Liza couldn’t hold the paper properly because she was shaking. It was another refusal letter; the seventh so far in a month. Again, her research proposal had been found “too speculative” and “lacking sufficient empirical grounding” by the prestigious Caldwell Institute. She crushed the paper and threw it on the small heap of other papers in her room which formed a little paper mountain at the corner.
On the phone, her sister Mei laughed mockingly and told her to wake up. She called Liza’s attention claiming that she has wasted three years chasing after an empty dream and should start thinking about taking a position at University Hospital where she could benefit from a steady paycheck…
“No I can’t.” Liza said while pressing on her nose.
Mei’s silence spoke volumes. She never understood why anyone would want uncertainty when they could have security. How could one opt out for anything else when this involved residing within four square walls of a shabby hostel comprising itself mostly with packages of fast food?
“Did Professor Huang say about your latest findings?” Mei asked quietly.
Liza stammered, “He…he thinks I am beginning to lose it.”
The fact was that Professor Huang once even asked her to go away from the job of teaching which is why she still remembers every bit of their conversation very clearly.
Afterwards, Liza hung up and faced a wall covered with notes, calculations, as well as academic journals – it served as proof for everything she believed in. Right in the middle lay an enlarged picture of brain taken from scan, showing some kind of defect apparent only to her eyes but denied or overlooked by all others who saw it.
She was sure that the strange signs she had seen before in comatose patients and for which she had identified three years ago would be a breakthrough – an unidentified form of brain function. It could potentially offer an alternative means by which one could communicate even with those who will indefinitely remain in coma. A backdoor to consciousness itself.
The rain outside was just like she felt inside because it increased. She spent everything left to her by their parents after using up her share of the inheritance from them and now there are no more scholarships for her. People referred to her as the mad psychologist; she was thirty-five years old.
The coffee shop was almost empty now. Fatigue overcame Liza although she took three cups containing caffeine.
"Mind if I join you?"
Raising her eyes, she saw an old man standing there beckoning politely towards the seat across from her. There appeared something familiar about him though.
"Do I know you?" she asked.
"No, but I understand what you do, Dr. Chen." He seated himself ere leave was granted. "Call me Leonard Bradford."
The mention stunned her completely. Leonard Bradford – the secluded billionaire whose charity had turned around biomedical engineering since twenty years back.
"You’ve got this amazing algorithm for spotting abnormal brain waves or whatever," he went on calmly. "But those fools at Caldwell don’t see it."
Liza gave him a suspicious look. "How did you find out about my denial?"
"I’m on their board." His grin widened. "I wear many hats, but today none of them are from Caldwell. Instead, I’m here because I’ve never ceased following your studies closely."
"In scientific circles, my research is considered a laughing stock."
"At first, Einstein's theory of relativity was also like this." Bradford drew closer towards her. "New ideas are not easily accepted by scientists. However, I believe that what you have found could be a very important thing on its own. Perhaps it will change completely how we think about human consciousness."
"Why have you come here today, Mr. Bradford?"
"To give you money, good machines, and a research team that doesn’t ignore what you think." He pulled out a business card and pushed it towards her. "Come to my place. Have a look at what we are... Then make up your mind."
Liza looked at the card with racing heart. Was this real? Or just another dead end that would leave her more broken than before?
"What do you want for it?" she asked without taking the card.
"I won’t give you any payment. It’s just some results. I’ve spent so much on medical research, Dr Chen. However, I am dying." He spoke about it in a manner similar to one who comments on rain saying, “It is matter of fact that I have a non-operational brain tumour; none of the usual techniques seem to work on me, though I need someone who thinks outside the box.”
She gathered all the things. “Do you think? I can help you with what I am studying?”
“Believe is very light. I would say that it may turn around everything.” His eyes shone fiercely just like hers sometimes. “And yes, selfishly, perhaps it could be of help to me too — but whether or no, your part’s worth doing.”
Six months down the line, Liza found herself in Bradford’s sophisticated laboratory with equipment she had never hoped to use lying all over the place. Her crew — every member of which was carefully chosen based on their intelligence and willingness to think outside conventional boundaries — bustled about attentively.
Bradford’s situation grew worse by day until now he lay helpless on his bed drifting in and out sleep. The burden of producing results weighed heavily on Liza.
They were looking at a brain scan from their most recent test involving a twenty two year old female who had been comatose for thirty six months post motor car accident. As expected by her, the algorithm coupled with their new imaging technology portrayed certain anomaly in the scan.
"Shhh! Over there," she murmured. "Just like I said." The outcome of applying our created stimulus package was visible. It is feeble, though present.
Liza felt hopeful for the first time in many years – this was not the hope of a desperate person because it was based on facts that can be proven and tested.
That evening she stayed by Bradford and disclosed what they achieved. Despite his eyes being shut, the machines indicated heightened mental functions. Did he hear and comprehend?
"Tomorrow, we will follow the same routine on you too," she told him. "I don't know if anything I say will make a difference or not but there's this slim hope that even though you're unable to move normally, maybe we could reach out to you somehow."
Just as she did this, one drop of tear managed to pass through beneath closed eye of Bradford. It indicated increased activities just like those in their effective experiments.
She took his hand and said, "You’re still there, right? Hold on. We’re coming."
Outside, dawn was breaking. She had remembered all those occasions when she had been taken for mad woman; told that she is too much fixated on senseless hopes and dreams. And yet here she was, standing at the edge of proving them all otherwise.
Maybe it wasn’t far from being foolishness to faith than she thought. What set them apart wasn’t the thinking but rather how determined each was to change those thoughts into acts of courage – every day making small sacrifices for truth’s sake alone.
And sometimes, it seemed as though worthless hope could change into an invaluable treasure.
