As you may have noticed if you've clicked over at some point in the past day or two, I've been trying to roll out a new blog design. I've been working on it during my overnights in the lab (what, you thought I was reading articles at 3am?) and it looked great in my test blog, but apparently it doesn't want to cooperate in my actual blog and is still pulling some formatting from my previous layout and I can't figure out how to get rid of it (CSS, I hate you). I just "upgraded" to the new CSS-required widget-thingie Blogger updated layout, from my previous safe-zone of HTML coding, so if anyone is a CSS whiz and can offer up their $0.02, it would be much appreciated, because I'm sick of looking at it (if it looks perfect in the test blog, then when I copy it here, it should look the same... right?!?!).
Let me know how everything else looks from your browser -- in a disgruntled fit one day, I completely uninstalled Internet Explorer from my computer, so I can only check things out in Firefox, so I have a sneaking suspicion IE is going to screw me over here... (also, if you think it stinks, feel free to tell be to bring back the old layout). I've also joined Twitter and put the link in the sidebar, so if you Twitter too, add me!
Also, I've decided to broaden my posting horizons. My life has become so one-dimensional with all graduate school, all the time, so even if I don't have time to do anything else... it's time to occasionally write about something else. Back after my wedding, several people asked if I would be willing to post more pictures. I kind of let them slide to the back burner, because I didn't really want to think about anything wedding related, and was absorbed by my research, but now I need to think about something other than research, and another request has come up again... so expect to see some wedding pictures. Also, Kim is starting a recipe exchange, and since Husband suckered me into cooking for him every night a year into our relationship, I'm a regular slave to the stove now. No, it's not science related, per se... but all scientists have to eat, right?
But, don't worry. I'm sure there will still be an overload of whiny, grumbly, ranty posts for the next several years regarding my lack of laboratory progress.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Phillies Win! Husband Loses!
Tonight, the Philadelphia Phillies won only their second World Series in 125 years, ending the Philadelphia championship drought. The whole "we've gone the longest in consecutive sports seasons without a championship" whine never really did much for me, since for the most part, I dislike Philadelphia sports fans, but over the 7 years I've been with my husband, I've definitely developed a soft spot in my heart for the Phillies. My grandfather need not worry, I was born into a Yankees family, and will die a fan, but there's no reason why I can't support a National League team as well. And if I'm going to be forced to live out the majority of years of my life in Philadelphia, I may as well like ONE of the teams there... and well, my father instilled in me a loathing of the Flyers, and while I'm content when the Eagles do well, the people of Philadelphia seem to think there is some ginormous Steelers-Eagles rivalry, and I get booed and cursed at and called all sorts of derogatory things when I wear my Steelers attire, which doesn't do much for me. But the Phillies? The Phillies I like.
And tonight, the Phillies won the World Series. And instead of watching and celebrating with my husband, I watched by myself, because my husband is on night float, meaning he works every night from 7pm-8am. So, apparently, as his new wife, I am missing the Most Important Event in his lifetime, as he phrased it. Because my relatively unemotional husband, who was not overly excited nor shed tears of joy on our wedding day, just called me after watching Brad Lidge throw the final strike of the game, and was in tears.
Tears. Crying. Because watching the Phillies win the World Series was the Most Important Event of his lifetime thus far. I mean, hey, I was neither jumping up and down nor crying at our wedding, but I also don't cry for sporting events. There were no tears when the Steelers won the Superbowl.
And so, dear Husband, if the Phillies winning is the Most Important Event, then let me ask you this: once you are done with night float, and return to your regularly scheduled sleeping schedule, will Cole Hamels be the one keeping you warm at night?
And tonight, the Phillies won the World Series. And instead of watching and celebrating with my husband, I watched by myself, because my husband is on night float, meaning he works every night from 7pm-8am. So, apparently, as his new wife, I am missing the Most Important Event in his lifetime, as he phrased it. Because my relatively unemotional husband, who was not overly excited nor shed tears of joy on our wedding day, just called me after watching Brad Lidge throw the final strike of the game, and was in tears.
Tears. Crying. Because watching the Phillies win the World Series was the Most Important Event of his lifetime thus far. I mean, hey, I was neither jumping up and down nor crying at our wedding, but I also don't cry for sporting events. There were no tears when the Steelers won the Superbowl.
And so, dear Husband, if the Phillies winning is the Most Important Event, then let me ask you this: once you are done with night float, and return to your regularly scheduled sleeping schedule, will Cole Hamels be the one keeping you warm at night?
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Running on Empty
It is 6am and I am in lab. I am not in lab because I arrived early this morning (as would be the norm for me), but rather, because I have not yet left after arriving a bit before 6am yesterday. And, of course, exactly like the overnight that has happened once a week for the past 5 weeks, this was unplanned, so I have an entire day of experiments to complete today. I'm fine with the 24 hours of work. But this weekly "unexpected" (though I suppose by now, I should expect it -- I just don't know what day it will be coming) 36 hour day, followed by 12 hour days every other day of the week, is starting to wear me thin.
