Donna Simpson sits at her computer, logs onto Facebook and starts to write a very stern, very powerful letter for all to read.

“Dear Cancer,” she writes, “The chemotherapy I started on Monday may be kicking my butt and making me really sick, but I have the doctors to help me. You have no one. The worse I feel physically, the better I feel mentally knowing that you are being attacked and have nowhere to hide. You will die, and I will be just fine. It’s only a matter of time. Donna.”

Simpson’s doctor diagnosed her with breast cancer the day before Thanksgiving of last year.

But save her lack of hair, no one would know she was fighting the battle of her life.

It’s been a hard journey. When staff at her doctor’s office first learned about the lump, they scheduled the wrong type of mammogram. Add to that the chemo medicine that makes her so sick she could retreat to her bed for days, the multiple surgeries and a port in her chest that keeps flipping out of place, there’s no doubt few would be strong enough to handle it.

But as far as Simpson’s concerned, all those mountains are just “speed bumps” on her road to healing.

Simpson credits the overwhelming support of friends and family for her positive attitude.

“I have a huge support system,” she said. “I don’t know how somebody does it without (that). I’ve never gone to a treatment alone. Our family is really close, so if one of us is going through something, we’re all there.”

Simpson’s children – even the honorary ones – have been at her side from the start.

Daughters Noelle and Jamie were the first to learn of her diagnosis. And when the time came to choose the right type of surgery, both girls were at her side. But with limited knowledge, neither Simpson nor her daughters knew which option to choose.

That’s when Jessica Allen, dear-friend-turned-family member, stepped up.

Allen, a physician liaison at Rainier Cancer Center, met the Simpson family at a Relay for Life walk months before the diagnosis. So when they needed help deciphering medical jargon and choosing the right option, Allen, who happened to be in the same area when the Simpsons were choosing, dropped everything to sit beside Simpson’s children, becoming an invaluable source of information for the family and an official Simpson daughter.

“Jessica knew all the questions to ask,” Simpson said. ” (The doctors) put in my medical records that my daughter, Jessica, came in to ask questions. That’s where we say ‘it’s official, she’s a Simpson.'”

Seeing how positive Simpson is, even on her worst days, Allen is not only grateful to be a part of her journey to getting better but has also learned a lot about herself and life.

“It’s really humbled me,” Allen said. “She’s just got such a great presence and attitude. (Her) story and (her) motivation stick out so strong to me, it’s incredible.”

Simpson has inspired the people around her with the muscle in her fight, not only for herself but for others as well. Even on the days when she can barely walk across the room, Simpson, co-chair of her local Relay of Life team, attends committee meetings, showing her dedication to the cause.

Team Simpson will participate in the Susan G. Komen Puget Sound Race for the Cure on June 2 at Seattle.

“We always said we relay for other people in the community that need help and can’t relay for themselves,” Simpson said, “and if we ever needed it in our family, we hope somebody would relay for us.”

Simpson likes to tell people that cancer picked the wrong person to mess with.

Allen has a slightly different take.

“In my opinion, I think it picked the right person,” Allen said, “because (she’s) the person that’s going to fight back. (She’s) the person that’s going to follow directions to the tee. (She’s) the person that’s not going to give up when you have a hard day. It’s just going to motivate her, more and more.”

Simpson has one more round of chemo before her radiation treatment begins at Rainier Cancer Center in Tukwila. With the help of Allen and the staff there and with her family at her side, Simpson is ready to “kick cancer’s butt” and pick up on life right where she left off.

“Cancer needs to know that its days are numbered,” Simpson said. “I’m 46, and I haven’t even begun to live.”