I'm 8 years old, sitting on the edge of an exam table, extremely anxious. You don't have cancer, the doctor tells me. You're too young.But do you know that. I ask. She runs a basic blood test.It's normal. See, you're fine. But where does it say I don't have cancer, though.I ask. She sigh, "This is just the best that we can do." Six months earlier, my grandmother, Caroline, the person everybody said I was just alike, had been diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. And a few months later, she was gone.At 8, a ...