Retinoblastoma is a cancer of the retina, and that white glow in a child’s eye in photos—we call it leukocoria—is its most haunting sign. Yes, the RB1 mutation is fiercely genetic, but in my lab, we stare at those cells not just as a fate inherited, but as a lock waiting for a key. My work is to design therapies that target only that broken gene, sparing the healthy tissue—a precision my mother never had with her blunt, healing spices. So, while the textbooks call it a family curse, I see a specific enemy, and my mismatched jars in the kitchen cabinet hold the same hope: that the right blend, however humble, can tackle the most formidable problem.
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