This sucks...
I sighed heavily as I gingerly balanced my laboratory notebook atop the styrofoam box, taking extra care not to accidentally drop what lay within. Inside that box, buried within a generous amount of ice to preserve the tissue sample were several tumour explants from an experiment now several months in the making, the final capstone that would determine whether or not the past year of research had been a waste.
All that was left now was to digest the tissue with the protocol that had taken a long and arduous six months to perfect, stain the cells for flow cytometry with the antibody panels developed for analysis of the different cellular compartments of interest, and obtain the final readout that would determine whether or not the entirety of my PhD had even a modicum of scientific value.
Given the trend from experiments past, though, I didn't have high hopes. So far, all I had were negative results, the second most dreaded term in the hearts and minds of everyone working in my field. Taking first place was the term 'p>0.05', or no statistically significant difference, of which I had seen enough times over the past years to plague my nightmares.
For, you see – I am a scientist.
To be precise: the exact field I work in is tumour immunology, and after so, so long, I am in the final year of my PhD.
This seriously, seriously sucks.
I had been attracted to the life sciences ever since I was a kid. My entire family was: my parents were doctors, and even my three siblings had all eventually entered academia in the clinical or experimental circles, in fields as diverse and specific as ribosome biogenesis to tau protein aggregates. They enjoyed their work, and received accolades for them. Frequent publications in high-impact scientific journals were par for the course for them.
As for me, though... even though no one knew it, I was slowly but surely growing tired of all this.
Don't get me wrong – my passion for science would never die. There was just something so undeniably intoxicating to think about the possibilities out there, that still defied humanity's collective thirst for knowledge despite our best efforts in uncovering the universe's secrets for thousands of years. The more we discover, the more we find that there is still an endless amount of knowledge out there waiting to be seized – and wow, the thought of that just gave me a thrill of excitement even now.
I always loved the stories of the old scientist-philosophers of history. Even though many of their findings and theories were now proven to be entirely inaccurate, their tenacity and ingenuity had inspired a sense of awe as I read about their deeds growing up.
My favourite was Galen of the Roman Empire, who, in the second century, had influenced scientific fields ranging the whole span of anatomy, physiology, pathology and neurology, and left his mark in history through his grandiose works on philosophy. His theory of the 'humours' were completely off the mark, but so much of his contributions to physiology had stemmed from sheer observation and inference, advancing the science far more than anyone before him in past centuries. Even today, anatomy texts still revere him as the father of the subject field.
Inspired, bright-eyed and naïve-hearted, I diligently pursued the biological sciences as I furthered my education. By a sheer stroke of luck, I managed to obtain a place in a prestigious university of my choice, studying medicine with the aim of eventually becoming a clinician-scientist.
The preclinical years were fine: I was exposed to the necessary background in a variety of subjects, ranging from anatomy to pharmacology. Even though most of the content was irrelevant to actual clinical practice, being taught on cutting-edge research ongoing in the field left me feeling inspired and amazed.
