キャリアニュース2019年1月11日～17日

I was introduced to a whale named Lucky during my first year of grad school. I study North Atlantic right whales—many of whom are scarred by traumatic injuries. Lucky's were dramatic: jagged marks from a brush with a large ship propeller when she was a juvenile. My own story, I've come to realize, is similar, although my scars are less obvious. Eleven years ago, when I was a third-year Ph.D. student, my son Silas died in my arms. He was just 3 days old. The birth nearly took my wife's life as well. Graduating the next year felt like nothing short of a miracle. I was Dr. Schick—the first in my family! I thought it meant that I had recovered from the depths of my loss and had a bright academic future. But there was more to my story—and to Lucky's. ![Figure][1]</img> ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT NEUBECKER > “Like the whales I study, we all carry the scars of our pasts.” Researchers studying Lucky were thrilled and amazed when she became pregnant. Yet as her pregnancy progressed, she gained g