of those words, and the emotions that followed. You let me know, also, what it is to truly FEEL again, beautiful emotions, not just anger and frustration. You are very special, and I will always carry your hope in my heart. If you would like to talk, I will be happy to give you my email address, just let me know. I did not know anyone even noticed my posts, and I thank you for recognizing that you understand the treatment I have received has been so unfair and hurtful, and I know you are all too aware of the pain of this cruel and unnecessary suffering. My heart breaks for you, and if I can offer any assistance to help you get through your time of grief, please, please let me know.

I have contacted every agency I think exists, everyone refers me back to the same people I have already seen and
have only suffered at their hands by their betrayal, and I do not understand any of this because I am told they are they ones I am supposed to trust and be able to rely on if I need assistance. I have never known this kind of "non-healthcare" before, so I had no idea what was coming when I was diagnosed.

You have given me so much comfort in your words, ususally it is - "If there is anything I can do" - which are hollow if they have no intention of following through, which has been the case. I thank you, dear friend, from the bottom of my heart.

With love and sincere gratitude,
Briana

Sent by briana | 9:52 PM ET | 07-03-2007

Karen,
I am so sorry for your loss. I learned from my sister that optimism isn't unrealistic expectations. Instead, at least for her, it was knowing the outcome and still being able to enjoy the moment. I am leaving tomorrow to return to Israel where my sister lived for the last 30 years. I was with her when she died of breast cancer one year ago. This will be a difficult trip, my first to see her since she died. But, I am optimistic that I will get through it.

Sent by Fern Malowitz | 10:45 PM ET | 07-03-2007

I really liked your post today, and it was uplifting; optimistic. Each day my wife is able to get up and experience the day in whatever fashion, is exactly as you described it: One more day that Cancer cannot have and we can share. And we live for that day; we thank God we had a yesterday, and hope we can wrest another day away from The Beast. Thanx again for your words.

Sent by Alan Cardenas | 11:24 PM ET | 07-03-2007

I remember how, on May 5, 2006, in the midst of my chemo treatments, I drove over to my oncologist's office for a Neulasta shot. "Happy Cinco de Mayo!" proclaimed a string of colorful cardboard letters thumbtacked to the wall. The nurses were all wearing colorful ponchos and sombreros, and ??? for some inscrutable reason ??? distributing plastic leis. A sombreroed nurse, a set of maracas stuck into the waistband of her scrubs and a twirly mustache painted onto her upper lip with mascara, looped a couple of leis around my neck. The nurse, who knows my name is Carlos, seemed to think the holiday would mean something special to me (a reasonable assumption, though in my case, the first name means nothing ??? I have no Hispanic ancestry, and have had to spend a lifetime explaining that to people).

That day, I didn't even bother. Why try to fight such a wave of determined silliness? It seemed so surreal: even my Jewish oncologist was wearing a sombrero, and smiling in spite of himself.

A new patient, walking into the office for the very first time, could have gotten a pretty strange idea about what goes on in that place. Plastic leis in an oncologist's waiting room? How bizarre is that? But, the staff didn't care. I wasn't in a particularly good mood that day, but their revelry cheered me up.

It was, in spite of everything, a celebration of life. And that felt good.

In my preaching, I sometimes comment on the difference between optimism and hope. I see that some writers, upstream, are using the words interchangeably. I try not to do that: because, to me, optimism is so much weaker. It's an up-by-the-bootstraps sort of thing. Hope, on the other hand, is all about tapping into a power beyond ourselves.

From my own faith perspective, these words of the Dutch-American pastoral theologian, Henri Nouwen, mean a lot:

"Optimism and hope are radically different attitudes. Optimism is the expectation that things - the weather, human relationships, the economy, the political situation, and so on ??? will get better. Hope is the trust that God will fulfill God's promises to us in a way that leads us to true freedom. The optimist speaks about concrete changes in the future. The person of hope lives in the moment with the knowledge and trust that all of life is in good hands."

All I can say to that is, "Ole!"

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

Sent by Carl Wilton | 8:22 AM ET | 07-04-2007

Dear Bruce,

The principles of truth and honesty were instilled in me by my father through his fine example. What a wonderful gift he so lovingly gave me, even though the lessons were not easily learned at such a young age, but I cherish the legacy and take great pride in my heritage. Although I have been told I have good writing skills, I would never be hired by Hallmark, and I choose blank cards when I write for this reason, because I refuse to send along a "paid-by-the-word" message in order to sacrifice passing along the true feelings I want to convey.

I enjoyed a few moments of peaceful sleep, compliments of a newfound friend and fellow traveler who reminded me the most important spiritual truths that are eternal. I thank you, again, and the offer still stands if I can help you in any way at all. We have more in common than you could have known, but I, too, lost my husband, not from cancer but another illness and he was taken very quickly and mercifully, but it does not erase the pain of healing from the loss. So, when I say I understand, it is not a hollow platitude, but another truth I learned the hard way.

NAMASTE, indeed!

With gratitude from your friend,
Briana

Sent by briana | 2:36 PM ET | 07-04-2007

Happy 4th Leroy and post-ers
Loved your comments today Leroy; thinking back to where i was last year at this time doin' poison and my hair was falling out in clumps...I think we all help ourselves a lot by the daily writing that we do here in this community. The 'miracle' or the growth is when you go back at some later point and re read your writing, very illuminating isnt it? There is strength, and then there is strength with style, you have it Leroy!! My best, my love, my prayers to everyone.
Sherri in TX BC dx 4-06

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 10:42 PM ET | 07-04-2007

Briana and everyone else,

That's one of the things I love about this place. I can come here and say "I'm feeling bad today" and I don't have to explain myself, you all know what I mean.

