Yes, i do miss some of my "radiation friends", but not enough to want to go back.
:)

Sent by Jenn | 7:14 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Good Friday morning Leroy! Isn't is amazing how Life keeps throwing new experiences at you? All these thoughts and messages that you could never have dreamed about a year ago. Did you find out what caused the breakdown? Seems that this ole world is going crazy, or have we gotten just too sophisticated for our own good? A return to a simplier time might be nice for awhile. Wouldn't it be great if we had that "reverse time machine"? Where we could go back to any day or time in the past that we would choose? Kinda like "My Town". Loved that picture!
Meanwhile, it sounds like you made the best of a bad situation and learned more about Human Nature and your fellow mem. A very interesting story today Leroy.
Have a really good week-end, (it is almost over for the Radiation), and I shall await your words Monday morning!

Sent by J C R | 7:52 AM ET | 04-11-2008

That is so very true. Especially because the patients appointments are usually around the same time. I remember taking my sister for her treatments only one day a week because dad help with the other days so I could work. The "regulars" would ask where dad was or if he was ok.

1 week and 1 day since he has finished his journey here. Time passes and still I hear from those people he touched, what a great man he was. He was MY DAD!

Sent by Sue Chap | 8:24 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy, I am glad you are narrowing down those treatments. Today your post was right on. There is deffinetly a comradre with those we share with in the cancer world. I am sure the others enjoyed haveing you hang out with them.

With the weekend coming upon us I hope that you and Laurie will be able to get some rest and hopefully enjoy some sun shine. The spring time is a beautiful time of year.

Sent by dorothy in oregon | 8:36 AM ET | 04-11-2008

The camaraderie can be amazing. My mother-in-law just finished 7 weeks of radiation and her driver AKA my husband was practically adopted by another family they saw every day. The first time I drove Mom, when I walked into the waiting room with her, everyone there already knew everything about me, my kids, my grandkids, my weinie dog... The atmosphere made the experience much easier on Mom, who was quite anxious to begin with and soon became an old pro.

Have a great weekend, Leroy and Laurie!

Sent by Brenda | 8:38 AM ET | 04-11-2008

I had a special radiation friend too. And too, once I was done I never saw her again until about a week ago. I guess we were both in for a check up....but this time when I smiled at her, no smile back. Then it hit me. I had hair. Before, I guess I was just the "bald girl" with cancer. Oh well, I am sure she didn't mean anything by it. These friends and treatments are "fleeting". I do feel we have to think of them as that, because for sure, we wouldn't want to go back to them. Enjoy your weekend.
Prayers, Blessings and May The Grace Of God Be With You.
Wanda Amorose

Sent by Wanda Amorose | 8:40 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy,
I used to work in oncology at a VA hospital, and I saw exactly what you are talking about--the camaraderie among the patients. Good luck with the last radiation sessions!

Sent by Lisa D. | 8:41 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Hi Leroy,

I got an instant support group as we all waited for our radiation treatments, one after another, evderyday for six weeks. Now we are the best of friends and meet regularly for breakfast, support one another through new cancer crises or just issues with our kids and husbands. We call ourselves the "glow girls" and also do the Komen walk together every year. Some good things actually come from this horrible disease.

Be well,

Lianne

Sent by Lianne Friedman | 8:50 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Dear Leroy,

Thank you so much for your good work. I wish every hospital designer and administrator would raed your columns--they would learn so much--and hopefully listen to you and make improvements. You are teaching the world.

Be well, Jeanne

Sent by Jeanne Fleming | 9:10 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Prior to entering the cancer world, I worked (and continue to work) in the health care field. I noticed right off that boundaries and connections were very different, more fluid. Hugs shared, stories told, with docs as well as other patients. I guess we're all traveling companions on this journey that most of us never chose to take.

I wish everyone a restful and peaceful spring weekend!

Sent by betsey in albany ny | 9:13 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Chatting with others in the waiting room is the best way of all to pass that empty time, I have found. And even if your new friends are temporary, you've brightened someone else's life and reduced their boredom and frustration. Especially if you can have given them information that they can use!

Sent by Alycia Keating | 9:21 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Nice you got to hang out with new friends and only one hour before things were up and running. I am part of Cancer World because my 35-year old son, Andrew, has end stage cancer, melanoma. He is at home and hospice is being started. Tom, my husband and his dad, is staying here with him so he can remain in his condo in Virginia. I return to work o Monday in New Jersey. I look forward to your news every day. It sure has helped me during this very sad time in our lives. Thanks, Leroy

Sent by Maureen | 9:24 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Some of those brief friendships can be the most rewarding now, since we've accepted our vulnerabilities and let down some of our shields.

