December 15, 2023Self-Portrait as Elizabeth Holmes
In 2015, a series of investigations exposed as false Holmes’s claim to have developed a device to perform fast, inexpensive blood tests on miniscule samples. In January 2022, she was found guilty on multiple charges of fraud.
If I’d left Stanford early because I was sick
of teachers saying my ideas weren’t feasible;
if I’d already planned the kind of founder
I would be—black-clad, aloof yet
passionate—before I knew which field
I’d innovate; if I chose blood because
when mine was drawn I’d vomit, faint
and hyperventilate; if my pitch deck
was impeccable, my proof of concept praised
despite its vague science; if I attracted
millions in funding, fans eager to applaud
a young woman in tech; if I was too busy
vowing Theranos could heal health care
to be aware progress had clotted to a halt,
that lifting off the prototype’s sleek shell
revealed a mess of pipettes crushed
by clumsy robot arms, spilled blood gumming
the works; if our launch date had grown
closer and more definite because we’d
partnered with Walgreens; if my engineers
complained my promises weren’t possible,
and if instead of being motivating,
my rage triggered defections and delays;
if once our clinics were open, the finger-prick
sample our patients gave proved not enough
to run most tests, even when diluted
and spread thin; if in order to buy time,
combat the grim panic the lab had grown
infected with, I asked my staff to correct
wrong results, then went further and installed
one of the huge machines I meant to render
obsolete; if my dream was under siege
by doctors doubting my values, employees
blowing bitter whistles, the FDA
demanding evidence; if I was sure
my phone was tapped, my apartment
being circled by black cars; if I’d poured
years of my life-blood into my company
and still believed we needed just a few
more weeks—six months at very most—
to make my invention real, to stop
the fevered flood of blame and bleach
my record clean; then I, too, might’ve
clung to the pristine, inspiring story
that I’d started with: I might’ve lied
and lied and lied while the indictments
piled up, and kept at it until my last
nanotainer of hope was broken and drained.
from #81 - Prompt Poems