It has now been almost a year since my first field season in graduate school, and I am so excited to be heading out again! Last summer, I wrote about all the things I wish I had packed, but leaving things behind wasn’t the only challenge, nor the greatest. As I reflect on last season and prepare for the coming season, I have been thinking a lot about how my disability affects/doesn’t affect my ability to do field work. Since starting my graduate program I have been wanting to write about being a disabled student, and I think field season is a great time to talk about the challenges and rewards that come with field work when you have a disability! To provide some background on my situation, I have had chronic lower back pain for the last seven years. Things like walking, sitting, standing, stairs, carrying weight, and other specific motions can cause anything from mild discomfort to severe, take-your-breath-away pain. While my body can still “do” all of these things, because of the pain they sometimes cause, I am considered to have a mobility disability. Over the years I have sought lots of different treatment options, and my relationship with my body has changed quite a lot. I am lucky to have found a great team of healthcare professionals who support me and help me, and it is largely because of them that I am able to do field work at all. My intent in writing is for others who have disabilities and perform field work to get some ideas on how to make it easier for them, and also to validate their struggles and successes. For those who do not have a disability, my intent is to provide a sketch of what one person’s disability looks like, and give you some food for thought so you that you can better support your colleagues who do have disabilities. For me, the hardest thing about having a disability is not the disability, but the interactions I have with others who misunderstand or make assumptions about me. I look “healthy” even when I am in pain. Therefore, I am also writing this with the intent to increase awareness about ecologists with disabilities. Not all of us hike, not all of us do field work, not all of us CAN do these things, and not all of us can do these things without doing a lot of behind-the-scenes work! That doesn’t make us any less of an ecologist! Don’t assume others are healthy. You never know what someone is dealing with. Take people seriously when they say they have a limitation. An important note before I get started is that I use the term disability here to describe a very wide range of limitations. Here I mean anything; physical, mental, or emotional, which causes an individual to have any sort of limitation or constraint on their ability to participate in life. I write this using my own experiences as a framework, and try to generalize them with the hope that they can be useful to everyone. Here are my tips for a successful field season with a disability: Before you head out into the field: Brainstorm with your healthcare team. I think it is a great idea to visit each of your healthcare providers a few months in advance of your field season to pick their brains on ways you can support yourself. This is especially important if you will have to go without helpful services, like therapy etc., for an extended period of time. For example, my physical therapist told me I could do a couple minutes of specific exercises right before and during hiking to prepare my muscles to work in the correct way, helping me reduce stress on my lower back and in turn decreasing my pain. With my GP, she was able to prescribe me an extra supply of my medication since I wouldn’t have access to a pharmacy for a long time. Consider registering your disability. On my campus, if you have a disability as a graduate student, you need to get in touch with two offices. In your capacity as a student, you work with the Disabled Students Program to get the accommodations you need. In your capacity as a teaching assistant, graduate student researcher, or any other “employee” role, you need to work with Human Resources. This is difficult and confusing! However, the support of these departments can sometimes make all the difference. Sometimes, working with these departments is incredibly hurtful and invalidating. If you haven’t yet, I suggest giving it a shot and seeing what you can get out of it. Figure out your limitations, hard and soft "no's". The best thing I ever learned from my physical therapist was, “If you are already in pain, it is too late”. My condition can cause a delayed-onset pain reaction to activities that seem totally benign. This is something I had never thought about, and empowered me to not push myself until I was in pain, and then stop. Instead, I take breaks and avoid certain activities altogether, even when I am at my 100%. I think this can apply in general, even to those who do not have disabilities. Try to learn where your limits are, and decide what are hard limits and soft limits. For me, bending over repeatedly is a hard no - I refuse to do tasks where this motion is required, and rely on my field assistant for help with these. On the other hand, carrying heavy weight is a soft no; I try to avoid doing it, but will if the team requires it. In this way, I can keep myself closer to my 100% as long as possible, and avoid dangerous situations where I might be in too much pain to get home. Always respect other’s “no’s”! Don’t force someone to do something if they say they cannot. This is why it is great to be in the field with a team - you can