I've never been one to talk about personal issues and in fact shy away from it as much as I can. I find that writing is more of a therapeutic regimen for me than telling other people. Though, like you Leroy, this isn't my first round.

It took a lot out of me to tell other's that the cancer was back, my life had changed a lot in the last couple of years so there were a lot of new people that had no idea that I had a brain tumor. I actually had no plan in telling them this because I finally thought that I might be something other than 'cancer girl' to most people. Yet, things change, people are concerned about the changes, I acted different and I had to explain myself. That's how and why it came out, but instead of me telling everyone- I had chosen to tell only my close support system. Is it wrong? Perhaps, but at least others who I have less interaction with can see me as me, sometimes having a bad day, but still I'm just Chanda no trailing title of 'cancer girl' to the name.

I'd have to agree with you Leroy. There are more important things to talk about. This brain tumor is just something that I have to deal with. The important things that I want to talk about deal with living life to the fullest and enjoying it. *Now* that's what I want to talk about!

Have a wonderful weekend!

Sent by Chanda | 7:36 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Thank you Leroy for today's thoughtful answer. For me at least, it is great to know that there is a responsive person out there and not just a new bunch of words each morning. My search has always been for answers, results, and possible solutions. It seemed to me that we have begun to accept and are resigned to an inevitable outcome. Wasn't the original goal to seek and find answers and cures?
I don't want all hope and dreams to be smothered by the medical profession. Think I love your blog because it has brought the "Human Element" to the foreground. We get mired down in clinical tests and treatments, accepting listlessly, whatever we are told.
We are still so human and I love hearing the various opinions and approaches to handling this "thing" that has happened to us. Don't want it to be accepted and we become immune to what it is doing to us.
Keep communicating and please don't take anythng for granted.

Sent by J C | 7:54 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I agree with what you are saying although sometimes I feel the need the use the "cancer card". Today I feel sad because all my hair had fallen out again and even though I expected it, I feel a loss and a step back. But by tomorrow I will be better and not focused on it. My family says I'm beautiful anyway and I just need to believe them. Tomorrow is another day - like "Gone With the Wind" (my favorite movie). I have asked my family and friends to always send me jokes and write their news and only give updates on my cancer/treatment when necessary as I don't like to complain. Thanks for continuing and being upbeat Leroy, we love you.

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 8:01 AM ET | 09-14-2007

"Your brain slowly calms down and you realize this is much more than an instant crisis." That summs it up perfectly. I remember the horrible feeling of panic when I got the diagnosis. Every moment felt like an eternity waiting for impending disaster. But what I feared wasn't the moment I was living in. Each day brings a different struggle, but when I break it down to dealing with today, appreciating THIS day and THIS moment, it seems much more manageable. Peace to all my fellow travelers.

Sent by Corey | 8:24 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Good morning Leroy. Yes it is a triumph of sorts to have more important things to talk about. Cancer has not defined who you are.
My son was on crutches for a lot of time after his diagnosis. Of course, a teenager on crutches is not a sign of a life threatening illness, so many people would always ask him what happened. He always smiled and said, "I had to have surgery". I told him one time, "you know this is alot more serious than just surgery" to which he replied, "I know Mom, but people don't really want to know that". He was absolutely correct. All of his close friends and many not so close knew that he had cancer, and yet, cancer did not define his life and who he was.
Not even a month before he passed away, one of the receptionist at the hospital asked me, "How long is he going to be on crutches, did he break it really bad or what?" I just looked at her and I was speechless for a second, I finally had to say, "that's where his cancer started". We've seen her at least once a month, sometimes everyday for 4 years, she knew his diagnosis and yet even someone surrounded by cancer patients everyday didn't have a clue about this cancer he had.
The night we checked into the hospital for the last time, the nurse on that night met us coming in and she said, "I thought he was fine." See her daughter went to school with my son. She has asked her about my son, and her daughter had told her, "oh mom, he's fine. He didn't have to have the amputation, all of his hair is back, he's at school everyday, he's fine."
Many of the students he went to school with just thought that he was on crutches all the time, they knew he sometimes lost his hair, sometimes it just changed colors, they knew that he was being treated, they knew that every Monday he had a doctors appointment, and yet when he died, many of the parents told me, "I don't think it ever occurred to them that he was going to die, they always thought he would beat this, because he never seemed to be sick."
Cancer never defined who he was or what his life was about-he had more important things to talk about.

