I Am Doing a PhD at 16—My Mother's Death Is the Reason

I met my mother only once. Our meeting was brief, leaving behind no photographs or baby books to remember her by.

In 2008, in a small, remote village in Southern Ethiopia, she held me for a fleeting moment—our first and last together. Shortly after my birth, she succumbed to tuberculosis (TB), a treatable disease that cruelly robbed us of a future together.

I was ten months old and severely underweight when I was adopted and brought to the United States. Diagnosed with TB shortly after arriving, I was thrust into a battle for life that many children in Ethiopia—and around the world—never survive.

I am incredibly fortunate to have been adopted by a family not only filled with love but also equipped to fight the disease that claimed my biological mother. My mother, Dr. Myiesha Taylor, an emergency medicine physician, ensured that I received the care necessary to not only survive but also to thrive.

I am acutely aware that my story is the exception rather than the rule. It reinforces my commitment to advocate for those who are still caught in the relentless cycle of this preventable disease.

Thanks to the life-saving treatment I received at Kaiser Hospital in Oakland and the long-term care provided by our nation's public health infrastructure, I stand here today. But this narrative extends beyond my recovery—it is a stark reminder of the global fight against TB that continues to claim lives.

I often find myself pondering the fate of countless children who, unlike me, do not escape the grip of TB. How many potential Nelson Mandelas, Albert Einsteins, Marie Curies, or Malala Yousafzai have been lost to a disease that we have the means to treat and prevent? Such thoughts are a somber reminder of the harsh realities faced by many around the world.

According to the World Health Organization, TB is one of the top 10 causes of death worldwide, killing 1.5 million people in 2020 alone. These aren't just numbers—they represent potential leaders, innovators, and caretakers whose contributions to the world will never be realized. Each number is a story cut short, a light extinguished too soon.

My recovery from tuberculosis (TB) was not just a testament to medical science but also to the strength of the public health infrastructure in the United States that supported my treatment. The trajectory of my life shifted dramatically due to the medical care and opportunities I received, a stark contrast to the fate my biological mother met.

Robust health systems like this are not universally available, particularly in the parts of the world where I was born. This disparity inspires my commitment to advocate for international support and policy-making that strengthen health systems globally, especially in low and middle-income countries. I am driven by the mission to ensure that every child has access to the same level of care that enabled me to survive and thrive.

This commitment influenced my decision to pursue a PhD in sociology, a field that provides a lens to examine the complex interactions between society, health, and disease—interactions I have personally lived through.

My journey from that small village in Ethiopia to soon becoming the youngest graduate in the history of Texas Woman's University reflects a broader issue. While my achievements are uniquely mine, they shed light on a devastating reality that affects countless others—lives and potential futures lost to a disease that remains untreated and rampant in many parts of the world.

As I prepare to graduate from Texas Woman's University, the youngest in its storied history since its founding in 1901, I am both honored and excited to join my sister, Haley Taylor Schlitz, in this unique legacy—gratefully stepping forward from the record she once set.

Reflecting on what my early graduation symbolizes, I feel a profound connection to this achievement. At the same time, I reflect on what my early graduation symbolizes. It is not just an academic achievement; it is a call to action. It is a plea to the global community to recommit to the fight against TB, to not only save lives but to unlock the potential of millions more who could change the world.

Tuberculosis rates, alarmingly, are on the rise again in the United States. We cannot afford to lose more lives to a condition that should belong in the past. The world needs more leaders, more healers, more visionaries who can face the challenges of tomorrow. For every child lost to TB, we lose a part of our future.

We cannot allow tuberculosis to continue stealing mothers from their children or potential leaders from our future. My journey from a small village in Ethiopia to becoming a PhD candidate in Sociology at age 16 is not just a personal triumph, it is a powerful demonstration of what is possible when we dedicate ourselves to eradicating TB.

Now is the time to champion a world where every child has the opportunity to leave their mark—a world rich with promise, shaped by our shared efforts and possibilities.

After losing her mother and battling early health challenges, Hana Taylor Schlitz was adopted by an American family. At just 16 years old, she is set to become the youngest graduate in the history of Texas Woman's University in May 2024, with a major in Sociology. This fall, as she begins her PhD in Sociology at Texas Woman's University, Hana embodies the university's motto to "Boldly Go," continuing her pursuit to significantly impact social change through her research and studies.

All views expressed are the author's own.

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