I've reached my point where I'm damn near ready to throw in the towel. I know that every student goes through this at some point -- I am by no means looking for pity and saying that I am in some awful situation here -- but it has just reached a new level of frustration to watch students the same year as me waltz into the lab at 10am and back out the door at 5pm, and have first author papers already. Meanwhile, I am here pulling weekly overnight shifts, and have absolutely no data that is anywhere near publication quality. I have mounds and mounds and mounds of shit data with great looking controls, but that doesn't really help me out. And it's so frustrating because I feel like I can't give any more to make this work. I already put in more hours than any other student. I'm not saying that I'm better or a harder worker, it's just that my project requires it, and the projects of other students don't require these hours. I don't know if they would be willing to stay overnight every week if they were doing the same thing as me... some probably would, and I know some would not. But I am giving all I have to give, and yet it is never enough.
I am constantly sacrificing on behalf of science. In the five months since I've been married, I have basically had no contact with the majority of my friends, because I am constantly in the lab. My husband and I often go days without seeing each other, though I suppose that is a good thing in terms of easing us into what it will be like when he moves away come June. I've given up all the hobbies and interests I once had outside of science. Probably saddest of all, I've nearly had to cut off contact with my mother -- I call only when my husband forces me to do so. Every single conversation we have, my mother brings up "So, is there a light at the end of the tunnel yet?" in reference to when I will be done. I have asked her dozens of times to not ask me, and I will let her know when I know, but she insists on asking, every time, because "people want to know." Screw them. I don't know. I tell her I don't know. And every time, this sparks an argument. Look, this isn't medical school. It's not four years and out. The average for my program is 6 years. There are a few lucky people who get out in 5. There are some 8th year students still hanging around. The program dictates that students must have one first author publication in a journal with an impact factor greater than 5; my PI's personal requirements are that I must have two first author papers before I am allowed to defend. I had quality data, but it all went into a post-doc's paper. I get it -- this is how science works, and I am fine with that, but this puts me back at square one, as EVERY bit of publishable data I had went into that paper, and I am not the first author. And so here I am, a fourth year student, and I have zero worthwhile data. And I need two first author papers before I can defend. So no Mom, I have no fucking idea when I'll be done, and if you are so concerned with asking me every time because you need an answer to tell your friends that you are unable to respect my wishes to not talk about it, then I have no desire whatsoever to talk to you at this point in my life.
I know that I always come across as frustrated and miserable and bitter, but often, I blog about these feelings so that I do not have to carry them around in reality. It's far easier to vent in a post and then be able to fake a smile when someone asks how the lab is and shrug and tell them it's chugging along. But truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep that up without something (anything!) working. I put in the hours. I research the methods. I use correct experimental design -- my controls always work. And yet somehow, the protein from hell always finds a way to screw over whatever I am doing. But I can't keep doing this for much longer when my tank of hope is running completely on empty.
I've reached my point where I'm damn near ready to throw in the towel. I know that every student goes through this at some point -- I am by no means looking for pity and saying that I am in some awful situation here -- but it has just reached a new level of frustration to watch students the same year as me waltz into the lab at 10am and back out the door at 5pm, and have first author papers already. Meanwhile, I am here pulling weekly overnight shifts, and have absolutely no data that is anywhere near publication quality. I have mounds and mounds and mounds of shit data with great looking controls, but that doesn't really help me out. And it's so frustrating because I feel like I can't give any more to make this work. I already put in more hours than any other student. I'm not saying that I'm better or a harder worker, it's just that my project requires it, and the projects of other students don't require these hours. I don't know if they would be willing to stay overnight every week if they were doing the same thing as me... some probably would, and I know some would not. But I am giving all I have to give, and yet it is never enough.
I am constantly sacrificing on behalf of science. In the five months since I've been married, I have basically had no contact with the majority of my friends, because I am constantly in the lab. My husband and I often go days without seeing each other, though I suppose that is a good thing in terms of easing us into what it will be like when he moves away come June. I've given up all the hobbies and interests I once had outside of science. Probably saddest of all, I've nearly had to cut off contact with my mother -- I call only when my husband forces me to do so. Every single conversation we have, my mother brings up "So, is there a light at the end of the tunnel yet?" in reference to when I will be done. I have asked her dozens of times to not ask me, and I will let her know when I know, but she insists on asking, every time, because "people want to know." Screw them. I don't know. I tell her I don't know. And every time, this sparks an argument. Look, this isn't medical school. It's not four years and out. The average for my program is 6 years. There are a few lucky people who get out in 5. There are some 8th year students still hanging around. The program dictates that students must have one first author publication in a journal with an impact factor greater than 5; my PI's personal requirements are that I must have two first author papers before I am allowed to defend. I had quality data, but it all went into a post-doc's paper. I get it -- this is how science works, and I am fine with that, but this puts me back at square one, as EVERY bit of publishable data I had went into that paper, and I am not the first author. And so here I am, a fourth year student, and I have zero worthwhile data. And I need two first author papers before I can defend. So no Mom, I have no fucking idea when I'll be done, and if you are so concerned with asking me every time because you need an answer to tell your friends that you are unable to respect my wishes to not talk about it, then I have no desire whatsoever to talk to you at this point in my life.
