As a quite elucidative example of how my brain works, I will share a snippet from a much-loved book from my childhood that has been repeating in my brain since last I posted.
"Does one always feel a bit lost, the night after a battle?" Harry asked.
"Yes, even when you win," replied Jack.
Now, that might not be 100% exact, but pretty damn close.
I feel a bit in limbo, as Harry did...did we win? Torn between caution, hope, fatigue and giddiness, I await the results of the sequencing of my construct. Is it well and truly over? May I move to the next step? This last week I've revisited the disappointments of the past (in going through dusty notebooks to remind myself of how I'd screened ES cells before) and attacked the frustrations of the present (anal-retentive I may be, but I will order the tissue culture room as I see fit unrepentantly). It's been a welcome break from the roller-coaster ride repetitiveness of the last months, but I'm eager to move on.
As a nice (book)end to my week, I received the latest tome in my guilty-pleasure-reading series from Amazon on Thursday. Though it pained me to not finish it Thursday night (I was ridiculously sleepy, despite the pleasure of the book), I was quite disciplined and drew out its completion until this morning. Have I matured from my childlike gluttonous reading-style or am I simply getting old?
25 June 2005
17 June 2005
La Victoire
Churning stomach...tight throat...dry gritty eyes...tense neck...and above all, the blossoming of hope.
I think I've finally made my construct.
What a day, though. Yesterday, I got into lab before 9 a.m. and didn't leave until 1 a.m. because I was determined to figure out whether my latest cloning attempt had succeeded. At 1 a.m. I hurtled down the Judah hill, dejected and wind blowing against me as I trudged to my car parked way the hell on Funston. I was convinced my cloning had failed, yet again.
This morning I awoke early (given my 2 a.m. bedtime) to attend and speak at a press conference in Emeryville for the State Treasurer. He was gracious, my speech went well, and I was refreshed to be amongst little children who knew nothing of cloning, bacteria, DNA. I felt a little silly playing Vanna White to reveal the Debt Clock Angelides is hauling around the state, but no one seemed to find it as silly as I. I drove to lab afterwards, in no particular hurry, and started my day. I moved ahead with the next attempt, while setting up the last reveal for my late-night last-ditch effort to convince myself that yesterday's results were rubbish. In the meantime, I got a job offer -- somehow it was suggested that I impart my Great Knockout Cloning Wisdom to a now-former post-doc preparing to set up his new lab down in Florida, and he repeatedly offered to have me join him once I graduate. Ha. He said he "needs people who know what they're doing". Ha very Ha.
During the course of that meeting, I got an email from the post-doc I first started working with to make this knockout construct 3 years ago. Whose work I eventually discovered was completely wrong and held me back a year, spinning my wheels trying to make the thing he made work whilst it never could have. I haven't yet bothered to read his email.
Then, strangely enough, the late-night last-ditch test looked strangely positive. Hm. Desperately avoiding elation, I set up 3 more digests, and they too were encouraging. My guts were tumbling as I stared at the UV box-lit gel. I had Euan double check it for me, and I found I was near tears. I didn't tell him what he was looking at until he confirmed the positive news, and then I said, "You do realize what you're looking at, don't you?". As he scrutinized the gel again, I couldn't look at it or him -- I was torn between sobbing hysteria and stubborn skepticism. The next hours have been spent convincing myself to remain calm, thinking ahead to the next challenges, setting up a final test, talking to my parents (I cruelly kept the info from my father for the first 5 minutes of our conversation), and nervously accepting the congratulations of my lab peers.
I fervently hope they're right. I'm 90% sure, but need to do this final test. Peter said I ought to hug and kiss everyone. I just emailed Zena. Her response? "Alright!" My shoulders loosened a fraction. But I must make absolutely sure before I go home tonight. The culmination of over a year's work.
Alright, indeed.
I think I've finally made my construct.
What a day, though. Yesterday, I got into lab before 9 a.m. and didn't leave until 1 a.m. because I was determined to figure out whether my latest cloning attempt had succeeded. At 1 a.m. I hurtled down the Judah hill, dejected and wind blowing against me as I trudged to my car parked way the hell on Funston. I was convinced my cloning had failed, yet again.
This morning I awoke early (given my 2 a.m. bedtime) to attend and speak at a press conference in Emeryville for the State Treasurer. He was gracious, my speech went well, and I was refreshed to be amongst little children who knew nothing of cloning, bacteria, DNA. I felt a little silly playing Vanna White to reveal the Debt Clock Angelides is hauling around the state, but no one seemed to find it as silly as I. I drove to lab afterwards, in no particular hurry, and started my day. I moved ahead with the next attempt, while setting up the last reveal for my late-night last-ditch effort to convince myself that yesterday's results were rubbish. In the meantime, I got a job offer -- somehow it was suggested that I impart my Great Knockout Cloning Wisdom to a now-former post-doc preparing to set up his new lab down in Florida, and he repeatedly offered to have me join him once I graduate. Ha. He said he "needs people who know what they're doing". Ha very Ha.
During the course of that meeting, I got an email from the post-doc I first started working with to make this knockout construct 3 years ago. Whose work I eventually discovered was completely wrong and held me back a year, spinning my wheels trying to make the thing he made work whilst it never could have. I haven't yet bothered to read his email.
Then, strangely enough, the late-night last-ditch test looked strangely positive. Hm. Desperately avoiding elation, I set up 3 more digests, and they too were encouraging. My guts were tumbling as I stared at the UV box-lit gel. I had Euan double check it for me, and I found I was near tears. I didn't tell him what he was looking at until he confirmed the positive news, and then I said, "You do realize what you're looking at, don't you?". As he scrutinized the gel again, I couldn't look at it or him -- I was torn between sobbing hysteria and stubborn skepticism. The next hours have been spent convincing myself to remain calm, thinking ahead to the next challenges, setting up a final test, talking to my parents (I cruelly kept the info from my father for the first 5 minutes of our conversation), and nervously accepting the congratulations of my lab peers.
I fervently hope they're right. I'm 90% sure, but need to do this final test. Peter said I ought to hug and kiss everyone. I just emailed Zena. Her response? "Alright!" My shoulders loosened a fraction. But I must make absolutely sure before I go home tonight. The culmination of over a year's work.
Alright, indeed.
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