Whenever people discuss “science communication”, they generally talk about it in terms of the main outputs: writing and speaking. Of course, this emphasis on outputs makes perfect sense. After all, a communicator uses words, pictures, and whatever else is appropriate (even interpretive dance) to convey ideas. But one thing that I think science communicators shouldn’t underestimate is the importance of reading broadly.
If you’re doing research, it’s far too easy to get sucked into the endless collection of literature within your particular field of study. In my graduate student days, I always had mounds of printed PDFs sitting on my desk in the lab, along with another pile of papers sitting on the floor of my apartment. I had such a constant flow of papers that were relevant to my research area that I barely had the time to read anything else.
Scholarly reading beyond a single field has its challenges. The choice is overwhelming nowadays, so how can you be more efficient and always read the most interesting, high-quality material? It takes some time and effort to pinpoint the types of material you’re interested in and how to get it. The tried and true methods (i.e., PubMed searches) are reliable, but if you’re not looking for something highly specific, it’s actually pretty easy to quickly add some diversity to what I’ll call the “reading diet”.
The main tool that I should mention is Twitter. I joined Twitter during the second year of my Master’s, and only then did I start to regularly read articles from other fields. I didn’t begin using Twitter with the intent to read broadly. Up until then, I’d been resistant to joining yet another social media network (which I assumed was only filled with inane status updates), but I ended up being convinced by a friend who had a wide interest in science and had had fruitful Twitter conversations with other academics.
The value of Twitter started to become more obvious to me after I followed my neuroscience heroes: Oliver Sacks, Adrien Owen, and the like. Then I followed the rest of the typical science crowd: journal publishers, news outlets, organizations, societies, bloggers, and journalists. And so I was hooked. Since then, the benefits have been quite remarkable: in addition to learning more about new research, I was able to learn an incredible amount about the culture of science, the world of scientific publishing, and much more.
As long as you’re following enough accounts with a lot of regular, high-quality content, Twitter is great for the passive discovery of research news, blog posts, and scholarly papers. The relative proportions of links to these that you see on your feed would be determined by the types of accounts you follow. After everything is set up, you literally have interesting links thrown at you whenever you care to tune in, so it becomes quite easy to supplement your reading with new stuff via Twitter.
However, there is always an element of randomness, and the transience of tweets means that if you’re not tuned in 24/7, you’ll inevitably miss something good (unless it goes viral and is re-tweeted by many people). For this reason, regularly following the RSS feeds of specific news sources and science communication blogs is probably a good idea, and this ensures that you always end up knowing something about new research in various areas.
I’m passionate about the field of science metrics (which deals with new ways to measure research impact) and also do a lot of writing as part of my job at Altmetric, so of course I should mention that there are also ways to balance your reading diet using “altmetrics”, also known as alternative metrics. (To learn about altmetrics, you can read the “Interactions” series that I write as the blog editor at Altmetric.) Ranking articles by they attention they receive and filtering by topic gives you lists of “crowdsourced” things to read, bypassing the issue of missing transient tweets. I’m obviously biased, but I genuinely feel that tools like the Altmetric Explorer and the site SciCombinator (which runs on the same data) are some of the most powerful altmetrics-based ways to discover articles that are worth reading.
Now, to get back to science communication. First of all, I haven’t done any formal training in writing since high school, so I can’t claim to be a professional of any sort. But from my point of view, it doesn’t matter if I’m writing a thesis, a journal article, or a blog post: reading a lot of different things (even if they’re not related to what I’m writing) helps me to write better. Reading almost seems to prime my mind for language, helping me to find the right words and phrasing. Most importantly, reading broadly helps me to put things into perspective and can sometimes even lead me to draw unexpected connections between seemingly disconnected threads.
I keep mentioning this idea of a balanced reading diet, but to be honest, I’m not really sure what the ideal balance is. It must depend on the person, as well as on other factors, including profession, stage of career, research field, personal interests, and schedule. When I was in graduate school, my balance might’ve been an 80%-20% split between pain research-related and other articles. Now I focus less on pain research articles (although I keep up as best I can, as I’m still collaborating on papers and interested in the field) and more on the other stuff.
Whatever your exact reading diet is as a writer, I think that a great way to be productive when not writing is just to keep reading. Some might call it procrastination, but at least occasionally I find that the best way to get past writer’s block is to hit refresh on my Twitter feed. I’ve certainly been surprised at how often unrelated ideas could point the way to the ones that were just waiting to be written down.
Last week, while following up on some blog feeds for a project at work, I randomly stumbled upon a short news release from the University of Warwick (Coventry, UK) announcing that the well-known author and neurologist Dr. Oliver Sacks (of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hatand Awakeningsfame) would be giving a lecture at the university on the 11th of March. Since Dr. Sacks lives in New York and is rarely even in the same country as I am (Canada or the UK), I seized this opportunity to book a free ticket to the lecture.
I’ve been a fan of Dr. Sacks ever since I read the opening words of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat during my first year of undergraduate neuroscience. I love all of his books dearly (although sadly, my collection is now divided across continents), and have also enjoyed films based on them (see my review of the 2011 film The Music Never Stopped, based on Dr. Sacks’ case study “The Last Hippie”). Many readers of this blog who are already familiar with Dr. Sacks will know that his writing is incomparable, and the humanity of his medical perspectives is both moving and inspiring.
And so, last Monday afternoon, I traveled for about 3 hours from London to the Warwick Arts Centre in Coventry (located in the West Midlands of England) to get a glimpse of my neuroscience hero. About half an hour before the lecture was supposed to start, a huge crowd of people filled the hall outside the auditorium. The scene was similar to one that you might see before a rock concert – people were jostling about, clutching their printed tickets, and impatiently awaiting the opening of the doors. Ten minutes before the lecture, the floodgates opened and we were herded into the auditorium. In true rock concert style, I was violently shoved aside by one overeager fan who bolted through the crowd; however, he seemed to get his comeuppance after he was turned away for not actually having a ticket.