We are on the other side of that now. We hate the question "how are you today?"
No, people really don't want to know.
The other day, my husband works in the public and a lady came into the store and asked how he was today, to which he replied, "I'm doing alright". She then went off on him that when she asks someone how they are doing, she wants to hear, "I'm doing great", or "I'm doing exceptional" so on and so forth.
I wish I knew who she was, I just want to tell her that the fact that my husband and I were able to get out of bed less than a month after burying our son is an accomplishment, but somehow the strength can't be mustered up to say that we are having a great day. I would like to tell her there are people in life facing circumstances that are unimaginable and yet we are managing to put one foot in front of the other, but to say we're doing great...that's a little much.
I have to stop myself from getting angry that she doesn't have a clue about all these people in the world, and yet to shed this light into her world is just a form of cruel punishment. So I go on and try to be more like my son, maybe someday I will feel like this doesn't define my life. Maybe someday there will be more important things for me to talk about, because after all, people really don't want to know.

Sent by Rhonda | 8:40 AM ET | 09-14-2007

To tell or not to tell that is the question....

My sister would preferred NOT telling, except she had gotten so sick and debilitated that it is very obvious something major was going on. Initially I got sucked into the privacy/don't tell routine, however, it was getting to hard to avoid questions. And, inevitably I would going to need help after Christmas break, when I would be on campus some days until 8:00 in the evening.

My friend with recently diagnosed bladder cancer, VERY OPEN. Got an available ear, she will talk about it.

Different strokes for different folks.

Have a great weekend

Sent by Sue Chap | 8:53 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Great blog entry, Leroy. You are so right. I, too, had this manic need to tell anyone I ran into that I had cancer. Now (now that everyone seems to know...), I don't have the need to spill the information. Instead, people now come up to me and tell me how terrific I look. It's nice, and a bit unsettling. Amazing what going off those steroids can do.

I wanted to let all the women out there know about something I'm going to this weekend. It's a weekend retreat for women battling cancer called Noble Circle. Google it. Two of my afflicted friends (now that sounds odd) went last spring and haven't stopped raving about it, so I'm going this weekend. It looks like a weekend of vegetarian cuisine, complementary healing modalities and group therapy. And, amazingly, it's all FREE. I'll let you know how I liked it.

A part of me doesn't want to go. Now that I'm NED, a part of me no longer wants to be identified with cancer. But a bigger part of me knows that no matter what my condition of the moment, I will always be linked to my cancer. It will never really go away.

Sent by jordis | 8:54 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I couldn't agree with you more about the "more important things to talk about". I am six months into this. I went to a musical last night and saw a client who had not seen me since diagnosis. She was so happy to see me, commented on how realistic my wig looked and then we proceeded to go over the whole story of my finding the mass, the emergency surgery, the recent change in protocol....blah blah blah. I felt my eyes glaze over! I definitely wanted to share with her, but at the same time, I am SO sick of the story! Finally I said, "We're in a holding pattern right now until then next treatment and the next scan." That felt good to say because it's true! At that moment and for the next 2 weeks, I cannot do a bloody thing about my situation aside from the obvious day-to0day take-care-of-myself routine that I have formulated for myself. I like the "imbetween" now. Of course the week of the scan the fear creeps up my spine like a snake, but for right now, it's in the distance. It is not forefront in my mind 24/7. Dare I say, I am living with it.

