Leroy - I was just whining about this yesterday to a couple of friends....before b/c I was always the "energizer bunny" and never stopped (maybe that's part of the overall problem)..anyway, now when I go I hit the wall at a certain point, and there's no gas left.....it's frustrating - not to mention how I look when I get out of a car/chair after sitting awhile.
Everyone suggests it's the tamoxifen that causes arthritic like pain....yet, it's also hard not to let your imagination run and worry about the source and cause of joint pain, etc....seems that everything always some how relates back to cancer........
But, I loved the description of the horse cartoon and I sure haven't seen anyone with a rifle anywhere close to me - and for that we'll be very thankful and I'll be grateful to gimp around and just to rest a little more!
Off to a long awaited family weekend wedding in Chicago - and more than ever going to enjoy every moment of it!
Hope everyone has a great weekend ahead!

Sent by Ruth Chermok | 8:01 AM ET | 09-13-2007

I too know how you feel. I miss nursing but don't have the strength. I try to do little things when I have the energy so I can feel better about myself. But have had to curtail a lot of activity just because of weakness. So I just take comfort in what I can do. I need the independence too. I love your post today - it really brought a smile and that's important. THANKS:)

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 8:25 AM ET | 09-13-2007

OMG!!!!! Someone gave me a card with that cartoon on it! LOL! Too funny.

Yes, I understand, I hear you and you are not whining.

Hugs,

Lori

Sent by Lori Levin | 8:42 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Nothing says it better than a Far Side cartoon.. One Far Side a day keeps the blues away!

Thinking about the phenomenon of feeling my "age" always makes me pause for a few moments. I'm only 26, I'll be 27 next week (yay! another year) but most of the time I imagine I am feeling like someone in their 70's, or older. It's a hard feeling to describe to people, the fatigue, the overall general ache, the pain, it's definitely not the norm for a 26yr old. I miss the days when I would complain and my dad would say, "Laurie wait til your 55 then tell me your back hurts!" Now, he doesn't say that anymore....I'm sure because he knows I feel much worse than he does even though he's 55, but I wonder if he's stopped saying it because he realizes I won't be around that long.
I identify with how "good" you were feeling before your diagnosis. Get this, I spent the year before my diagnosis working my butt off to lose about 120lbs, my blood pressure was great, I was on top of the world. I finally had the smokin bod I worked so hard for! Here we are almost 2 years since being diagnosed and it is a struggle for me to keep on any weight, and everyone seems to always be offering me a cookie. Boy, how things can change so quickly :)

Sent by Laurie | 8:42 AM ET | 09-13-2007

My problem with these blogs is that we all read your expressive description and thoughts, you get us thinking, we post our thoughts, responses, ideas, BUT there is no feed-back or conversation. Words of comfort and encouragement, but we never hear any more and then move on to the next day.
For instance, you refer to the fact that you are still "hurting from your recent procedures". Well, are these discomforts supposed to wane soon and what are they hoping for? You say that some new little tumors have formed once again in the spine. Would you go through that procedure again?
As you contemplate what comes next, what are you hoping for? Could you possibly stop all the treatment and see what quality of life you would have? Is your pain too severe? Would this C possibly stop growing IF "they" stopped harrassing it? Whatever time we all have left should be spent with some joy in it.
Want you to have a reason to hope once again! Look how far you have come already and how many new caring friends you have added to your life.

Sent by J C R | 8:50 AM ET | 09-13-2007

I love your sense of humor. It's great when we can laugh during difficult times. It has gotten me through many days. Thanks for the chuckle.

Sent by Lisa | 9:00 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Dear Leroy, Great !! G. Larson is one funny, twisted, crazy, guy and he is so right nearly all the time ----loved the analogy.I guess we are all a little funny, twisted, and crazy to put ourselves through what we do just to see if we can win. Have a good one. xo dee

Sent by dee congress | 9:34 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Hey Leroy,
Top o' the morning to you. On a side note, we could dedicate an entire week on everyone's favorite Far Side cartoon. They were all hilarious. Great choice. Back to the topic at hand, I know exactly how you feel.

