My Day Off

Eleven years after graduating from college, I got my first real job. Earlier this month, I sat in a suburban office building outside of Washington, DC, pledged to serve and protect the constitution of the United States as a civilian employee of the United States Public Health Service, and started commuting to the National Institutes of Health (NIH). My new daily routine involves driving to work early each morning, passing through a gated entrance with guards who swab my steering wheel (for illicit substances, I presume) and past banners declaring “Medicine for the Public”—the mission (I presume) of the NIH.

Today, November 28, I did not make it into work. Instead, I flew 600 miles into America's heartland to attend the funeral of my 90-year-old grandmother who had died over the Thanksgiving weekend. Despite her distaste for doctors, she lived independently until 2 years ago, and her mind was strong until last year. She was survived by all her children.

On the plane to Michigan, I caught up on some reading. I read several articles on the future of biomedical research, about key aspects of research financing, training, public attitudes, stem-cell research, genetics, etc. Despite the real challenges facing our professional community (including funding and training), I read about how biomedical research innovation holds great promise for improving public health.

Then I got off the plane. I drove to a small, familiar country town and was greeted warmly by relatives grown plump and wrinkled with age. Most days my extended family members go about their lives without a thought …