I know that I always come across as frustrated and miserable and bitter, but often, I blog about these feelings so that I do not have to carry them around in reality. It's far easier to vent in a post and then be able to fake a smile when someone asks how the lab is and shrug and tell them it's chugging along. But truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep that up without something (anything!) working. I put in the hours. I research the methods. I use correct experimental design -- my controls always work. And yet somehow, the protein from hell always finds a way to screw over whatever I am doing. But I can't keep doing this for much longer when my tank of hope is running completely on empty.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Rant...and Recipe
Mr. M, husband of the ever-charming Kim asked for my chocolate chip (pudding) pumpkin bread recipe. Seeing as how it's that time of year, and it's one of my most favorite recipes ever, I thought I'd post it here for everyone to see. I was going to go home and include a picture of the 2 large and 8 mini loaves I baked last night (family baby naming ceremony this weekend -- have to distribute to multiple family members), but alas, as always, lab experiments have gone awry, and I'm still in lab at midnight. So, you'll get the recipe, but no picture.
But first, you get to listen to my rant. This morning, once again, I returned to the lab at 4:30am to repeat my protein dialysis, and spent the day doing CD. Seeing as how I am no CD expert by any stretch, and really had crap training, I mostly fiddle my way through trying to improve my spectra with really low concentrations of protein (the pain-in-the-ass protein cannot be concentrated any further without precipitating). In fact, the training I received was so bad that the answer to my question regarding what the various settings for scanning speed, response, etc. were was simply "don't change them", when in fact changing these settings is precisely how you improve the look of a bad spectrum. However, since I'm no expert, I'm not great at predicting how the raw data will look once the buffer is subtracted and everything is analyzed. So, I played around with everything, picked the settings I thought would be the best, and settled down for eight hours of CD with my small molecule.
Of course, as it turns out, once I came back to analyze all the data, it looks like I picked incorrectly. Another setting with a different bandwidth gave me a much better looking spectrum. Groan. Fine. It may have been 7pm, but if I went ahead and dialyzed more protein (roughly 8 hours of buffer changes), I would just stay overnight and do more CD. I stay overnight every other week anyway, so why should this week be any different? All I needed to do was change the nitrogen tank, because for some reason, the lab that maintains the CD machine continues to insist that I use compressed nitrogen gas, rather than liquid nitrogen, meaning that I run out of nitrogen ALL.THE.TIME. But, as luck would have it, one of the nitrogen tanks I ordered actually happened to be IN the same lab as the spectropolimiter, so I thought it would be a piece of cake.
45 minutes later, drenched in sweat, with aching arms, peeling skin on my hands, cursing in frustration, I finally had to give up. Whoever put the pressure gauge on this tank must resemble Hulk Hogan, because I have never encountered a gauge screwed on so tight. One of the post-docs and I absolutely, positively could not, no way, no how, with all of our body weight combined, get the wrench to budget a millimeter. And thus, I am here, at 12:45am, dialyzing my proteins, and I can't even change the damn nitrogen tanks, because apparently I missed the memo that bodybuilding is a prerequisite for a Ph.D. in science. I hate my life.
And now, the recipe. Make this ASAP. You won't regret it.
Chocolate Chip Pudding Pumpkin Bread
But first, you get to listen to my rant. This morning, once again, I returned to the lab at 4:30am to repeat my protein dialysis, and spent the day doing CD. Seeing as how I am no CD expert by any stretch, and really had crap training, I mostly fiddle my way through trying to improve my spectra with really low concentrations of protein (the pain-in-the-ass protein cannot be concentrated any further without precipitating). In fact, the training I received was so bad that the answer to my question regarding what the various settings for scanning speed, response, etc. were was simply "don't change them", when in fact changing these settings is precisely how you improve the look of a bad spectrum. However, since I'm no expert, I'm not great at predicting how the raw data will look once the buffer is subtracted and everything is analyzed. So, I played around with everything, picked the settings I thought would be the best, and settled down for eight hours of CD with my small molecule.
Of course, as it turns out, once I came back to analyze all the data, it looks like I picked incorrectly. Another setting with a different bandwidth gave me a much better looking spectrum. Groan. Fine. It may have been 7pm, but if I went ahead and dialyzed more protein (roughly 8 hours of buffer changes), I would just stay overnight and do more CD. I stay overnight every other week anyway, so why should this week be any different? All I needed to do was change the nitrogen tank, because for some reason, the lab that maintains the CD machine continues to insist that I use compressed nitrogen gas, rather than liquid nitrogen, meaning that I run out of nitrogen ALL.THE.TIME. But, as luck would have it, one of the nitrogen tanks I ordered actually happened to be IN the same lab as the spectropolimiter, so I thought it would be a piece of cake.
45 minutes later, drenched in sweat, with aching arms, peeling skin on my hands, cursing in frustration, I finally had to give up. Whoever put the pressure gauge on this tank must resemble Hulk Hogan, because I have never encountered a gauge screwed on so tight. One of the post-docs and I absolutely, positively could not, no way, no how, with all of our body weight combined, get the wrench to budget a millimeter. And thus, I am here, at 12:45am, dialyzing my proteins, and I can't even change the damn nitrogen tanks, because apparently I missed the memo that bodybuilding is a prerequisite for a Ph.D. in science. I hate my life.
