Dear Leroy - I am so glad I came across this website with your daily posts as you go through your cancer and treatments. I have added you to my prayer list and pray for your complete healing daily. You have an amazing spirit and wit. If I am every faced with a severe illness, I truly feel I would handle it better because of your spirit and these posts you do dail. I wish you and your family a wonderful holiday season - and I pray that your pain level will rise daily until you get to that smiley face!! God Bless!!

Sent by Judy Horton | 8:01 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Thank you Leroy for that touching description of the subtle change we all endure. I know you are correct when you say we can live with cancer. In fact, I;m banking on it since routine tests last week revealed lesions not there before. So, buy the ticket and it's on the scan-a-go-go again. I'm so scared this time my luck has run it's course and the breast cancer I thought had been eradicated has come back in some new and terrible form. I can't sleep, eat or breath. I'm seeking help and trying to put one foot ahead of the other waiting for the test, the results, the specialist. I feel like I'm at the bottom of the ocean.
So thank you for that advice. One can live with cancer. I can live with cancer.
Peace

Sent by Jessie | 8:09 AM ET | 12-11-2007

I think you summed it up...Ignorance is bliss!! On the other hand, I know that I felt "bullet-proof". I have always exercised,tried to eat well and not so often and in general, took care of myself physically. My initial diagnosis of cancer, melanoma..my father died from it, brought me back to reality and shattered the illusion of being being "bullet-proof". A year later, another type of cancer, renal cell carcinoma, confirmed for me just how tenuous life is! I long ago ceased to take life for granted! It is precious inspite of the travails that cancer has caused or perhaps because of them!

I love to look at the pictures of my family from past years. The memories that come with the pictures bring both happiness and sorrow. A snapshot at a place and time brings perspective and is good for the soul! It reminds us of how far we have come and hopefully, how far we have to go!!

Leroy, your pictures and this blog chronicle your journey forever. I feel blessed to have accompanied you via this blog for a portion of your life's journey!

Blessings and prayers.

Sent by Al Cato | 8:11 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy,
You are always so on target. This time of year always brings lots of looks thru photos past and present and it is heartbreaking to look sometimes. Seeing my husband day to day I don't always notice the changes but looking at photos I do. I know that look you are talking about and I see it in our family as well. We were innocent at one time but now I feel guilty taking group photos wondering if my husband thinks we are taking them just because there might not be many more chances. My reasons are still the same but does he know that?? By the way, both of you guys look maaahvelous to me!

Sent by Kathie | 8:16 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy -

This is one of the bigger topics parents discuss after their child has been through the chemotherapy expereince.

In so many ways, we lost the innocence that we percieve we have prior to our child's diagnosis. Our family recently had our old photos out. My husband and I look happy and carefree in some of those photos.

Then there are some that were taken right after diagnosis and the beginning of our son's chemotherapy. And we look - well, we have the "deer in headlights" look.
Our son completed his second course of chemotherapy last month after a relapse. I am not sure why this is - but we don't look so scared anymore in our photos. Even when he was going through that second round of chemo.
Go figure.
Maybe we just are wiser, really living in the moment.

Sent by Melissa T | 8:17 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Which poet told us that the "...eyes are windows to the soul...". What you see in the pictures is what you now know, but the haircut does have an impact too!

Have a better day.

Peggy

Sent by Peggy | 8:30 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Last week I saw two surgeons and my oncologist. A full week when you are are trying to work full-time. The surgeons visits were good, maybe others wouldn't view them as that but you are trying to hang on to life someone willing to cut the cancer out, even if it only last a few months is good news. The lung surgeon is willing to operate on my other lung (he did the left one last July) but now there are tumors in the rightlung. The liver surgeon might even have better news but I am waiting to hear back from him. He was going to talk with a radiologist because he thought they might be able to work on the liver with radiofrequency ablation rather than an open surgery. I'm now waiting to hear back. If this doesn't work out the liver surgeon is willing to go in again and resection. For most people facing two major surgeries it would not be exciting for someone who is not doing well with chemo it is great news (I think.) So I am waiting to hear and then will work on the scheduling. It is strange how your perspective changes with cancer. I've now dealt with this for 2 l/2 years after the six month speech. Not the ride I expected but I'm not complaining. Innocence has been lost in these years but I still appreciate every day and am greedily hoping for more!

Sent by Dona | 8:36 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Hi Leroy,

Is it a reality check? I learned something about kids with cancer or any other life threatening illness, they are older than their peers because of what they have experienced. They are wiser more realistic. Could this be what you are seeing.