I'm soon to be 51, and trying to get back into shape after treatment has been interesting. Hard to believe that I did Ironman Wisconsin in 2003. I now feel as though I am just along for the ride. My body will let me know what it wants to do. The mind and body are definitely not on the same page. The aches and pains part is more difficult. It is hard to decipher if it is residual from treatment or just the steady decline from 50 years in the saddle.

As a generation, we seem not willing to accept age. We are definitely going down kicking and screaming. I too, am not ready yert to give into the age thing, and am also keeping my eyes wide open.

I got your back. :)

Stay safe, stay strong,
Lance

Sent by Lance Carlson | 9:52 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Dear LeRoy,

Long time daily reader, first time poster. I have chronic myelogenous leukemia, a good cancer to have if you have to have one.

I love the cartoon and it's slightly twisted humor. Made me laugh out loud here at work. What a great way to start the day.

Sent by Mary Lou | 9:57 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Good message Leroy. Last week I was feeling the same way. Then I began to focus more outside of my body and things felt much better inside me. Two good movies with friends over the weekend really helped to change my mood.

Yesterday I got the results back Tuesday's bone scan. My right hip (where I had the radiation 2 months ago for a bone met. of lung cancer) still lit up. That could mean it is still healing or maybe all that high powered radiation didn't get all the cancer. They are not sure. The bigger issue is a very small spot that lit up on the same area of my left hip. The doctor says if it is cancer "it would be like lightening striking twice in the same funky spot on the other hip." That would be very unusual.

So here we are in limbo again. On Monday I will an MRI of both hips (90 minutes in the clanging chamber). I'm not sure that it will give us any better information, but I need to do something before they tell me I just have to be patient and wait for it to grow.

Sometimes I feel like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. "Oh no, help me, I'm melting, I'm melting......"

I know that sounds pretty dramatic, but it is how I feel today. I need to see another really funny movie. Thanks for listening.

Sent by Laurel M. Jones | 10:02 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Yes, our bodies mend in amazing ways sometimes, but they commandeer a chunk of our energy to do so. Your philosophical essays of late are rich Leroy. Like a new chapter. Perhaps autumn will bring a fresh infusion of energy to you. I hope so. And I hope you sill be able to enjoy all your favorite things in whatever degree your energy vicissitudes permit. It is a comp uppance from our youthful ability to charge full bore. Transitions require rethinking and reframing sometimes, and you are leading the way on that recently. It is a joy to read your observations. Thank you always.

Sent by Sarah | 10:03 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Dear Leroy,

Continuing with your horse theme, most days I feel as if I've been rode hard and put away wet. Adjusting to this new body has been difficult. Throw premature menopause on top of the frozen shoulder, stiff arm, and the whole expanse of my chest that feels nothing and at the same time, feels everything, and you have a disaster area. But things could be worse. I am in relatively good health. At 52 I am still managing to get out and run everyday. I strength train. My body will never be the same pre-diagnosis, but it's what I have now and so far, it is still propelling me forward.

I don't know if I'll ever repair the mental deficit I feel. Chemo brain has somehow extended well past the treatment stage. Some days I struggle with finding words. But, I am still able to string more than two words together, am back working in a field where skill in language is a necessity (o.k., I'll admit it, I'm a lawyer) and I've learned that silence can be quite effective!

I didn't know you before your diagnosis, other than TV. I don't really know you now, although it feels we have known each other forever. I like you, Leroy Sievers, the man you are, post diagnosis.

Best,
Mo Spikes

Sent by Mo Spikes | 10:06 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Hello Leroy and friends,

I was just thinking about this very issue yesterday. My legs are so weak and can't do a lot of walking. Stairs are out of the question. I don't have much strength. I miss the way I used to feel and I know it will never return. It was such a gift to be able to go to work and run all my errands without stopping!! Like you, I had some normal aches and pains, but nothing significant. I did not get a chance to write you a couple days ago about my experience with clinical trial. I highly recommend clinical trials to anyone that could possibly benefit. I was given a prognosis of 8 to 12 months. I was accepted in the trial June 2004 and drug was approved by FDA in December 2005. I have stable disease. I am grateful for being given such an opportunity. The medicine has taken some toll on my body, especially the last 18 months or so, but I feel fortunate to still be here. The horse story is hilarious!!! In spike of all I'm not ready to be put down yet, although I worry about the decline that I am experiencing. This really takes a mental toll.