Sent by Becky | 9:13 AM ET | 09-14-2007

This topic reminds me of how friendships can sometimes be strained after one person marries or has a baby. All of a sudden conversations seem like single topic obsessions for the one who hasn't changed. So an illness can become all you think of for long stretches of time. You walk out of the doctor's office and upon seeing familiar faces think, "They don't know! A bomb has gone off and they don't know!" I wrote newsy email updates at various times during my early days of treatment and struggled with who and how many to include. In the end I included a lot of folks so no one would later feel left out and so I could keep repetition at a minimum. Not the most personal medium for such a message, but surely the most efficient and convenient for me at the time. Now, a year or so later, I usually can tell the difference between the statement "How ya doin' " and the question "So-o-o, how ARE you?" So I rarely say anything these days, nor really feel the need to. I think reading your blog every day fills that need to a large degree.

As someone said a few days ago, I wonder how someone in early stages of shock about a diagnosis who is new to your blog feels about the tone of acceptance. I'm sure it seems incomprehensible.

Sandy

Sent by Sandy Fisher | 9:19 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I really like the way you said that now "the cancer feels like old news." It is old news to me, and it sure can get tedious having to update everyone on the details of my latest medical news.

In the begining of my illness back in March of 2006, I started writing an email update to family and interested friends. I had a horrible cough and it was easier than talking to people. For a while I wrote every few days. I was at home for months dealing with a very harsh chemo regime and people wanted to know exactly what symptoms and side effects I was having. I tried to write with humor and creativity. It was both cathartic and gave me something to do with my time.

For now that need has changed. I'm much more to the point now. The longer I live with this disease and all of it's ups and downs, the less often I want to write about the day to day details. I'm more concerned with living my life rather than documenting it.

But I do have to say that having the chance to briefly respond and write to all of you is such a wonderful gift. It starts each day in such a safe, inclusive way. Thank you Leroy and friends. Have a great weekend.

Sent by Laurel M. Jones | 9:48 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Hello Leroy,

I'm new to your blog, but not new to cancer. I was diagnosed in February 2005 at age 36 with stage IV colon cancer. I agree that the novelty has worn off not just for me but for others. The cards I used to get daily have dwindled. The prepared foods have not come in months. I don't mind. I know everyone still cares but life goes on. As you said, everyone has gotten used to it all, everyone that is except my children. I had just given birth to my daughter when I started chemotherapy. My son was 2 at the time. They live in the moment and keep me in the moment, which is a good thing. They are acutely aware that my health changes daily. Some days are good, some days are bad and they can tell instantly which is which. And even on the bad days they can sometimes get me going. I know how precious my time is with them. So while cancer can be "old hat" for some people in my life, my kids keep it fresh and in turn keep me going.

I am also being treated at Hopkins, maybe our paths will cross there one day.

Lynn

Sent by Lynn | 9:56 AM ET | 09-14-2007

This really resonates as I enter month 14 of chemo for stage 4 colon cancer. It is compounded by the fact that I look "wonderful" according to everyone that I meet. And they are right! I haven't lost my hair or any weight. I'm constantly tired but that's about it other than side effects from my treatment. I agree that there are more important things to talk about and that is good. I'm grateful for the treatment and the stability of the cancer thus far. But the sword is still hanging over my head. Once in a while I still need to vent. At this point, most people dont want to hear it but I value those who will hear me out.

Sent by Miriam Gilligan | 9:57 AM ET | 09-14-2007

A triumph - no question.

Always an inspiration, Leroy.

Amy

Sent by Amy | 10:15 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I'm reading the fifth Harry Potter book and he dreads having to retell the night in the grave yard each time he is called on to do so. I had the same experience yesterday when I met friends for lunch who m I have not seen often since my diagnosis. They all asked how I was and when I hedged my answers in vague "pretty good for now"-type replies, they all asked for details...and just like Harry, I didn't want to relive this situation. How do you deal with this when people really want to know but I don't want to focus?

