Breakthrough
Authors: Jack Andraka
To my
mother
, Jane;
my
father
, Steve;
and my
brother
, Luke,
whose love and support
helped me through this journey
Chapter 2:
The Geek in the Closet
Chapter 3:
A Recipe for Disaster
Chapter 5:
Remember the Patient
Chapter 8:
Oh My God, We Killed Morley Safer
The School of Jack:
Experiments, Tips, and Facts
Â
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From:
To:
Date: April 22, 2011
Subject:Â Production of the antigen and antibody of pancreatic cancer RIP1
Dear Mr. Andraka,
I regret to inform you that your sensor proposed in the attached procedure would in no capacity perform its intended function. The idea of a carbon nanotube transistor would require such a massive amount of resources that the end product would be prohibitively expensive, incredibly delicate, and low in sensitivity and selectivity. Please consider trying a different approach.
Sincerely,
THE INTERVENTION
My parents were sitting across from me on the sofa, and they were not happy.
“Jack, don't you think this idea is just a little far-fetched?”
My father was wearing that worried lookâagain. His eyebrows arched, his hand touching his chin.
My mother was sitting next to him. She stared straight ahead, arms folded across her chest, studying me intently. My parents had recently been forced to do some reassessing since my guidance counselor called. I've learned that guidance counselors tend to call home when students have tried to commit suicide in a bathroom stall.
“We just don't want to see you get hurt, Jack,” she said.
She thinks I can't take the pressure.
“You gave it a great try. Maybe it's time to turn the page. Or set
your sights on a different goal,” she added.
A different goal? Give up?
I had invested too much time and fought too hard. And I was so . . . very . . . close.
It was clear how uncomfortable this whole experience was for my parents. I could see it in their eyes and their posture. They felt obligated to give me a reality check.
But I felt obligated to ignore it. In fact, I was no longer listening. I had zoned out. At this point, I could practically predict what they would say next, because I had already heard all these arguments in my own head a thousand times over.
The arguments went something like this: Who did I think I was? Did I really think that I knew better than all these PhD expert types? Did I really think that my idea would work?
“No matter how much you believe in your idea, we all know it can't happen without someone willing to let you test it out in an actual laboratory, Jack.”
I felt exhausted. I couldn't remember the last time I had gotten a full night of sleep. For months I had been running on nothing but adrenaline. I began to wonder if this was what it felt like to crash.
“If you'd discovered a new way to detect pancreatic cancer, don't you think that one of the doctors would have given you a chance?”
Almost two hundred scientists. Not one thought my idea was credible enough.
What my parents couldn't see, what no one could see, was that in my mind's eye, everything was so clear. A drop of blood on a strip of paper. That was all it would take to test for pancreatic cancer. It was simple, really. If I was right, I was on the brink of a groundbreaking early-detection test with the potential to save millions of people.
None of that mattered, though, if I never made it into a lab.
My parents turned toward each other. They were finally ready to make a decision. They knew how crucially I needed their support. Without it, how was I going to fund my research, or go get the supplies I needed? After all, at the age of fourteen, I wasn't able to drive the family station wagon by myself.
“Okay,” my mom finally said. “Let's see where this goes.”
It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was all I needed.
My uncle had died. I had faced years of bullying and depression. This was what I had. I was not about to give up now.
Not when I was so close.
My test works. I know it does. I just have to prove it to the rest of the world. I just need that one chance.
GROWING UP ANDRAKA
I was born into a house that looked, from the outside, like the other houses on our block in suburban Maryland. But inside, our house was bursting with creative energy. My parents believed that life was a giant puzzle, and we had the happy task of discovering its infinite mysteries.
For my third birthday, my parents gave me a six-foot-long plastic model river, complete with running water. My father, Steve, who works as a civil engineer, thought it would be fun and educational. I spent hours dropping pieces of foam and other objects into my little river. Using different-sized rocks, I watched, utterly transfixed, all the ways obstructions would change the flow of the water. My very first science experiment was a huge successâbanana peels sink.
When I was growing up, my mom, Jane, could turn even a boring
car ride into an intense, brain-racking competition between my brother, Luke, and me. In most cases, the challenge began with an innocent question tossed out by my mom.
“What would happen if the sun disappeared? Go!” Mom asked.
Game on. From the backseat, my brother and I raced each other for the right answer.
“The earth would shoot off its orbit!” he shouted.
“It would get really cold,” I added.
As fast as my brain worked, Luke's moved even faster.
“We wouldn't know about the sun disappearing for a full eight minutes because of the time it takes for light to travel.”
He was so smart and he knew it. Show-off.
“That's not true,” I protested.
“Look it up,” he said calmly, appearing way too satisfied. We both knew he was correct. He had an annoying habit of always being right.
After my mom felt like our brains had been thoroughly exhausted by one type of question (or, in my case, if she suspected I was on the verge of throwing one of my I'm-tired-of-playing-this-game tantrums), she'd abruptly move on to another, sometimes cutting us off mid-sentence.
“Picture an imaginary frog jumping on a number line. The frog always jumps the same number of steps, but we can't tell you the interval. What numbers do you hit to catch the frog? Go!”