Kids can be so positive and encouraging, even in the face of sickness. Now today my kids have just a simple sickness -- nothing life-threatening -- that I'm sure will pass in a day or so. They are throwing up every content of their little tummies -- even sips of water -- and they are pale and lethargic and run-down. But still, they have hope for a brighter tomorrow. This morning, five-year-old Joey said to me while resting in my bed and just after he threw up , "this is just the good getting rid of the bad." He went on to explain how the good in our bodies knows when to push the bad out. And this is what is happening to him today, he said. He is throwing up the bad so the good can take over. Simple. Easy. Makes sense.

I never saw my own sickness like this. Instead of visualizing chemotherapy as a good agent that kills bad cells, I was repulsed by the horrific liquids that poisoned my body. I knew of people who were able to turn chemotherapy into a Pac-Man game -- with Pac Man chomping away at the cancer cells and leaving nothing but healthy cells to thrive. And I knew people who were relieved to feel sick because it meant the chemotherapy was working. I never saw it like this -- although I do know that chemotherapy may have saved me from a life with cancer. I was discouraged by chemotherapy. I had a negative attitude about it, and I had to really gear up for all of my infusions. I still -- more than one year later -- cannot eat anything I ate on my chemo days. The mere thought of these foods makes me feel ill.

A pediatrician friend of mine told me that kids with cancer tend to be positive. There are a few old souls, she said, but for the most part, they continue to tackle life with spirit and adventure and simplicity. Like my boys today who are peacefully napping at the moment so everything good in their bodies can come back with a vengeance.

I was present for death only one time in my 36 years of life. I consider this both a bad and a good thing. It's bad because I did not want my grandmother to die -- and watching it happen made it so real, so vivid, so painful. I don't think I would have ever chosen to watch my grandma die -- to watch her slip from consciousness to coma, to observe her altered body once death arrived, to witness the movement of her body on a stretcher as it was wheeled out of the house from the bedroom I still see every time I visit my mom's house. But I think I am lucky really -- and this is the good part -- because I got to be with her during her final moments. I got to watch her body as it lay still, peaceful and calm and still breathing. I got to talk to her and although she could not respond, I believe she could hear my words. And it makes me happy to know my grandma may have known I was with just prior to her flight to heaven. And after her flight, I got to touch her cool hands. I got to feel the power of the passing of one life -- a long life -- and I got to feel the comfort of a death that was not ugly or painful or difficult. It was sad -- it's still sad -- that my grandma died three years ago. But what a privilege it was to be part of the day she left this world.

Susan DeWilde left this world in much the same way -- with loved ones by her side. She was a fighter and had conquered several rounds of breast cancer, a tumor in her spinal cord, uterine cancer, lymphatic cancer, and then leukemia, which took her life at the age of 53. I don't know this from Susan herself but from her friend, Christy Mack -- who helped her accept her death and guided her into her own final moments so that she could escape her pain and die peacefully. Christy writes about her beautiful friend and her empowering death in an article that appears in the August 2006 Oprah Magazine. Titled Friends to the End, Christy's story details how she soothed her friend, cradled her hand, and talked her through her last breaths. She helped her on her way during a time her friend feared most. Christy writes, "What she and I shared the night she died was a precious gift of friendship, emotionally profound and sacred in its perfection. It broke my heart. It strengthened my soul."

This I understand.

I received a comment today on my Sunday Seven post about how inspiring sentiments help me survive. The comment was from a women who is surviving lung cancer and she asked a question to all readers really -- when will the fear of recurrence ever go away? How do you out there deal with it? So I replied to her private e-mail address and shared my thoughts about fear and recurrence and how I deal with these issues as a cancer survivor. She replied and wrote, your e-mail was so uplifting. I think I just found you on a really bad day and I am thankful that I did. And so I realized that maybe I should not limit my thoughts to just one person when others are surely in her same boat -- my same boat. So here is what I wrote to this one reader who -- like so many others on my journey -- has helped me by allowing me the chance to help her.

Just want to say that I think you are already dealing with the fear-of-recurrence thing because you have been surviving for as long as you have been traveling this bumpy road. So while you survive, you just need to live each day like it's your last and fight for your life at the same time. Someone once told me to think of cancer as a chronic condition -- something we will live with for the rest of your lives. And we just keep treating it, wherever it pops up. And the longer we survive, the more resources there are to help us survive even longer. As for getting through each day, I recommend counseling (I go once per month but at one time I went each week). I also take an anti-depressant (Zoloft) which I do not push on anyone, but for me, it has helped. I went to my oncologist one day and asked him how to live peacefully without worrying constantly that cancer is coming back to haunt me -- he said many cancer patients take anti-depressants to take the edge off so I began the drug and began counseling too. Neither completely take away the fear -- but they help me manage and that's all I can ask for. I also have two little boys who keep me busy and distracted from feeling sorry for myself. And I try to keep busy in other ways too. Helping others with cancer -- or others who just need help -- is healthy too!

Helping others with cancer does help me. It reminds me that I am not alone and that others have fears like me and that collectively, we can all survive better if we lean on one another and borrow from one another and inspire one another.

At the same Atlanta meeting of the American Society of Clinical Oncology where the breast cancer drug Tykerb was touted as perhaps the next wonder drug, findings were also released concerning chemotherapy and end-stage cancer. It seems that many patients in the last weeks and days of their lives are receiving chemotherapy -- when it is clear that there is no hope for survival. Perhaps patients don't want to give up and so they choose to fight to the very end. I think I would be hard-pressed to throw in the towel if a doctor thought I might benefit from continued treatment. Miracles do happen.

Doctors may be part of the problem, though, according to researchers. Patients don't want to give up -- and neither do doctors. But cancer specialists report that overly aggressive treatment gives false hope and puts people though unnecessary suffering and costly ordeals when hospice would be a more effective route. The purpose of hospice -- to help people die with dignity and in comfort -- is ineffective, however, when it's not used to its full potential. A large review of Medicare records showed in 1999 that nearly 12 percent of cancer patients died after receiving chemotherapy in the last two weeks of life. This was up from 1993 -- 10 percent -- and is probably higher today. These individuals could have been peacefully preparing for death and instead were suffering through the trials of harsh treatment.

The solution -- that must be implemented by doctors -- is a willingness to accept that there is a time to stop followed by an honest conversation with the patient whose cancer has spread widely and is incurable.

Another study presented at this Atlanta meeting revealed that some patients are not being offered newer treatments that might truly save their lives. New lung cancer treatments have extended survival from 20 percent at one year to 50 percent, for example. Yet only 11 percent of doctors in one Wisconsin study would refer such patients for treatment.

It would be nice to know for sure that one life is about to end, regardless of treatment, and to know that another might be saved because of treatment. And maybe one day -- when treating cancer is an exact science -- this will be a reality.