Warwick Arts Centre (11 March 2013) – Photo by Jean Liu
Over 1000 people poured into the auditorium, scrambling for seats. But this was a lecture after all, and not a rock concert. Maybe it was the fear of accidentally falling asleep in front of the speaker or even the notion that “cool kids sit at the back”, but it seemed that nobody really wanted to sit in the front row of this lecture. As a result, the seats closest to the stage were almost completely empty, so I was happy to take a place in the centre. (In doing so, I got some great photographs of Dr. Sacks up close, which you can see here and on my photo blog.)
Even though the Sacks fanatics seemed to disperse away towards the back of the auditorium, we all had the feeling that we were in the presence of a celebrity. I overheard the official university photographer (sitting next to me) remark that Dr. Sacks’ “entourage” had specifically requested that no flash photography be used at any point during the lecture.
Notes from Dr. Sacks’ talk, “Narrative and Medicine: The Importance of the Case History”
Seventy-nine-year-old Dr. Sacks is gentle, soft-spoken, and every bit as charming as he comes across in his books’ narratives. He seemed a bit nervous, pausing occasionally to shuffle through his notes. Seeing him in person for the first time, I realized that his mannerisms had been captured eerily well by Robin Williams, whose fictional character in the film version of Awakenings, ”Dr. Sayer”, was partially based on Dr. Sacks. He definitely had a healthy sense of humour, as evidenced by part of his response to an audience member’s question “Why did you become interested in brains?”, which was as follows:
“I had kidneys for breakfast this morning. I love kidneys, I have nothing against them. I know several nephrologists. But I think that the brain is more interesting… even more than the kidneys.”
The talk centred around the importance of storytelling in medicine, and how learning about patients as human beings, not as diseases, was necessary to provide the best care. Recalling a colleague who would casually refer to “the delerium in room 6″, Dr. Sacks remarked that there was an unfortunate distance between some physicians and their patients’ humanity. In recounting the writing of his first book, Migraine, Dr. Sacks noted that he found migraine sufferers impossible to treat unless he knew something about who they were. Throughout his lecture, Dr. Sacks peppered his points with other case studies from The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, Awakenings, Musicophilia, and Hallucinations. He said the influences of Alexander Luria (a Soviet neuropsychologist) made him realize how science and storytelling are “complementary, not antithetical”, and he cited his deep admiration for Luria’s “non-fiction novel”, The Mind of a Mnemonist.
Dr. Oliver Sacks at the Warwick Arts Centre (11 March 2013) – Photo by Jean Liu
Later on, Dr. Sacks also criticized the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) for leading a movement to “itemize” psychological and neurological disorders. (He referred to the DSM as “an abominable book”.) With fewer Luria-esque clinical histories being written nowadays, Dr. Sacks feared that the endeavour will disappear altogether. He suggested that physicians who think they lack the time to write a case history should make efforts to craft concise, descriptive case studies, sacrificing length for depth. The talk ended on the idea that science and storytelling should be completely integrated, and must always have a person at the centre.
Some thoughts
It was a great treat to be able to see one of my medical and artistic heroes in person, and even more wonderful to hear Dr. Sacks’ personal perspectives on his famous case histories. I thoroughly enjoyed the lecture, and agreed with most of Dr. Sacks’ points about the necessity of storytelling in preserving the humanity of medicine. Dr. Sacks (dubbed “the poet laureate of medicine” by The New York Times) has been responsible for some of the most beautifully-written medical case histories in recent memory, and his call for physicians to keep writing rich clinical descriptions is important. If medical authors were to lose this passionate and human approach to medicine, it would be a great loss both for patients and readers. Luckily, Dr. Sacks’ works are so memorable and well-loved that writers in the future aren’t likely to forget the poetic spirit of the case history anytime soon.
Critics of Dr. Sacks’ works have argued that much of the allure of his neurological tales comes from the strangeness of the cases. There is truth to this, as many of the case histories deal with extremely unique circumstances: for example, Dr. Sacks has written extraordinary stories about twins who only converse in prime numbers and a highly-skilled surgeon who suffers from Tourette’s syndrome. If these cases were less “remarkable”, would people still be interested in reading the clinical histories? That’s a tough question to answer, because the central subject matter of the story can be as important as the insights that are eventually drawn from it. But some personal stories are unique simply because of how they’re told. I would argue that everybody has an fascinating story – it’s just up to a skilled storyteller to discover it and share it with the world.
Pain is the one area of neuroscience that fascinates me endlessly. Back in 2009, I was finishing up my undergraduate degree and searching for a supervisor for my Master’s. I’d gained some great experience in an auditory neuroscience lab, and although I loved it, I wasn’t necessarily committed to that field. So as I scanned through hundreds of faculty member pages (at a few selected Canadian universities), I remained open to the possibility that a new topic might catch my fancy. When the word “pain” popped up for the first time, the proverbial light bulb turned on.
I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t heard much about pain research before. The truth is, asides from a few research hubs spread out across Canada, there aren’t that many investigators who study pain as compared to other neuroscience areas. Why is this? Maybe it’s because simplistically, pain is regarded as a symptom of various disease conditions – in many cases, treatment of the disease, rather than the pain, it believed to take precedence. Maybe it’s the lack of funding: as far as I’m aware, there are no Canadian charities that fund pain research (with the exception of arthritis charities). Contrast that with the UK, which has access to funding from a charity called the Pain Relief Foundation (based in Liverpool) and from a professional society, the British Pain Society (based in London).