I went to dinner last night with my dad, in February '08, he will be 90. He is a tad slower than he was last year at this time, more content to NOT go out when the weather is bad. Our sudden winter has already had a profound impact on him. We talked about growing and older and how it is NOT fun. I reminded him, I wanted to be Peter Pan and never grow up or old, however, even Peter Pan grew up. He smiled at that, because he does remember, my wish.

Memories are good, happier times revisited, and at times the reality of what lies ahead becomes more real.

Dream on....

Sent by Sue Chap | 8:41 AM ET | 12-11-2007

It's ok to be scared. You wouldn't be human if you weren't. ~Karen

Sent by Karen | 8:43 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Yes, two valuable lessons: You can live with this. And, you may very well live longer, even alot longer, than the doctors or you would have imagined.

When I was first diagnosed in 2000, I somewhat desperately went looking for that information. Can I live with this, not die of the wrenching fear I am feeling today or the sorrow I feel at the thought of my own death? I talked to everyone I knew with metastatic canacer ..... one man. My husband and I drove to Tom's house and I beat around the bush - but was silently begging him to tell me exactly what you said in this mornings' message. Because the diagnosis of "advanced cancer" so completely blew me away those first few days, I LONGED to hear someone say: "yeah, but you can live with it, it almost becomes 'just a way of life,' and I didn't hear that from Tom. I was so dissappointed. He was of course so involved in his own illness that it just didn't occur to him to give me that.

(He's alive by the way -the doctors ten years ago gave him very little time to live with his Stage 4 colon cancer!)

When I speak with people newly diagnosed with advanced cancer I always give them this information. HOPE being everything. Maybe more important than the drugs. It may well be that one has to live it first before it becomes reality... but I tell them anyway.

Nancy O

Sent by Nancy Oliveri | 9:03 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Hear! Hear! I didn't know you could live with cancer either until I beat (so far) the odds that were probably in my doc's head once I was diagnosed.Now I am a firm believer in living with it. Not making it comfortable or even welcome, but going day by day. Good for you, Leroy! Your post sounds much more spirited today.

Sent by Becky | 9:08 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Hear! Hear! I didn't know you could live with cancer either until I beat (so far) the odds that were probably in my doc's head once I was diagnosed.Now I am a firm believer in living with it. Not making it comfortable or even welcome, but going day by day. Good for you, Leroy! Your post sounds much more spirited today.

Sent by Becky | 9:08 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Keep making memories and taking pictures! Nothing ever stays the same, and nothing is ever as it seems, both in ways we will like and in ways we wish were not true. You can only really understand something, or a photo, by looking back at it from a few steps, experiences, or years away.
We have all been looking at you and your journey for many months now, and what is clear it that you are magnigficant..you have amazing strength and insight. You have a gift of writing, and you are a gift to so many people. Thank you from my heart.

Sent by Laura | 9:16 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy you have the look of wisdom in your eyes. You know many facets of "living" with and without cancer. The experience has expanded your understanding of how precious life is ...a profound difference between knowledge and ignorance. The haircut is a different story ... stylists can save a bad hair day.

Sent by Pat Z | 9:27 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Good morning Leroy, Funny thing, the same thing happened to me last Saturday. I was at a party, where the hostess has taken an annual "girls" photo. The photo from two years ago was framed and on display. I recognized the look of discomfort with my weight...not knowing that it was the abdominal bloating symptomatic of my disease. In this year's picture, I'm sure that I smiled more brightly, as I'm filled with hope...and still here!

To Dona and Jessie, I hope that your appointments provide you with a constructive and healing path forward. Stay strong.

Sent by Sheara | 9:30 AM ET | 12-11-2007

My wife doesn't even have any pictures of me when I was in treatment on her computer. It is for me and my mother to keep those pictures. I know it is one of the ways my wife deals with that time, she just doesn't think about it, so no pictures helps.

Sent by Brit | 9:41 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Dear Leroy - what a beautiful post today, thank you. Following my mom's battle with cancer, I witnessed the death of my sister three years back. I think the combination of events marked my loss of innocence as I was removed from the blissful ignorance of a high school/college kid and forced to take a look at just how vulnerable we are. I've thought before that the transormation is evident in photographs, though, like you, "I'm not sure anyone else would even see what I see in those shots." I am still only beginning the journey, still guilty of taking days of my life for granted and quite humbled by you and everyone out there who has to wonder what the next day of life will present. Thank you for articulating something so abstract and for helping me understand how to be present in each moment.

Jessie, you are in my heart today as are Al, Dona, Melissa and her son.