divide the work so that all tasks are completed without anyone being hurt or having troubles. Plan your work with your disability in mind. For me, this means avoiding long hikes, avoiding lots of bending over, not carrying lots of weight, and scheduling a lot of rest time. See if you can design your experiments with your limitations in mind. Figure out what you can avoid, and for those things you can’t, prepare in advance or find an assistant who can do them instead. I have chosen field sites that are accessible mostly by vehicle so that I can avoid hiking with heavy gear as much as possible. I also bring along an undergraduate assistant to help me with tasks that are difficult for me. If you can, talk to your field team about your limitations. I am very lucky in that I have always been in the field with a supportive team. In undergrad, even though I didn’t tell my lab mates about my disability, they noticed that I had a harder time getting around the field site. They would wait for me to catch up without making a scene and even offer a hand when I had to scramble over boulders. They didn’t need to know the details, they simply noticed I was struggling and provided quiet support. Importantly, however, if I ever refused help, they would take me at my word and not push me to accept. This was critical because it allowed me to have my own personal agency. They didn’t treat me like a child or like I didn’t know what was best for myself - they were simply there when I needed them. Now, in graduate school, I take an undergraduate assistant with me in the field. Before we head out, I have a meeting with them to discuss expectations. An important part of this meeting, for me, is to generally explain my disability and its limitations (my hard and soft “no’s”), and directly ask for their support in specifics. In this way, they can prepare themselves for times when I may not be able to help with a certain part of the work, or when I need to stop to take stretching breaks. Both years I have been very lucky to have a student who is understanding and supportive of my needs. Last year, a particular portion of the sampling protocol became painful for me and I had to ask my assistant to trade tasks with me. I felt quite guilty because I was doing the more difficult and boring of the tasks, but she was fine with everything and didn’t question me, complain, or baby me. I simply said “I can’t”, and she said “okay.” If you are working in the field with someone who has a disability, I think the best way to be supportive is to ask them in advance about their needs, so when the time comes you can help them effectively without stepping on their personal agency, and also ensure that all your work gets done safely. Aside from that, simply paying attention to the people you are working with is also helpful. Don’t leave people behind on hikes, notice when someone is struggling, and if you are able, offer help. Take people seriously when they say they are having a hard time or can’t do something, and don’t encourage someone to just “push through it.” Find a way to mitigate the issue with them, and be okay with it if that means turning around and going home. In the field: Stick to your plan... Stick to your hard and soft “no’s”. Do your best to let go of shame, pride, and guilt, and rely on your team for help when you need to. When I needed my undergraduate assistant to take over my sampling task for me, I felt so guilty. By not performing the rest of that task, however, I saved us time and effort and saved myself a lot of pain. If you are lucky enough to have a supportive team, saying no is always better and easier than saying yes and dealing with the consequences. ...but also have fun! Take calculated risks and be prepared for the consequences. Sometimes, if I am feeling really good, I like to push my limits a little and see what I can get away with. When I do, I always double down on my PT exercises, take some medication, and do other things to mitigate the effects so I can wake up the next morning and complete my work with ease. The field is a great place for me to test my boundaries. For me, pushing the limit can be thrilling and validating. I try to do it when the risk is low and the reward is high. Some of my happiest moments have been in the field when I am able to overcome my physical limitations. Whatever you choose, please do remember; testing your limits can make you feel brave and strong, but sticking to your plan is also brave and strong. Some of my other happiest moments are making the decision to not do something, and to not feel bad about it, and to not be in pain later. No data is worth your life - or your health. I think we can take the “No data is worth your life” saying a little further. I tell myself and my undergraduate assistant this repeatedly - no data is worth your health, safety, pain, or anything else negative. I make it clear that we can always take a day off, we can always come back to revisit the site later, we can always use statistical methods to deal with missing data. It is much harder to help someone who has hurt themselves. Make this a clear mantra for you and your team. Take care of yourself. I know how tempting it can be to slack on things that prevent my pain, especially when I am feeling good and am busy and exhausted from field work. Don’t do it! Stick to your schedule, take your medication, do whatever you need to do to keep yourself in tip-top shape, for your own safety and the safety of those around you. Your body is an important tool, so