I Cry for the Little Girl

I was told on my 50th birthday that I have cancer. Before that it was just a dull possibility and probable mistake. You see; I had been to at least seven doctors in the same amount of years. "Your blood tests came back okay; your blood pressure is fine; your urine is fine; your pap smear is okay, and your mammogram shows some fibrous tissues, which you already know about. You are just fine, " said doctor #1-6. "Why does my stomach and uterus hurt so much then?" I said. "Why am I so tired and how come when I get a cold or anything, it lasts three months?" "How old are you?" asked Dr. 1992. "Forty Two" I said, knowing full well he had my file right under his nose. "You may be in the peri-menopausal stage of your life. Take an anti-inflammatory medication from over the counter, I'm sure you'll get relief from that." "Thank you doctor, " I said, as I left his office; thanks for nothing. The drive home from office visit #1 through office visit #6 was always the same. Anger ruled the gas pedal as tears streamed down my face. I had to get home and make supper. By the time I was doing the dishes, my life had moved forward into another time. As soon as I stopped menstruating, I would be a pain free, middle-aged woman with a mustache. That was to be my comfort. But I knew there was something else that was very wrong. No one took me seriously until...