Two weekends ago, I submitted my application for readmission to grad school.
A brief backstory:
Spring and summer of ‘08, I was going nowhere at work. Experiments were stalled. I wasn’t generating any data and none of my techniques were working. Every “established” lab technique was broken in a fun and exciting way, usually involving the equipment, and I couldn’t make any headway. I was getting increasingly frustrated and, in retrospect, wonder how hard I really tried. I felt like I was pushing hard, but now I wonder. At the end of the summer there was no money left to fund me. It was suggested that I take a leave of absence, then come back “recharged.” In retrospect, again, perhaps I should have.
Instead, I worked for free in the lab all fall, trying to “prove” my dedication and commitment to the lab, the department, and the program. And hoping that one of my experiments would work, and I could show that I was a productive member of the lab. They didn’t and I didn’t, so I was presented with two options: leave (either with or without a master’s, assuming I could write up what I had into a reasonable thesis), or find a new lab on my own.
I was crushed. Humiliated. Outside of my immediate family, I don’t think I told anyone. A few people in grad school, maybe, since it would be immediately obvious when I wasn’t around. And after that? I guess I went into hiding for a while. Cut myself off from friends and the modest support system that I have. The whole situation was too painful to discuss. In fact, it’s even hard to write about now.
Over the winter I applied for several lab tech jobs, and eventually got an offer that was decent. The PI needed someone with molecular biology experience for the research he wanted to do and somehow I was able to convince him that I was up to the challenge, despite my lack of faith in my own abilities. Through the spring and summer the work went well. Experiments actually worked. I was useful and a valuable member of the lab. Well, there were only three of us, but that’s beside the point. I contributed. And I started to think that perhaps all the crap that I went through wasn’t entirely my fault.
Towards the end of the summer there was a review that came across both my and my boss’s radars, combining the stem cell research we were doing with the epigenetics research that I had been doing for the previous four years. We sat and talked for a good hour about the review and the knowledge that I could uniquely bring to our lab. I walked out of the meeting with one thought in my head: “How do I turn this into a thesis?”
What a ridiculous idea! My wife was finishing her residency and had taken a job in Chattanooga. My 33rd birthday was approaching. My last attempt at school ended in failure. And yet, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
So, here I am, a few months later, with my application submitted. I’ve talked with the program director who seems very supportive, so I’m confident that there won’t be problems with my readmission. I’m going to change my major from biochemistry and molecular biology to neuroscience, which means I’ll have to take a bunch of classes in the spring. Classes which, honestly, I was probably going to take regardless…I don’t have enough background for a neuroscience thesis. Still, having to take the classes versus choosing to take the classes makes them that much more daunting. I really believe that I have the ability to be successful, but the voices are still there, whispering at me every time I close my eyes. What if I can’t hack it? What happens when it gets hard? What if I fail, again?