make sure to treat it like one. To be honest, I don’t exactly know what to do if your field team isn’t supportive or respectful of your limitations - I am lucky that I have no experience with this. My best advice would be to stick to your guns. Don’t be pressured into doing anything that you don’t want to do, even at the risk of being a “lazy princess”. I would also suggest, if you are able, to find at least one person who can come with your group who can support you and respect you in the way you need it. You can also consider reaching out to your disabled students program or human resources office, who can help mediate conversations between you and others in your team to ensure you get the respect and accommodations you have a right to. Do not allow yourself to be invalidated or put at risk at all costs. While I was writing this, I realized a lot of this advice is not restricted to those with disabilities. What I have outlined here, I think, are instead rules for self care, safety, and self-respect that anyone can use when in a challenging situation such as field work. We all have different limitations and abilities, and we all experience things differently. Be prepared for that, be accepting of that, and be accommodating of that, and you will succeed in being a good ally towards someone with disabilities, and also to yourself. Good luck to you on your next field season! With one paper under my belt, I think I can now consider myself an expert in publishing your undergraduate thesis. While many of my peers who spent a lot of time on research in undergrad did work worthy of publication, I didn’t see a lot of them publishing their work. Why would they? It’s SENIOR YEAR, and that means things like desperately trying to finish your course requirements, upping your GPA, maybe applying to jobs or continuing education (and/or the NSF GRFP), finishing your senior thesis, and trying to enjoy your last year as a pseudo-adult. That’s a lot! However, I think that if you are planning to pursue a career in research or higher education you are doing yourself a huge disservice by letting your research sit there unpublished. The disservice is two-fold: (1) you aren’t getting the full research experience if you don’t do the writing and (2) is your work meaningful if you didn’t communicate it? While of course the answer to (2) is a resounding YES!, when you don’t publish your work you are withholding important information from the scientific community, even if it doesn’t feel that way. A big part of undergraduate research is to get experience doing real-world work, and if you don’t attempt publication, you are missing out on a critical learning experience (as well as a nice line on your CV).
I also think a big part of the barrier to publishing as an undergrad is emotional. Only ~real scientists~ have publications, and who would want to listen to a silly undergrad who did a summer REU and thinks they know what’s what? Well, doing research does make you a ~real scientist~, and a lot of people don’t care who you are but only want to know what you did, and how it can help inform their own research. These people need your paper! It is a valid feeling, but don’t ever let yourself get in the way of your own success. Publishing is difficult, but that isn’t news. Honestly, publishing my undergraduate thesis took about as long as the research itself did. It wasn’t accepted for publication until I was already in graduate school. We were rejected with no review by two journals. We were victimized by the classic “Reviewer 2” who insisted on insulting our intelligence with every comment. We had to redo many of the analyses. I had to create a graphical abstract (the horror). It took over a year from first submission to acceptance. At the end of the day, it was one of the most important learning processes of my entire undergraduate career, and now I can be proud that my work is permanent, public, and hopefully adding to the scientific conversation for the betterment of our world. Here is some advice if you have publishable undergraduate research and you want to get it out there: Pre-submission
The revision process
Post-publication
What do you get when you take a cute, Asian salamander carrying a fungus and bring it to an area filled with cute, European salamanders that have never seen this fungus? If you guessed mass die-off events, you’re right. What is Batrachochytrium salamandrivorans (Bsal)? In 2008, scientist couple An Martel and Frank Pasmans heard about unusal population declines of fire salamanders in The Netherlands [1]. Fire salamanders, like many salamanders, are slow, moist animals which vaguely resemble dogs in their cuteness and charisma, and are well known and loved throughout Europe. Unsure of the cause of death, Martel, Pasmans, and their team went to work to find out. In 2013, they discovered a new chytrid fungus, Batrachochytrium salamandrivorans (Bsal), was responsible. Salamandrivorans means “eater of salamanders” - that’s how awful the disease is. Bsal, unlike many other fungi, has a motile zoospore stage (like a tiny, single-celled tadpole) and an encysted stage (a hard seed-like structure that can stick to things), and these zoospores somehow attach to the skin to cause the lesions seen in the picture above [2]. We don’t yet know the exact mechanism of death, but fire salamanders will die within 18 days after exposure - after a period of not eating, not moving, and general apathy [2]. Through genetic analysis, it was determined that Bsal is a sister species of