My husband and I are off to Maui today - our first trip there and our first vacation in years. I know it's a special place for you Leroy, and for some of your readers. I've reread your blogs from Hawaii last year - I wish you all could be there too. We will send much Aloha spirit out to each of you.

Sent by Patte | 10:02 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Dear Maureen,
I am devastated that my husband of 40 years has Stage IV lung cancer and is currently in the hospital but I'll pray for your 35 year old son and you and your husband.

Sent by Elaine | 10:12 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Not only do barriers go down in terms of willingness to disclose personal information about one's health, there also aren't the other usual barriers. When I had radiation, the guy before me was an older rural working-class conservative (and very typically male). I was younger, female, feminist, liberal and overeducated. In the normal world we would have gotten on each other's nerves I have no doubt, and I think we both knew it (we both made remarks about our own preferences and political views), but we were both fighting our cancer battles and we were nothing but kind to each other.

You wish that whatever creates that (fighting a common enemy-the cancer) could carry over to the real world a little more often.

Sent by N.R. | 10:23 AM ET | 04-11-2008

My father said exactly the same thing about his time getting radiation for colon cancer.

We're made to connect with each other, whether it's in a waiting room or on a blog. I'm glad you are sharing your story, Leroy.

Sent by Celeste | 10:24 AM ET | 04-11-2008

we're the 'chemo girls'...originally 4 of us who decided that we should meet outside the clinic for dinner & drinks...choose our own poison, so to speak. we are now 8--we topped out at 10 but we have buried two of our members. most of us still meet socially about every 6-8 weeks, & it's way more fun than our clinic encounters.

we know we're all doomed...that's the practical fact. but it's a blessing to know each other on a more intimate level--i'm sick of learning about these people & their worthwhile lives by reading their obituaries.

to maureen & tom, & elaine: i've been both the patient & the caregiver, & both are stunning challenges. yours is a helluva task, but truly, truly a labour of love. thank you.

peace
jj

Sent by Joan Jones | 10:29 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Dear Maureen,

I am so sorry for your family. My recent loss of my dad involved hospice care, you were wise to go with them. They are wonderful, truly. You family is in my prayers at this time.

Sent by Sue Chap | 10:33 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Once during my radiation treatments one of the machines went down. So when I arrived, the usual group included some new faces. Welcomed faces. The faces of those who had been waiting for a while. Some even were called back only to have the machine go down and again and be sent back to the waiting room. We knew who needed the limited chairs the most and politely gave up seats accordingly. We usually chat about the very topics you have described here. But this day was the best. I wanted to stick around. Really I did. But evidently my machine was working fine. So I was called away for my treatment. I'm thankful to have had those chats and that the group had each other on that day.

Sent by JSM | 10:48 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy, there IS comnmunity in hospital situations - because I am a talker and sometimes a good listener; I learned things from people in physical rehab that I would tell the occupational therapist - that people did not tell them - they felt that the therapists were TOO BUSY - I felt that some of those things could make the patient happier and more comfortable - it was a COMMUNITY. You brought back some very nice memories from several years ago.

Maureen, Tom and Elaine, you have my sympathy and prayers for YOUR STRENGTH. G-d tends to keep us sane at these hellish times - and please G-d, the love and prayers of those who know you will help also.

Take care and prayers and love to all who need and/or don't need it at this time.

Jan

Sent by Janice Goldberg White | 11:14 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Hi. this is my first post here and i have been reading through some of your posts Leroy. reading your words about your experiences reminds me of the days when i would listen to my father talk about cancer. he suffered from stage five stomach cancer. Sadly he passed away almost three years ago and reading yours words were refreshing beucase it brought back a whole mess of memories and talks i would have with my father. also i would like to note that i have just started a blog about how to cope and grieve from my own experiences after losing somebody from cancer. its called http://www.victimofcancer.com I would love to spread the word o fthis site and also hear other peoples stories.

thanks

andy

Sent by Andy | 11:16 AM ET | 04-11-2008

You always seem to find the "silver lining" and I'm sure that is what pulls you through each time. Thank you for your humor, humanity and so many other good qualities in the face of adversity. I hope the weekend brings you all kinds of good things, esp. knowing your radiation is almost completed.

Sent by Barbara Langan | 11:26 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Dear Leroy,

My husband and I developed a group of radiation buddies while I was undergoing radiation after my first surgery, the Whipple. The caregiver of one person said she made it a tradition to give a momento to someone on the day of their last treatment. I still treasure and wear the brooch she gave me. Like Jenn, I wouldn't want to repeat the experience; but I was profoundly moved and affected by the displays of strength, support, and love that I witnessed. Cancer World sucks most of the time, but there are some moments of grace.

