When I was in the third grade, I had to write an autobiography, closing with what I wanted to be when I grew up. I’m not sure how I decided that I wanted to be a scientist, or if I ever wanted to be anything else before then, but it never occurred to me to rethink the decision once I put it in writing in the third grade. Before I reached my teenage years, I had decided that I wanted to go to college in Boston– preferably MIT, but Harvard would also work– and I would play my violin with the Boston Pops. (Don’t you love the big dreams and confidence of an 11 year old?!) By my sophomore or junior year of high school, I had my sights set on a biochemistry degree, and while I was still hoping to head to the east coast, I had (quite wisely) abandoned the idea of playing my violin professionally while I was also in college. Even though I didn’t make it out east for college, I did end up in DC for graduate school at Georgetown University, so I figured I’d pretty much gotten the dream. It wasn’t until about halfway through graduate school that I realized that I didn’t really know what I wanted to be when I grew up, I really needed to know more than “scientist.” I knew that I loved science and wanted to use that to make a difference in the lives of breast cancer patients, but I didn’t see myself making a career in academic science. I enjoyed thinking about how science could inform the way patients are treated, and I was convinced of the importance of ensuring that patients and the public really understand the interaction between science and medicine. Unsure of how to turn those things into a career, but quite sure of how much I wanted to stay at home with my tiny new baby, I decided to revisit the “What I Want to be When I Grow Up” saga in a few years, and left the lab with my PhD after Emma Clare was born.
As I sent baby #2 off to kindergarten, I apprehensively decided it was time to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Or maybe I should give myself a few months, and then it would be time. Instead, during those few months I was taking to get the kids settled in school– procrastinating, I know– I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After chemo and surgery and with no evidence of disease, I once again struck out to find my grown up job, though this time with a bit more hope and purpose. I’d wanted to work with breast cancer advocates before but was unsure how to transition from being a scientist among scientists to being a scientist among advocates. Now as a survivor, I had gained automatic entry into the advocate’s world. I talked to several people who declared me a unique trifecta of researcher-patient-advocate, and offered to help me get the job I wanted. All I had to do was tell them what I wanted. Which meant I needed to know what I wanted.
So I’ve spent the last three years saying, “Yes.” I went to every meeting I could, met all the people, did all the twitter chats. I blogged on my own site and wrote for anyone else who would have me. I did live and recorded interviews, gave talks big and small. Though I’ve been paid for a few small projects, it’s pretty much been like a three year internship. But I figured if I talked to enough people and did enough different things, I’d surely figure out exactly what it was that I actually wanted. It took two long years of saying “yes” to figure out what I wanted to do, and another year of saying “yes” to actually make it happen, but I finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up, and I’m starting my first real grown up job today! Just in the nick of time, too. Forty is knocking on my door, and it seems like it’s high time that I consider myself a proper grown up.
After two years of saying, “yes,” I ended up sitting next to an interesting young woman at a dinner at AACR in Philadelphia. Corrie was a scientist about my age, had two young kids, and she was a cancer survivor, too. I think we talked a little about her job at the Broad Institute where she was able to combine some patient advocacy and outreach with her scientific position, but mostly we talked about kids and cancer and the plight of young scientists pursuing a career in academic research. I came home from AACR with a stack of cards, contacts who I thought might eventually help me land a job, and a new cancer friend, Corrie.
I wasn’t surprised when I saw her name on the announcement for a twitter chat coming up a few months later to talk about the new, still unreleased Metastatic Breast Cancer Project at the Broad Institute. The surprise came from my response to the project. As the minutes of the twitter chat ticked by and I learned more about the project, I found myself becoming increasingly excited at its promise, truly believing that this team was uniquely positioned to make huge advances in breast cancer research and the way breast cancer patients will be treated in the future. (I won’t rehash it here, but read what I wrote about the MBC Project after it launched in October.) I signed off the chat that night realizing that I might have figured out what I wanted to do when I grew up, or at the very least, I’d found the place I wanted to do it. I felt a little uncomfortable, but figured it would cost me nothing, so I got in touch with Corrie. After reminding her what a charming dinner companion I’d been in Philadelphia, I gushed unabashedly about the project and told her that if she had a place on her team for a scientist/advocate in Washington, DC, I hoped she’d consider me. They were still a few months from the official launch and couldn’t really grow the staff at that point, but we talked for nearly an hour about the project and how I might ultimately contribute to the team. After another year of saying “yes” to most anyone and staying in contact with Corrie, the MBC Project has grown by leaps and bounds, and I’ll be joining the team! Technically, I think my job title is “patient advocate,” I’ll be doing outreach and education with patients and the MBC Project advocacy partners. We have a lot of ideas about exactly what I’ll be doing, but hopefully I’ll start by interacting with patients– those who are already part of the project and those who want to know more before they say “Count me in.” Corrie and Nick, the oncologist who had the remarkable vision of a research project that directly engages patients, have built a great patient community. I hope to be a resource for those men and women, not only answering their questions, but equipping those with ideas to grow the MBC Project among their communities. I hope to interact with the advocacy groups who have partnered with the MBC Project and to form new partnerships that will broaden the diversity of MBC Project participants. And lots more things! It’s a part-time position, and I can work from home. I will do a little bit of travel, and I’ll probably go up to Boston every month or two.
Wait. Did I forget to mention that the Broad Institute is in Boston? So maybe I should also mention that its official name is the Eli and Edythe L. Broad Institute of MIT and Harvard. Yup. I didn’t get to go to school at MIT, but now they’re paying me. Pretty stinking cool. Maybe that 11 year old wasn’t so naive after all. (But sorry Mom, I’m not going to be busting out the violin anytime soon, I don’t think the Boston Pops have a place for a DC based violin player who hasn’t played the violin in a very long time.)
This is the entrance to one of the new buildings on campus– the Carl Woese Institute of Genomic Biology. Besides the cutting edge science that goes on inside the building, the art of science is prominently featured throughout the building with temporary themed exhibits. These three sculptures outside the building show tRNA at three different stages.
Green Street looked different, too, with many high rise buildings towering up over the familiar streetfront stores and restaurants. But IGB is probably one of the shortest new buildings on campus, built only a few stories high because of its proximity to the Morrow Plots– the oldest continuously planted experimental cornfield in the United States. And as all my fellow Illini friends know,
While a very few people are asked to give talks at AACR each year, the vast majority of the science presented at the conference is done by the person who actually does all the work– the graduate student or post doc– at a poster session. It’s kind of like a grown-up science fair, but without all the baking soda and vinegar volcanoes. Literally thousands of people put up a poster on a board for four hours, talk to other scientists about their work, and then take it down so several more thousand people can start all over again in the afternoon. What makes a poster session so great is that you have the opportunity to actually talk to the investigator, to interact, ask questions, make connections. These are great opportunities for beginning collaborations between scientists. During two of these sessions, the advocates had a row to put up our own posters. I would love to see us be able to mix in more with the scientific posters to perhaps get a little better traffic, but it was still a tremendous opportunity to present a poster at such a big meeting.
Run Lipstick Chemo 