On Illness and Death as Text and Autocorrect

Malwina Gudoska Considers the Stories of Our Bodies “I am sorry for your loss,” the message lights up the room. After inching my post-surgery body up against the pregnancy-turned-mastectomy pillow, I pick up the phone and type, “Which loss, my breast, or my father?” I delete. “Thank you,” I write instead. “I just heard about your dad, I am so sorry,” another friend writes. “Thank you,” I reply without revealing my other debit. The language of loss itself an inexactness: I have not misplaced my breast nor my father; One is at a lab, the other at a funeral home, both are being prodded for different reasons. “On a happier note, how is everything with the book?” the friend continues. “So far, so good with the boob ,” I hit send before realizing the autocorrect. “I mean boob ,” I write again. “No! book, not boob.” But autocorrect knows, even if the friend does not. The book, about language, motherhood and multilingualism, just over two months away from publication then, is in publishing’s so far, so good realm: final edits done, the cover revealed, proofs ready. My newly reconstructed breast, the incidentally found cancer removed, is accurately also, so far, so good. The father is the exception. It is the meeting of lexical analysis and a scrutiny of gratefulness or, a platitude of gratitude in the so far, so good while messages of condolence, commiseration and congratulations collide, and I exist in a perpetual state of disbelief . I have just enough time to edit my acknowledgements before press and I add how my dad will never hold a finished copy—the ludicrous cruelty in having to meet this deadline is not lost on me. The day I begin adjuvant chemotherapy, finished copies of my book arrive and after treatment, I dutifully make an unboxing reel. In the video, the debilitating effects of chemo have yet to hit, my hair has yet to thin and for everyone who does not know the losses that overshadow my gains are none the wiser. To my delight and distraction, congratulatory comments and heart […]

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