Many aspects of this mysterious thing called pain are interesting: it’s subjective, (nearly) universal, and in normal situations, essential. But it can also change a life and simultaneously destroy it. So I chose to jump into pain research for my Master’s and moved to Halifax. I spent 2 hugely productive years in a pre-clinical pain research laboratory, where I learned more than I can possibly recount here. Ultimately, how I felt about my research was always centred on how I felt about the human aspects of pain, and I wrote about this in the Acknowledgements for my final thesis:
Just prior to my arrival at Dalhousie in the summer of 2010, the first thing that my supervisor, JS, suggested that I read was a book by Marni Jackson, entitled Pain: The Fifth Vital Sign. As JS put it, this book was an exploration of the question “what is this thing we know as pain?” That I was greatly moved and inspired by what I read is no understatement. This book opened my eyes to the profound impact that pain has on the lives of sufferers, and revealed many serious problems that affect the way that pain is treated (and recognized) in our society. Having these broad perspectives of pain kept me focused and motivated in my own research.
As crucial as pain research is, communicating the findings to the public is just as important. The book by Canadian journalist Marni Jackson was able to superbly capture the essence of pain and its issues, but admittedly, the audience for such non-fiction books is probably not huge. Sadly, then, the message is lost.
The situation is completely different when it comes to museums. Museum have the power to be interactive, engaging, vibrant, and therefore, memorable. A few weeks ago, I was delighted to learn that London’s amazing Science Museum was opening a new exhibit entitled “Pain Less”, primarily supported by the Wellcome Trust, along with The Royal College of Anaesthetists, and The Association of Anaesthetists of Great Britain and Ireland. I visited the exhibit last week, and was pleased with what I saw. Covering compelling topics like phantom pain and the genetics of pain, the small exhibit was richly-detailed and furnished with interactive displays, videos, and objects. The minimalistic design was gorgeous and striking, but never depressing.
The “Pain Less” exhibit at the Science Museum in London.
Without a doubt, the exhibit’s greatest strength was its ability to communicate highly complex scientific concepts in an interesting and clear manner. The videos showcased the deeply human stories of pain and its various facets, whereas an interactive screen provided a great, comprehensive explanation of major concepts, without shying away from scientific terminology. (A highlight for me was the great explanation of congenital insensitivity to pain; the text discussed voltage-gated sodium channels and the mutation in the SCN9A gene, which encodes the NaV1.7 channel.) By embracing and respecting the audience, rather than condescendingly “dumbing down” the content, the exhibit demonstrated that intelligent, well-explained, and sparse use of scientific jargon can be very effective.
One of the displays in the “Pain Less” exhibit at the Science Museum in London.
Of course, throwing around terms like “SCN9A” probably would cross more than a few pairs of eyes, and a science museum must consciously cater to a wide audience. Since there was some disturbing material, this exhibit was mainly geared towards adults. However, there was still one interactive activity that caught the attention of a few kids in the vicinity: a game called “Ouch”. Designed by students in a Year 9 science class (aged 13-14), the game is well-designed, cute (actually, is that appropriate for a serious subject like pain?), and Missile Command-esque, and players must protect the brain from incoming pain signals using various “weapons”: placebos, painkillers, general anaesthetics, and spider venom (a putative analgesic?). Since there was a queue of people waiting to play the game at the museum, I actually didn’t get my chance to try it out there. However, I was able to play the game online, which brings me to my final point…
The online material for “Pain Less” is a great adjunct to the exhibit. From the excellent “behind the scenes” blog to the availability of a large-print version of the display text, the Science Museum has given visitors a chance to learn more and read over what they might have missed, thereby enhancing the overall experience. The Science Museum deserves much respect for raising the profile of pain research, and for creating this marvelous piece of science communication.
“Pain Less” runs from 8 Nov 2012 to 8 Nov 2013 at the Science Museum (Exhibition Rd, South Kensington, London, SW7 2DD).
During the big move from Halifax to London, I had been prepared to encounter every possible roadblock. Yet my journey was mostly uneventful, with the exception of a little clumsy accident that occurred during a stopover in Reykjavik, Iceland, resulting in a portion of my laptop’s plastic outer shell getting shattered. Asides from that unfortunate incident (which thankfully didn’t impair the functionality of my computer), how smooth my transition into London life ended up being came as a surprise to even my most optimistic friends. In less than 2 weeks after my arrival in London, I’d gotten everything that I needed – a mobile phone, a UK bank account, amazing accommodations, and a very cool job. Of course, I couldn’t have achieved such a seamless transition without some help from others, and I was incredibly fortunate to have the support and assistance from several good friends in London. Culture shock has been essentially non-existent for me, although I was teased a bit by new British acquaintances for not knowing what “plasters” were (I learned that they’re band-aids) and for thinking that Strongbow was a premium cider (apparently only in Canada). Also, I once absentmindedly tried to flag down a bus that was driving on the opposite side of the road, but other than that, I’ve been doing quite well.
After living in London for 24 days (and having just celebrated my 24th birthday this week), I must say that I’m hopelessly in love with this city. Although I’m still in the early days of my life as a Londoner, it’s pretty clear to me that moving here was one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made. The lively atmosphere, interesting neighbourhoods, beautiful architecture, efficient transportation system, and charming residents make every foray out of the house an exciting one. Having arrived right at the start of the London 2012 Paralympic Games, I even had the chance to watch 2 games of men’s wheelchair basketball at the impressive North Greenwich Arena. Although I wasn’t lucky enough to witness Canada’s gold medal win against Australia, watching teams from Poland, Turkey, Spain, and Germany compete in this graceful, exciting sport was a truly memorable experience.
The beautiful National Gallery in London’s Trafalgar Square proudly displayed the Paralympic Agitos logo for the London 2012 Paralympic Games. Photo was taken on 12 September 2012.
Science in London
In addition to all the wonders that London is typically known for, the city is also a veritable playground for science nerds and music geeks. Since I fit into both categories, I’ve been finding that the number of things to see and do is staggering. With respect to my interests in science and medicine, there are numerous interesting landmarks and museums that I’ve already been to, and many more that I plan to check out. Furthermore, lectures and science-related public outreach activities are constantly happening in universities and museums, and all of these events will be exciting to attend. Science communication is a particularly hot topic in this city, and since the field is the one in which I’m now employed, it will be a great experience to learn from the best.
