My time at the Human Genetic Center.

I found out a year ago that the variation of the BRCA gene, which gives women a hereditary risk for breast and ovarian cancer (on top of usual risks), was found in a tested family member. I decided after this past pregnancy to get tested. I like having information, and I don’t think I’m the type to obsess if it is positive for the gene. I really just need a kick in the ass to do the self exams.

Anyway… I went with Bebe this week to Hadassah Hospital’s genetics department to get a consult with a genetics adviser/researcher, along with the blood test.

The funny thing about going to a genetics clinic with your baby is… well, you’re a bit of a live case study. Anything’s open for inspection: “Oooh, your baby looks Asian! Must be something from your Sephardi side, yes?”

The other funny thing about this clinic in particular was, it being focused on women’s issues and being fully staffed by women, well, the baby was a big hit. Bebe was held, coo’d at, fussed over. I was offered to take care of anything I needed to and leave her there. I’m 99% sure the offer was real. I’m not one of those types of women, so it always comes as a shock to me when people want to hold other people’s babies. Like, really want.

The family history stuff is always interesting. We built a tree and took down what I knew, related solely to breast and ovarian cancer. Genetics is very cool to me. Being in Israel and learning genetics is even cooler because it can get so personal. For instance, there’s a possibility my family isn’t genetically Sephardi; the gene mutation is pretty much an Ashkenazi thing, though they’ve recently started finding it in Sephardim, which made my case interesting to the researcher who wants to meet up again when the results come in.

Lastly, I signed a waiver to donate my DNA to cancer research. I thought on it for a few seconds; the idea seemed troubling: A rogue scientist + my DNA = millions of little me clones running around, destroying the Earth. Then I stopped giving my DNA so much credit and signed the form.

 

Slice of the Tzur Hadassah commute, minharot style.

Driving home to Tzur Hadassah through the minharot (tunnels) is not always peaches. On our way home today, passing Husan, Beitar and Wadi Fukin, we found soldiers everywhere, cracking down, probably on the hunt for someone specific from a tip-off.

We were greeted by this right as we were getting to the machsom (checkpoint), literally 3 minutes from home:

We recently discovered that going through Ein Kerem and Hadassah Hospital up to Tzur Hadassah can be just as quick, depending where we’re coming from. Shame we didn’t think of it before we sat in this for an hour. And the Ein Kerem way is so much prettier.