It's very unusual to find a place of such understanding, such mutual commiseration, if I may. I'm very grateful for that. It's gotten me through some pretty bleak hours in the middle of the night, when the darkness threatens to take everything away and it looks like "the monsters" have won.

It's been nearly 5 months now that I've been alone. I know I'm going to make it, but at what cost? 42 is much too young to be a widower, as if there's a "good" age to be so.

I feel like I've got callouses on my soul. I don't like that feeling very much, it makes me feel like I can't "care" any more, and I know in my heart that I do care for each of you and your stories.

Sent by Bruce | 6:20 PM ET | 07-05-2007

Dear Bruce,

For what it may be worth, I believe the callouses on your soul are really the hard earned "badges of courage" and worn on the inside, there are those who may never see them, the average person you may meet who has no idea the pain you have endured with such intensity. I will not insult you by saying I feel them just as you do, but I am proud to be here to help to divide it, and although I cannot take it away you are not alone or misunderstood, so never question there is someone here who is proud of those medals you earned at a very high price. I am so sorry for the events that bring you despair. Your integrity and courage to come here and let those of us who gently cyber-hug you with all the tenderness you need now, are sincerely grateful for the kindness you have shown through your willingness to be so understanding of others.

You have not let your pain consume you to the point where you turn your back to those who are also still suffering, perhaps in a different set of painful circumstances, but your heart is open. The callouses you speak of have not scarred your heart forever. You have proven you are not devoid of feeling, but you are also still in shock, my friend, and because of the wonderful time you shared with Terry and miss her touch and companionship so deeply, the fear of feeling love and losing it again may be with you for a long time, but I believe you gain strength from giving of yourself and if you were to allow your heart to harden and turn to stone, you would be betraying the beautiful soul that allowed you to feel that love for her so intensely, and that would truly be sad. You did not walk away in Terry's greatest time of need, and I am certain she felt your love right up to the time of your last meeting and beyond. A heart with such a capacity would not survive without continuing to give. You have shared the gift of compassion so freely and given hope to those who had come so close to losing all they had left. I know you are hurting now and it does not feel good. But how could you continue to know the value of helping those who suffer if you did not nurture your soul with something you know how to do so well? We need the strength of the spirit who is willing to continue to fight. We need your help to correct the injustices that brought us together to begin with. I would feel a personal loss if you did not continue to walk the path because I have gained so much from your willingness and you are still needed here. You said you love to come here because of the freedom you feel to speak the truth. Remember the gift you gave me, the first peaceful sleep I have felt in some time? I also need to be able to say I am not having a good day if I am not. But I also need to fight for the hope for the day I look forward to come here and share joy. When we win, we can all feel as if we have done something divine.
We cannot let the MONSTERS win!!!

Peace, my friend! Briana
NAMASTE

Sent by briana | 7:44 PM ET | 07-06-2007

I had a horrible day. The physical pain is secondary to the emotional and spiritual pain of being single and alone, not being able to sink my teeth into some meaningful activity ie. work, living in poverty and no hope of ever returning to my former standard of living. Social contacts have long ago drifted away when I couldn't afford to go out, Besides, my pain meds make me dangerous behind a steering wheel. Alligator tears flow when I sleep alone every night desperately longing for someone to hold me, comfort me, love me. I'm so sad that these last harsh days aren't softened by a musky smelling armpit under my head, and the sound of another living body sharing deep breaths of rest. I'm mad at God for allowing me to live YEARS past the time my money ran out. I just want to get this thing over with - life is more than just breathing for the sake of breathing. I tired of "surviving". Does anyone have a remedy for longing - longing for the productive, exciting days of practicing my profession; longing for parties, gatherings, trips, adventures; longing for . . . you name it. How to short circuit the emotion of longing????

Sent by Maya Ogren | 4:43 AM ET | 07-07-2007

Dear Maya,

You are not alone in your longing, there are those of us who have spoken of the pain, both physicial and spiritual, that feels so devastating.
Screaming loudly is a great stress reliever, but I will not give myself permission to do that here, I cannot, because there are those who would not be very understanding. But I feel like screaming much of the time, and my tears
do not offer the same relief. I miss my life before CANCER, too, and the memory of how full it was and the normalcy of it, but those days are not the reality of my life now and as much as I wish I could turn back the clock, I cannot do it.

I can only hope that there is truth in the statement that "THE ONLY THING CONSISTENT IN LIFE IS CHANGE" and the loneliness will be replaced by a force yet unknown to me. I do not believe we are meant to be alone, human beings need the healing power of touch in order to survive, and I am trying my best to have faith that very soon my most basic of needs will be met, and the yearning will be a distant memory.
I must hold on to that faith, maintain hope and I know of no magic words to take your pain away, but I will always continue to visualize the point where my prayers are answered and the loneliness will be replaced by the touch of a hand and the warmth of a loving hug. I know it is little consolation, but I am sending you a hug from here, and even though it may feel hollow to you and inadequate, my care and concern are sincere and honest and I am hoping for the best for you.

Love, Briana

Sent by briana | 10:54 PM ET | 07-07-2007