And now, the recipe. Make this ASAP. You won't regret it.
Chocolate Chip Pudding Pumpkin Bread
- 2 cups sugar
- 2 cups pumpkin (I make my own puree from gutting pupmkins and freeze it, but you can use canned pumpkin as well)
- 1/2 cup canola oil
- 1/2 cup fat-free vanilla pudding
- 4 egg whites
- 3 cups all-purpose flour
- 2 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1 1/4 tsp salt
- 1 tsp baking soda
- 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
- Preheat oven to 350. Grease two 8x4 inch loaf pans. (Note: I always make 1 large and 4 mini loaves -- just remember the mini-loaves need significantly less baking time. It's wise to set 2 timers, because if you're like me, you'll be so into your data analysis that you'll forget, and the first batch of mini loaves will come out a bit... crispier than desired.)
- Combine the sugar, pumpkin, oil, pudding, and egg whites in a large bowl, and stir well with a whisk. (If you like pumpkin, this is an excellent point for tasting.)
- Combine flour cinnamon, salt, and baking soda in a medium bowl, stirring well.
- Add flour mixture to wet ingredients, stirring until just moist. Stir in chocolate chips.
- Spoon batter into loaf pans. Bake at 350 for 1 hour 15 minutes, or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes in pans on wire rack and remove from pans. Cool complete on wire rack.
Disgruntled Julie: Destroyer of the Environment
First order of business -- this morning, I was so absorbed in ensuring that I properly calculated the molar ratios of my proteins that I was completely unaware of the date -- 10/23 -- thus making it Mole Day! So, Happy Mole Day to all my fellow biochemists and chemists out there, and anyone else who, like me, uses molarity calculations on what seems like an hourly basis.
Secondly, a coworker brought to my attention an article from Slate on the environmental case against long-distance relationships, and then proceeded to harass me for 20 minutes why, in a nutshell, I am a selfish and shitty person for embarking upon what will be a long-distance marriage come June, and how all the environmental problems in the world can now all be blamed on me. I find his argument to be selfish and shitty because really, when you think about it, my husband and I are not doing this for "fun" by any stretch of the imagination. We did not meet and start dating long distance. We dating living in D.C. We were engaged living in D.C. It just so happened that his residency will not be in D.C., and that I will not be done with my Ph.D. (or, as it seems to be, anywhere near done with my Ph.D.) when my husband completes his intern year and moves on for his residency.
This leaves us with three options. One: My husband does not complete his residency and is never actually able to help people with his chosen career as a physician, just so that we can live in the same location and not be environmentally unfriendly with our traveling. Two: I drop out of graduate school and move with him, and give up on my research in pediatric oncology and stop attempting to develop new drugs for a very malignant and understudied pediatric cancer, so that we can live in the same location and not be environmentally unfriendly with our traveling. Or three: we continue on our career paths, and as our schedules permit, my husband drives down here to visit me (the preferred option so that I can still do some work in the lab on weekends), or I take the train up to visit him.
And yet, despite my arguments to the contrary, said coworker continued to insist that if I was environmentally responsible and cared at all about future generations, I would have called off the wedding and our relationship as soon as I found out my husband did not match here in D.C.
Which, you know, despite being absurd and ridiculous, still leaves me slightly irritated and grumpy because I don't like getting yelled at -- especially when I don't deserve it. Though not nearly as irritated and grumpy as my uncooperative proteins.
Secondly, a coworker brought to my attention an article from Slate on the environmental case against long-distance relationships, and then proceeded to harass me for 20 minutes why, in a nutshell, I am a selfish and shitty person for embarking upon what will be a long-distance marriage come June, and how all the environmental problems in the world can now all be blamed on me. I find his argument to be selfish and shitty because really, when you think about it, my husband and I are not doing this for "fun" by any stretch of the imagination. We did not meet and start dating long distance. We dating living in D.C. We were engaged living in D.C. It just so happened that his residency will not be in D.C., and that I will not be done with my Ph.D. (or, as it seems to be, anywhere near done with my Ph.D.) when my husband completes his intern year and moves on for his residency.
This leaves us with three options. One: My husband does not complete his residency and is never actually able to help people with his chosen career as a physician, just so that we can live in the same location and not be environmentally unfriendly with our traveling. Two: I drop out of graduate school and move with him, and give up on my research in pediatric oncology and stop attempting to develop new drugs for a very malignant and understudied pediatric cancer, so that we can live in the same location and not be environmentally unfriendly with our traveling. Or three: we continue on our career paths, and as our schedules permit, my husband drives down here to visit me (the preferred option so that I can still do some work in the lab on weekends), or I take the train up to visit him.
And yet, despite my arguments to the contrary, said coworker continued to insist that if I was environmentally responsible and cared at all about future generations, I would have called off the wedding and our relationship as soon as I found out my husband did not match here in D.C.
