Round 2 with the mice

I have to do an mouse study at work. It was, in fact, one of the reasons I took this job above others – an incredible opportunity to do some animal work that my graduate education lacked completely.

I wrote before that I hated it – dreaded it so completely that I have spent considerable time deciding how to tell everyone that I’m not participating in it after all. While I’ve shared that it’s uncomfortable for me – that I feel so badly for my tiny whiskered friends with their pretty brown fur – I’ve continued to pretend an optimism that I can pull this off.

At the same time, I have busied myself with other projects for which I feel more enthusiasm. Perhaps if I’m already really busy, they’ll leave me out of the animal work, I told myself. So with a hopeful nod, I continue to plan other projects that require a good deal of my time. I also dutifully sent email at the beginning of each month inquiring on the status of the tumor models and mouse injections, relieved when I hear “not ready yet” in response.

February brought the threat of a big meeting though – one where everyone sits and discusses why can’t move forward. Since my response of ‘because I’ve been begging God to keep this stalled’ likely would not have been well received, I pulled myself together and trudged across campus to meet the mice people.

I sat at the corner of the table in a conference room on the 7th floor of a research wing. The mice people were lovely – there wasn’t one I wouldn’t have taken for coffee so we could discuss anything other than work in small animals. So the conversation flowed – letters and numbers that identify tumor lines that grew when implanted with some techniques, but not others.

I started to get concerned that there had been so much progress. Hell – was I actually going to have to deal with this again?

As talk swirled and it started to sound like I’d be spending at least 1 day a week (more likely 2) on the animal work, I worried.

Look concerned, I told myself sternly. Not freaked out, just concerned – perhaps with the workload involved in relation to your already busy schedule.

When nobody took note, I berated myself. Everyone’s concerned with how much work they have to do. You’d be more obvious if you looked excited about all the work!

More work was being added to the growing list I was making in front of me, and I grew more concerned.

OK – work your strengths. Look pathetic! I’m so sad! And worried – look more worried! Screw concern – we’re trying miserably pathetic here!

When that didn’t work either, I wondered if bursting into tears would help me escape from having to do this part of the post-doc. Too much, I decided regretfully. It’s better just to buckle down and do it.

But then there was talk of “washing” certain organs, and how young the mice had to be, and someone asked a technical question about the surgeries. As one of the students went into detail, the incision site, how the organ was removed, what was injected, how it looked…

Have I told you I have physical reactions to stress? Bad headaches, frequent stomach issues? I started having problems at that point in the meeting.

You’re fine, I told myself, removing my cardigan and wondering when it had gotten so hot in the small conference room. Casually putting the back of my hand against one cheek, I realized I was flushed. Think about something else, I warned internally, turning so I could see out the window.

It was almost too late – there was a roaring in my ears a moment before I stopped hearing at all, then the blackness descended around the edges of my vision. Do NOT pass out! I told myself. No fainting, no fainting, no fainting. As people filed out of the room moments later, I remained in my chair, clinging to consciousness.

I met the eyes of a colleague across the table. Joe played a major role in recruiting me – he’s young, brilliant, incredibly dedicated, and I love working with him. However, his expertise is in small animal work and when I freaked out in the beginning, he was a bit frustrated with me. We’d talked since and I explained that I was trying, but it was hard. I was really struggling.

Joe and I stayed and talked to the head mouse scientist – setting up schedules, covering the important specific aims and discussing how we could get the information with the least amount of time and effort. I participated – talking about what I needed to learn and what I felt I could already do. Discussed my current workload and said that I’d do what I had to do to make this project work.

Joe and I walked back to the office afterward. We went over our own details – how to refresh the material I’d learned in the beginning of my time here, coordinating our schedules and finding resources where they were most plentiful. We were almost back to the office when Joe stopped me and we stood in the hall to look at each other.

“Are you going to be OK with this?” He asked kindly. “You know you can opt out. I’m not going to force you to do this.”

“I’m going to force myself to do this, Joe. I need to know if I can do it. But I don’t know – back there, in the meeting? It was bad.”

He considered me, trying to figure out what to say.

“I’m good.” I assured him. “We’ll give it a shot.”