How has London become such a hub for scientific activity? Perhaps by exploring the various fascinating science spots in this city, the answer to that question will become clear. To keep track of all the cool spots in London, I’ve started a little project to visit and map out landmarks, museums, and other sites related to science and medicine. Below is a customized Google Map of London onto which I have pinned various sites, including Charles Darwin’s house, Dr. James Parkinson’s house (which has been converted into a very classy bar), and notable museums. Future blog posts will explore specific spots in more depth, but for every location on the map, I’ve written a short description of interesting things to see. As I visit more places, I will keep updating the map. You can view the full map, entitled “Portable Brain’s London”, right here. Hopefully, by the time I’ve amassed a few more places, the map can serve as a useful guide for visitors to London who wish to do a bit of “science tourism”!
The waiting area by Gate 28 in the Halifax International Airport is as quiet as a library tonight. The hush puts me at ease, and for the first time in weeks, I feel strangely relaxed. Months of dreaming, planning, questioning, and deliberating have propelled me towards this evening, when I will leave everything I’ve ever had in Canada for a new life in London.
And so, I say good-bye (for now) to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I’ve just spent 2 of the most remarkable and fulfilling years of my life. I’ll miss everything about this enchanting city: the way the sun shimmers over the Northwest Arm at dusk, how the seagulls sound as they bicker and play by the Harbour, and the way the streets come alive on the first sunny day after weeks of rain. But most of all, I’ll miss my amazing friends and colleagues, who, in 2 short years, have taught me more about the world and myself than I ever imagined possible. These people (along with my family and friends in my hometown of Ottawa) have prepared me for the unpredictable future that will meet me tomorrow. Let’s see, then, where the adventure will take me!
Farewell to Nova Scotia!
Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast, Let your mountains dark and dreary be. For when I am far away on the briny ocean tossed, Will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?
Two weeks before embarking on a life-altering overseas move from Canada to the UK, most people would probably spend their time packing, selling possessions, taking care of finances, finishing up work commitments, and saying good-bye to friends. But if you’re a die-hard neuroscience enthusiast like I am, then you would do the aforementioned things while also participating in an intense 12-day long Summer Institute about the business side of neurotechnology.
1. Business, Neuroscience, Law, and Everything In Between
The Summer Institute on Neurotechnology, Innovation, and Commercialization (NICE), was held for the first time ever at Dalhousie University (Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada) from August 12 to 24, 2012. Organized by Dr. Aaron Newman, along with other faculty members of Dalhousie’s RADIANT (Rehabilitative and Diagnostic Innovation in Applied NeuroTechnology) program, the Summer Institute was designed to complement the traditional education of neuroscience trainees by providing a series of in-depth, interactive workshops relating to entrepreneurship, innovation, business, career development, and communication. The overarching goal of this multifaceted Summer Institute was to allow neuroscience students of all backgrounds and levels to develop the skills, knowledge, and tools to bring innovative ideas out of the lab into the world. As the RADIANT website puts it:
“NICE is targeted at science trainees who are fuelled by passion and curiosity about neuroscience, but are frustrated by the apparent obstacles between work done in the lab, and things that can have a real impact on people’s lives.”
The first cohort to participate in the Summer Institute was composed of 18 people, including myself. All of us possessed different undergraduate and graduate backgrounds in various fields, including neuroscience, psychology, computer science, and business. While most participants were studying at Canadian institutions, including Dalhousie University and the University of Toronto, a few attendees were visiting from abroad. It was an amazing experience to get to befriend, interact with, and work alongside people with such diverse interests, ideas, and talents. The environment of the Summer Institute was extremely welcoming and friendly, and we all got to know each other better by relaxing over several great meals (including Dr. Newman’s epic lobster cookout last night) and social events. Hopefully we can all meet up again someday, and I invite all of my new friends to say hello if they ever find themselves in London.
Over 12 days, we soaked up the expertise of various visiting speakers, which included an impressive array of industry executives, lawyers, neuroscientists, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists, and journalists. We were exposed to the processes of thinking creatively, conducting market research, creating business models, abiding by research ethics guidelines, protecting intellectual property, as well as communicating science through journalism. All of this served to give us a sense of how to bring science into business.
While I won’t get into the details of exactly what I learned during the course, a few workshops stood out for me. My favourite session was the one led by entrepreneurship professor Dr. Mike Goldsby (Ball State University, Indiana, USA), a charismatic, engaging, and inspiring speaker who certainly sparked the imaginations of everyone in the room. Dr. Goldsby proclaimed that, beyond the traditional view of entrepreneurs as businesspeople, entrepreneurs are artists and facilitators of new ideas. Arguing that the iterative process of bringing a new idea to market requires not only intuition and passion, but also skills in three broad domains (research, creativity, and expression), Dr. Goldsby gave us a crash course in starting a business, breaking down the factors that are critical for success. Although I don’t necessarily plan to start my own business now, what I took away from Dr. Goldsby’s workshop was a sense of the entrepreneurial mindset, which will directly help to shape my career path and boost my employability. Thinking of new career or school opportunities as entrepreneurial ventures would certainly not be a foreign idea to any graduate student who has ever had to apply for a scholarship. For example, the concept of “salesmanship” in business is virtually identical to “grantsmanship” in the academic sphere. Essentially, graduate students (or entrepreneurs) are trying to prove to a funding agency (or venture capitalists and angel investors) that, as newcomers to the science world (or the business world), they are capable and innovative enough to complete a project that will benefit society. Along with all the other skills that we need to develop during our scientific training, salesmanship/grantsmanship and being able to think in terms of the “big picture” are hugely beneficial, whether the goal is to stay in science or take things beyond the lab.
Another highlight for me was the “More Than Money” careers workshop held by the cognitive neuroscientist-turned-career-coach Dr. Mrim Boutla. Dr. Boutla’s unique approach for mapping out key priorities in life to inform future career moves really resonated with me, especially since I’m in the midst of making my transition from graduate school in Canada to working life in the UK. I have always said that my goal is to find a career in which I won’t look forward to the weekend so much. I want every day to be fulfilling. I want to love what I do, and not be counting down the seconds until Friday evening. As such, the concept of finding a career that is about more than the money really clicked with my outlook.