Love to all,
Betty

Sent by Betty K. Lewis | 10:19 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy - You sure bring back a lot of memories with your post today. Five years ago, I had many days where I wondered if I would ever feel healthy again. I feel so blessed and grateful that I do. My sister, who is now undergoing very rigorous treatments for breast cancer, is a constant reminder of the misery and sheer exhaustion that cancer patients go through. It puts every day aches and pains in perspective.

One of the things I've chosen to do to give back is to race in marathons to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I can't cure cancer, but maybe donations by people on my behalf to a charity like this will help find more cures and better treatments. If anyone would consider a donation, and would consider sharing this information with friends and family, my web page is:

http://www.active.com/donate/tntva/tntvaARitter2007

Donations of any amount are much appreciated, and I will write the name of a loved one affected by cancer on my race shirt if the donor wants to so honor them with their donation. I already have your name on there, Leroy.

One of my goals in doing marathons for LLS, especially as a non-athlete, is to maybe give some hope to people currently fighting cancer that they can get better and be healthy and strong again. It is a a lot of work to train for and go 26.2 miles, but it pales in comparison what people dealing with cancer face every day. I try to remember all that when I am sleepy and tired and out training at 4:30AM in the dark - that I am tremendously blessed to be healthy again to do this, trying to make a difference.

I hope someday soon that you, too, Leroy will be much better and stronger, back out there hiking again, lifting weights, and taking long walks. I feel so grateful that this is how it turned out so far in my life, and try everyday to reflect on this and not take it for granted.

Best wishes,
Art

Sent by Art Ritter | 10:26 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Yup. I recovered well from the first few major surgeries and the first two courses of chemo. But I'm five years older (at least!) since my battle began, and the last chemo/surgery combo almost three years ago has left me draggin'. I still am more active than most people I know--walk to work every day, road and mountain bike, run, yoga, all that stuff--but it's as if I operate at a reduced capacity all the time. The way I look belies the way I feel, and sometimes that doesn't work in my favour. My husband--a dear and supportive friend--seems frustrated by my limitations, as if I should just ride my bike faster, or power up that hill without stopping, or I'm somehow doing something wrong and THAT's why I end up gasping for breath. My MUGA and echocardiogram readings (I hover around 55% heart capacity) remove some of that suspicion on his part; I just plain old can't be faster, higher, stronger, and I won't be able to ever again. (I think he's still not entirely convinced about chemo brain, but we know better!)

I know getting older is a blessing, or at least a consummation devoutly to be wished, but I feel cheated out of the time it took me to get older. Ah well, I'll take whatever time I get at whatever "level" I get, and I'll do my best to stay my best.

jj

Sent by Joan Jones | 10:31 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Dear Leroy,

I love your sense of humor. Thank's for starting my day with a laugh.

As always, prayers to you and Laurie.

Sent by sasha | 10:41 AM ET | 09-13-2007

It is uncanny how your blogs resonate with me and I can imagine with so many others. I have a small family... one grown son and no spouse. My son & I get along well but he had different ideas on the end of life issues. I'm not at that point by any means, but long before I got sick he expressed his views. It's difficult to even write about it. And I must add my son is super in so many ways. I've always been proud of how he conducts his life. He hosts blood drives and sponsors charity events. But he thinks that if a person gets a certain diagnosis they should accept it & do away with themselves. (That sentence was so difficult to even write.)
I loved your horse cartoon and liked your comments. I'm not ready to be put down yet either.
We are experiencing lovely early autumn weather in my area. It's a good day to be alive!

Sent by Joan F | 11:09 AM ET | 09-13-2007

We offer Tai Chi as well as a variety of other complementary therapies to help heal the body and mind inour cancer center. Perhaps you can take Tai Chi up again, find a retreat, set small goals.... love the humor this am!

