Every time Bridgett Ready of San Luis Obispo, Calif., catches one of the kisses her young son, Jack, likes to throw, she offers up a silent "thank you" to Iris Gibbs, AS '90, and other physicians at the Lucile Packard Children's Hospital at Stanford University Medical Center.

Without Gibbs, an assistant professor in the Department of Radiation Oncology at the medical center, and others on Jack's medical team, he most likely would not have lived to see his first birthday.

Born in Lewes, Del., Gibbs grew up in Dover. Her father was a minister and the custodian at Dover High School and her mother ran a child-care business in their home.

Gibbs was driven, even as a teenager, to succeed. Knowing her family had economic challenges, she worked hard in high school with an eye toward getting an academic scholarship to college. She received offers from Ivy League schools and chose UD, where she majored in chemistry.

"As far back as I can remember, I knew a career in medicine was an option," she says.

Graduating cum laude, she says her one regret is that she didn't have time to enjoy all she had accomplished as an undergraduate. Within a week, she was in grad school at Stanford University.

As she sought a research project at Stanford, one thing was always clear. She wanted to do work that had immediate patient benefits.

"I always wanted work that was clinically oriented, that would have immediate relevance," she says. "Even the pharmaceutical lab, where I spent a summer working, didn't have the immediacy I wanted."

Then Gibbs met Susan Knox, a young physician just starting her academic practice. She was working with gene sequencing and immunotherapy, trying to attach radioisotopes to cells for more directive therapy.

Together, Knox and Gibbs determined that the over-expression of the BCL-2 gene, present in certain types of lymphomas, could prohibit radiation-induced programmed cell death.

"It was very exciting because this allowed us to redirect the focus of our research into radiation-induced cell death," Gibbs says.

In 1995, Gibbs received her medical degree with research honors. In 1996, she completed her internship at Highland General Hospital in Oakland, Calif., and became an oncology resident at Stanford University Medical Center. She joined the academic faculty of Stanford upon completion of her residency in 2000.

Before deciding on this job, she explored many fields of medicine.

"I looked at dermatology, pediatrics, gynecology and obstetrics. I think dermatologists are probably the smartest people I've ever seen, but they spend most of their time diagnosing acne. I really enjoyed delivering babies and I do have a special place in my heart for children, but the first time I had to send a pediatric patient home for hospice care, it was just overwhelming.

"So, I didn't choose pediatrics, even as I realized that, as a radiation oncologist, 20 percent of all my patients would have pediatric malignancies. It's tough, but it's rewarding. It just seemed to be the most natural outgrowth of my work in the lab. I'm very happy with my career path."

And so are the Readys.

As Bridgett recalls her son's early days, she says, "Jack, like my other children, was a healthy, happy baby whose development through the age of 3 months seemed completely normal."

Shortly after that milestone, however, the Readys noticed Jack becoming cranky and holding his head at a slight tilt. An overnight hospital observation yielded little information but, as a precaution, his pediatrician ordered a CT scan.

"As we awaited the results, our baby smiled, cooed and entertained the nurses," Ready recalls. The family was unprepared for the sight of the pediatrician with tears in his eyes as he informed them that the CT scan revealed a large and possibly malignant tumor at the base of Jack's brain.

They also were unprepared for the speed with which the aggressive tumor spread. Within a week, Jack was paralyzed, blind, deaf and unable to breathe on his own.

While many California hospitals dismissed Jack's case as hopeless, the staff at Lucile Packard sent a helicopter for Jack and his mom as soon as they learned of the case. Steven Huhn drove two hours on his day off to perform surgery that removed 80 percent of
the tumor; Paul Fisher implemented a four-month cycle of chemotherapy, followed by radiotherapy, to be administered by Gibbs when Jack was 9 months old, to wipe out the tumor's remaining 20 percent.

"The radiotherapy is risky. It is known to cause brain damage in children under the age of 2 and also is dangerous because Jack was put to sleep to receive the treatment," Ready explains. "But, Dr. Gibbs met with us and took us through all the steps. We were very frightened before we met her. She is that rare combination of a brilliant doctor and a down-to-earth person who can help you through the bad times.

"We were taking a chance by adding the radiotherapy but, when we sought a second opinion, the head of New York's Children's Hospital told us the plan Dr. Gibbs devised was the best he had ever seen," Ready says.

The treatments were a huge success and Jack's last MRI showed no evidence of either the tumor or resulting brain damage. By all accounts, with the exception of minor balance problems, he is a very normal youngster who rolls over, sits up and has his vision, breathing and hearing back.

"Dr. Gibbs is a remarkable woman," Ready says. "She always had time to explain and re-explain things to us. She stops by the hospital on holidays and takes pictures of the kids. I just can't say enough about her."

Gibbs says she will keep Jack's success story close to her heart for a long time.

"When I first saw the scans of Jack's tumor, I didn't know if the photos were from the ICU or if this was a postmortem," Gibbs says. "It was the largest tumor I had ever seen. We didn't have great expectations for him, but his mother said we were the only ones who even held out a glimmer of hope. That's important. That's worthwhile."

Gibbs says memories of success stories like Jack's help her through the struggles all junior faculty face at a medical school.

"Some days, we all feel overwhelmed," she says. "There's so much to do. It's an uphill battle. Junior faculty don't always survive the rigors of academia. There is pressure to publish, to get grants, to be unique in medicine. With every success, you still know the next stage will be stressful."

A typical day for Gibbs begins at 6 a.m. when she begins the task of juggling lab work, teaching, ongoing patient care conferences, visiting hospitalized patients and meeting with new ones. There is other academic work to attend to, as well, plus consultations with residents and patient data to collect for research.

"One of my personal goals is to learn to express emotion without crying every second--to be realistic about my patients' chances and to know that every time I will be giving them my best," she says.

Gibbs' resumé includes a host of awards and honors, including the declaration of July 22, 2000, as "Iris C. Gibbs Day" in Delaware by then-Gov. Thomas Carper. While home for that celebration, Gibbs met Cherie Dotson, UD coordinator of NUCLEUS (Network of Undergraduate Collaborative Learning Experiences for Underrepresented Scholars) in the Howard Hughes Medical Institute (HHMI) undergraduate program. The two hit it off, and Gibbs returned to UD this spring as the guest speaker at the year's concluding program for HHMI students.

"She was the perfect speaker for the HHMI students," Dotson says. "She's accomplished so much and is very inspiring. Our students can look at her and see what's possible."

"Early on," Gibbs says, "I recognized the issues of race or gender bias and I was prepared for that. I wasn't as prepared for the issue of youth. I had one patient ask me if I was old enough to treat him, and I said I'd be glad to add a couple of grey hairs if that would make him feel better. After the procedure, he tells everyone that he'd only want to be treated by Iris Gibbs."

Gibbs says frequent visits to her family in Delaware help keep her grounded.

"My sisters don't let me get away with anything," she says, "and, because I've concentrated on a career instead of having a family, they are wonderful about sharing their children with me. They keep me involved in their lives."

Back in California, Gibbs fills the little spare time she has with church activities and reading "things totally unrelated to science and medicine."

"At the end of the day," she says, "I hope people will have seen Iris Gibbs as someone who contributed to the realm of medicine, to her patients and to her community at large."

--Beth Thomas