Sent by glenda | 10:18 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I think the longer that you live with cancer, the less likely you are to talk about it, to both people that already know about it and people who don't. Many of the people who know about your cancer don't want to talk about it any more (except of course for the people who ask you how you're doing EVERY TIME they see you, followed up with "You look great!"). And I find these days when I meet new people that, for the most part, I don't want to be defined initially by my medical history. But in a weird way, it sometimes feels a little dishonest not to tell people about something that, like it or not, is still a big part of me these days. I guess it's a combination of self-protection and self-preservation, and nostalgia for my "old normal."

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 10:19 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Something to look forward to, then!

Thanks, Leroy!!

Make a great weekend!!!

-dp

Sent by dp | 10:28 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I find the last sentence so true! My husband has cancer and he is able to talk about it more easily than I can. But as the time since his diagnosis and yet he continues to work and be active, it gets more difficult to tell those who are unaware the diagnosis!

Sent by Barbara Gobrail | 10:37 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I swear Leroy you must live in my brain. How many times I have read your blog and thought to myself, "Yes, that is what I think, or feel." What an awesome writer you are. Thanks for doing this. It makes me feel that I'm not alone with what goes through my mind.

Sent by Sue Huff | 10:52 AM ET | 09-14-2007

nothing is more important than life - especially our own life and survival! However there are other things other people will think is a more important issue unless of course its their life in peril. It is a victory 4 us to be able to get used to our situation.

I don't tell some strangers and to some, to advance a cause, I have played the cancer simphothy card -- seems a little underhanded or not right but TIME is so important right now. Wish I didn't have that card!

I'm getting results from my new CT SCAN on Wed and I bet that they ncan not see anything --- for now! I need a break from this heavy Chemo! I have been lucky with nearly no side effects --- except now my immune system is dropping - all across my last blood tests.

Wish you all the best of luck!
richard

Sent by Richard davis | 10:56 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Leroy,
As a fellow human being diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer, I would like to say that I am most proud of you and the strength and, yes, courage, that you have shown us in your journey with cancer. Today???s topic, ???When Cancer Becomes Old,??? is an interesting one. Yes, it is definitely a triumph that you are yet living today and that your life has gone on from early last year when you discovered, after four years of being clean, that you had brain and lung mets.
All in just under nine months??? time, I was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer, had one surgery, underwent five months of an aggressive chemotherapy regimen, than had a final (I pray) liver resection. (My diagnosis was May 15, 2006 and the liver surgery was January 31, 2007.) Having been declared ???NED??? and fully recuperated from the liver surgery, I returned to work on a full-time basis on May 1 of this year.
I???ve had two scans since my last surgery, one in April and the most recent one in August. Everything is clean. With the exception of surgery scars and the port-a-cath that remains in my upper left chest, cancer does seem like old news for me. And, in a way that I can???t really explain very well, my cancer journey all seems surreal and like a bad dream. Yet, the fact that I feel as though I walk in the valley of the shadow of cancer, and live some days with the fear of recurrence, I know that that bad dream is an actual part of my life.
While treatment for active cancer may be, for this time in my life (and prayerfully for the rest of my life), past tense for me, I am painfully aware of the very ???presentness,??? if you will, of cancer in your life, and the lives of the many readers of your blog.
Leroy, you put it quite well in your February 16, 2006 blog: ???I don't have any great insight into death, but maybe I've learned something about life. It takes courage to get through life. The courage of doctors and nurses who can work magic with their hands, the courage of those keeping a lonely vigil at the bedside of a loved one. The courage of the ill, fighting with everything they have, not just to cheat death, but to live.???
May God bless you all in our respective journeys with life!

Sent by Minora Sharpe | 10:58 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Hi Leroy et al..
It's true that it does become old news..until you see someone or talk to someone out of the blue. An old college friend contacted me via email this week after 15 years. I debated on whether or not to tell her about the cancer but really it has unfortunately been a dominanting presence in my life for the last year. How much to you say? how many details? do you say that you have been contemplating your mortality at 39? how honest are you? I told her some basics and I haven't heard back yet.. sometimes even a little bit it too much for people...

