“Hey, do you want to be an expert witness?” my husband asked
me one night.
“Maybe,”
I answered suspiciously. “What am I an
expert on?”
“Aluminum,”
he said rather matter-of-factly. I,
however, started laughing.
“Oh, I
am? Says who?”
“Everyone! You have a Ph.D. in chemistry!” I could tell from his response that he wasn’t
kidding. I simply smiled and shook
my head.
“I’m
not that kind of chemist,” I explained.
“I do biological chemistry.”
“Aren’t
they same? Aluminum’s a chemical and you
know about chemicals.”
“Not
really,” I sighed.
Oh,
there are so many things that I do not know; my incomplete knowledge of the
earth’s soft metals is only the tip of the iceberg. This exchange highlighted one of the many
misconceptions about a regular scientist’s knowledge and skill set. Having a degree in science doesn’t mean that
I know everything about every kind of science.
Physics isn’t the same as either molecular biology or cellular biology,
nor are those two the same as each other.
Just as a neurologist has a different knowledge base than an orthopedic
surgeon, such does a chemist, biologist, physicist and astronomer.
“Okay,
can you be an expert on explosives?” he asked with greater enthusiasm.
I just
stared at him blankly.
While
walking around lab this past week, I paid attention to the things that my colleagues
and I didn’t know that would probably be interesting to those outside of my
field. We all have notions about other
professions. I’m rather certain that my
lawyer husband spends all day/every day reading thick legal books and that my
chef brother-in-law has encountered every food-stuff ever to grace this
earth. They can tell you why I’m wrong
about them, but I’ll dispel some common misconceptions that I run into about
scientists.
We’re excellent at
math.
The
first day in my graduate lab, an older student asked me to calculate
something. When I asked for a
calculator, he looked at me like I suggested nailing my hand to a wall. When I mumbled that even a pen and piece of
paper would be helpful, he sighed and told me the number I needed with a “do
better next time” look. I was
humbled. And scared. Was everyone in science like this??
Turns
out, the answer is a resounding no. Even
for the simplest of calculations, I still pull out a piece of paper to set up
the basic algebra. I have to. Others feel similarly, but choose their
gloved hand instead of paper for writing out equations. While a technician, my boss would often write
all over his glove, circle the important numbers, and then promptly throw the
glove away before doing the experiment.
He’d then pull out another glove and do it all over again.
Members
of my graduate lab predominantly kept to themselves when doing work, but my
post doctoral lab is more … incestuous … about experiments; everyone’s in each
other’s business. In turn, this means
that we’re all checking each other’s math.
I’ve become the de facto checker because I’m the chemist; most of the
biologists would rather think about more abstract things than if they added the
right amount of reagents. I’m not sure
if one of my labmates even owns a calculator – he just avoids experiments that
require any kind of quantitation.
We’re not social.
The
stories are out there; I know you’ve heard them. Little can top the blurb posted on my
Facebook wall last week about a lively dinner involving several physicists and
my friend Jay. Apparently Jay discovered
that those of the physics variety would rather watch white-water rafting (for hours)
on the internet than partake because it was less dangerous. I believe they also squared away that drugs
and rock-n-roll are bad for everyone and that long awkward pauses enlighten
even the most dismal dining experiences.
I can’t tell you how hard I laughed at this because, while I understand
that these people exist, they are not the norm.
I promise.
Granted,
scientists tend to be a little nerdier than most (we read constantly and understand the
terms “nanoparticle” and “western blotting”), but we also have
frustrations that drive us to the bars just like the lawyers, med students, and
financiers of the world. I don’t think I’ve
ever gone to as many happy hours or been anywhere near as social in my life as
I was while working on my Ph.D. I went
out with members of other labs several nights a week and had lively
conversations. Okay, it was a lot about
our jobs, but mostly our boss frustrations or teaching nightmares. We rarely bemoaned that our ethanol
precipitations of DNA didn’t work and we most definitely didn’t discuss
abstract theories unless to say “It makes no sense!” Often the loudest or the largest group in our
favorite bars, we had befriended most of the bartenders, were well-known and
well-liked.
Life is
quieter now that I don’t work at a university, but if getting scientists to
some sort of event is necessary, alcohol and not making the topic extra
ridiculously nerdy is always a good call; the normals from all labs will be
drawn out to have a fun time together.
Unfortunately, those physicists up there won’t make it, but their
labmates will and we’ll have a good laugh at everyone’s expense.
We always understand
the results of our experiments.
In a
recent group meeting, one of my labmates gave a presentation where he openly
stated that he got a result that no one in our lab understood immediately. It was most definitely the truth because the
result was so strange. My PI announced
he was uncomfortable with such a public statement of ignorance and that my
labmate should re-tailor this area of the presentation. Myself and another labmate asked why
admitting limited knowledge, especially on something that no one had ever
encountered before, was a bad thing.
The
entire point of science is to push the boundaries of what we know and
understand. It’s what makes a graduate
student get up at 5am to go to lab or a post doctoral associate cry at night
when his data isn’t good enough for a Nature paper. It’s what we live and breathe on a daily
basis. Sure, we go into an experiment
having assumptions on how it’s going to turn out, but that’s most definitely
not always what happens. However, even
when we get some screwy results, we are usually able to frame them in the
context of previously known science. But,
ever so rarely, we do come across data that defies logical explanation. In short, the community’s knowledge cannot
offer any sort of framework. These
moments are rare and to be celebrated.
It was this type of situation my labmate was describing and we have
every right to say “WTF is that?”
An
undergraduate student at that same lab meeting said her friends often ask her
why we haven’t found the cure for cancer yet if we know so much. The answer is obvious, we don’t know
everything yet. Given the complexities
that are constantly being discovered about our cells, proteins, DNA, and
environmental interaction, I sometimes wonder if we ever will.
REFERENCES
Me, myself and I
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