You and Laurie remain in my thoughts and prayers. Thanks again for this blog.

Sent by Erica | 11:27 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Your words today remind me of how my Mum and Dad would talk about living through the blitz in London during the Second World War. There was a camaraderie between Londoners that grew, and neighbours developed bonds that kept people together in those awful times. Families would stay down in the tube stations and not know whose houses had been destroyed in the air raids until they came out the next day. Isn't it amazing that at the worst times of struggle, we can still find strength and comfort from others-and that we find hidden reserves of our spirit to connect with others who are suffering?

Sent by Tina from Alton IL | 11:44 AM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy,

Friendship - the sharing of one's life, deep feelings, and intimate secrets - can last for an hour or for a lifetime. The important thing is that I have connected with a fellow human being in a meaningful way. Glad you could have/be a buddy.

Blessings.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 12:34 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy, It all reminds us, we are not alone. Hang tough, Stan

Sent by Stan Wozniak | 12:56 PM ET | 04-11-2008

To Leroy and Everyone:

My prayers for healing and comfort are always with you all. God Bless.

Sent by Connie | 3:14 PM ET | 04-11-2008

At last, a "perk" for having cancer. New friends.
Seems one could hardly ask for more.
God bless us, every one.

Sent by Theresa Lovin | 3:24 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy,

A friend of mine wrote this and said I could share it. It made me think of your post today. She is a huge inspiration to me just as you are to so many.

Tina

From A Comfy Old Chair

Having enjoyed a beautiful Easter with my family and friends, the weekend ended way too soon. The girls started back to school and my husband went back to work. I returned to chemo. I had to force the car to drive there yesterday because I would have enjoyed nothing better than staying at home playing with the horses and piddling around the house. It's over an hour to drive to the hospital and some days it is a rather lonely trip. Other days I enjoy being lost with my thoughts. Yesterday, was a little of both. I was dreading treatment but imagining the good that it will do.

When I got to the office, Deb gave me a huge smile and a hug. My trepidation disappeared. Thank heavens for wonderful nurses! She told me that they were doing some redecorating and we'd soon be getting new infusion chairs. I've not given much thought to the soon to be replaced chair even though I've sat in it more times than I can count. It's a bluish-green color that isn't exactly inviting but isn't drab either. It has a serious demeanor with a tray in front; clinical but comfortable. Not quite worn out but dimpled in the cushions and aged more than some I've seen. I started thinking about the old saying if these walls could talk and began to wonder about the arms of these chairs. With four or five patients every single day, more than 100 lives are cushioned in each every given month. That's a lot of living! I've done my share of living while getting infused.

There have been times when I sought comfort from the high back and would relax comfortably in it's hug, determined that the chemo dripping into my body was melting tumors. Other times when I knew that my cancer was progressing, but hoped that the next concoction to be given in that very chair would bring more time and hope. I have experienced both dread and anticipation between those arms. There have been days where I literally had to make myself sit there. wanting to be anywhere and everywhere else. I have been mad and glad, scared and tired, sick and frustrated, excited and hopeful in that one silly chair. I've slept there, rested there, and
experienced every emotion under the sun sitting in the dimpled cushion of that chair. I've dreamed of my children and family, wished many wishes, and prayed many a prayer while sitting there. I've read books, listened to music, and met new friends.

As I sat in it yesterday the chair next to me saw two other patients come and go. The first was in and out fairly quickly....an old pro with this routine. The second was there for the first time and diagnosed with stage IV
colorectal cancer. She found out just before the birth of her son and is only 33 years old. Her husband was with her and at first I heard determination in the voice through the curtain but as the newness of what was happening began to settle in the voice became shakier. Questions filled the air. Will this make her sick? Will her hair fall out? How long until it works and how many treatments until she's done? Answers that had probably already been given a few times over but often come with different responses. I heard her husband's voice waver slightly and then he asked if she thought she would be ok if he left to call and check on the baby and work. My mind traveled back to those tearful first visits to chemo that now seem a lifetime ago and the emotions that Ronnie and I shared together all from a similar chair. We would ride home
with my head against his shoulder and his arm on my leg. I would sleep or pretend to sleep so that we could act as though what just happened hadn't.

