Hell found me.  It didn’t need a GPS, a map, or even directions from a kind stranger at the corner gas station.  Hell knew where to find me, and it hung around just waiting for the right time to pounce.

All it took was one word, and it honed in on me like I was sending out a tracking signal.  It didn’t need an invitation, and if I knew it had been lurking about in the shadows, I sure would have done some things differently.

Hell’s always on the lookout for new places to conquer.  Drug addiction, homelessness, hunger, alcoholism, poverty, and abuse are places it feels welcome, so it’ll barge in and make itself at home.  My hell?  It demonstrates no bias for race, color, religion, sex, national origin, age, or disability. It’s an equal opportunity invader who welcomes everyone with open arms.

My hell started with one tiny microscopic cell.  Without any symptoms or clue of its presence, it multiplied with uncontrollable growth, invaded my unsuspecting tissues, and decided to make major organs its home.  After months of medical misdiagnoses and running the gamut of scans and tests, my hell was finally given a name:  ovarian cancer.

The doctor said the cancer grew out of control too long without being treated, so I don’t have much longer.  Leaving behind all the fear, vomiting, biopsies, needle sticks, hair loss, and pain sounds pretty good to me right now. 

I don’t mind abandoning my hell on Earth, but with regret I kiss it goodbye--knowing it’ll easily find others to take my place.