The RADIANT Summer Institute was packed with lectures and workshops by a whirlwind stream of experts, but we were also expected to apply what we had learned through an ambitious group project. We formed teams of 3-5 people and developed a novel business idea that we had to pitch to local venture capitalists and business leaders during a final “Dragon’s Den”-style session. I, along with 4 others, decided to target the issue of chronic low back pain, and proposed the development of special type of pain tracking/monitoring app. Over 12 days, we did market research by interviewing clinicians, researchers, and pain sufferers (locally and online via surveys), analyzed the competitive landscape, fleshed out the features of our product, then came up with a business model and customer acquisition plan, before finally putting together a presentation for the Dragons. The project was an intense exercise in teamwork, but overall an enjoyable and useful way to apply the knowledge we’d gained from the workshops. In the future, it would be useful for the organizers of the Summer Institute to break down the project into more focused milestones. From my team’s experience, the hectic nature of the course schedule, the order of the course topics, and the lack of cohesion between some of the speakers made it difficult to plan out project parts in advance. This resulted in too much stalling in the “brainstorming stage”, an excessive amount of market research, and a lack of emphasis on the financial planning. In spite of all the challenges, every team produced stellar business pitches that definitely seemed to impress the Dragons.
A RADIANT Summer Institute 2012 group shot. Photo courtesy of Dr. Aaron Newman.
2. The Issue of Science Communication
While we were very fortunate to be able to listen to such a varied group of experts, not every session was well-received by the attendees. The general consensus among our group was that the weakest session was the “Journalism 101″ workshop given by several Canadian print and TV journalists, in conjunction with a Dalhousie biologist and the Science Media Centre of Canada. Given my interest in science communication, I was particularly looking forward to this workshop. The intent was to educate scientists on how to communicate their research findings to the public, but I feel that what ensued did not adequately achieve this goal. Only 1 of the journalists had any kind of formal training in the sciences, and so, instead of teaching scientists how to improve public outreach and education about science (e.g., how to tell the story effectively), the workshop ended up being more of a lecture on how scientists are inherently bad at communicating and need to make the deadline-driven lives of journalists easier by “being able to string a sentence together”.
I was disappointed in the brash and arrogant “band-aid” approach to scientific literacy that was conveyed during this workshop. Scientists and journalists may have completely different objectives, but they should both share the responsibility of ensuring that the public is well-educated and well-informed about science. It is certainly true that many scientists are bad at communicating their findings, but they need to be taught to do better. Since publicly-funded scientists owe it to the public to be able to articulate their findings clearly, they need to hone public speaking and writing skills, perhaps through mandatory communication courses during undergraduate- and graduate-level science training. On the journalism side, the effectiveness of scientific communication can be severely hampered by those “killer” deadlines, which lead to a dangerous reliance on minimal background research, inadequate fact-checking, and biased sources. From the workshop, it seemed like some of the journalists regarded members of the general public as simple consumers of scientific news information. In effect, there is a lot of science reporting in Canada that ends up treating the general public like children with short attention spans, who must be placated with sexy, punchy stories without giving a real sense of research impact or a broader context. From an educational standpoint, this approach is condescending. As scientists, we must do our part to stimulate interest in our work so that we can change the way the public thinksabout and discusses science as a whole. We need to ensure that non-scientists can always access clear, good quality, accurate, and well-balanced information. Science touches the lives of everyone on the planet and affects every aspect of modern society. Communicating science poorly or superficially does everyone a great injustice.
In the future, the Summer Institute would benefit from also bringing in other science communicators, such as curators of museum exhibits, medical writers and copywriters, science bloggers, science policymakers and ethicists, and even science teachers.
3. Why Every Neuroscience Student Needs to Take a Course Like This
Being a part of the RADIANT Summer Institute has been a great experience, and it was a perfect way to finish off my MSc in Pharmacology/Neuroscience at Dalhousie University. (Now I can honestly say that the words “competitive advantage valuation” will no longer make my eyes glaze over!) Below, I’ve drawn a little concept map of different skills that are useful in science. Prior to attending the Summer Institute, I wouldn’t have intuitively considered salesmanship and creativity (innovation) to be essential skills for scientists to have. It turns out that these two skills are as important as lab or communication skills. In the constantly shifting career landscape, it will become increasingly important for scientists to understand the intersection of science with business, law, ethics, and communication. As a neuroscience student, even if you don’t create your own business, you still need to be able to understand a) how businesses grow and operate, and b) the “big picture” of how your scientific research could make an impact in the world. Hopefully, the RADIANT Summer Institute will be continue to be offered for many years to come. Congratulations to RADIANT, Dalhousie University, and Dr. Newman for developing a very useful adjunct to traditional neuroscience education in Canada.
Being a good scientist takes more than lab skills.
In an earlier post, I explained that I was first attracted to the field of neuroscience because it attempts to answer the question “What is humanity?” This question isn’t always the most “practical” to ask in the short-term, especially when the search for disease cures takes up the bulk of research funding. Nevertheless, it’s always refreshing to come across neuroscience research that delves into a somewhat unconventional, yet deeply fascinating aspect of being human. Below, I discuss 3 of my favourite neuroimaging studies which probe at thought-provoking ideas in the domains of Consciousness, Pain, and Sexuality.