Sometimes I would cry silently and sometimes we would cry together. And then there were the celebrations when all in the world was right and news was good. I lived, and still live, for moments like those. My thoughts were drawn to the girl next door. I heard sniffling and an effort to hold back tears. She was alone. I let her cry for a minute or two and then asked if she would mind company. I parted the curtains and we began to talk. We exchanged phone numbers and by the time her husband was back life stories. I saw the relief in his face when he saw her smile. A good feeling....all from the support of a comfy old chair. Suzanne

Sent by Tina Schaeffer | 3:55 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Dear Maureen,

I can only imagine how hard it must be to have to leave your son when he is so sick. My thought and prayers will be with you, your son and your husband.

Sent by Marcy in NJ | 4:24 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy, Hope you and Laurie will have a great weekend prior to your last radiation treatment (yeah)!
Maureen, you, your husband and your son are in my prayers. I am so sorry.

Sent by Jen | 5:05 PM ET | 04-11-2008

That's how I feel about everyone on this site...friends and supporters.

Sent by Mary C. | 5:44 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Yep... what you said, I experienced. My radiation treatments stopped Jan. 29th.. and I have often wondered about my other "new friends" from time to time. Amazing how "humanized" we become sharing our "out of the ordinary" experiences. A connection with a shared monster...may we always have enough compassion to lighten someone else's load. Bless you and peace/comfort for your weekend.

Sent by Jo Ann Baswell-Margate, FL | 6:43 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Leroy,
My first post. Your post today really touched my heart. I am a Radiation Therapist of 40 years. This July, my husband of 30 years and a Physician Assistant was diagnosed with Stage 3b Lung Cancer. He had radiation and chemo. He's back on chemo now. My staff and I always thought we knew so much about what cancer patients feel. We couldn't have been more wrong. So many of you wear a smile and don't really tell your therapist what you're feeling like. I told my staff that all we see is 15 minutes of a 23.75 hour day. I know now how radiation and chemo really beat you up and your entire family and close friends.
When I designed our new waiting room several years ago I made one female waiting and one male waiting. To my own astonishment the men are more chatty than the women sometimes!!Many friendships form there. Your postings are 100 % about the friendships and closeness that everyone shares.
I know that I've gone through this so I can be even more understanding and compassionate. God bless you and thank you for sharing your wonderful gift of writing. I can't tell you how many times over the last 9 months I've read a posting of yours and said: "yes! yes! yes!"
In my next life I'll do something about those hard tables ! There is a reason we don't use much padding on them but that's very individual to what part of the body you're being treated to.
Blessings

Sent by Suze | 6:57 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Yes Leroy, I recall with some fondness the relationships, albeit fleeting, I developed with fellow cancer patients in the hospital. Those of us who could walk the hallways with our gowns and masks, tethered to our IVs, sometimes would just say hi or simply nod. It's the kind of bond you get nowhere else. And the staff and doctors really liked seeing us doing our walking and encouraged us - that bit of encouragement was a nice little buoy for the time being. Same thing could be said for the outpatient visits for transfusions. With strangers sitting next to you, the barriers just fall because we share in cancer world. The chaplain recognized and sat with us like family. Leroy, I would love to have sat next to you!

Sent by Dorothy - Los Angeles | 7:46 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Elaine--I lost my husband of 37 years to lung cancer a year ago this month so I always look to see if you have posted. My advice is try to stay strong for him--Leon always said he could handle anything if I was OK so I tried to be "tough" (most of the time). I hope that I made him proud of me. Cherish every day with your husband--make memories, pictures, videos, etc.

Maureen and Tom, to you I say--Watching my husband deal with his lung cancer was sometimes unbearable for me because it was something I really couldn't help him with. But one thing I know would be harder to get through would be cancer hitting your child (we have two sons). So may God give you strength each day.

Leroy and Laurie, as always, thinking of you both. You continue to amaze me.

Jane

Sent by Jane from Arkansas | 7:55 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Dear Mr. Seivers,

