I like to believe I’m laid back in lab with both myself and my students. Just don’t blow anything up and it’ll be fine. You make a mistake? Okay. You forget to add something? That’s fine. You have no idea what you’re doing? Let’s explain it again. Not a problem. I aim to be a good scientist without being anal about the things that don’t really matter. A manuscript or a publication worthy experiment? Get your serious face on. An initial attempt to see what the hell is going on with a particular protein? Mess up all you want. You’ll end up repeating yourself fourteen times before you get a real result, anyway. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Unfortunately, in my many years of lab work, I will admit to being a bit too laid back or casual about some situations. Of course, I was taught proper protocol for working with dangerous things, but you get cocky after awhile. You’ve done something so many times that you know exactly how it will go and become lax on certain safety precautions that you decide are “optional.”
For example, I started scoffing at the idea of wearing full protective gloves with liquid nitrogen because I was working with such a small amount. “What’s the big deal?” I asked. Yeah, well, I learned when I accidently froze my two fingers in it. Frozen solid. I could tap them (tap, tap, tap) on the bench top. They were stark white, wrinkled as after a long bath, and frighteningly numb.
I’ve decided to share with you two stories about how I learned not to do a lab-related activity. They are meant to be funny (as is this whole post) because it all ended okay. However, there are situations in labs where things end poorly. I’ve seen pictures of liquid nitrogen tanks exploding or fires that decimated labs and killed employees. These stories below are not like that. They are meant to make you smile just as a friend telling you she tripped over the dog and landed on the sidewalk with a skinned a knee would have the group giggling. More importantly, none of my stories below would have put anyone else in my laboratory in danger. They were silly mistakes born of ego and arrogance, not ignorance or irresponsibility to others. Sometimes we all forget what we’re doing and end up with a cautionary tale to share. These are a few of mine. (For extra entertainment value, I’ve named them like Friends episodes)
The one where I poured a neurotoxin on myself.
Scientists regularly use a chemical called acrylamide. It comes to us as individual acrylamide molecules floating around in a solution with the consistency of water. When we add two other chemicals to it (TEMED and ammonium persulfate), over the course of several minutes, all the acrylamide molecules bind to each other and the solution turns to Jell-o in our tubes. This stuff is quite useful! We use the jello acrylamide (called polyacrylamide) to do all sorts of experiments.
Polymerized acrylamide poses little danger, but monomeric acrylamide is a neurotoxin. Inhalation or absorption through the skin can lead to adverse effects on your nervous system. I, of course, was well aware of its characteristics on this fateful day.
It was summer so I had on a t-shirt, but the lab was cold from air conditioning. My lab coat was, obviously, hung over the back of my lab chair because, even when presented with chill, I do not think to put it on. I am most unfortunate to suffer from runny noses when the temperature is below 72 degrees whether I’m wearing long sleeves or not, so I was sniffing a lot. (Why buildings pump air conditioning in the summer is beyond me – most people are dressed for the balmy temperatures outside and not the arctic temperatures inside. Crazy.) Anyway, here’s what went down:
I had an uncapped tube of monomeric acrylamide in my left hand. The post doc across the lab asked me a question and I began to think about my answer. I realized that my nose was running (again!) so I moved to rub it with the back of my left hand. The only way to do this is to (of course) turn my hand over. This is all well and good unless your left hand is holding an uncapped tube. The unpolymerized acrylamide went all over my right forearm.
For one paralyzing second, I stood there unsure of what to do. Then, I raced to the sink and flushed my arm with water. I then proceeded to the bathroom where I scrubbed my arm raw with soap and water. Finally, I admitted to my boss what I did and he sent me off the emergency room. I had to bring the MSDS (material safety data sheet) for acrylamide and explain my stupidity. Luckily, the percent acrylamide I poured on myself was very low (4%), I showed not even a minor red mark on my arm (aside from the effects of my incessant scrubbing) and everyone agreed that I would be completely fine, which seems to be true.
I have never even come close to doing this again.
The one where I inhaled fire.
Every Monday, large plastic tubs of dry ice are delivered to my laboratory building. Every molecule on this earth can be in one of three phases: solid, liquid or gas*. Carbon dioxide (one carbon bound to two oxygens) is typically in gaseous form. We breathe it out while plants suck it in. (It’s a wonderful little circle we create.) If you cool carbon dioxide down to a very low temperature, then it will form a solid. This is analgous to cooling water down until it forms ice.
Now, let’s remember: Humans breathe carbon dioxide out. We do not want to breathe it in because it will suffocate us. In fact, our building has a rule that no dry ice is allowed on elevators due to the risk of elevator breakage, carbon dioxide take over, and scientist death. (Not good for business.)
I use dry ice in my lab nearly every day. It’s cold so I try not to touch it too much, but further respect for it ended right about there. Until the day I went the tub and found only a small amount in the bottom, that is. I sighed, grabbed the scoop, and plunged my face all the way to the bottom of the tub to get the last few nuggets. This is when, for reasons still unclear to me, I took a deep breath.
Um. There is only way to describe this feeling: FIRE. Hot, shooting, suffocating, brain-numbing fire-y pain. It raced down my throat and burned my lungs then shot up my nostrils, surrounded my brain and hugged tight. I wish I was being dramatic.
I pulled my head out, took several deep breaths and rubbed my head. After staggering back to my lab, I asked my friend if he ever put his head to the bottom of the dry ice bin. He looked at me very seriously and then said with a big smile,
“You took a breath, didn’t you? Hurts like hell!”
I guess we all have this rite of passage.
Final Notes
Neurotoxins and dry ice should be treated with respect, as should most laboratory equipment.
Acrylamide can come as a powder form that will leave particulate matter floating around in the air. Inhalation of this powder is dangerous. Most labs now won’t have powder and strictly order it in liquid form. The percent acrylamide ordered is also around 30 – 40% so spillage is less likely to lead to harmful effects in scientists. Accidents do happen so the field has built in safety precautions with this essential chemical.
Also, dry ice can kill people. I’ve heard anecdotal stories of scientists finding someone in the bin the following morning. In truth, it’s hard to fall inside the tubs we have unless you climb inside (geez – why would you do that??), but stranger things have happened. I found a paper from the Journal of Emergency Medicine that reports on the death of a scientist from dry ice left in a walk in freezer. Simple safety precautions, like only using dry ice in well ventilated areas, are things that are taught very early on to younger scientists.
* Some will argue that a fourth phase can exist called "plasma." It only seems to be present in certain places (like stars) so it's commonly ignored or mentioned in passing by biochemists.
References
Dunford et al. “Asphyxiation due to dry ice in a walk-in freezer.” The Journal of Emergency Medicine (2009) 36(4) pgs 353 – 359.
Me, myself and I.
No comments:
Post a Comment