1. Consciousness: Reaching out to people in vegetative, “locked-in” states
The first topic relates not so much a single published article, but rather to a large, impressive body of work conducted by Dr. Adrian Owen (formerly of Cambridge University, and now at the University of Western Ontario), who studies disorders of consciousness resulting from brain injuries. When Dr. Owen came to Halifax last summer to give 2 lectures, I didn’t actually know anything about his research. After attending both of his engaging and impeccably-delivered talks at Dalhousie University, I became a bit of a fan of his. This reaction seems appropriate, given that Dr. Owen has become quite the celebrity in the science world because of his startling discovery that functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) technology can be used to communicate with brain-injured patients in vegetative states, who have otherwise been deemed to be “brain dead” and completely unresponsive. Arguing that the proof of a person’s state of awareness is shown by their ability to follow basic commands, Dr. Owen devised a response strategy for vegetative state patients, allowing them to answer “yes” or “no” to a given question. To respond “yes”, the patient was asked to imagine playing tennis. The act of imagining the distinctive swinging motion of a tennis racket reproducibly appeared in the fMRI brain scan as an increased signal originating from the supplementary motor area, which is involved in the control of movements. To respond “no”, the patient was asked to imagine walking through their home, resulting in an increased fMRI signal from the parahippocampal gyrus, which is involved in spatial recognition. This scheme allowed Dr. Owen and his team to ask vegetative state patient specific questions that only the patient and close family knew the answers to. After consulting with the patients’ families, confirmation of the accuracy of the responses cemented the reliability of this communication method. To date, numerous patients have been “found” using this technique.
The revelation that vegetative state patients are still conscious and able to respond to questions uncovered a horrifying truth: there are far more people are experiencing “locked-in” syndrome than had previously been assumed. The implications of this research are tragic in one sense – how many in the past have been grossly neglected after being presumed brain dead? Moral and ethical issues concerning a vegetative state patient’s decision to end his or her own life are also beginning to get caught up in this work – is the patient actually capable of and/or fully able to comprehend making this type of decision? Notwithstanding these concerns, this work offers hope for reaching out to such patients, and for perhaps making their lives more comfortable in some way. For instance, by asking if patients are in pain, small steps towards improving quality of life may be made.
However, there are practical constraints for how far fMRI can go in the clinic for vegetative state patients. Among various limitations, the expense and the size of MRI equipment renders it impractical for having such slow conversations. Consequently, Dr. Owen’s laboratory is currently engaged in efforts to improve the portability, speed, and cost-effectiveness of communicating with vegetative state patients through the use of electroencephalography (EEG) rather than MRI. Since EEG involves the attachment of electrodes directly to the scalp, it is less sensitive to the activity of deeper brain structures such as the parahippocampal gyrus, when compared to MRI. As a result, new response paradigms that will be more amenable to EEG are being developed.
Two things that struck me about Dr. Owen himself is how passionate he is about his research, as well as how skilled he is as a science communicator. Below is a clip of one of his lectures, and is definitely worth taking a look at.
2. Pain: The enhancement of pain relief through religious belief
In 1946, concerning his observations as a U.S. Army doctor in World War II, the anaesthesiologist Henry Beecher wrote,
“There is a common belief that wounds are inevitably associated with pain, and further, that the more extensive the wound the worse the pain. Observations of freshly wounded men in the Combat Zone showed this generalization to be misleading.”
This quotation is a dramatic illustration of how variable pain perception can be between different individuals. The body’s pain pathway is usually depicted in textbooks as a loop: first, a painful stimulus activates pain-sensing receptors (“nociceptors”) in the skin, muscles, joints, or internal organs, and as a result, pain signals are produced and transmitted, first to the spinal cord and then to the brain. Pain is processed and perceived in the brain, which also sends signals back to the spinal cord via a “descending” pathway; this serves to suppress or amplify particular incoming pain signals from the periphery.
The brain is well-known to be the level of the pain pathway that produces the perception of pain. The pain experience is constructed from the widespread activation of various brain regions, including those involved in sensation, emotion, memory, and cognition. But strangely enough (at least from a research standpoint), the brain is arguably the most frequently overlooked player in the pain experience. It’s messy territory, and extremely complicated to examine systematically, especially in humans. Nevertheless, neuroimaging technology has allowed for the brain in pain to be visualized, and many interesting observations have been made as a result. One study that caught my attention in particular is entitled “An fMRI study measuring analgesia enhanced by religion as a belief system”, and was conducted by researchers at the University of Oxford. This study examined the ability of religious images to dampen a religious person’s perception of pain. While religious belief has been anecdotally described as being beneficial for coping with pain, this had previously never been demonstrated in the lab.
As part of the study, the researchers recruited two groups of participants. One group was comprised of 12 highly-devout Roman Catholics who attended mass at least once a week and frequently performed various devotional actions. The other group consisted of 12 people who, denoted as “non-religious”, identified themselves as being either atheists or agnostics. The purpose of the study was two-fold: the researchers wanted to know if one’s religious beliefs could alter the perception of pain intensity from a series of noxious electric shocks (delivered to the hand), and if so, which brain regions were involved mediating in this phenomenon. In an fMRI scanner, participants were asked to rate their perceived pain intensity from the shocks while viewing images of either the Virgin Mary or a similar painting of a woman (control condition). Intriguingly, the religious group reported that viewing the image of the Virgin Mary was more helpful for coping with the pain. Furthermore, during the experiment, these participants appeared to display more activation of a brain area called the right ventrolateral prefrontal cortex. In contrast, the non-religious group didn’t have a preference for either the Virgin Mary image or the control image, and did not experience any pain relief from either of the images. Additionally, non-religious participants did not show activation of the right ventrolateral prefrontal cortex, suggesting that that brain area could be involved in mediating the religious response and subsequent pain relief.
The authors proposed that religious belief, combined with the viewing of a religious symbol, is able to lead to a re-interpretation of the emotional response to pain. Moreover, they suggested that the right ventrolateral prefrontal cortex is involved in this process of “re-appraisal”, during which the perception of pain is modified through an emotional bond with a religious symbol. For me, this study brings up many interesting questions. How would people who were formerly religious or non-religious respond to pain in this experiment? In other words, does changing your mind about religion later in life affect the way that your brain has been wired to respond to pain? And more practically, is this a form of placebo effect that could be used to accompany standard care for religious pain sufferers through the provision of religious objects or imagery? Can other emotionally-charged symbols or objects also modify the experience of pain through a similar mechanism? All of these considerations could certainly be explored in the future using brain imaging.
