As Leroy Sievers says, "Most of you know me as someone with cancer. Google my name -- and yes, I confess, I've done that -- more often than not, it comes up linked to one other word: cancer. But what about all the other things I've been?"

Sievers has been a journalist for most of his adult life. He's also been a baker, a short-order cook, a teacher, and an aspiring author. Yet cancer is the word most often used to describe this man.

But maybe not for long.

Could it be that Sievers -- a man whose life has been derailed by a deadly cancer traveling throughout his body, a man who has been contemplating death with each passing day -- may soon be rid of cancer altogether?

Actually, Sievers already sees glimpses of cancer falling to the wayside.

Having undergone a new procedure called Radio Frequency Ablation -- where needles are stuck into tumors, burning them away from the inside out -- Sievers sees a brighter future. He's seen his latest scans. He's seen the black holes where tumors once lived. He's seen that no new tumors have appeared. He's seen that he may actually survive cancer.

Months ago, this man, who blogs his cancer journey for NPR, was told he would likely not survive the year. Now he realized he may outlive this prediction. And while this is great news, Sievers finds himself a bit unsure about a life without cancer.

"Will I be somebody who used to have cancer?" he says. "I think most cancer patients don't ever think it's really gone. It's just hiding, waiting to jump out and scare us when we least expect it. Will I be able to resume my old life? To rebuild my battered body into what it was before? I don't know. But I know this disease has changed me dramatically in so many ways. I am a different person. Hopefully a better person. You cannot go through an ordeal like this and not be profoundly affected."

Now that's what a call a fresh perspective.

To read previously-written posts about Leroy Sievers, click here.

Leroy Sievers has many titles. He's a journalist and a commentator and even a blogger. He's a cancer patient too. And while he accepts cancer patient as one of his working titles, he never would have said this title dominates all others in his life. He is, after all, more than cancer.

On his December 4 NPR podcast and My Cancer blog entry, Sievers reports about a host on a radio call-in show who recently asked him if cancer overshadows everything else in his life.

"No," he answered, recalling the first time he had cancer. He was treated with surgery and moved on. Cancer didn't overshadow anything. But that cancer was different than the cancer now invading his lungs, spine, and brain. And after a bit of thought, Sievers thinks he may have been too quick with his radio response.

This cancer is not a drive-by-disease, he says. It's grabbed him -- and is holding on. It has changed his entire life. He can no longer do everything he once did. And not a day goes by without a reminder of cancer. The treatment, the nausea, the tingling in his hands. Cancer is with him all the time, lurking in the shadows.

Whether he gets the pleasure of remission or the disappointment of a set-back, Sievers realizes he will always be a cancer patient. He realizes that cancer does in fact overshadow everything else in his life.

Previous posts about the cancer journey of Leroy Sievers are as follows:

Journalist Leroy Sievers adjusts to newfound hope
War journalist now witnessing his own cancer death
NPR Leroy Sievers blogs My Cancer

Journalist, commentator, and cancer patient Leroy Sievers -- the guy we've written about before, the guy who has covered many wars and witnessed countless deaths, the guy who is now observing his own death as cancer in his lungs and spine chip away at his life -- has realized that getting good news takes some getting used to.

Sievers got some good news recently. He learned that the new combination of chemotherapy drugs he's been receiving has shrunk the tumors in his lungs. And scans show the tumor on his spine is healing. It's taken him days to truly understand this concept -- this concept of hope that has miraculously delivered him more time. He didn't expect it.

Sievers fully expected that he would soon be dead. That's why he's been savoring the cold, crisp fall days -- because he was not certain he would ever see such a season. He was sure he would never host another Halloween party either -- a party he canceled this year due to his health. But now, as he takes in this new sensation of hope, he considers the possibility he may be around for another party. And he thinks he'll dress up as a tumor. Halloween is one time when good taste is never important, he says.

Sievers, who offers a weekly personal health update for NPR, available in print or in podcast format on his blog, plans to keep living in the moment. He doesn't want to overdo this hope thing. So right now, he is simply enjoying the colorful leaves -- and the season he calls one of his favorites.

Leroy Sievers is a journalist who has spent a long career covering dozens of wars. He is accustomed to seeing other people die. But now, he is witnessing his own death. And on a recent NPR podcast, Sievers talks about how his doctors are trying to kill him by pumping poisonous chemotherapy drugs into his body. They haven't succeeded in killing him yet -- but they haven't cured him of cancer yet either.

Blogger Dalene Entenmann wrote about Sievers on July 3, 2006, pointing readers in the direction of his NPR blog My Cancer. Since her posting, Sievers has continued to reflect on his battle and on October 3, he shared an essay about chemotherapy -- the same essay he reads on the NPR poscast. He tells readers and listeners that nowadays he reports for chemotherapy every three weeks and sits for five or six hours while drugs sail through his veins. The drugs just keep coming -- and a vacation from this drug treatment is nowhere in sight. It's become a way of life for a man who is simply buying time. It is a changed life -- one he would happily live without.

Sievers, who thought he won the war against colon cancer and is now fighting brain and lung cancer, wakes each morning and feels pretty good -- as long as he stays in bed. When he gets up, the nausea begins and the tingling in his hands and feet begins. It takes him hours to get going, and eating is the last thing on his mind. But he takes pills that require food so giving up food is not an option. Sievers fights through debilitating fatigue each day, and no longer schedules anything in the morning. Mid-day -- when he feels pretty good -- is when he packs in appointments and meetings. But it all wipes him out and by the end of the day, the nausea and fatigue is back. One-quarter of one day, and Sievers is totally spent. And then each evening is a repeat of each morning.

Sievers is trying a new drug and hopes it will shrink his tumor. He doesn't want to get his hopes up though, and he fears disappointment. Mostly, though, he wants his old life back. Even if just for a few days.

Over a month ago we introduced you to Miriam Engelberg, breast cancer survivor and author of Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person: A Memoir in Comics. Years before she was diagnosed with cancer, she had planned on creating comics featuring life as a mother.

Instead, she used cartooning as a way to cope with the shock of diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, support groups, and a second cancer diagnosis. Today I discovered her blogging at Live Journal about her current cancer treatments, adventures in the world of being a published author and every day life as Miriam Engelberg.

In addition, at her Miriam Engelberg website, she features a weekly cartoon. Engelberg is simply delightful and deliciously funny. You'll enjoy the blog and the featured weekly cartoon.  

"Death and I are hardly strangers. In my career as a journalist, I've covered 14 wars, genocides, natural disasters. I've seen tens of thousands of people die in front of me. Most of those deaths were sudden, brutal, painful, often without dignity." -- Leroy Sievers

Leroy Sievers, after a routine colonoscopy four years ago, was diagnosed with colon cancer. After undergoing surgery, he was diagnosed cancer-free. At the time, he referred to himself as a poster child for early detection and treatment. Earlier this year, he began slurring his words and one side of his face began to droop. Tests revealed a brain tumor. Further tests revealed lung tumors. Sievers asked the doctor for the worst-case scenario -- the doctor gave him six months to live.