Sent by liz | 9:42 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Dear Leroy,
You are so correct "Ignorance is bliss"
I was a medical technician for almost thirty years. I retired when my husband got ill. My husband knows that he has cancer but has no idea what "Metastases" is and for that I am thankful. The doctors mentioned the word a few times but my husband didn't understand what it meant and the doctors didn't go into too much detail. I feel that my husband has a more positive outlook this way. I too look at pictures from a few years back and see a drastic change in my husband's appearance. At the very beginning of his chemo, he did not lose his hair and looked very well. But after amost two years, he has no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, no fingernails, and all the other terrible physical side effects from the chemo. He is 60 years old and now looks like an 80 year old man. I guess what you say is true, we CAN live with cancer, but it's not always very pleasant. Be well dear friend. Prayers to you and Laurie.

Sent by sasha | 9:44 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy,

See, now you know what I mean. Walking through the hospital, it's the eyes that give it away. ext is the skin. Not so much the color, even though it changes, but it is the condition, the overall look of it.

I can tell, even without the head scarves, ports, etc. And I remember.

Sent by Teri Thomas | 9:48 AM ET | 12-11-2007

I'm in a place where a year ago I thought it would all be gone. And yet it is repeating itself and in a much worse way because now I am aware of cancer symptoms in additon to side effects from treatment. My eyes have probably gone from innocent to "old wise woman". Thank you for keeping up with this blog - it is always the best things that you say and understanding how everyone out here is feeling.

Sent by Vicki (FL) | 10:01 AM ET | 12-11-2007

I don't remember much of last fall and winter, Leroy. I look at the pictures and see me holding a new baby who has more hair than I do. As he gazes at me, I am smiling at him so even if I don't remember, I like the pictures...but I do look fragile and confused...and my haircut is pitiful, too, Leroy.

Jessie, I am thinking of you and your tests. I'm waiting until Friday to hear about mine. I know the panic but we are all still here when many thought we might not be.

Sent by glenda | 10:11 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Yes, I know that look in the eyes. My husband was diagnosed in Oct 04 with bladder cancer and then in July 07, after three different chemo regimens and the removal of his bladder, his cancer metastasized to his liver and chest.

People don't see "the look" when they meet him. They think he "looks great". But it there in the photos. Guess that old saying that the camera doesn't lie has some validity.

I'm glad you're with us this holiday season. My husband is too. We will celebrate our 15th anniversary a couple days after Christmas.

Happy Holidays, Leroy. We're thinking about you.

Sent by Lennea Magnus | 10:14 AM ET | 12-11-2007

The thing about innocence is you don't know how you are innocent until you lose that innocence. I had radiation to my mouth, so I have gotten more wrinkly post-treatment just from that but recently I saw a picture of myself the Christmas right before I was diagnosed (just 3 years ago) and realized that I looked different in other ways than less wrinkles and more weight.

I looked like I thought I had all the time in the world.

Sent by N.R. | 10:21 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Jessie - You CAN live with cancer. I'm a breast cancer survivor myself and I know of a lot of women who have been living with brain and/or lung and/or liver and/or bone mets for years. It's terrifying, I'm sure, but hang onto hope. We're all pulling for you! Please, keep us posted.

Sent by Karole Ives, Duluth MN | 10:53 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Before you have to face your own mortality you ARE innocent- that innocence, once lost, can never come back... As much as I hate being reminded: Whatever hasn't killed us (yet), makes us stronger- well,unfortunatly, it is pretty accurate, though I fight it every step of the way!! I would definetly pick innocence over strength if I had a choice.The only part that makes sense to me is that sometimes we go through what we do so that we can help someone else navigate the scarey terrain of cancer. You have helped all of us! Thanks for still writing everyday, even when the last thing you want to think about is "it". You have helped us all!

Sent by NancyGM | 11:06 AM ET | 12-11-2007

Funny thing about those pictures. A friend keeps a picture of me posted in his office. It was taken the night I had a friend shave my head. I've got a big grin on my face and a margarita in my hand. People who see the picture want to know who that striking, grinning, bald-headed woman is. But, when I see that picture, I know that while I was smiling for the picture, but I was barely holding it together. I can see it in my eyes.

Sent by Marcia | 11:30 AM ET | 12-11-2007

As an orthopaedic surgeon I am not very good at pain control. Your doc may be doing the best anyone can but often pain specialists are very helpful.