Sent by yvette | 11:00 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Hi Leroy:
I think your inclination to talk about things, other than illness, is a tangible sign that you are living your life, as you should. Though I do not have cancer, I had a significant cancer scare several years ago that has helped me relate better to people who are ill and/or hospitalized. I read your blog daily and continue to support your efforts to bring cancer out of the shadows through your extraordinary eloquence and perspective. I sure hope these blog entries are being saved for a book that should be required reading for all medical and nursing students and anyone affected by cancer which, of course, is every one of us.

But enough about you (ha, ha!), during my own hospitalization and recovery, I found I had a burning desire to get back some sense of "normal." No one could understand why I wanted to return to work before it was medically advisable, but it was mostly because I wanted to get back into the flow of life with some sense of familiar routine. I wanted to get away from the well-intentioned looks of pity (or repulsion) from family and friends and just back to LIVING!

The best visitors were the ones who didn't dwell on my operation, sickness, treatment (a gastric-nasal tube through your nose? Eeewww!) or the alleged horrors of hospital food. Instead, they talked about work, the weather, sports, news, current events, mutual friends, their kids -- "normal" chatter. We laughed, even though it sometimes hurt to do so. Talking about something other than my medical misadventurs made me feel much less 'ostracized,' unlike I did the minute I heard "you may have late stage cancer, but we won't know for sure until we get in there." Oy!

Keep on keepin' on, Leroy -- seize the day!

Your Canadian friend,
Nancy

Sent by Nancy Boomer | 11:05 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Leroy, I have, for some time, wanted to send a note to just thank you. I seem to just not gotten around to it. I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in Janurary and had daVinci robotic surgery in March. With the diagnosis of cancer I felt as though I had fallen into a vaccuum. I couldn't see, couldn't breath, couldn't feel. I didn't know how I was suppose to feel. I quickly learned that there are very few people you can truly discuss this diagnosis with. And you end up feeling very, very alone.
I thought with surgery I would be able to return to my "regular" life. That wasn't to happen. The cancer was a stage 3 but lymphs and margins clear. So a little hope. Thirty one days of radiation ensued and I am now recovering from that.
I wish I had never been touched by this disease. I can never go back to being just Thom. But life moves on and I must to. Your blog has helped me do that.
I wish you the very best in your battle.
Thanks
Thomn Fuller

Sent by Thomas Fuller | 11:09 AM ET | 09-14-2007

I agree with your premise about the value of having other things to talk about. For quite a long time, cancer so dominated my life, that there was little else doing for me, and little else to think or talk about. I feel so much better now having other things to do, to talk about, to think about and to look forward to. It's been a long haul, and I know that there will be times in the future when it'll dominate again, but for now, I'm enjoying being able to do other things than being a cancer patient.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 11:12 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Hi Leroy,

Oh how true!!! You do finally run out of steam and come to grips with the fact that this is for the remainder of your days!!

Love to all,
Betty

Sent by Betty K. Lewis | 11:33 AM ET | 09-14-2007

Leroy, you must have the far side daily calender. I laughed at that cartoon also. I took it to the barn and left it on our horse trainer's desk. Don't know if she thought it was funny or not.

I've been feeling a little beat up lately, also. A recent PET scan showed damage to my lung, probably caused by radiation. My radiologist said, "That always happens when we go for the lymph nodes under the breast bone, didn't I tell you that?" Actually, no he didn't. What a wimp. On the subject of doctors with little backbone, I was at my cardiologist the other day, and when I was leaving, I was walking down the hall and saw my old cardiologist (long story). Instead of passing me in the hall, he ducked into an exam room! When I left him, I got all my records, and on one of the reports he described me as "A pleasant woman with pendulous breasts." Of course, maybe he didn't recognize me, because I have brand new perky breasts now. Anyway, it just makes me smile thinking about it.

