Compiled by Holly Dayton ‘13, Lens Section Editor

Every year, the Scroll runs a series of college essays written by the graduating seniors. This year’s seniors are a very talented class who are leaving CCDS to go to colleges all over the country. This is the college entrance essay of Brad Hammoor, who will be gracing the halls of Stanford University this coming fall.

I hiked through a complex maze of labs and classrooms up to a fourth floor office at the University of Cincinnati’s cardiovascular research building. With each twist and turn my anxiety grew. What if I was in over my head? My first task was to unload new supplies: micropipettes, check, test tube racks, check, box of a thousand condoms, che…wait what? I tried to appear nonchalant giving it my best “Hmmm, that’s a bit unexpected” face. When no one was

looking, I scrambled to my computer and called up the lab website searching frantically through the fine print to see if I had misunderstood the purpose of the lab. Why in the world would I be working with condoms, and more importantly, why would I need so many?

At this point I was blushing so brightly I was glowing. I warily completed my checklist and went on a tour of the lab. I was instantly greeted by a dry-erase board etched with mathematical hieroglyphs and a number of incomprehensible experimental apparatuses. I overheard technical conversations that rattled around in my subconscious as I scanned my surroundings. And then I saw it, a piece of equipment “protected” by condoms. I tried not to laugh, biting my lip. Sensing my amusement, a co-worker explained condoms were used as a cheap alternative to transducer sleeves to protect the ultrasound transducers when they were immersed in water.

So there it was, a practical solution for a basic problem achieved by using a conventional item in an unconventional way. It was the very essence of innovation. Staring at the set-up, I realized I still had limits on my creativity. I only saw the condom. Over the next few weeks I reminded myself that being logical doesn’t mean being literal. Having seen the diverse applications of something so simple as a latex sleeve, I opened my mind to the practical uses of almost anything. The opportunity came to test my resourcefulness. I was faced with the challenge of determining the size change of liposomes after a loss of echogenicity but I did not have an efficient way to conduct the test. Remembering the adaptable condom, I used a vacuum chamber specifically designed for degassing water to degas the phospholipid vesicles and then measured their change in size. In doing so I supported the theory that those vesicles were selfsealing because they did not change size, an important validation for the ischemic stroke research project. The ramifications of such findings could be important in analyzing the effects of the treatment further down the bloodstream and preventing a second clot from forming.

Ironically, an object designed to prevent procreation fostered creativity. During my summer research internship, I gained valuable insight into lab culture and protocol. I studied the properties of sound-reflecting (echogenic) liposomes, phospholipid vesicles containing a gaseous volume used as a vehicle for drug delivery, and their application in ischemic stroke therapy. Yet, my most significant finding was that inspiration can come from unexpected places even a small, unassuming piece of latex.

HJM