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I'm in complete remission. I'm alive and well.

I'm happy to tell you that having been through surgery and chemotherapy and radiation, breast cancer is officially behind me. I feel absolutely great and I am raring to go.

I have sat with countless patients and families to discuss grim prognoses: It's one of the most important jobs physicians have. It's easier when the patient is 94, in the last stages of dementia, and has a severe brain bleed. For young people like me - I am 36 - given a diagnosis of cancer, there aren't many words.

I'm kind of a morbid person. I'm very optimistic, but I also feel like I'm going to die at any moment. I feel very much aware of my mortality. I'm here, and then I'm not.

I feel great. I had a blood clot. It was a bad deal. But when I look at my friends with hip replacements, knee replacements, shoulder replacements, neck surgeries, back surgeries, I'll take the blood clot.

I feel great, very healthy and alive and really happy that I can remember yesterday and I can remember the day before.

I feel blessed that I haven't seen or felt real pain to be immune to it. But I am dreading the time it comes. I feel blessed to have everything going fine. My parents' health is good, my brothers are well-settled, I have a great brother-in-law and my own career is doing fine. I hope and pray that I am fit and fine always.

I feel terrific.

The cancer is in remission, and I will shortly go on a drug maintenance regimen to keep it there.

I am in very good health. I've never felt better.