Sent by Marcia | 12:21 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Well said ("When Cancer Becomes Old News") - and, good luck, Leroy. Thanks for voicing what many of us have difficulty saying.

Sent by Gordon Cole | 12:23 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Leroy, Every extra day is a triumph. And talking about it is therapeutic. Don't stop fighting and don't stop talking about it. Old or New your words help all of us. Thanks, Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 1:20 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Good Afternoon Leroy and All,

Leroy, your blog today is so important! If we are to preserve our sanity as well as our physical lives we must stay involved with all the activities of life. And that means looking beyond the realm of our cancer, as hard as that is at times. I do find it hard to focus on other things but I am working at it. My brother, Jim, who is a 7 year Prostate Cancer survivor has advised me that in time I will be able to think about other things too. My brother, Brad, now feels the anxiety of a possible encounter with cancer since both Jim and I have been diagnosed. Brad has started taking Essiac Tea capsules in an attempt to avoid the disease. I can only pray that it will work for him. Has any one had experience with this alternative treatment?

To Rhonda and your husband, my heart goes out to you. I can not even imagine the pain that you are both going through. Please know that you are in our thoughts and prayers!! And I know that the spirit of your son will live with you always.

To everyone, I wish that we could all just have other things to focus on and not have Cancer in our lives. But we will face what we have to TOGETHER! I wish STRENGTH, HOPE and yes, LAUGHTER to everyone on this journey in Cancer World!! God Bless.

Eileen Pruyne
Charlotte

Sent by Eileen Pruyne | 1:23 PM ET | 09-14-2007

I have well-meaning friends who feel it is an obligation to talk about the recurrence when I just want to hear a funny joke or what is happening in their lives. I think its a side effect to treatment - I want to throw up talking about cancer all the time. I am still working (mostly from home) and I am still a productive adult...lets chat about football or the latest thing Britteny Spears has done - just something other than cancer. Even my own oncolgist says I am taking on the chipmond appearance of being on a steriod - so let's get off it and move forward. I do have a wonderful support system - I cry alone or I cry along with my husband. We move past the sorrow and we focus on "shrink the tumors". One moment at a time; one day at a time. I hope everyone has a break from cancer chatting this weekend and just enjoy the moments of being alive!!!

Sent by Kay | 1:53 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Leroy,

I marvel at your ability to accommodate what is happening to you. Your thought process and struggles have helped me enormously. There is a way to generalize your wisdom from dealing with cancer to dealing with life.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 2:09 PM ET | 09-14-2007

OK, I completely agree that Cancer gets "old" and we cannot dwell there. Yes, there are many more interesting things to talk about. However I believed that the name of this Blog, -"My Cancer" was the subject we were chiefly concerned with, and lately I had sensed that depression and hopelessness was showing it's ugly head. Or was it really just a slowing down of thinking about it? Good.
Leroy you are a great Journalist and whatever topic you choose will be loved and appreciated.
Have a good weekend!

Sent by J C R | 2:34 PM ET | 09-14-2007

I think at some point I realized I *couldn't* speculate about what will happen next and so I stopped trying. Talking about my "condition" (not cancer but another long road) was my way of sorting out what it would be like, what would happen next. Finding out the path never quite matched up to the plan seems to have made that concept moot. Acute phases bring things back to the forefront of our minds (and words), but the rest of the time "informed denial" works for me.

What, I wonder, is it like to be in this sort of phase and be required to still write on this topic every day? I think I would find it very difficult.

To poster Rhonda - you just go right ahead and tell people whatever you want about how you are. Thank you for telling us about your son, he sounds like a great kid. I give your husband a world of credit for not going into minute, specific detail about why he did not say "super fabulous"; I don't think I could have been so kind.

Sent by Keri | 2:38 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Rhonda,
My heartfelt sympathy to you and your husband for the loss of your wonderful son. Your words were moving and very profound.