3. Sexuality: Visualizing the male orgasm
You know that when a paper politely describes a “protocol for ejaculation” and “manual penile stimulation” in the Methods section that it must have been quite an interesting experience for whoever was involved in the data collection process. The last article that I will briefly describe is entitled “Brain activation during human male ejaculation”, and seems frivolous at first glance. However, this research is important because it aids in the understanding and improvement of male sexual health by providing insights into sex-related neural circuits in male brains (heterosexual ones, in this case). Although it was published about 9 years ago, this article has consistently held a spot on the list (updated monthly) of the most-read articles in the Journal of Neuroscience.
In this study, the researchers used positron emission tomography (PET) and MRI scanning to identify regions of the male brain that become activated during ejaculation. They found that a region of the brain called the mesodiencephalic transition zone became highly activated during orgasm, and proposed that areas within this zone that mediate reward, the control of pelvic floor muscles, and sensation, could all potentially be involved in the process of ejaculation. Other areas of the brain involved in emotion and attention were activated, while the amygdala (a center involved in the processing of fear) was actually less active. Overall, this study, which examined healthy male subjects, provided the first framework upon which sexual dysfunctions could subsequently be examined through a neuroscientific lens. Plus, it was also just plain satisfying (pun intended) for everyone’s curiosity.
In summary, the vast improvements in neuroimaging technology have paved the way for numerous fascinating questions in neuroscience to be explored. Whether it’s in consciousness, pain, or even the male orgasm, brain scanning has already begun to revolutionize the ways that we are able to explore our humanity.
Holstege, G., Georgiadis, J. R., Paans, A. M. J., Meiners, L. C., van der Graaf, F. H. C. E., & Reinders, A. A. T. S. (2003). Brain Activation during Human Male Ejaculation. The Journal of Neuroscience, 23, 9185-93.
Wiech, K., Farias, M., Kahane, G., Shackel, N., Tiede, W., & Tracey, I. (2008). An fMRI study measuring analgesia enhanced by religion as a belief system. Pain, 139, 467-76
The neuroscientists of today have it pretty easy compared to the early pioneers of the field. We now have rapid access to an unprecedented wealth of scientific information, as well as more ways to collaborate with others than ever before. Importantly, we also have at our disposal an astounding and constantly-evolving array of drugs, tools, and technologies that would leave even the most visionary science-fiction author momentarily speechless. We are lucky to be living in what is certainly the most exciting era for neuroscience in the history of human existence. While the quest to cure various neurological diseases and disorders is the focus of neuroscience research, there are also many researchers who, driven by curiosity and discovery, seek to unravel the mysteries of the nervous system. Both facets of neuroscience – applied and basic research – constantly interact with one another, and the results are fascinating to behold.
It’s easy to forget that there were once simpler, crazier, and ethically-questionable periods in the millenia-spanning story of how we came to know the brain. Once upon a time, when action potentials, gene regulation, and stereotaxic coordinates were unknown to anyone on the planet, brain surgery essentially involved thrusting a sharp instrument through the skull (“trepanning”), telling the presumably conscious patient to stop their agonized howling, and then hoping for the best. Then there was a time when ancient Egyptian embalmers considered the brain to be an unimportant organ, plucking it out through the nostrils and usually disposing of it, forcing mummified corpses to find their way to the afterlife, sans hippocampus. This was followed by an impressive parade across the centuries of philosophers, physicians, patients, corpses, grave-diggers, anatomists, animals, scientists, and frog legs, who all greatly enriched the study of the nervous system in important ways. Fast-forward to the early 20th century, and there was Hans Berger, who invented electroencephalography (or EEG, which traces the brain’s electrical activity), and did so on the basis of his theories of mental telepathy rather than spontaneous neuronal firing in the cerebral cortex. And shockingly risky business in brain surgery was taking place even as recently as the 1950s, when Dr. Wilder Penfield famously produced the “cortical homunculus” by electrically stimulating the primary motor and somatosensory cortices of awake epileptic patients under local anaesthesia.
Trepanned skull (Jericho, 2200-2000 BCE) at the Wellcome Collection in London. I don’t envy this person at all. I’d definitely prefer a brain scan, anaesthetics, and stereotaxic surgery performed by a qualified neurosurgeon over having an unanaesthetized amateur trepanation.
Big strides in our understanding of nervous system anatomy, physiology, and pharmacology were made in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and these developments sparked the transition to modern neuroscience. When imaging of the living brain became possible in the late 1900s, neuroscience really exploded. Acronyms like CT, PET, and MRI entered our vocabulary, and today, imaging is one of the most important and promising diagnostic tools used in medicine. In parallel with its role in medicine, neuroimaging technologies have become major research tools for examining the structural and functional aspects of the brain, in both health and disease. Although considerable debate rages between scientists concerning the limitations, reliability, and validity of neuroimaging techniques and analyses, tools like MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) have opened up the possibility of being able to answer questions that early pioneers of brain research never even dreamt of asking.
In the next post, I’ll be discussing 3 of my favourite neuroimaging studies in the domains of Consciousness, Pain, and Sexuality. I guarantee that all of these would have completely blown Hans Berger’s mind. Who needs telepathy when you have an MRI machine?
Recommended reading:
Millett, D. (2001). Hans Berger: From psychic energy to the EEG. Perspectives in Biology and Medicine, 44, 522-42.
Penfield, W. (1977). No Man Alone: A Neurosurgeon’s Life. New York: Little, Brown and Company.
The past week or so has sped by in a dizzying blur. In between successfully defending my Master’s thesis, celebrating with my lovely friends at the local watering holes, and entertaining an Ottawa friend during her first visit to Halifax, I have scarcely had time to catch my breath, let alone really think about the reality of the life that faces me now.
