In which no scientist is an island – but that’s what we signed up for

I’ve washed up on the shores of another weekend, almost limp after two weeks of protracted stress. Throughout this, my unsettled, cortisol-fuelled moods have mirrored the erratic nature of the recent weather: violent cloudbursts, hailstorms, rainbows, periods of brilliant sunshine dazzling off the wet London pavements. I see the world, often, through an edge of hunger, as sometimes I fail to find the time to eat properly. Things are supposed to be easing off academically this time of year, yet I find myself just as crushed under a too-long list of urgent deadlines as ever.

In this fortnight period, two grants were funded and one was submitted. I recently tallied up the lab’s manuscripts in various stages and counted a whopping seventeen: one in press, four in various stages of review, four about ready to submit, three in preparation and five in progress where I appear as a co-author: no wonder I’m feeing the pressure. I’ve given an invited talk at the spring conference of the British Society for Antimicrobial Chemotherapy, am herding some changes to my course through the approvals process, and continue to field lots of queries from prospective undergrad students who still haven’t made their decisions. Coursework marking is starting to peak.

Amidst all this, my team members are generating large amounts of data and seek me out for ideas, advice, and my blessing – some days are so intense that I return home with an aching, over-exercised brain that can no longer perform, and which sadly cannot sleep through the night. I feel simultaneously at the top of my game and yet hopelessly behind. Sometimes, it is only the words of encouragement from my most trusted colleagues that get me through the day – even as I worry that relying on that support is somehow a dangerous weakness.

It has got me to thinking about how lonely it is to be a lab head. We are not really prepared, let alone trained, for the intense responsibility of looking after a bevy of young, hopeful and talented individuals who are relying on us to keep the money flowing and the papers on track amidst the never-ending chores of teaching and admin. It is an intricate juggling act that requires tough decisions – intellectual, financial, strategic – and there is usually never just one obvious solution. Yet we are expected to navigate these dangerous waters with very little support. Things get easier with experience, but even today, I am sometimes confronted by one of my team asking me, What should I do?, and the honest answer is, I have absolutely no idea.

I was talking this over with a friend recently, and we came to the conclusion that the problem with modern science is that, generally speaking, most of us are so busy chasing the next grant that it is a concentrated struggle to deal with the experimental programmes to which one has already committed. I liken it to spending hours crafting the perfect meal, but never having a chance to sit down and enjoy eating it. For this reason, I am very careful to budget in a large amount of regular time to meet with my crew one-on-one, to make sure things keep on track. But it is not easy, and the time pressure I’m under from my collective academic portfolio means that a lot of work spills over into evenings and weekends – and indeed to other odd times. (Just yesterday morning, I found myself having to sit down on a bench on the District and Circle Underground line platform at Victoria, my laptop wired up to my phone signal, bone tired amidst the blur of commuters rushing past left and right, to dash off some last-minute grant edits to a collaborator.)

The solo PI existence isn’t optimal, even though everything in academia is wired to facilitate and reward that restrictive model. The informal solution is to find like-minded collaborators who can complement your skills and take on some of the intellectual burden – and for whom you can do the same in turn. I am very fortunate to have hands-on collaborators who help both to ease my load and also offer free therapy, but ultimately, we are all of us alone in this wonderful, frustrating and utterly bizarre profession.

So if you feel as if you might be making things up as you go along, do not despair. Seek out your allies, keep them close, and never, ever give up.

Because after the hailstorm, there will almost always be a rainbow.