Sent by Karen | 11:23 AM ET | 09-13-2007

This one hit home. I love the Far Side! I just turned 49 and I am cancer free for almost two years after a year of fighting two separate cancers at once (two surgeries, one chemo, two different radiation treatments four months apart). After that all was over, one of my doctor's said I could expect to feel like I had "been hit by a BIG truck" and wouldn't have the same energy I once had for quite a while. On top of that, since then I have had several surgeries for esophageal strictures and had one of those result in a perforated esophagus, which didn't exactly help my overall recovery.

I spent a day a couple of days ago where I worked a full day (not longer than 8 hours), then went out to a concert in the evening. That wouldn't have been especially taxing before cancer--after cancer it exhausted me. Even two years after. I feel much older than 49--prematurely old--and it's hard to get my husband and friends to understand sometimes.

Still, even though I feel kind of robbed of my energy sometimes, I'd rather be prematurely old and still walking around than the alternative! No one is going to put me down just because I'm easily tired and slow....

Sent by N.R. | 11:36 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy,

I saw that cartoon, too. We're not on our way out if we can laugh. May you keep laughing for a long time.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 11:53 AM ET | 09-13-2007

Yesterday: courage and fear.
I have none of the former; I have an abundance of the latter.

Today: they shoot horses, don't they?

Gallows humor does throw some interesting shadows.
Thanks for shining the light, Leroy!

Make a great rest of the day!

-dp

Sent by dp | 12:03 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy, Sounds like there is plenty of fight left, just not much speed! Hang in there. Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 12:07 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Hi Leroy and all,

I try to stay positive, but my chemo yesterday was especially tough. For those that are interested, I posted an entry on my blog (www.hncancer.blogspot.com) as to why it was tough, so I won't get into any details here.

Given the tough day yesterday, I had a completely different take on the far side cartoon. My first thought was, "that was the lucky horse."

I feel bad about being so negative today, I'm usually an optimist; but not today.

My best to everyone in this community.

Sent by Ed Steger | 12:13 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy:

This would have been a post I would have given to Burge. Not only did he love Far Side, he felt the same way about losing his energy, etc. He used to say people don't realize how simple acts like getting out of a chair and walking across the room were actually blessings. He missed his pre-cancer life, walking, running and working so much.

Nikki

Sent by Nikki | 12:35 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Thanks for the chortle. I LOVE the Far Side, and sick humor is very healthy some times. You really made that cartoon come to life. I'll have to check it out.
I know whereof you speak on the aches/pains issues, but the aftermath of surgery has forced me to exercise regularly for the first time in my life, and that's really a wonderful thing. I have a private Pilates lesson weekly, and when I'm not limping around from injections in my knees, as I have been the last 3 weeks, I take a water aerobics class three times a week. When I first started doint it, I was in MUCH worse shape, and after class, just floating in the warm water with my eyes closed was the first experience that I'd had since before all of the surgeries of no pain, pulling, pressure, or discomfort....just freedom.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 12:46 PM ET | 09-13-2007

You are not whining, Leroy. Enjoy your humor. I, too, miss feedback like one of your writers mentioned. I am so glad you write this blog, Leroy. Beautiful day here in New Jersey. My friend's son and daughter-in-law, who had breast cancer a few years back, gave birth to twins 8/29/07. A boy and a girl. My son, Andrew, enjoyed Far Side cartoons. He hasn't mentioned them lately.

Sent by Maureen P. | 1:10 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Hey,

Most of us are not spring chickens any more. I remember when getting out of bed didn't mean 45 minutes of not doing much before the stiffness goes away. I used to hit the floor running, ain't so any more. :)

Sent by Sue Chap | 1:18 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Ah Leroy, I'm 58, almost a year in remission from AML. I feel and move like I'm in 70's. Some friends and relatives think because I'm in remission I should feel back to normal -- well, this blog has discussed "normal." We just won't capture that feeling again. And the fall off of energy just isn't physical, it's also mental. So Leroy et al, move over and let me put up my feet. You all understand! (no rifles please).