So here it is: I am no longer a graduate student. In 5 weeks, I’m going to bid farewell to Nova Scotia, uproot my existence in Canada, and move to London, England, where a new and presumably more exciting life awaits me. I currently have a few contacts in London (they can be counted on one hand), some meagre life savings (I reluctantly acknowledge that these must be converted from $ to £), and an exhaustive list of “opportunities to explore” (scribbled on a sheet of graph paper). To prepare for this adventure, I’m downsizing the complexity of my life, purging every unnecessary or frivolous item in my possession, and keeping only the minimum that will be required for me to A) survive and B) look presentable.
Some days, I have boundless enthusiasm, chirping cheerfully about how freeing this adventure is going to be and how fun it’s going to be to try and “make it” (whatever that means) in one of the most impressive hubs of scientific activity in the world. Then, on other days, I am lightning-struck by a feeling of pure terror. What if I end up as a lunatic in a pub, drunkenly singing “Barrett’s Privateers” at top volume? What if I fail at everything I set out to do? What if I go broke?
Well, one thing is for certain – I’ve lived in Halifax for 2 years and haven’t managed to memorize the lyrics to “Barrett’s Privateers”, so the first worst-case scenario is out. At any rate, I’m fully anticipating that this adventure will be equal parts exhilarating and depressing (at times). I know that I will just have to be resourceful when I tackle new and surprising problems. Whatever happens, I’m determined to improve and enrich my life in new ways, and on top of that, I have a healthy appetite for change. So seeking happiness on another continent it is!
On a slightly unrelated note, I also have plans to expand my skills as a writer in my newfound spare time. Over the next year or so, I’ll be collaborating with my MSc supervisor in writing articles relating to the pain research we’ve conducted. Additionally, you can expect more frequent updates of this blog, with posts about various topics, ranging from my London adventure to anything that is currently striking my fancy in the field of neuroscience.
Whenever a graduate student saunters down the hallways holding an enormous stack of paper and wearing an excessively wide grin, everyone else immediately understands what’s happened. This student has completed their thesis. That hefty document isn’t simply a culprit in the murder of a perfectly good tree – it’s the culmination of several years’ worth of lab research, and is the ticket to the grand finale of the degree, the oral defence.
Today, after nearly 2 years filled with coursework, sleepless nights, caffeinated beverages, toxic lab chemicals, sketchy lab coats, steep learning curves, experimental results that fell on the cusp of statistical significance, as well as several exhilarating and meaningful discoveries (which made everything completely worthwhile), it was finally my turn to jaunt over to the departmental photocopier with a 145-page document in hand. Although I had spent the last few months writing furiously (in what was essentially a state of hyperfocus), and had neglected many other fun things in life (including this blog!), I had finally finished writing my Master’s thesis. My sigh of relief lasted for nearly a minute.
Who knew that tyrosine hydroxylase-stained neurons in the brainstem could be this beautiful? If the science thing doesn’t work out, I may have a future in art. Move over, Jackson Pollock!
And yet, after all the hard work that I put in to my degree, I have been forced to critically evaluate the question “what is the worth of a Master’s degree?” Last year, a guest lecturer visiting from the United States met with graduate students in our department and declared (much to our collective chagrin) that the only students worth training as researchers were those who were committed to pursuing a PhD degree only. This professor argued that 2-year Master’s research programs were too short for any “meaningful” work to be conducted, and that investing in a PhD student who was “serious” about science would allow supervisors to reap the appropriate benefits in terms of research output. It appears that some believe that the Master’s degree is simply a relic of old academic career trajectories that deserves to be phased out of modern graduate education. Conflicting interests clearly play a role in this view. Supervisors may be more inclined to keep well-trained (and cheap) personnel in their labs, whereas graduate students may wish to seek different opportunities that cater to their own career paths and interests.
While it may be an uphill struggle (or impossible) to land certain science jobs if one lacks a PhD, is a Master’s degree actually useless? Given that I’m only a few weeks away from completing a Master’s research degree, I’m obviously very biased about this topic. However, I believe that this degree has been valuable in my own development as a pain researcher, and also as a scientific writer. While I learned various transferrable neuroscience techniques, my most worthy accomplishments were that I learned how to THINK, ANALYZE, and PROBLEM SOLVE (often on a very restricted budget!). These skills are useful in any endeavour. In terms of research output, I felt that I had a sufficient amount of time to undertake and complete two separate research projects. (The “meaningfulness” of the work will be judged when I submit my first manuscript for publication!)
One of my peers likens the Master’s degree to a “mini-PhD”, because we are getting the whole experience of being truly immersed in research. We experience our fair share of successes and failures. To cope with the daily grind in between, we must stay interested in what we are learning about. We can be just as passionate about our projects as a PhD students are, only we must complete everything on a compressed timeline. Of course, it will mean that our supervisors will need to find other students to fill the void when we leave, but for our careers, the compactness of this degree gives us the flexibility to gain new experiences in other labs (or even other fields) without compromising the development of our research abilities. Ultimately, this is a degree of freedom (pardon the statistics pun), which allows one to either specialize in a particular field, or pursue something else that is more personally fulfilling.
So how will having a Master’s degree in Pharmacology and Neuroscience prepare me for what comes next? The answer, at this point, is unclear. But in less than 9 weeks, I will be propelled from my cozy graduate student lifestyle into the vast, uncharted wilderness that is The Real World. After months of careful deliberation and planning, I’ve chosen to enter reality (read: the work force, at least for now) as a Canadian in London, UK, and have obtained a 2-year UK work permit to make this all happen. Of course, I love science enough to want to pursue a PhD – however, choosing the right program is not a decision that I want to make lightly. Until I find a suitable program and research topic that fits with my specific goals, interests, and needs, I want to soak up as many new experiences relating to neuroscience and science communication as I can. London, it seems, is a great place to start looking for these experiences. And it really is time to take my brain outside of the lab, because there is so much else that is going on in the world.