Which, you know, despite being absurd and ridiculous, still leaves me slightly irritated and grumpy because I don't like getting yelled at -- especially when I don't deserve it. Though not nearly as irritated and grumpy as my uncooperative proteins.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Dear Protein, I Hate You
I would just like to point out how frustrating it is to come into the lab at 4:30am, all set for yet another absurdly long day of CD, have everything else set up, the small molecule all properly diluted... and then, on the very last step of a long, drawn out, overnight stepwise dialysis....
The protein precipitation doesn't happen in the overnight step, so you can show up first thing in the lab at 4:30am, pull out the cuvette to switch it to the new buffer, see the precipitate, acknowledge that the experiment isn't going to happen, say screw it, and go back to bed. It doesn't happen at the next step at 5:30am either, when you will still justify walking back home and crawling into bed. No, no. It waits until 7:00. After you've already washed out the appropriate pathlength cell with SDS and NaOH to make sure it's all super clean and shiny and ready to go. And you've prepared all your standards, and prepped the small molecule in EtOH (no DMSO for CD experiments!) and then diluted it down in buffer to appropriate concentrations, and have everything on ice and all set, and all you have to do is add the protein once it's out of dialysis and you measure the protein concentration. And 7:00 rolls around and you go to pull out the dialysis cuvette and... wait, what's this? What are all these little white specks floating around that weren't there an hour and a half ago? Why, it's my protein, which decided to crash out just now, even though I've done this same dialysis procedure multiple times before without problems.
And thus, tomorrow, I get to try this all over again. Things like this -- the fact that I work with a protein that has to be purified fresh every 4 days, which requires a somewhat complicated dialysis procedure (which apparently no longer works), which cannot be concentrated AT ALL, which hates to be refolded -- this is why it is going to take me approximately 12 years to complete my Ph.D.
your protein precipitates.
The protein precipitation doesn't happen in the overnight step, so you can show up first thing in the lab at 4:30am, pull out the cuvette to switch it to the new buffer, see the precipitate, acknowledge that the experiment isn't going to happen, say screw it, and go back to bed. It doesn't happen at the next step at 5:30am either, when you will still justify walking back home and crawling into bed. No, no. It waits until 7:00. After you've already washed out the appropriate pathlength cell with SDS and NaOH to make sure it's all super clean and shiny and ready to go. And you've prepared all your standards, and prepped the small molecule in EtOH (no DMSO for CD experiments!) and then diluted it down in buffer to appropriate concentrations, and have everything on ice and all set, and all you have to do is add the protein once it's out of dialysis and you measure the protein concentration. And 7:00 rolls around and you go to pull out the dialysis cuvette and... wait, what's this? What are all these little white specks floating around that weren't there an hour and a half ago? Why, it's my protein, which decided to crash out just now, even though I've done this same dialysis procedure multiple times before without problems.
And thus, tomorrow, I get to try this all over again. Things like this -- the fact that I work with a protein that has to be purified fresh every 4 days, which requires a somewhat complicated dialysis procedure (which apparently no longer works), which cannot be concentrated AT ALL, which hates to be refolded -- this is why it is going to take me approximately 12 years to complete my Ph.D.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Lab Plague, Part II
Today, my lab took off for the annual lab hike at Old Rag in the Shenendoah Valley. It's a gorgeous hike, and today is a lovely fall day, so I'm sure the lab is quite enjoying themselves. I, however, am not in attendance.
For starters, I probably would have opted out of going this year to begin with, because there's a 1.5ish mile long rock scramble, and my back has been bothering me lately. And considering that it seems like I'll likely be in physical therapy for the rest of my life, and I really aggravated my back doing some hiking and climbing on my honeymoon, doing a 7 mile hike/rock scramble while it's already bothering me doesn't seem like a great idea.
But then there's the issue of being sick. See, the Lab Plague has moved south, and settled into my chest. You know, the deep, phlegm-in-the-lungs coughing, hacking, and wheezing that makes it sound like you're going to drop dead any moment. The constant feeling like you're going to drown in your own mucus, because a giant glob is stuck in the back of your throat, and you're neither able to cough it up, nor swallow it down, and it's just stuck there, in the way.
And yet, despite the fact that I feel (and look) like complete shit, my PI spent the morning yesterday convincing me that I should go on this hike. That I would be totally find. Until, partway through me telling him that there was no way I was up to it, I started coughing. And coughing. And couldn't stop. And slowly, my PI backed out of the lab, index fingers crossed pointed towards me, warding off my germs, and told me to get the hell out of the lab, because when I drop dead, he didn't want it to be in the laboratory (liability issues, I guess).
And so, this morning, I went into lab early to take care of what I needed to do, and then promptly left (because who is going to know that I took the rest of the day off when everyone else is off hiking?), came home, and have spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled out on the couch with a piping-hot mug of tea and my latest knitting project. And a giant lump of mucus in my throat.
Really, and almost lovely afternoon indeed. And my barely-able-to-breath lungs appreciate it much more than the lab hike, even if I am sad to have to miss out on the hiking opportunity once again.
