I was diagnosed at 26 with Stage II infiltrating ductal carcinoma. Before telling me, my doctor asked my age, and just stared at me, probably shocked how young I was.

The day after diagnosis, I moved to Seattle. There I got further testing and more breast cancer treatment information. Without consent, my doctor decided on a mastectomy. After explaining I did not want surgery and noting our lack of discussion, he responded, "I thought I was doing you a favor." His reaction made me so angry at the allopathic medical community that I would not return to one for eight months, except as a medical transcriptionist. I fought the illness independently, and it worsened, despite my efforts.

In March 2002, after many painful insomniatic nights, witnessing neck growths the size of golf balls, and goading from my very loving boyfriend, I finally sought treatment, without health insurance. I was then diagnosed with breast cancer with metastasis to the supraclavicular nodes, gastrointestinal tract, and liver, including cystic ovaries. I would also require stenting for proper bile flow. The breast cancer was so large my insides were being expressed through my nipple. It sounds horrific and it was.

I woke late one night unable to take it anymore, and asked my boyfriend to drive me to the Emergency Room. A few hours later they ushered me to the nearest hospital for cancer treatment. I prayed and wrestled with myself to surpass this ordeal. Having never been an inpatient before in my life, I learned I cannot always take care of myself, and sometimes need help from others. There, I started chemotherapy, Adriamycin and Cytoxan, then switched to Taxotere and Xeloda. It caused fatigue and anemia, but somehow I managed. I stopped working and focused on healing my body and getting through this experience.

Less than one year after metastatic breast cancer diagnosis, I was declared in remission. I am still healing, as I have tremendous edema and layered toenails. But more importantly is the healing occurring in my head. I still grapple with issues and experiences I faced during my conquest against breast cancer. I regained control of my mind and body to achieve this goal. When told it was metastatic, I thought to myself, ''This does not mean I am giving up and dying...it just makes my job to get better a bit more difficult.''

Many people tell me I am strong, and often I do not believe them. Sometimes I realize how many women have been in my situation, and have lived to tell about it: less than 1%. My "five-year survival rate" is less than 5%, but I always believed I would live for a very long time, and still believe I will.