another amphibian-killing pathogen, Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis (Bd) [2]. Bd is a now-global pathogen that is extremely lethal to many species of amphibians and is thought to be the primary cause of decline for nearly half of all declining amphibian populations [3]. So how did this happen? How does a pathogen sneak up on a bunch of biologists and salamanders and cause a massive die-off event seemingly out of the blue? There is one major hypothesis - that it spread through the pet trade [4,5]. A few Asian salamander species that are commonly kept as pets were discovered to be immune to Bsal [6], and since they are traded globally, and since Bsal was recently found on frogs in the pet trade [5], it is possible that Bsal has hitched a ride on such innocent and cute species and escaped into wild populations. When pet owners dumped out infected tank water unknowingly, or when these pets escaped or were released, Bsal may have had the opportunity to escape into nearby wild, susceptible populations. In 2013, the year Bsal was officially discovered, only 4% of the fire salamander population in The Netherlands remained [2]. Since Bsal’s discovery, researchers all over the world are working hard to learn more about this mystery pathogen. The big fear right now is that this pathogen will spread to North America, the home of 48% of the world’s salamander species [7]. Through a series of experiments, it was determined that seven amphibian species are susceptible to Bsal, two of which are native to North America [6]. It is possible, and likely, that many more yet-untested species are susceptible. The spread of Bsal to North America could be devastating for amphibian biodiversity, making the prognosis for the survival of this already-imperiled group very grim [3,4,8]. So what can we do to prevent this? In January 2016, the US Fish and Wildlife Service (an enforcement agency) banned the import and interstate travel of salamanders (read more here). Since Bsal has not yet been detected in the US, the idea behind the ban is that maybe we have a shot of keeping it out, or at least containing spread if it gets in. However, this is not enough. The US Geological Survey (USGS, a research agency) continues to monitor populations for both Bsal and Bd (2017 update), and many in the field believe it is a matter of time before Bsal gets to North America. A few mitigation strategies are in the works, both for Bd and Bsal, and include vaccines, probiotics, and new drug treatments that could be administered to wild amphibians. While many of these treatments are effective in the laboratory, they have proved difficult to implement in a natural population with many unknown factors. For instance, salamanders can’t just line up at a flu shot clinic - each individual must be captured, taken to a treatment center, vaccinated, monitored, given anti-fungal treatment, and released at the same spot it was taken from. Furthermore, deployment of these treatments has been nearly completely reactive, rather than proactive - and that’s where my research comes in. What if we could know which amphibian populations would be hit the hardest? What if we could get an idea of when they would be hit? What if we could gather key information about what types of habitats chytrid does the best in, how it can spread through the environment, and how different species are affected by it? The good news is, we have some of this information. By filling in the gaps and using these data, I hope to build a spatially and temporally realistic model of Bd and Bsal spread in North America - and use it to help save our salamanders - but more on that another time. Researchers aren’t the only people who can help solve this problem and save the salamanders. Here is a list of things everyone can and should do to protect North America’s weirdest-looking dogs:
We are in the middle of the sixth mass extinction, and amphibians are one of the most at-risk vertebrate groups [9]. It doesn’t take much to imagine a world with less/no amphibians - bugs everywhere, food chains thrown off balance, and an eerie silence outdoors at night. Furthermore, amphibians are important indicators of ecosystem health and play key roles in community interactions. If amphibians continue to go extinct at this rate, our grandchildren may never see them in the wild, and more than that, entire ecosystems could suffer. Help prevent this future by talking to your friends and family about Bsal and salamanders, and supporting government funding of organizations like the USGS who work tirelessly to protect our environment. Further Reading:
References: 1. Stokstad, E. A fungus is attacking Europe’s most beloved salamander. It could wreak havoc if it gets to North America. Science News (2017). 2. Martel, A. et al. Batrachochytrium salamandrivorans sp. nov. causes lethal chytridiomycosis in amphibians. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U. S. A. 110, 15325–9 (2013). 3. Skerratt, L. F. et al. Spread of chytridiomycosis has caused the rapid global decline and extinction of frogs. Ecohealth 4, 125 (2007). 4. Yap, T. A., Koo, M. S., Ambrose, R. F., Wake, D. B. & Vredenburg, V. T. Averting a North American biodiversity crisis. Science (80-. ). 349, 481–482 (2015). 5. Nguyen, T. T., Nguyen, T. Van, Ziegler, T., Pasmans, F. & Martel, A. Trade in wild anurans vectors the urodelan pathogen Batrachochytrium salamandrivorans into Europe. Amphibia-Reptilia 4–6 (2017). doi:10.1038/srep44443.Martel 6. Martel, A. et al. Recent introduction of a chytrid fungus endangers Western Palearctic salamanders. Science (80-. ). 346, 630–631 (2014). 7. AmphibiaWeb. (2017). Available at: http://amphibiaweb.org. (Accessed: 5th October 2017) 8. Stuart, S. N. et al. Status and trends of amphibian declines and extinctions worldwide. Science (80-. ). 306, 1783–1786 (2004). 9. Kilpatrick, A. M., Briggs, C. J. & Daszak, P. The ecology and impact of chytridiomycosis: an emerging disease of amphibians. Trends Ecol. Evol. 25, 109–118 (2010). Edited by Michelle Lee, and originally published here
