"How much do you weigh", he asked. "105 pounds", she said. I looked at her trying to determine her age, perhaps 20 or so I thought. She was very softly spoken and in a great deal of pain. I wheeled her up to a CT scan. She was claustrophobic and scared of the machine. We talked to her as her body moved through the machine. She had ovarian cysts. She had been in and out of the hospital for the past year, she had various operations and sicknesses. She was tired of being sick. Her date of birth made her just 16, she was worried that this time her ovaries may need removing. She was forced to consider her life as a potential mother or not at such a young age. She seemed so mature. I felt for her, for I at 14 years older than her had never faced such a scenario. She told me she liked to write poetry, and write stories of her life. I remembered myself at 16. I told her it was wonderful to write things down. The x-ray tech could see the child in her mind, he offered her stickers saying :"I had an x-ray today". She was very pleased to have these, as she collected stickers. There she was a child in an adult's body. I took her down and saw her graffitied black rucksack. I asked her if she had her journal and she said "yes".

I knew a few moments later she would be writing it all down.

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