Sent by gary tebor | 12:33 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Oh, yes -- I can identify with this one! I know that look of fear. But I think you had it right the first time -- even when we move beyond fear, the look in the eyes is still different from in the past. It's loss of innocence, maybe. Or a deep understanding of the inevitability of suffering and death that we never had before and can never really lose now? Looking at old, carefree photos is painful in a way. Maybe I yearn for those days of lighthearted ignorance.

Sent by Doris | 12:58 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy,

I am thankful for your candor and ability to put your thoughts into words regarding your disease. I am ten months past my surgery for pancreatic cancer and am grateful to be enjoying this Christmas. My latest visit with my oncologist revealed no evidence of residual cancer after treatment with radiation and chemo. I also live with chronic pain not from my cancer but from multiple shoulder replacement surgeries. Not a day goes by that I don't hurt so I understand how pain can drag you down physically and emotionally.

As I said in the hospital last Jan, the worst thing for me would be to have to endure this alone without the support of my faith, family and friends. I am blessed in that I have all three as I'm sure you do. Keep fighting the good fight and know that you are in my prayers.

Bob

Sent by Bob | 1:02 PM ET | 12-11-2007

I think what you see is the line that divided your life into "before" and "after".

You are still here, "after". That's a good thing. It never would have been on your radar, "before".

Here's hoping today is even a little mroe comfortable than yesterday.

Sent by Celeste | 1:45 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy,
Yes you can live with cancer. I also believe that even though there are many battle scars, the one thing thats the most important is your life~~

As far as the haircut~~have you seen some of the hairdo's these days on the teenagers? : ) I'll bet they would think you were cool.

Peace and prayers,
(((HUGS)))
Robin
CT.

Sent by Robin T | 1:52 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Dear Leroy,

This was a beautiful post today. I just wanted to say that I continue to pray for each one of you, as I do my own family, as we go through the ups and downs of this disease. Especially those of you battling new symptoms and facing new surgeries. My heart, my soul, and my prayers are with you. I know the fear that you have and I wish you healing, comfort and peace.

Sent by Connie E. | 2:08 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy,

My husband had that look after he was diagnosed. He wasn't as forthright about his feelings as you are, but there it was anyway - in his eyes. I've seen it accurate word.

I love it that you can joke about your haircut!

Blessings.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 2:09 PM ET | 12-11-2007

The eyes can reveal so much. I use to have so much laughter in my eyes. Now, since my young son died, my laughter is still there but it never quite makes it to my eyes. A part will always mourn.

Sent by robyn | 2:50 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy, You have a way of hitting on the essence of the thing. Cancer changes you, and it's not just the fear, it is far more, far deeper. I look at pictures and wonder, do I really look that bad. We are all living with the Beast, but in living with it we are changed forever. Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 3:03 PM ET | 12-11-2007

This reminded me of a photo of me taken on the Alaska AIDS Vaccine Ride in 2000. I was on the road crew, and we had stopped for coffee in Anchorage at a strip mall. There was a woman with 3 dogs in the back of her pickup, taking them to the vet. All along the highway you see signs for "Wolf hybrid puppies." I'm an animal lover, so I walked up to check out the dogs, and I asked the owner if they were hybrids. Yup she said 75% wolf. The picture is of me, with the three dogs, one licking my face. And the look on my face is priceless. Not fear or terror but "What have I gotten myself into?"

Sent by Dianne (DC) | 3:31 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy,
Beautiful post. Thank you.

Jesse,
Know that we're all thinking of you, and sending our thoughts to give you relief from your anxiety at this time. I pray that you are able to focus on each step ahead, each minute of every day, and know that you are strong enough to rise to any challenge however big or small.

Peace to all of you,
Amy

Sent by Amy | 4:02 PM ET | 12-11-2007

When I was a young girl and fell down or otherwise got hurt, my Mom would tell me, with a hug and a kiss, "This will temper you for later life." I had no idea what she meant.....then. Thank you for your words, Leroy.

Sent by Shannon P. | 4:26 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Maybe because we have all have a look at "the other side," it shows in the eyes?

Sent by Marilyn Trujillo | 5:23 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Leroy, your post reminds me of the old biblical story of Jacob, wrestling with that mysterious figure at the fords of the Jabbok:

???Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob???s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, ???Let me go, for the day is breaking.??? But Jacob said, ???I will not let you go, unless you bless me.?????? (Genesis 32:24-26)

Genesis portrays the solitary figure of Jacob, silhouetted against the rising sun, limping away from that mysterious encounter ??? but the wiser for it.

Cancer may indeed leave us limping, but if we???re canny and persistent, perhaps we can wrestle a blessing out of it after all.

