Genius or Insane?

Author note: I suggest you listen to this as you read on: Youtube / Spotify

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." The quote echoes in my mind as I imagine that famous picture of Einstein with his tongue out.

I pace the small room that is my little fiefdom of the large laboratory of my PhD department. There is little sound other than my frantic footsteps, since my colleagues all went to have lunch. Instead of joining them I’m here, repeating this experiment for what feels like the trillionth time but is probably just the 27th.

16 tubes small tubes sit on a warm block of metal, receiving evenly-distributed heat, while the microscopic enzymes inside them do what they do best, polymerize DNA. Hopefully. There was no DNA detected on attempts 3, 8, 22, and 23. The key word there? “Detected”. Maybe I messed up the setup. Added the wrong DNA sequences to start the reaction. Maybe. I usually don’t, only that one time 3 months ago. But maybe. Maybe I have made the same mistake 4 times in the last 3 weeks. My brain knows I did not. But it has to hold onto something to avoid going absolutely batshit crazy. Why, just WHY is the damn experiment not working?

Eventually I go pace on the larger lab, since no one else is here. Then I pace the hallways. I feel observed by a co-worker in his office and I don’t want to disturb his peace. So I go pace in my office, similar thoughts and doubts and worries and fears going rampant inside my skull.

Let’s calm down, I think. Sit. This is nonsense. The experiment setup is airtight. I changed the parameters of some samples. This way, if one set is positive, it means it works, just worse than expected. If another is positive, it means I need to use a different buffer. And if all are negative, I just need to change the DNA polymerase, as that is the only reagent I have not swapped out in these 3 weeks. It’s quite expensive after all. Anyway, airtight design. Positive results or negative, I’ll know what’s going on today. And I have replicates too. So if I somehow ruined one sample, I still have 2 more.

My officemate walks in with some tea and seems me glued to the chair as I think of all that, eyes scrutinizing the empty air. She asks how it’s going, and I tell her about the airtight experiments design. I try to not sound bitchy or annoyed. She knows I am both. She’s listened to me for the past 3 weeks. The same way I listen to her when her 3D printer clogs and she’s annoyed as hell. We have a good relationship. Thank god for that.

I look at the timer on my phone. 2 minutes of sample incubation left. I have to get ready for the next steps. I go to the lab, a couple people there now after finishing their lunch, and go to my small room. I put on gloves, make the mix of reagents for the next step, and let worry dissolve into the familiar 1, 2, 3 of this dance I have done for weeks now.

I run the samples through the next steps flawlessly, it is quick. Then it is time for the last 5 minute incubation and to see if the experiment worked. I sit there with my guts in knots, the tubes smugly sitting on a different heating rack. I’ll know if it worked or not the moment I take the tubes out, the results are visual.

The timer beeps. It’s time. I take the samples out in the same order I put them in. I look at them.

Nothing makes sense.

The positive controls did not work but some of the other samples did. My brain tries to catch up to the information that my eyes give it, making mental calculations and visualizing the molecules and reaction parameters, trying to understand, just for once understand what the hell is going on. It fails.

“Fuck!” I say, as I put the samples down. I realize there is no point doing that. I throw them out after writing down what each tube had.

I turn off the machines, then walk fast to my office, grab my stuff, put on a coat, and tell my officemate: “It didn’t work. I’m going home. Need some air.” I storm out, leaving the building into the biting cold of Swedish winter, my brain working at full speed to try to understand and know what the next step can be. I take the rest of the day to think, sketch, and design experiments at home, well into the night.

The next day, I walk in at 9 AM, head straight to the small room in the lab, turn on the machine, take out reagents from the freezer to thaw, and bolt to the office. I drop my backpack, fire up the computer and pull out the protocl, and head back to the lab. As I get there I realize forgot the computer, but I do not need it. I know all the steps and reagent quantities by heart by now. I put on gloves and get ready to go again. Same experiment. Attempt 28th.

You might think the above story is exaggerated. I wish it was. The quote "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results,” is attributed to Einstein.

Claims of mental health issues on the rise for PhDs and researchers do not surprise me. The story I told is not only mine, but something plenty of people live. If you are not a researcher, you might think science is going to the lab, doing some tests in a clever way, and publishing them. Not quite.

Every person in a molecular biology lab knows. Knows that for each PCR result in a paper, that experiment was run by a PhD, researcher, or lab technician, maybe a handful, maybe a dozen times. There is a rising concern with image manipulation around western blots. If you’ve ever done a western blot, you surely know why. Hours and hours poured for bands you could barely see. Results that were not quite what you expected, but not a clear “no” either. You had to do it again. And again. And again. Hoping against hope that just this one time you’d get a clear result.

You want the kicker? Even when you get that one result, you have to repeat it! Because you did it 10 times, so why did you get the right result only this one time? You have to make sure the result is consistent.

That is real science. In case you wondered.

It’s no surprise that PhDs and researchers have higher chances of suffering of anxiety and mental health issues, and leave academia with everything from impostor syndrome to depression, or even suicide. According to Einstein, most of us PhDs must be absolutely, positively insane.

But those who make it through are often some of the most resilient, tough, and failure-proof people out there. You could argue that the process teaches and forges you, and that the system works in that sense.

The only question that remains is this: Is it worth it?