For starters, I probably would have opted out of going this year to begin with, because there's a 1.5ish mile long rock scramble, and my back has been bothering me lately. And considering that it seems like I'll likely be in physical therapy for the rest of my life, and I really aggravated my back doing some hiking and climbing on my honeymoon, doing a 7 mile hike/rock scramble while it's already bothering me doesn't seem like a great idea.
But then there's the issue of being sick. See, the Lab Plague has moved south, and settled into my chest. You know, the deep, phlegm-in-the-lungs coughing, hacking, and wheezing that makes it sound like you're going to drop dead any moment. The constant feeling like you're going to drown in your own mucus, because a giant glob is stuck in the back of your throat, and you're neither able to cough it up, nor swallow it down, and it's just stuck there, in the way.
And yet, despite the fact that I feel (and look) like complete shit, my PI spent the morning yesterday convincing me that I should go on this hike. That I would be totally find. Until, partway through me telling him that there was no way I was up to it, I started coughing. And coughing. And couldn't stop. And slowly, my PI backed out of the lab, index fingers crossed pointed towards me, warding off my germs, and told me to get the hell out of the lab, because when I drop dead, he didn't want it to be in the laboratory (liability issues, I guess).
And so, this morning, I went into lab early to take care of what I needed to do, and then promptly left (because who is going to know that I took the rest of the day off when everyone else is off hiking?), came home, and have spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled out on the couch with a piping-hot mug of tea and my latest knitting project. And a giant lump of mucus in my throat.
Really, and almost lovely afternoon indeed. And my barely-able-to-breath lungs appreciate it much more than the lab hike, even if I am sad to have to miss out on the hiking opportunity once again.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Plague
I thought I was safe. I thought, for once, I had escaped unscathed. Unharmed. Untouched.
And then, I woke up yesterday morning, unable to breathe. The [name of PI] Lab Plague had officially struck.
This happens, every fall, and then again around February. Someone brings in some unidentifiable flu-like disease. This is no normal cold -- it comes with a fever, and aches, and seriously knocks you down, but it's not the flu -- it's the Lab Plague. And it spreads like wildfire throughout our lab, and only our lab. Pretty much the entire lab, aside from yours truly and the two PIs were out sick the beginning and middle of last week. But since I now sit far, far away from everyone else -- alas, I have an entirely different room number than everyone else -- I thought, perhaps, I would be safe.
Despite my circular dichroism disaster, requiring me to work in the lab for 37.5 consecutive hours, I was feeling fine. Somehow, despite my lack of sleep, my immune system was doing its job! The plague-carriers had taken their sick days off, returned to the lab healthy, and I was still feeling fine. I made it through the weekend completely unsick, and thought I was in the clear.
And then, on Monday morning, I woke up. With a stuffy nose. I tried to convince myself it was just allergies. It would go away. And by 1pm, I was completely unable to breathe, and had developed a fever. By 3pm, I was back home, on the couch, with a headache. And by 9pm, I had been kicked out of my own bed, by a husband, fearful of the plague, forced to sleep on the couch, dreaming of upgrading to a two-bedroom condo, complete with a guest room.
Today, I have not even managed to change out of my pajamas, or even move off the couch, except to make myself a cup of tea (with my brand-new, kiwi green, Le Creuset, whistling teakettle, a wedding present). The floor around me is covered with dozens of used tissues, I'm drinking boiling hot tea, wrapped in a fleece blanket, sniffling, unable to breathe -- and the most bizarre part of it all? Washington, D.C. is in the middle of a heat wave. I have our standard winter Lab Plague, and it is 86 degrees outside. If it didn't require so much energy, I'd go put on shorts, and lie on our patio in the lounge chair and try to bake the plague out of me.
But instead, I used my sick day for some blog maintenance. Finally updated the header to reflect the fact that I am, indeed, now a fourth year grad student, and updated my blog links. If I forgot you -- my apologies -- I'm clearly not thinking well right now. Please, drop me a comment or an email if you belong on my blogroll, and I'll add you ASAP!
But despite the fact that I feel like utter shit, and have zero interest in consuming anything other than the pounds of post-nasal drip falling down the back of my throat, my charming husband just asked me what would be for dinner tonight. Because although the man may be capable of saving lives as a doctor, he is utterly unable to survive on his own or even make grilled cheese. Which means that even though I clearly won't be eating, he feels it is my responsibility as his wife to still cook him dinner. Apparently that whole "in sickness and in health" thing means not that he will take care of me when I am sick, but that regardless of how sick I am... it's still my responsibility to take care of him. Lucky bastard.
And then, I woke up yesterday morning, unable to breathe. The [name of PI] Lab Plague had officially struck.
This happens, every fall, and then again around February. Someone brings in some unidentifiable flu-like disease. This is no normal cold -- it comes with a fever, and aches, and seriously knocks you down, but it's not the flu -- it's the Lab Plague. And it spreads like wildfire throughout our lab, and only our lab. Pretty much the entire lab, aside from yours truly and the two PIs were out sick the beginning and middle of last week. But since I now sit far, far away from everyone else -- alas, I have an entirely different room number than everyone else -- I thought, perhaps, I would be safe.