Sent by Dorothy, Los Angeles | 1:31 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Of all the things I've lost to cancer, my energy is what I miss the most. I have always been active, even since diagnosis I have kept working, however I have had to come to terms that I must rest a bit now to help my body heal. My latest chemo is much harder than I was first led to beleive it would be. The weirdest part is I am not allowed to touch anything cold due to "peripheral neuropathy". That means no more cooking, I can't go in the fridge, I am not allowed to eat or drink anything cooler than room temperature (man I am craving ice cold water). What keeps me going is I beleive that this time we may have hit on the treatment that will bring me to remission! I have lost my energy, but I will never lose hope! I am only 41 years young, I have a lot left to offer! So I will put aside my pride, I will allow others to help me, because I know that when I am well again I will resume living my life fully! My best to you and Laurie and to all on this blog. Peace, Martie

Sent by Martie | 1:38 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Hey guys,
I took all of the bullets from the rifles so sit back and feel the sun on your faces and enjoy the day. There will be no rifles fired on my watch. Love to all.

Sent by Teresa in WV | 1:49 PM ET | 09-13-2007

I have followed your blog since its beginning (the same time I was diagnosed with prostate cancer). Your tone suggests the tiring of the body but your spirit is still strong. And, the spirit will last. I appreciate your courage.
My own case is encouraging. I had surgury in February when spread to adjacent tissue was detected. However, the PSA blood tests in May and August were zero which is very good news. I feel that the cancer is there but for now I am doing well.
Keep up the good work.

Sent by John McCrillis | 2:44 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy,
Several days ago you asked how the cancer patient's family members see them. Do they ever see them past their illness? The answer for me is yes. My dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer this summer. He is only 54 years old. I was in shock for several weeks. But now, when I look at my dad, I see the man who sacrificed so much to raise me and for whom I would sacrifice everything to cure. I am more forgiving of him and always make sure to chat with him about good things. I am more aware of him. But "him" still means "Dad," plain and simple. Just as you are still "Leroy" to those who really know and love you.

Sent by Hillary | 3:13 PM ET | 09-13-2007

I wil pick up the watch after Teresa...we got ya covered! Thanks for the smile. I had a nuecular tech wanting to shoot me today or atleast my viens.

Sent by Kay | 3:45 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Ahh tumor humor I love it

Have a great day ..make it a great one.

Sent by Kerry | 4:46 PM ET | 09-13-2007

You make me laugh! I love it. Recently I was sitting on my bed (in the buff, now don't get excited because these days that ain't a pretty picture, haha) I noticed that the thigh part of my legs seem smaller. The calves also. Not the tightness I used to feel. I know the chemo pretty much does a job on one's muscles. Then I went to the dr appt. I got on the scale and it said: 196.8 lbs. I began to cry. I was so scared because I'd gotten my appetite back and I'd been eating and I thought I should have been around 207-209 as I usually am after regaining my appetite. Now I'm only 5 ft. With those cloggs on they tell me I'm 5 ft 1 in. Ha! Anyway, I was escorted into the waiting room. I sat down and was still crying as the nurse took my blood pressure. I had a mask on due to low blood counts. The tears rolling down onto it. Then I began to laugh. I was thinking, "Well, dummy, you've changed your whole way of eating and you've given up anything with refined sugar and you don't pig out like you used to so why wouldn't you lose a few pounds?". I was reminded of how our minds go to the worst scenerio before we can get a grip on what is really happening and just be grateful. My cancer, besides being in the liver now, is also in my bones: in my spine (through spinal wall), upper spine, right and left shoulder blade area, rib area, pretty good amount in left femore and some in right femore. I've forgotten what other bones are affected but I'm doing pretty good I think thus far. Now when I'm thinking in my right mind, I know those bones might appreciate a few pounds less to carry around. Ha! Well, I'm craving buttermilk and it's calling me, big time. Ha! It's a beautiful day here in Sacramento. Leroy, one thing I've learned through all this is that even though I cannot dance in a marathon, I can feel the rythmn and even though my body is not what it used to be, now people have to appreciate me for my mind. LOL Finally! Ha! they've gotten past my pretty face. Ha! And as I recall, you still have a pretty face (the one I saw on your tv special with your friend)

