"Anything is possible. You can be told that you have a 90-percent chance or a 50-percent chance or a 1-percent chance, but you have to believe, and you have to fight." Lance Armstrong

Karen told us firmly, All discussion will be Positive. I'm going to live, she said. I only want to know what I can do about it. That's what we're going to focus on, she said. Life. Positive attitude. Healing and dealing.

Monday Karen, Bob and I went to her oncologist. A unique human being, dedicating his life to finding the best treatment --right now the only treatment-- and one day a cure for melanoma metastasized to the liver.

We've faced doctors together before. For Alex. For Karen. We have a routine. I do the research, then Judy and I put together questions (it helps that Judy's a nurse). My job is to keep a clear head, take notes, ask the questions, remember the answers. Share them when needed.

This time my job was also to talk privately with the doctor, ask the tough questions, become the keeper of any tough answers. They're in the vault.

So, with a Positive Attitude, I'm going to remind Karen of the most important thing we learned. Our family should listen. You can too.

This is not the end of your life. Those are the words I want you to hear, to heed, to hold on to with your head and your heart and your inner strength. They are the mantra you will use --we all will use-- to cope, to deal, to sleep, to work, to laugh, to love, to live.

This is not the end of your life. That's what the oncologist said. First words out of his mouth as he came in the room. You heard it, sitting cross-legged on the exam table in one of those ridiculous hospital gowns and your soft ankle socks, with your unruly crown of glorious curls, looking so scared and so beautiful and so healthy and about 6 years old.

This is not the end of your life. Bob heard it, sitting in a chair opposite, so tall and straight, seeming still and quiet as always, but his eyes never leaving your face, his kinetic energy a palpable force willing his wife, his friend, his partner, his love, the mother of his children to be strong, safe, well.

This is not the end of your life. I heard it, sitting next to Bob, doing my best to be relaxed and funny and supportive in my official aunt-friend-fill-in-for-mom role, busily taking notes on my legal pad, everything the nurses and physician's assistant said before the doctor came in, next steps, treatments, tests, side effects (white hair!), requirements, possibilities, expectations.

THIS IS NOT THE END OF YOUR LIFE. Halfway down the page I printed those words just like that, big block letters, all caps, each word underlined, just as the doctor said them when he came in. Because until he said them we all thought, we all believed, we all couldn't admit, we all feared, we all... well, no. We're not going there. We're staying Here, in the Now, under that banner, that life-affirming canopy of safe haven.

This is not the end of your life. I filled two pages of notes under that banner, the doctor's assessment, reasons for each treatment, answers to our questions, assurances, reassurances. Realities too. He's so matter-of-fact. Calm.Thorough. Incredibly patient and kind. He doesn't rush. We ask the same questions four different ways, he gives the same answers, letting us absorb slowly, surely, positively.

This is not the end of your life. You will not have chemo. Yea!! Well, chemo doesn't work on inoperable liver metastases. Or the ones on your spleen. Damn. But. This treatment, the one this doctor discovered, developed, got FDA approval for, this one does work on the liver, goes directly into the liver, is working for others. It. Will. Work. For. You.

This is not the end of your life. It won't be easy. Unpleasant at best . But not constantly. One treatment a month, overnight in the hospital, feeling sick. "We're giving you the flu," the doctor says. Only for 24 hours, part of each treatment designed to make you just sick enough to kick your body's immune system into fighting mode, grow stronger, halt the cancer, keep it from spreading. That's the goal.

This is not the end of your life. There will be a different treatment added. Systemic, but again, Not Chemo. A drug that's easier, gentler, less toxic. Fewer side effects. Both treatments interacting to help you. It could be worse. Well, it could be better too. But other than one, maybe two crummy days a month, life should be normal. Well, scans every month too.

This is not the end of your life. So okay. This is the new normal. You'll be a little tired, a little sore. I have no doubt that as always you'll adjust, cope, make sure life in your house stays on course. Bob, the kids, school, the dog, your teaching, cooking, Little League, plays, Alex's check-ups, Amy's braces. All of it.

Because you have true strength.

"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength." Maya Angelou