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

Sent by Carl Wilton | 6:23 PM ET | 12-11-2007

In January 2004, my husband and I traveled to China to adopt our little girl. Six months later, he was diagnosed with stage three colon cancer. Now, almost four years have gone by-she is five now and he is currently undergoing chemo after the cancer moved into his lungs.
On the morning after we received her in China, a family portrait was taken. This picture has become my favorite picture of our family. My husband and I were estatic about the adoption of our little girl, but it also shows our pure innocence. We had no idea what was coming down our path. Four years later, we have experienced the complete joy that comes with parenthood, but we have also experienced the sadness, fear, anger, and pain that comes with cancer.
Thank you for sharing your life with us.
Leslie Blanton

Sent by Leslie Blanton | 6:40 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Dear Leroy, I also find my post-cancer pictures disconcerting. It's not the wig or the fact that I'm thinner; it's the fragile slightly sad smile in my daughter's high school graduation pictures. I knew that smile. I saw it in photos of my grandmother when she was dying from pancreatic cancer. I vowed to myself that I would sidestep that melancholy look but there it was, despite my best efforts. Everyone wanted pictures of me with my daughter and we all knew why--I wish that hadn't been part of her graduation. Salee

Sent by salee | 6:54 PM ET | 12-11-2007

I have not commented today because my last message was not displayedbecause I may have been too incensed by the language of one of the bloggers. Sorry for that. I happen to feel that this communicating with you Leroy, should not be relagated to the type of stuff that you can read on the internet all the time. I think that we are all above that. But I am sorry if I offended.
I was glad to hear that you were going over old photos and reminising. I do that often these days and wonder what to do with all our lovely memories of so many years past. Having no children, who will care? What should childless couples do with all those photos? Anyway, I hope you are sleeping better and that your doctors have given you some good reports.

Sent by J C R | 7:05 PM ET | 12-11-2007

I remember seeing some children who had seen war, seen awful unspeakable things, and their eyes were the eyes of older people. Trauma of all kinds changes us, but i hope that we can still find the child within and the hope still burns strong. Wisdom and experience isnt always a bad thing, it just changes us a bit, gives us the understanding of others going through the same types of things.

Sent by Jenn | 7:29 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Hey Pal, I'll tell you this sooner instead of later. No one else sees things like you do. I have cancer too, I'm an intellect like you,and yet your prism is exquistely unique and insightful. You know what I think...I think you have some good years of writing ahead for yourself...

Sent by Jane | 7:34 PM ET | 12-11-2007

We are changed. That's what the "girls" at work tell me. They don't say how I will change, they just say I will. I'm starting to feel it for better and worse. Especially when dealing with others illnesses, my innocense is gone.

Sent by Lisa | 7:58 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Dear Leroy,

It's the eyes, always the eyes. I think mine look deeper, now. They've certainly seen a lot more than I ever thought I would see. Or ever wanted to see.

Best,
Mo

Sent by Mo Spikes | 9:12 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Mr.Sievers,
I know you feel really crappy these days and I want you to know that through all of it, you still write with such wit. I look forward to your blog every day and hope you are getting some relief from your pain. I continue to think about you in prayer.
Sandy Morrow

Sent by Sandy Morrow | 9:36 PM ET | 12-11-2007

Gosh, Larry, you seem like an old friend and you don't even know me. I am sitting in the surgery waiting room at M. D. Anderson Cancer center...for the fourth time... waiting to know that my husband and I still have a future...but you know, your blog has taken away the isolation I felt at first. I can't thank you enough for that. Please know that we are e-holding your hand in return while you go through your journey.

Sent by Pamela Booth | 10:03 AM ET | 12-12-2007

Hi Leroy-
I haven't written in a while but I check in every weekday. This entry brought immediate tears to my eyes. I think that very same thing, the look of the carefree, life-taken-for-granted-me, that was my look. And the look after the diagnosis... it is different. Really hard for the naked eye to see, but I see it. I see it still-when I look in the mirror. I also saw that look in my husband's annual ID picture, it made me cry. He looked changed.
And we are.
And yet, there are still Christmas trees and presents and... and... everything that makes up a life. And all we can do is take that life, even if we think it is an unlucky one, and keep moving forward. I think sometimes I say these things mostly to assure myself that I can endure any future pain/discovery/recurrence.
I thank you so very much for putting what is in my heart and often on my mind into words. I hope that you know what a gift it is you give to us...
Peace and healing to you my friend!

Sent by Cathy Skubik | 10:51 PM ET | 12-12-2007