Leroy Sievers' Cancer Conversations For more than a year, Leroy Sievers has been blogging and commenting on NPR about his battle against cancer. A new Discovery Channel documentary tells his story and that of the people who have responded to his blog.

Leroy Sievers' Cancer Conversations

Leroy Sievers' Cancer Conversations

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Leroy Sievers speaks with Dr. Christos Georgiades at Johns Hopkins Hospital in March 2007. Tyrone Turner hide caption

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Tyrone Turner

Leroy Sievers speaks with Dr. Christos Georgiades at Johns Hopkins Hospital in March 2007.

Tyrone Turner

Video: 'Living with Cancer'

Watch selected scenes from Ted Koppel's documentary, airing at 8 p.m. May 6 on the Discovery Channel.

Appearing in the Discovery Channel documentary, Living with Cancer Stephanie Dornbrook says that responding to Sievers' blog gave her the courage to openly discuss aspects of her battle against cancer with her family. The Koppel Group/Koppel on Discovery hide caption

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The Koppel Group/Koppel on Discovery

From War to Personal Battle

NPR blogger and Morning Edition commentator Leroy Sievers is the subject of a Discovery Channel documentary on Sunday, May 6, about his struggle with cancer. The documentary is by Discovery Managing Editor Ted Koppel, who is an NPR senior news analyst and an old friend and ABC News colleague of Sievers. In an essay for NPR.org, Koppel reflects on their experience.

Sievers works on his blog at home in January 2007. Tyrone Turner hide caption

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Tyrone Turner

Sievers works on his blog at home in January 2007.

Tyrone Turner

'My Cancer'

Leroy Sievers writes a daily blog and does a weekly podcast called 'My Cancer.'

A little more than a year ago, Leroy Sievers began a conversation with these words: "Death and I are hardly strangers." Ever since, he's been writing about his battle against cancer — for Morning Edition, and for a blog on NPR.org.

Sievers' commentaries and blog have generated an overwhelming response from people around the country, like these:

Last week, I was in Goody's and while standing in the checkout line, some woman was holding up the line for some unknown reason and I thought and I thought about saying, take me NOW, I have cancer." -- Ruth White, Nashville, Tenn.

              * * *

I've gotten past, 'Why me?' It's obvious to me that I had no control over it. I couldn't pick my grandparents who had colorectal cancer or my parent who had breast cancer." -- Bob Maimone, Kent, Wash.

              * * *

For those of us in Stage 4 disease, even remission is a gift that we know will one day be taken back. So the trick is to enjoy the heck out of the gift while we have it... -- Nancy Clark, West Trenton, N.J.

Those are some of the people who've joined an online conversation with the journalist Leroy Sievers over more than a year now. He's the subject of a Discovery Channel documentary this weekend by his longtime colleague Ted Koppel.

Sievers discusses his cancer-blogging experience with Steve Inskeep.

What makes you want to talk about your condition?

When I first started out, a lot of people thought I was nuts. It's like, 'Why do you want to talk about it?' Because for the most part people don't talk about it. And the more I thought about it, it's part of my life. People that care about me, the people around me, have a right to know. And also I just don't think I can keep something that big quiet. And it's OK to talk about it.

So how do you start a conversation, then?

This is my story, and when I look at the people that write into the blog, a lot of them don't respond necessarily to something I write. They simply tell their story: 'This is where I am.' On the other side, there are people that write and say, 'Boy, my mother, father, husband, wife never said a word. I didn't know what they were going through.' And that's really what drives me to talk about it.

Marianne Dalton, a ballet teacher and former ballerina in Rochester, N.Y., wrote this on Sievers' blog:

Last night, looking into the mirror, I thought I saw an alien. It was moi. Completely hairless the past four months, I'm now missing my eyebrows, eyelashes and my fingernails are turning black. All with being breastless and scars. It was Valentine's Day. I know vanity is striking my image on the most romantic day of the year, but I completely lost it when I hopped into bed last night and my husband told me how beautiful I was on Valentine's Day.

Once the floodgates are open to stories like that, what is off-limits? What are the things that you don't say when cancer survivors talk to one another?

I don't think there's anything off-limits. I mean, you talk about the inner workings of your body. You talk about things you don't talk about in polite society. It's a different world. We call it cancer world.

Do you ever talk about what someone's chances might be?

Sure, very directly. My first question when I was told I had a brain tumor was, how long? And the prognosis was pretty bleak. I've been told any number of times, probably a couple of months. And we really thought this summer was probably going to be it for me.

When you first learned of that diagnosis, brain cancer, was there something that you decided you wanted to run out and do, or at least thought about?

There really wasn't. It was a shock. I had had colon cancer five years before. I was clean for four and a half years and then I got a new tumor in my brain. One of the things I think bothers people sometimes when I say it [is] I'm at peace with this process. I've had a great life. I've traveled the world and all that. I'm not eager to die, I don't want to die, I'm not ready to die. But I'm OK with the process.

Why does that bother people?

Because I think they think it sounds like I'm giving up and I'm not. You deal with death on a daily basis. And it scares you still, but in some ways it loses some of the mystery maybe.

Have you learned something from the many cancer survivors you've met on the blog?

Oh, sure. A lot. The obvious one is life is precious. That sounds like something on a Hallmark card or something like that. But you still appreciate each day more than we did before.

Bob Maimone wrote:

A friend of mine saw me at the garden store with a cart full of perennial plants. He noted that buying perennials instead of annuals must be a sign that I'm planning to be around longer than [an] annual plant. You bet. I want to be able to look at every one of those plants I place in my garden and think back on when I used to be a stage 4 colorectal cancer patient.

It's springtime. Are you gardening?

No, I'm not. I'm not a good gardener. I move the trash and things like that. But for the first six or eight months, I bought no clothes because I didn't think I was going to need them. I actually wrote about it on the blog and got a big response. I went out and bought a pair of shoes, which was a big step. In the same way he was talking about planting the perennials. In some way, you're sticking your thumb in the eye of the cancer. But it's a gesture of hope that I'm going to be around long enough to use them.

Can you joke about your cancer?

I can. I don't think people like to hear it. One of the first things someone wrote in and said, 'You know, at toll plazas people with cancer should have a special lane so we can go through because we don't have that much time.' It's OK to laugh about it. It's OK to joke about it, but it makes people really uncomfortable. I think people are so afraid of appearing insensitive or saying the wrong thing or something like that. Sometimes as the patient, I want to laugh about it. It's absurd.

How far ahead do you look now?

I don't know. I'm in a strange situation now. First of the year, my chemo had failed, tumors were growing. And then through radiation and something called radiofrequency ablation, we've killed them all. Now, some of the blood tests indicate that there's still something in there, but my active tumors are dead. So I used to joke I needed a job, not a career. And now I'm in the position of saying, 'Boy, I need to get my career back on track.' So I'm starting to gradually push that back to maybe a couple of years.