I’ve just recently returned from my first* field season, and I can’t wait for next year. Being at remote field stations for a month was far, far outside of my comfort zone and brought out a part of me that I was unaware existed. I call this alter ego “Field-Tatum.” Field-Tatum plans a little less and improvises a little more, but seems to be just as effective as Lab-Tatum (who plans to the point of detriment sometimes). Over the course of 33 days, my field assistant and I traveled to six remote field stations across California, driving over 1,300 miles, and sampled approximately 35 ponds, lakes, and streams for the presence of the amphibian chytrid fungus, Bd (read more here). Our travels took us to places as diverse as the base of Unicorn Peak in the Eastern Sierra at 10,000ft elevation, all the way to grasslands and coast live oak forests on the rocky shorelines of the Central Coast. We swabbed amphibians, captured insects, sampled water, collected soil, and obtained “decaying organic material” - usually cow poop - for the microscopic nematodes living in it. Now that I am back in the lab, we are beginning to process these samples to see if Bd is living and reproducing in something other than its amphibian host. Naturally, the planner that I am, I agonized over my packing list for weeks. I was convinced that I was over-prepared, bringing too much, and that I would regret lugging my frivolous things all over California. Thankfully, when it came to research supplies I was very well equipped (+1 for Lab-Tatum). Personally, however, mistakes were made. Here is the list of what I wish I brought, and why I didn’t, so you can avoid/laugh at my mistakes: More socks: I read a blog post from an REU student doing her first field season, and her biggest packing suggestion was to bring way more socks than you think you’ll need. Ignoring her advice, I decided that I only needed five pairs of hiking socks. I didn’t believe it but it’s true, you never have enough socks - I am sorry to report I wore dirty socks on a few occasions when there wasn’t a laundry machine available at the field station. Why I didn’t: Hiking socks are so expensive! I only owned two pairs at the time. To purchase the 10-odd pairs I really needed would have been a tiny fortune. What I learned: For foot comfort, spare no expense. More pants: I owned no hiking clothes prior to this expedition. In undergrad I had gotten away with wearing my gym clothes in the field, which consisted entirely of shorts and tank tops. In the insect-and-poison-oak-covered wilds I now found myself in, pants were the only thing to wear. Sadly, I had only brought one (1) pair. Why I didn’t: I thought I’d prefer to wear shorts, as I did in undergrad. I severely underestimated how much poison oak there would be (read: wanted to play fast and loose with my natural immunity), and thought it would be too hot for pants. I was completely naive to the wonders of a good pair of hiking pants. What I learned: Pants always, no matter how immune to poison oak you are or how hot it is. Movies: The most obvious thing I didn’t think of - visual entertainment. When we finished our work I was too tired to do much else, and all I wanted to do was enjoy a movie. Why I didn’t: I thought I’d have internet and would be able to stream everywhere. Did you know that some remote field stations don’t have streaming? Shocking. What I learned: Don’t assume a remote field station has enough bandwidth to stream Netflix. Beauty products: Perhaps the most unusual thing I found myself wanting was nail polish. I don’t paint my nails very often at home, but when you are sunburnt, dirty, and possibly covered in poison oak, a little pampering sounds really nice. Why I didn’t: It seemed like a silly thing to bring; who needs painted toenails in the field? What I learned: I need painted toenails in the field. My yoga mat: I was planning to bring my mat and do yoga in some of the most beautiful and remote places I’ve ever been. Sounds lovely, right? This was a critical piece of personal equipment that was abandoned in packing anxiety the day I left. Why I didn’t: I thought there wasn’t room for it in the car, and that it wouldn’t get a lot of use (there was, and it would have (especially at the field station that had no mattresses)) What I learned: There is always room in the car for important things. Let’s hope that next field season I’ll remember to prepare for a lack of Netflix before heading out. --- * By first field season, I mean that my only other field experience came from short, 3-hour long stints into the wilds of urban Los Angeles to swab slender salamanders for Bd and Bsal. This was my first field season spending a month away from home and sampling nearly every single day in conditions I had never before experienced (outhouses with wasp infestations, poison oak higher than your head, four-foot-high snowdrifts underneath an 80 degree sunny sky…but more on these later). |
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