USD Magazine, Summer 2001

to spark the cell's good qualities.

This summer, she'll con– duce one of the first rests of her work by introducing the protein into lung cells (she works with adult rat tissue, not human tissue) . If the tissue protects itself from further damage or, even more dramatically, begins rhe process of repair, she will have made a significant breakthrough. "Much of what we know today as gene therapy started like chis, because someone wanted to know rhe answer to a basic question - how genes work," says Driscoll, who recenrly won a National Institutes of Health grant char will fund her work for another four years. "As researchers, we usually don't start our figur– ing how our work will be applied. We believe in ask– ing questions, even if we can't see the immediate benefit." Bur her work has dra– matic benefits. Her previous study, an eight-year stint working on a rumor sup– pressor protein, resulted in the first clones of the pro– tein. Driscoll says a San

"This is the black box of science right now" W hen discussing her intricate research, which someday may lead to rhe human lung replacing its own dead and diseased tis– sue, Barbara Driscoll has a way of slapping you upside the head with the pure simplicity ofir. "You can't live without breathing," Driscoll says matter-of-factly, a frank analysis of the five years she has spent hunkered in her lab, searching for the secret to growing "good" lung cells. "People rake it so much for granted ... bur to struggle to breathe is a terrible thing." A simple concept, yes. A simple quest, anything bur. Like an astronomer scanning the heavens for a delicate star millions of light years away, Driscoll scrutinizes the most micro– scopic bit of life - our generic coding - to discover the elusive recipe for prompting cells to quickly replicate, much like they do when

Diego-based company is using the research to make the protein more active and stall the growth of cancerous rumors. Driscoll's determined approach to chal– lenges was evident in her youth. Originally an English major at USD, she switched to the sciences after finding her classes too easy. "At the time, I thought I really wanted a challenge, to do something exciting and use a different part of my brain. Thar's the arro– gance of youth. Ir turned our to be really, really hard, and it wasn't always that rewarding. " Driscoll credits the direction of her men– tors, Sister Par Shaffer and Patricia Traylor, both chemistry professors during an era when women were expected to be cooking in the kitchen, not in the lab. "They made me chink that wanting to be a scientist wasn't a big deal, " says Driscoll, who received her doctorate from the University of Arizona. "Now I know what a miracle it was for chem to be women and have their Ph.Ds. They were true role models."

developing from an embryo into a baby. By locating these progenitor cells and ana– lyzing their RNA (the mid-part of DNA coding), Driscoll hopes to unlock the secret to their wild growth and flip the same switch in healthy cells, ulrimarely resulting in dam– aged lung tissue - or ocher parts of the body- regenerating itself. . "This is the black box of science right now," says Driscoll. "If we find the key markers for these cells and isolate chem, there would be a lot of interest in growing organs for replacement." The search is excruciating. And exciting. Driscoll thinks she may have found the marker, a surface protein believed to partici– pate in the cell's protection, repair and regeneration. Bur that's only half the barrle. She then has to rake char generic coding and feed its 60,000 pieces of information onto a microchip. Using her computer like a light switch, she rums each piece of generic infor– mation on and off to get the correct sequence

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SUMMER 2001