Sent by E.H. | 2:42 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Excellent blog today Leroy. My friend who has Stage III Colon C. is open about her disease. She has a doctor's appt. with her oncologist in a couple of weeks. We are hoping for some good news like everyone who comments in this blog. This is like a hurry up and wait type of thing. You need to know the answers but yet you really don't want to know. Hope everyone has a great weekend. Love to all.

Sent by Teresa in WV | 3:19 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Rhonda,

Please know that this is a place where people really do want to know how you are, and are ready, willing and able to handle your truthful answer. My thoughts are with you and your husband.

Sent by Gretchen Hoag | 5:03 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Dear Leroy,

Late today reading your blog, but one thing crossed my mind as I read it: It is truly amazing what one can get used to. In a way, discouraging, in a way encouraging - You find you have resources and coping skills you never dreamed of. I HOPE I am always stronger than I think I am.

Keep the faith. Take care and God Bless!

Connie E.

Sent by Connie E. | 5:15 PM ET | 09-14-2007

My news is 2 years old. I still feel comforted by the occasional card or silly little gift. Cinnamon altoids came in real handy at school a couple days ago when I felt like I was going to throw up. The giver often finds nice little things to remind me she's glad I'm still here. The school nurse reminds me every day I can take a nap in her office any day I'd like. The Principal offers coverage any time I need a rest.

Sent by Cheryl McDowell | 5:33 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Leroy,
I was going to make a very go make an eloquent and probably witty response...but chemo brain made me forget what it was!!!!!!
Liz

Sent by liz zimmerman | 7:59 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Rhonda: So sorry about the loss of your son. Apparently it has been since my husband, Burge died July 28th and it gets pretty hard some times doesn't it. I know how you feel when people ask "how are you doing"...and especially after you say OK some ask "are you REALLY OK?"

It doesn't bother me as much as my sister-in-law who wants to shout "no I'm not OK, I'm still angry as hell at God and every time I see our drug dealer neighbor riding by on his Harley, I'm madder still about how unfair it is."

Personally, I try to remember that most people are trying to be nice and are really concerned. So many of them didn't listen when I tried to tell them Burge was dying before he actually did. Like your son, he tried to stay active and not tell everyone the details...at least after a while, but like most, the first few months were so intense, we wanted to shout from the hospital roof so everyone would know how scared we were.

Leroy: Your blog today makes me realize why I keep reading and sending comments. The people here do understand and don't mind if you tell your story in shorthand form. They already know what we're feeling. All of you are the fix I need to stay connected with the past three years without wearing my friends out trying to explain what happened so I can put it behind me.

I hope everyone who can has a good weekend and that for a time don't have to live beyond the day. My prayers for all of you.

Nikki

Sent by Nikki | 11:06 PM ET | 09-14-2007

Yes, Leroy, we journey THROUGH cancer. Cancer may define who we are in the early stages of learning to live with the disease, but the more seasoned we get, we come to define ourselves over and against our cancer. We become not cancer patients (nor cancer victims), but people who happen to have cancer.

I've read a lot of stuff on newly diagnosed people, but not much on what it's like to cope with the disease year in and year out. (I wonder if there have been any research studies on that - stages of living with cancer, or something like that?) I'm still less than 2 years out from my diagnosis, myself, but I'm coming to realize - as you have - that I've got a lot of living to do, and if I let the cancer stop me from doing that, the cancer will have won.

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

Sent by Carl Wilton | 1:13 AM ET | 09-15-2007

Rhonda~ SOME people DO want to know how you feel and I think that is why this blog that Leroy has created is so wonderful. We all DO care about each other. We are not just customers in a store, passerbys,casual strangers, but live, sometimes hurting, real people!
I feel so terrible for your loss. I wanted our son to live so very badly and have missed and longed for that child all these years. He was so very young when he died and now we are so old,and the hurt never dies.But your son was such a part of your lives all those years, that I can't imagine what you must be going through. What memories you must have-Sweet and Bittersweet.
Love & Strength Rhonda, we DO care.