Sent by LindaW | 4:47 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy, I have gained so much insight and inspiration from your daily blog. I feel sorry for myself that I was diagnosed at age 70 two years ago and you are twenty years younger than I am. Will the Ted Koppell program be aired again? I have so many friends that I would to have see it. My best to you. Charlotte Bilder

Sent by Charlotte Bilder | 5:36 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Hi Leroy: Greetings from the Galapagos Islands... short access to internet, but just wanted to say hello

Sent by Krupali Tejura MD | 5:42 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Martie:

Obviously, you are on Oxciliplatin (sp?). Please be sure to keep your docs informed if you start getting unmanagable pain in your hands and feet. There are some new meds out there that help that, including Lyrica, but you need to stay on top of things so they can quit that treatment should it get bad. Some people have better luck than others, no lasting problems. Burge had to stop after seven treatments, however, and never did get over the pins and needles in his feet. The doctors said it would go away, but the drug company said he was one of the few who would have lasting problems since it happened so early in the treatment.

This is not to worry you, just to give you a heads up and keep you talking to the doctors.

Nikki

Sent by Nikki | 7:46 PM ET | 09-13-2007

Leroy,
I am a couple days behind in reading your blogs because I was in Manhattan at Memorial Sloan Kettering, so I'm actually responding to your clinical trial blog. I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer a little more than a year ago(liver & lungs), the first drug I was put on worked great for a little while. When it stopped I chose a clinical trial. It was so scary waiting for that first CT scan but I am doing incredible. My liver lesion has gone from 4cm to 1cm and my multiple lung spots are pretty much gone. It definately feels good to be a part of something that could possibly help others but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't really, really happy that its helping me! Good luck on your choice of treatments and by the way I love reading your article every day. Cathy

Sent by Cathy G | 9:00 PM ET | 09-13-2007

It's really great and important that you post this blog I think it is wonderful and supportive to all those who have the challenge or the gift of cancer. Although I myself do not have cancer , My father died from cancer when I was 17 and since then people or people connected to this disease some how seem to attract to me. I know the loss of my father from cancer was the hardest moment of my life , yet one of the most signifgant for me. I was able to realize my career path or my life career of pursuing a career in medicine I was able to care for a man in his last time of need with love and compassion and even on his death bed was he still giving in return , knowing he was leaving this life and this body and all of us behind to soon , he still was concerned for everyone but him self he smiled he laughed he made sure that everyone knew how much he loved them and made his last days peaceful and loving even though in all reality he was never going to be here with his family again. I just recently went to a service for a lady who lived 16 years with stage 4 breast cancer through research medicine and love and support of family and friends. She clled her cancer a gift of what she could offer the world of the knowlegdge of the disease and the gifts of her self. I challenge you to look at cancer as a gift in what has it changed that otherwise would not have change. I know it is hard looking at the big icture in the dispare of the word 'cancer' but you still are the wonderful person befor cancer and just think you soon can add cancer surviver to the many wonders of who you are. I thnik the most important thing to decide for your self is I will not become this disease I am the wonderful joyful person just as perfect as I am and I will beat this diease and remeber to smile.

Sent by M. Lemon | 2:15 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Yesterday (the 13th) was my 51st birthday, the second day in a row I was attending the funeral for the father of a childhood friend. Both had succumbed rather quickly to cancer, though now Gary Larson has me wondering real cause of death. Yesterday it felt more like my 101st birthday. I'm 20+ years into this cancer battle. I no longer remember what I felt like before cancer. Maybe that's a good thing. Perhaps this will top the list of things I'm thankful for today.

Sent by Lani | 6:46 AM ET | 09-14-2007

One of the hardest things for me to accept has been that even though I had an "all clear" twice now, one year post treatment, I'm not back to "normal". I too was feeling the best ever, until right before my diagnosis. I still have traces of chemo brain, but it's much better. So I have to ask myself what is my new normal? I have to always hope that what I have will be enough.

Sent by anita chilcutt | 5:01 PM ET | 09-26-2007