Taryn Allen- Reengineering Purpose: Houston Methodist Summer Undergradute Research Program (9 points)

    This summer, I spent ten weeks conducting research at the Houston Methodist Research Institute through the Summer Undergraduate Research Internship. As someone who has always envisioned myself becoming a physician, I entered the program thinking I would primarily be learning how research works. I did not expect the experience to challenge the way I understood medicine, cancer, and even my own purpose within science.

Working in the Texas Medical Center, one of the largest medical centers in the world, placed me in an environment where the science I was learning in the classroom became tangible. Under the mentorship of Dr. Kristopher Brannan and Dr. Ricardo Noriega, I worked on a project exploring mRNA-guided reprogramming therapy for triple-negative breast cancer (TNBC). TNBC is an aggressive form of breast cancer that is particularly difficult to treat because it lacks some of the molecular targets used for other breast cancer therapies. It also disproportionately contributes to mortality among Black women, making this research especially meaningful to me as a Black woman pursuing medicine.

My research focused on RADARS (Reprogrammable ADAR Sensors), an emerging platform designed to make cancer therapy more precise. Rather than simply asking, “How can we kill cancer cells?” our work asked a more complicated question: “How can we teach a therapy to recognize the cells we actually want to target?” I investigated different protein payloads and developed hands-on experience with molecular cloning, DNA extraction, bacterial transformation, plasmid preparation, in vitro transcription, gel electrophoresis, and other techniques that transformed concepts from my biology courses into something I could physically perform.

There were moments when research felt far removed from the patient. I could spend hours preparing plasmids, checking gels, repeating procedures, or troubleshooting an experiment that did not work the way I expected. But those moments taught me something I do not think I could have learned from a textbook: medicine is built on the willingness to keep asking questions when the answer is not immediately visible. Research also taught me that failure is not the opposite of progress. Sometimes the experiment that did not produce the result I wanted was the experiment that taught me the most. I began to understand that science is not always about getting the right answer on the first attempt. It is about being curious enough to ask better questions, disciplined enough to investigate them, and resilient enough to start again.

One of the most meaningful parts of my summer was having the opportunity to present my research at the Methodist Association for Postdoctoral and Trainee Affairs (MAPTA) Science Symposium. Standing in front of researchers and trainees and explaining work that I had spent weeks learning, troubleshooting, and developing made me realize how much I had grown. I was not simply performing experiments anymore; I was learning how to communicate why those experiments mattered.

Presenting also gave me a new appreciation for the collaborative nature of scientific discovery. The work I contributed to was part of a much larger research effort supported by funding from the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute, the Cancer Prevention Research Institute of Texas, the George and Angelina Kostas Research Center for Cardiovascular Nanomedicine, and the Congressionally Directed Medical Research Programs/Department of War Medical Burn Program. Knowing that my work existed within a broader network of researchers, institutions, and funding dedicated to advancing biomedical science gave me a deeper appreciation for how much collaboration is required to move an idea from a laboratory bench toward something that can eventually benefit a patient.

Most importantly, this experience changed the way I see my future as a physician. Before this summer, I viewed research as something adjacent to medicine, valuable, but separate from the physician I hoped to become. Now, I see how deeply connected they are. A physician does not simply treat what is already known. A physician can also be part of the process of discovering what comes next. That realization felt especially significant because of my own connection to cancer. Losing my father to colon cancer when I was eight gave the word "cancer" a personal meaning long before I understood its biology. Years later, standing in a research laboratory and contributing, in my own small way, to work aimed at improving cancer treatment felt surreal. I was no longer only the daughter who experienced the impact of cancer. I was becoming a scientist, learning how to fight it.

As a Black woman on the pre-medical track, I also became more aware of what it means to see myself in spaces where people who look like me have historically been underrepresented. My identity did not make me an expert, nor did it mean that my work alone could solve the disparities surrounding TNBC. But it gave the work another layer of meaning. I was reminded that representation in science is not simply about occupying a seat in a laboratory. It is about bringing new questions, experiences, and perspectives into rooms where decisions about the future of medicine are being made. I left Houston Methodist with more than a collection of new laboratory skills or a symposium presentation on my résumé. I left with a different understanding of what it means to pursue medicine. I learned that being a physician can mean treating a patient in front of you, but it can also mean contributing to research that may one day change how thousands of patients are treated. This summer taught me that I do not have to choose between being a scientist and being a physician. I can become both.

In many ways, my research was about reprogramming, using RNA to help redirect cells toward a different outcome. Ironically, the experience did something similar for me. It reprogrammed the way I see my future. I entered the laboratory as a rising sophomore who knew she wanted to become a doctor. I left with a clearer understanding of the kind of doctor I hope to become: one who not only treats disease but also questions it; one who recognizes disparities and works to address them; and one who understands that sometimes, changing medicine begins with being willing to reengineer what we already know.

Taryn Allen, Class of 2029: Academic Enrichment (Gold Level 9 points)