Despite my circular dichroism disaster, requiring me to work in the lab for 37.5 consecutive hours, I was feeling fine. Somehow, despite my lack of sleep, my immune system was doing its job! The plague-carriers had taken their sick days off, returned to the lab healthy, and I was still feeling fine. I made it through the weekend completely unsick, and thought I was in the clear.
And then, on Monday morning, I woke up. With a stuffy nose. I tried to convince myself it was just allergies. It would go away. And by 1pm, I was completely unable to breathe, and had developed a fever. By 3pm, I was back home, on the couch, with a headache. And by 9pm, I had been kicked out of my own bed, by a husband, fearful of the plague, forced to sleep on the couch, dreaming of upgrading to a two-bedroom condo, complete with a guest room.
Today, I have not even managed to change out of my pajamas, or even move off the couch, except to make myself a cup of tea (with my brand-new, kiwi green, Le Creuset, whistling teakettle, a wedding present). The floor around me is covered with dozens of used tissues, I'm drinking boiling hot tea, wrapped in a fleece blanket, sniffling, unable to breathe -- and the most bizarre part of it all? Washington, D.C. is in the middle of a heat wave. I have our standard winter Lab Plague, and it is 86 degrees outside. If it didn't require so much energy, I'd go put on shorts, and lie on our patio in the lounge chair and try to bake the plague out of me.
But instead, I used my sick day for some blog maintenance. Finally updated the header to reflect the fact that I am, indeed, now a fourth year grad student, and updated my blog links. If I forgot you -- my apologies -- I'm clearly not thinking well right now. Please, drop me a comment or an email if you belong on my blogroll, and I'll add you ASAP!
But despite the fact that I feel like utter shit, and have zero interest in consuming anything other than the pounds of post-nasal drip falling down the back of my throat, my charming husband just asked me what would be for dinner tonight. Because although the man may be capable of saving lives as a doctor, he is utterly unable to survive on his own or even make grilled cheese. Which means that even though I clearly won't be eating, he feels it is my responsibility as his wife to still cook him dinner. Apparently that whole "in sickness and in health" thing means not that he will take care of me when I am sick, but that regardless of how sick I am... it's still my responsibility to take care of him. Lucky bastard.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
#%$*!@$*&!!!!!!!!!!!
I should have known that things were going to go horribly awry this morning when I couldn't even get into the damn building. At 5am, all entrances to the building were blocked off, because they were waxing the floors. There are three different ways to get into this building (four if you count the loading dock, but it wasn't open at 5am), and some genius decided that it was acceptable to wax all the entrances AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. And so, when I attempted to make my way into the building to get to the lab, I was greeted with "Sweetheart, there's wax on that floor, you can't be walking over." I shot a nasty look (don't call me sweetheart), and trudged around to another entrance, where the scene replayed itself.... and then a third time. What the hell?! I voiced my displeasure with the situation, and was told that people are not supposed to be entering the building at 5am. HELLO, I have an ID card that gives me 24 hour access to my laboratory... AS IN, I AM ALLOWED IN THE BUILDING AT 5AM.
So after a very disgruntled hour of sitting in an outside hallway waiting to cross the threshold into my own building, I finally got a late start to my research to what was already going to be a very long day, indeed. I'm chugging along, and went to confirm that I was able to use the CD spectropolimiter. Mind you, I sent an email last Wednesday stating that I wanted to use it on Tuesday and Wednesday, and was that acceptable. I CC'd my PI, and the head of the biochemistry department on this email, and sent it to the post-doc who I go through to use the CD machine. No response, as per usual, but, in the past, if there is a conflict, he'll generally call to say so. I've learned to take no response to mean no conflict. To make sure, I walked over on Friday, but he wasn't around, so I left a post-it note on his desk asking him to please contact me regarding using the machine.
Monday, I went ahead with my protein purification. To get all 3 proteins purified, run on a gel, Coomassie stained, and the dialysis started, is roughly an 18 hour process. They all have to be done back-to-back-to-back, because these proteins cannot be frozen, and last only 2-3 days before degrading. I stopped by again on Monday to confirm the CD, but he had stepped out, but I noticed the post-it note was moved, so obviously he had received it.
I went over this morning to get the key for the room that the spectropolimiter is in, and am told "Oh... you can't do CD today... [chemistry PI] is doing a demonstration on it this afternoon]."
FUCK ME.
You couldn't have told me this Wednesday? Or Thursday? Or Friday? Or even yesterday? It took the entire 10 minute walk from the biochemistry building back to my building of deep breathing to not scream like a banshee and break down in tears. Because now I have minimum 12 hours of CD to do, and I can't start until after 5pm. And I got here at 5am. For absolutely no reason now.
I hope my PI realizes how unbelievably lucky he is to have me, because every other person I've told this story to has said that no way would they be staying from 5pm until at least 5am... they would just call it a day and go home. I'm not entirely sure if it's dedication from my end... or being brainwashed from my PI's end. Probably the latter.
