Every day we hear of survival stories that stretch as far as distant, war-torn countries. Closer to home, we hear the story of the immigrant, of those rooted in our impoverished neighborhoods, of those affected by the current recession.

Survival is an opportunity at the turn of every day. For the sound-minded, those opportunities rank upwards till reaching the most important meaning for us: life. A life-threatening opportunity is when life grabs hold of your soul and knocks your senses so straight you never realized there was more to life in the "most" way.

Welcome to my survival story, one that has become more common due to medical breakthroughs and outreach. I am a breast cancer survivor. Just before the summer of 2007, at the age of 39, and as a single Mom to a 2-year-old boy, I received a shocking diagnosis: Stage III, triple negative breast cancer, tumor range six to nine centimeters with three enlarged lymph nodes.

Interesting to note, I come from a large family of Sacramentans from which no one, up until that day, had ever been diagnosed with any cancer. Correction, there was my godmother, Juanita Casillas who was an adopted aunt who died of breast cancer, leaving behind a husband and four children.

However, I ignorantly thought that cancer was genetic and considered myself the lucky one in that. My life path spun me into a detour that would become my golden opportunity. Up until the day of my diagnosis, I was juggling two jobs - one of them as a cardio instructor - and looking forward to summer at the beach with my son. I had recently mentioned to my mom that I had a painful area in my left breast, but she figured it was due to the fact that I had stopped nursing.

None of her remedies relieved the pain. I was able to be seen for a checkup in May, 2007. The doctor shared the same opinion as my mother and stated there wasn't a need for further testing. Besides, the recommended age for a woman to get a mammogram is 40.

Shortly after, I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. One of the booths that offered free screenings suggested I go in for a checkup. Then there was this moment when I was housecleaning and I came across a pink breast cancer bracelet that brought my godmother's cancer ordeal to mind. Then there was lunch with a long-time friend who shared another friend's cancer scare.

All of this nagged at me to go in for a checkup.

I contacted the doctor's office the following week and insisted on testing.

Then came the diagnosis.

Then came the moment to share the diagnosis with my family, followed by doctor's appointments, treatment options and a chemo start date. If it seems that I am skipping through much here, its because that's how fast it happens when you're numb. My ability to absorb details relating to my health didn't exist - lost in the big galaxial whole, and stuck in a point of unforeseeable return.

I could not bring myself to accept the diagnosis - though, I tried. My family members stepped in and helped the best they could, but it was all just as new to them as it was to me.

"How stupid was I to think that I would never have cancer because it didn't run in my family AND I exercised!?" I thought aloud. I was a cardio instructor. I knew of the importance of eating healthy and exercise but admittedly didn't practice well what I preached when it came to what I ate. I found it easy to cave in, to sweets and fast food around me, by promising myself to workout more.

I know better than that. If one truly values his or her body, they feed it what? Right, everything good for it. But I failed to do this and now I was in a time and place of regret. I experienced a host of emotions as an unprepared person, on top of - regret: disbelief, confusion, sadness, insecurity and fear.

It was just like the up and down of a rollercoaster. Though all people face the end of their lives differently, I was simply not ready to call it the end. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my 2-year-old son. It was that whole inner battle of fight vs. flight. I knew I needed to fight and that I would have to take on cancer spiritually, physically, mentally and emotionally, even if included trickery of the mind.

Aha! I came up with a survival plan, hit "go" on the timer and set it into motion. I began to do things that those around me could not understand. At times, I could see the pain in their eyes; they saw it as denial. I asked the pathologist to show me the biopsy samples under microscope for the purpose of visually attacking the cancer cells; I began to exercise days after each chemo treatment, enlisting an aunt to walk with me; I began to write daily in my journal the phrases "I do not have cancer" and "I have excellent health" (twice a day, 10 times to be exact); I prayed and allowed every caring soul who offered to pray for me and with me; I continued to cry, laugh and against the wishes of some concerned relatives - I went out to the movies and dancing.

I began to appreciate that this happened to me for a reason and that this reason would make me whole. I received an abundance of support during this time, and though it was life-altering in the most beautiful way, it was one of my greatest challenges. I had always felt it was my responsibility to bear my own burdens, even if they broke me. This made it so challenging that I found myself telling people things were okay when they really weren't.

My family, medical/treatment team, co-workers at McDonough Holland & Allen, friends and even strangers were the wind beneath my wings; there is also my godmother, Juanita Casillas who valiantly lived with breast cancer until it overcame her; the countless adults who told me of the mother they lost as children due to breast cancer; and there is Suzy Komen, whose personal struggle inspired and lifted me and continues to incite energy toward the cure.

It is now 2009, and I am a breast cancer survivor. This is something I take time to think about daily, and it is the appreciation I have for everyone, including those who died valiantly, that fueled me to live and to give back.

My son and I have a ritual: every morning we like to pull the curtain, rain or shine, and yell out "Thank you Lord for a beautiful day!" I value and cherish that this experience has filled me with the spirit of survival and the desire to extend my hand to help another. If I could encourage and support anyone going through a cancer diagnosis I would look you in the eyes and say "Hey, you're not alone. It's OK to feel overwhelmed and confused, it's OK to ask 1,000 questions 1,000 times, it's OK to allow others to help you, it's absolutely necessary to cry, laugh and live, you are loved and worthy of survival. YOU will survive." Now, get out there and LIVE!

This Saturday, May 9 at Cal Expo is Susan G. Komen's annual Race for the Cure. It is held the day before Mother's Day every year, and thousands come to show their support. I personally invite you to join me. Take the first link to find my walking team. Take the second link for details of the event. Take the third link to visit the Susan G. Komen local affiliate's site. Looking forward to seeing you there,

Josie

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And, here is the Sacramento Affiliate's site, too.