I am a four year survivor of stage IV breast and secondary bone. Just got word that tumor markers were getting above normal again, and had an MRI today. Pet Scan on Monday. I chanced upon your blog as I was looking for some more information on one of the NPR programs today. You are great! Such an insider! There are so many things I see and deal with as a survivor that healthy folks are unaware of. I wanted to start a website that would look for the kindness at our cancer centers, but I am overwhelmed with dealing with everything else. Lack of padding on tables, the chairs, the buttons, everything you mention rings a bell. It was suggested that I get back on Herceptin with taxol, which would bring on the sickness issues, and also a danger to my heart. My terminal label is hard enough, without all the decisions, and having to hear the results of tests. Anyway, thank you for your courage to write. On top of all that, I have had to figure out how to live on just SSDI($940. per month) and food stamps ($150. per month), as I am disabled from the cancer, and not able to work full time. I am grateful for the help, but poverty makes matters worse.
Your world is my world, our world, the thousands of us who have actually been given possible departure dates for leaving the planet. I hate that part. I can handle it in a movie, but not in my own real life!
You are making a difference. How long would it take to ask a disabled person for advice, when designing a healing environment? Wouldn't it be exciting to find a SUGGESTION BOX on some counter, just waiting for our practical and helpful ideas? All those thousands of dollars spent, and they forget about little things. The new paint color in the infusion room that I visit every three weeks just got changed to a weird green/tan -- not a helpful color in the land of nausea! The last time I had a pet scan, I actually asked the technician that strapped me down, and put me in that tunnel for an hour, if he had ever been in it. He said no. An itchy nose with strapped down hands, can get very itchy. The last time I was in the pet scan tunnel, I started to cry, and the tears ran into my ears, to make matters worse. I had no way to wipe my tears with strapped down hands. I asked the guy if anyone ever started to cry, and he said no, moving quickly about with no time for chatting, in his very white lab coat, in that cold, very white room, with the very white tunnel. I do not believe him. I know we cry. Monday I have to return to that Twilight Zone at 10 am sharp, under orders to not breakfast before. All in a day's work of the cancer survivor.

You are my hero tonight, as I cope with a headache from today's MRI. Your blog is comforting, caring, and so true.
God Bless You! Robyn
For all of us, keep telling them about all the nonsense we have to deal with. Never stop! They need to know. It could be their life tomorrow. We need their help, and more kindness in the details. Till this national epidemic is eradicated, we ask to be treated with more compassion at our cancer centers. Like reading a story to the children in preschool, and giving them snacks, it is about human kindness. Thank you again, and hope you are feeling better soon.

Sent by Robyn Farrell | 10:27 PM ET | 04-11-2008

GOD BLESS YOU !!!

Sent by Lori | 10:56 PM ET | 04-11-2008

Almost done w/radiation! That's good news. You are great a/b making the most of a situation. What else can you do? Sleep peacefully Leroy.
Love, Jennifer

Sent by Jennifer in CA | 12:28 AM ET | 04-12-2008

My husband, Curt, a cancer warrior since 1998, died yesterday of this unspeakable disease. Curt's nemesis was HNPCC, a geneticly transmitted form of colon cancer that also took his older brother, is mother, his aunt and his uncle. Curt was 57, a Viet Nam veteran, cartoonist and graphic artist, Phillies fan, and lover of wooden boats, rocks, moss, red wine and Bob Dylan. Proud son of the great state of Delaware.

I have never been sadder in my life than I am now. He fought long and hard, armed with seemingly every chemo regime known to medical mankind.

Phuk cancer for taking my husband and our daughter's daddy.

Sent by Teri | 6:44 AM ET | 04-12-2008

I'm so inspired by the way you manage to find the sun, even on a rainy day, Leroy.

Sent by Linnea | 9:53 AM ET | 04-12-2008

Leroy, I'm home today. Had my brain surgery Thursday morning and came home yesterday, Friday afternoon. AMAZING! The tumor is out, I may need radiation, never had it on my head before. I thought about you when they put me on the MRI table, it's soo small, how did you fit? Anyway, I was scared to death but I made it through. I feel like Frankinstein, metal staples all over the back of my head. I was a little dissapointed that I had NOT heard anything from you after all we've been through a lot together. Oh well, I am still here, thought I'd let you know.

Sent by Ruth White | 3:38 PM ET | 04-12-2008

I am worried. You have not posted for two
days. I read your blog daily altho I have never written you. However today I am writing ...because I am worried.

Sent by Betty | 9:01 PM ET | 04-13-2008

As my daddy always used to say: Take a lemon of a situation and make lemonade! Well done.

Sent by Rose Patterson | 1:04 AM ET | 04-14-2008

I hope you are doing okay. I do have an understanding of your journey as I walked this walk with my mother 14 years ago and we have just began the walk again. Stay in the game! I wish you contintued strength, courage, and want you to know you are a hero for sharing this with all of us out here. Thank you!

Sent by Janine | 2:21 AM ET | 04-14-2008

It was so good to hear you this morning. Keep up the fight Leroy, and keep on telling us your story.

Sent by Mori | 9:20 PM ET | 04-14-2008

I too walk the walk. I have had cancer 3 times now. I lost the thyroid the left lung and found a tumor on the upper left lobe of lung. It couldnt be operated on It is too close to my spine. I have had chemo treatments and major doses of radiation. This has bought me some time. I go for another pet scan in June. Good luck to allwho also have to deal this this terrible disease!!! Keep fighting!

Sent by sharon Fuller | 8:47 AM ET | 04-24-2008