Hear Me Out: Why Innovation Challenges Are Scholarly Pursuits

Hi, I’m Amani. I’m a third-year medical student at UCLA, a former high school science teacher, a published short story writer, and (hopefully 😊) a future neurosurgeon.

As long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to stories, curious about the ways in which we express the thoughts and feelings that are hard to say out loud, intrigued by how we “speak” even when words don’t come easily.

Naturally, in college, I majored in psychology and minored in theatre, with a focus on dramatic writing; and I participated in two study away programs focused on the performing arts. After graduating, while building my premed resume, I did some mental health performance art and got one of my short stories published in an anthology.

When I applied to medical school (almost four years ago!), no one was surprised when the opening of my medical school personal statement was all about theatre. Well, it was about the moment I, in the middle of rehearsing an Othello-adapted social commentary, began to wonder whether my ability to consider the world through someone else’s lens (thanks to acting class) and write someone’s thoughts in a manner true to their voice (thanks to writing class) could be used for social good.

Now I’m a medical student and I spend a great deal of time considering how the patient in front of me might be feeling (thanks to doctoring skills class) and reiterating patients’ hopes, fears, and queries in words other medical professionals can understand (thanks to all the hours in the hospital practicing note-writing). Although I haven’t acted in years (well, except in doctoring class), I’m still fascinated by how people communicate … or don’t.

“You don’t have to wait until you’re in the OR to start solving problems. Innovation challenges like the Health Equity Challenge give you a framework to start now. You don’t need to be a resident or an attending to make a meaningful difference in someone’s care. You just need to listen closely, think creatively, and be brave enough to try something new”

While exploring the nuances of how patients communicate with their health care providers might seem like a very worthy pursuit, I’m applying to neurosurgical programs next year; and I’ve been told by more than one person that the social sciences “aren’t really rigorous” or “prestigious.” Suffice to say, when I mention that I haven’t set foot in a basic science lab and am participating in the Health Equity Challenge, a handful of people say “why!?”

Let me explain. Most people applying to neurosurgery residencies (which I plan to do) have done at least one basic science research project, often several. That’s the norm. It’s considered the “real” research: the kind where you study something under a microscope, identify a molecular target, write up a bunch of results with asterisks and p-values, and hope you get published in an expensive academic journal that ends in “-ology.”

This is especially true for people (like me) who are applying to residency programs that will position you well for professorships and other academic positions.

And as a future academic, I don’t question for a second the importance of basic science research. Science moves us forward. What I do question is whether it’s somehow more valuable and “prestigious” than innovation, especially health equity innovation, which also moves us forward.

I’d even go so far to say that successfully designing and implementing a health equity innovation is pretty much a science experiment and, therefore, should carry exactly the same gravitas as a traditional research publication.

Let’s break it down:

1. Literature review? Check.

Before designing my project, I spent months reviewing studies on communication disparities in neurosurgery and neuro-oncology. I worked with the Patel Lab to interview more than 40 brain tumor patients about the barriers they faced accessing care. Patients brought up things like delayed diagnoses, misunderstood treatment plans, or difficulty navigating follow-up. I’ve also been working with neurologists and neurosurgeons for the past six years on projects related to seizure disorders, spine outcomes, and traumatic brain injury.

2. Identify a gap in the field? Check.

As a society, we’ve made a lot of progress in health equity, especially since “discovering it” in 2020. We’ve seen initiatives to improve language access, offer transportation vouchers, and make telehealth more available. But one area still being overlooked? Communication.

I’m not just talking about language barriers. I mean the more subtle ways that communication breaks down: differences in health literacy, implicit bias, the lasting effects of medical mistrust, and neurological symptoms that impair memory, speech, or decision-making. Patients with neurological conditions are particularly vulnerable to communication gaps. Their brain is quite literally working differently, and yet we often expect them to engage comfortably in high-stakes shared clinical decision-making the same way as everyone else.

3. Propose a hypothesis-driven solution? Check.

I think that giving patients creative tools (i.e. art, storytelling, other nonverbal forms of expression) could improve how they communicate with their providers. There’s already evidence that art therapy helps patients process emotions and improve quality of life in inpatient settings. Why not extend that to outpatient care and patient-provider communication?

4. Design a pilot to test it? Also check.

If our project gets funded, we’ll partner with a local community organization to run an arts program for patients with neurological conditions. It will serve two purposes:

• A therapeutic space for patients to express themselves in ways that don’t rely solely on verbal communication.
• A training tool for medical students and residents, helping them learn how to interpret and respond to patient-generated art as part of clinical communication.

Why does this sound like an experiment? That’s because it is one. It just doesn’t involve gel electrophoresis.

Now that I’ve proven that health equity innovation is simply a less conventional application of the scientific method, I want to give you two reasons why it matters that we change the discourse at all.

First, because future surgeons would love innovation challenges. One of the things that draws people to surgery is the immediacy. You see a problem, you fix it. There’s something deeply satisfying about that, and it’s why a lot of us pick surgical specialties in the first place.

But you don’t have to wait until you’re in the OR to start solving problems. Innovation challenges like the Health Equity Challenge give you a framework to start now.

You don’t need to be a resident or an attending to make a meaningful difference in someone’s care. You just need to listen closely, think creatively, and be brave enough to try something new.

Second, and perhaps most importantly, while “what residency programs look for” shouldn’t be the driving force behind where we, as medical students, choose to focus our time, we live in a world where “what residency program directors think” matters and decides our futures.

I would love for us to get to the point where we’ve redefined what it means to be an academic scholar — where innovators count, community-partnered project leaders count, creatives count, and educators count. I want us to acknowledge these initiatives as more than the “fluffy” padding that balances out “real” research. This work requires rigor, theory, analysis, implementation, iteration, and collaboration; and they fill in the gaps that basic science alone cannot.

I believe that part of our duty to address our patients’ needs is to recognize that many of the most complex problems in health care require multifaceted, interdisciplinary solutions. We need to stop pretending that only certain kinds of research move the needle. The reality is that even if we find a cure or treatment that is 100% effective, its impact is only as great as its accessibility — and access is not studied in the laboratory.

Perhaps we can reframe what it means to be a serious academic surgical applicant to include medical students who are committed to solving problems by any means necessary. Students who care deeply, who innovate boldly, who meet patients where they are.

So, to the medical students wondering whether it’s “worth it” to apply to a health equity competition, start a volunteer initiative, or build a tool that isn’t going to end up in Nature, this is your sign.

It is worth it. It does count. And we need more of it.