Author: Leslie Gospill

breast and ovarian cancer dna

Really, I’m not sick. I’m just battling a genetic twist of fate.

Posted on by Leslie Gospill

I’m not sick. Not even just a little bit … So, why would I do this?

In a few hours I’ll be lying on an operating table having a “partial hysterectomy.” And I’m doing it because I can.

Or, at least, because should. I think.

The intention is to remove parts of my anatomy that might, maybe, could, possibly end up with ovarian cancer sometime in my life — due to a recently discovered genetic mutation that says so.

God bless modern science! I support it, and am grateful for such cutting-edge research and protocols.

But, it does give me pause …

How proactive and prophylactic can — or should — we be in this brave new world of medicine?

I wonder what other mutations are hiding there in my twisty DNA life story? And for that matter, do I really want to know? What other parts of me need to be cut out? Or, given such knowledge, perhaps of inoperable parts — or even low-percentage likelihoods — how would I then live the rest of my life?

Which is better: Knowledge and a proactive approach to life-threatening diseases? Or blissful ignorance?

Today, I’m choosing the former.

(family) dynamics — or dynamite

The Point

Aside | Posted on by Leslie Gospill

In times of strife or frustration, and sometimes just on a regular, boring day of Arizona same-ness, my son asks “what’s the point?”

Maybe all kids are saying that today … I bought him “The Goldfinch,” because it’s an ongoing theme, as it is in “Infinite Jest” (or so I’m told … It’s 1000 pages + end notes).

But, at some stage, there’s an a-ha moment in those books, and in life, when your heart/soul finds peace and resolution.

(Or so I’m told …)

I can’t tell Tom what “the point” is. I can’t tell him — because I don’t know. But as I ponder this, I am struck by a random act of inspiration and human connection that happened yesterday without me putting enough value in it:

An older Asian lady heard me ask a clerk at Trader Joe’s if they had Hoisin sauce. They don’t. But sweet#MrsKim asked me to follow her to her cart. She had just been to an Asian market in town, she says as she pulls out a bottle from a plastic bag–and hands it to me. I tried to pay, but all she wanted was a kiss on her crepe-y cheek — and to know my name.

I’d forgotten the moment as soon as I returned to sullen Tom waiting in the car. Forgot all day, until this morning, when my purse felt heavier than usual …

Now, I’m not a great cook (hunting for Hoisin is not a regular activity), and I’m definitely failing as a role model and inspiration for my kid … But thanks to #MrsKim, I experienced a moment that should not be forgotten among all my moments. Maybe sharing kindness is HER point. Maybe that instance was to help remind me that we’re not all alone on this marble.

Thank you, #MrsKim. Thanks for being alive — and for positively impacting my life this weekend. I’m pretty sure, in the final analysis, that should always be “the point.”
——
Also, I’ll be making tons of Chinese dishes over the next few weeks … And then, I might just frame this magical bottle.

 
pink tutu

I am Not a Cancer Survivor

Posted on by Leslie Gospill

Nine years ago this month I recall looking at myself in the mirror and assessing the situation: I was bald. My memory was spotty. I sat down a lot more than I stood up. And I had these crazy, stop-men-in-their-tracks “Fembot” boobs (called spacers) implanted in my chest to help stretch my healing skin and tissue in preparation for breast reconstruction later that fall.

I was done with chemo. I was cancer free. But I knew I still had a lot more fight ahead of me in terms of reconstruction, rehabilitation, re-establishing my career and rebuilding a relationship with my son.

I also knew I would be forever vigilant against recurrence: I would have to see surgeons and oncologists annually for the rest of my life. From there on out, I would be on the defensive against this insidious disease.

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