So after a very disgruntled hour of sitting in an outside hallway waiting to cross the threshold into my own building, I finally got a late start to my research to what was already going to be a very long day, indeed. I'm chugging along, and went to confirm that I was able to use the CD spectropolimiter. Mind you, I sent an email last Wednesday stating that I wanted to use it on Tuesday and Wednesday, and was that acceptable. I CC'd my PI, and the head of the biochemistry department on this email, and sent it to the post-doc who I go through to use the CD machine. No response, as per usual, but, in the past, if there is a conflict, he'll generally call to say so. I've learned to take no response to mean no conflict. To make sure, I walked over on Friday, but he wasn't around, so I left a post-it note on his desk asking him to please contact me regarding using the machine.
Monday, I went ahead with my protein purification. To get all 3 proteins purified, run on a gel, Coomassie stained, and the dialysis started, is roughly an 18 hour process. They all have to be done back-to-back-to-back, because these proteins cannot be frozen, and last only 2-3 days before degrading. I stopped by again on Monday to confirm the CD, but he had stepped out, but I noticed the post-it note was moved, so obviously he had received it.
I went over this morning to get the key for the room that the spectropolimiter is in, and am told "Oh... you can't do CD today... [chemistry PI] is doing a demonstration on it this afternoon]."
FUCK ME.
You couldn't have told me this Wednesday? Or Thursday? Or Friday? Or even yesterday? It took the entire 10 minute walk from the biochemistry building back to my building of deep breathing to not scream like a banshee and break down in tears. Because now I have minimum 12 hours of CD to do, and I can't start until after 5pm. And I got here at 5am. For absolutely no reason now.
I hope my PI realizes how unbelievably lucky he is to have me, because every other person I've told this story to has said that no way would they be staying from 5pm until at least 5am... they would just call it a day and go home. I'm not entirely sure if it's dedication from my end... or being brainwashed from my PI's end. Probably the latter.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Diary of a Doctor's Wife, Episdoe 003
This afternoon, Husband and I did our weekly grocery shopping trip. It's the one thing we do together (almost every) week, since he's the driver of the relationship, and since I pack all our lunches and cook every dinner that we eat, I can't lug home 1-2 weeks worth of groceries the mile long walk by myself. Husband was on a 36 hour overnight call shift last night, so he asked if we could just go grocery shopping immediately afterward, so he could just come home and sleep for the rest of the afternoon.
I was in lab all morning, so he picked me up in the lab to go grocery shopping, and dropped me back off afterward. Having just come off a call night, he was dressed in his scrubs, so in the checkout line, the female cashier made the educated guess and asked if he was a doctor. She then asked if I was his wife, and then said "So then you're a nurse, right?"
As we walked through the parking lot, Husband commented on the fact that just because I have a vagina, I'm automatically stuck in the position of a nurse. Don't get me wrong -- I'm certainly not stating that there is anything wrong with nursing, and my husband is the first to acknowledge that he couldn't function without the nursing staff -- but why couldn't I have also been a doctor? Why, because I am the female, did I have to be the nurse? But then I also wondered, why did I even have to be a nurse at all? Why didn't she think I was a teacher, or some other equally gender stereotypical role -- was it because doctors are only supposed to marry nurses? Or, more specifically, doctors are supposed to leave their first wives to run off with their nurses (I actually have two friends whose mothers were the nurses and their fathers were the doctors in this exact situation).
Of course, after venting his frustration with society and it's gender role's in the parking lot, he has thus decided to enjoy himself at my expense. This evening, every time he wants something, it has been "Nurse, get me a fork." "Nurse, wash my white coat." "Nurse, bring me some Advil." Unfortunately for him, I am not a nurse, I am a biochemist, and I have access to some extremely toxic drugs in my laboratory. Wouldn't it be a shame if some accidentally wound up in his dinner tomorrow? Whoops. (Just kidding. I know he teases in jest.)
I was in lab all morning, so he picked me up in the lab to go grocery shopping, and dropped me back off afterward. Having just come off a call night, he was dressed in his scrubs, so in the checkout line, the female cashier made the educated guess and asked if he was a doctor. She then asked if I was his wife, and then said "So then you're a nurse, right?"
As we walked through the parking lot, Husband commented on the fact that just because I have a vagina, I'm automatically stuck in the position of a nurse. Don't get me wrong -- I'm certainly not stating that there is anything wrong with nursing, and my husband is the first to acknowledge that he couldn't function without the nursing staff -- but why couldn't I have also been a doctor? Why, because I am the female, did I have to be the nurse? But then I also wondered, why did I even have to be a nurse at all? Why didn't she think I was a teacher, or some other equally gender stereotypical role -- was it because doctors are only supposed to marry nurses? Or, more specifically, doctors are supposed to leave their first wives to run off with their nurses (I actually have two friends whose mothers were the nurses and their fathers were the doctors in this exact situation).
Of course, after venting his frustration with society and it's gender role's in the parking lot, he has thus decided to enjoy himself at my expense. This evening, every time he wants something, it has been "Nurse, get me a fork." "Nurse, wash my white coat." "Nurse, bring me some Advil." Unfortunately for him, I am not a nurse, I am a biochemist, and I have access to some extremely toxic drugs in my laboratory. Wouldn't it be a shame if some accidentally wound up in his dinner tomorrow? Whoops. (Just kidding. I know he teases in jest.)
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