Sent by J C R | 6:11 AM ET | 09-15-2007

Leroy,
I divide my friends and associates into two groups. First the close ones who really want to know the news, follow the scan results and remember where I was two months ago and two weeks ago. I can talk to them frankly and give them full updates and news on my treatments. Then there the casual questioners who don't remember what I told them the last time they asked. They get the "short version" no real details. After each scan or each change in treatment I develop in my mind the story for each of my two groups so that I am consistent with the level of detail... I am confortable talking about my cancer and the treatment and there are only a FEW THINGS that get me upset. One lady confused "inoperable" and said that I was "uncurable" that almost brought tears to my eyes because I don't want to think of myself as "uncurable" even though they cannot operate.
I may die from this cancer but not without a fight.

Sent by John Zizelmann | 2:38 PM ET | 09-15-2007

Yeah, been there. When I was diagnosed, with mouth cancer in 1986, and they cut out most of my tongue and the floor of my mouth, I was told that I'd never eat again or speak again and had a two year prognosis.

It was devastating. I had my sister, a psychiatric nurse, tell my wife and three young children.

I was told that drinking scotch and smoking caused the cancer. I was told to stop both. I did.

Nine months later I woke up, realizing that I only had one year and three months to live and that my quality of life was awful. I went out and bought a carton of cigarettes and a half gallon of cheap scotch. Twenty one years later I am still alive. I speak. I eat. My oncologist died of cancer.

I sit here, after having buried my 94 year old Aunt today and rushing back home to my wife who in on Hospice because of endometrial cancer, thinking that there is always hope.

Sometimes we win & somtimes we lose but there is always hope.

Always hope. Sometimes they're wrong.

Thank you

Sent by John Wherry | 5:53 PM ET | 09-15-2007

I just wanted to say thanks, Leroy, for your honesty and persistence. I am dealing with my husband's cancer and just trying to keep my head above water. Reading your blog makes me feel not so alone.

Sent by Carol | 3:35 AM ET | 09-16-2007

Dear Leroy,

Great post on Friday. Yes, we do get used to it, but, if only the sadness would go away. As always, prayers to you and Laurie.

Rhonda my prayers are with you and your family.

Sent by sasha | 11:15 AM ET | 09-16-2007

Rhonda, Nikki, Bruce and all of us who lost loved ones to this hideous disease~

Its only a few days from our six-month anniversary of Jodi, my wife's passing.

Needless to say, we are not "doing great". I have people come up to me at work and ask "how are you doing, I can't imagine going through what you are going through". I just nod and thank them. That was so rude of the customer to in essense say "just get over it." I guess they are numb to the suffering and death-don't want to hear it. I doubt we will ever completely "get over it". I never want to forget my loved one, so the pain is part of the memories. It will fade, but we cherish the good times and memories BC.

I hope more people can get past surface niceties and platitudes to understand our world. No one gets away from dying someday.

Take care and heal,

Steve

Sent by Steve Faulkner | 1:16 PM ET | 09-16-2007

Leroy,

Wonderful post!!

Rhonda - my thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Suzanne Lindley | 3:39 PM ET | 09-16-2007

To John Wherry~ Loved your bit of humor in between all the pain you must have gone through. Yes, the "Experts" can be wrong. They are not Gods.
Where else but on this program of Leroy's could we all meet and share our experiences?
Keep the spirits high.

Sent by JCR | 4:22 PM ET | 09-16-2007

Leroy,

Have you read any good books lately? What topics interest you? I am an avid reader and maybe I can suggest a few that you might enjoy. Have you ever eaten grape pie? If not, I live near Naples, New York and they make a delicious grape pie. If you like, I can have one sent to you...I hope you had a great weekend. I did...My friend treated me to a play "Tea after Five". Story about Katherine Hepburns' life. She lived such a colorful exsistence.

Sent by Gail Hunsberger Rochester,NY | 9:44 PM ET | 09-16-2007

It certainly is! ;)

Sent by nicole | 1:51 PM ET | 09-21-2007