How two letters on a page led to a PhD and a career in research

My scientific origin story.

This is the first of a slightly different series of posts, where I talk about the different aspects of my career, how I got to where I am today, and where I want to go in the future. But don’t fret, as the regular sports-related content will continue in between these other posts.

I was a curious child growing up. My parents had to put up with a seemingly unending barrage of “why” questions, but thankfully they encouraged this curiosity and passion for learning (they were teachers, after all). But my curiosity, especially for science, took off when I was in high school and we had to do a project on the periodic table.

The whole class took turns picking what element we wanted to research, and our teacher wrote them down using their chemical symbols (fun fact: J is the only letter that doesn’t appear on the periodic table). I was fascinated by the idea that there could be a whole story behind such a small number of letters, and that people could understand what this shorthand meant.

This led to me picking science subjects as electives where possible in year 9 and year 10, before loading up on science and maths subjects when it came time to do my VCE - although this was balanced out somewhat by doing music as well.

After completing year 12 I moved to Melbourne for university, following my intellectual curiosity to pursue a Bachelor of Biomedical Science at Monash University. I had also been offered a spot in medical radiation sciences (medical imaging) in Adelaide, but ultimately chose biomedical science as I felt it could lead to a wider variety of career options than what a medical imaging degree would.

And this turned out to be true, as over the next three years I completed a broad range of subjects, including (in no particular order) biology, anatomy, physiology, biophysics, genetics, pharmacology, biochemistry, microbiology, pathology, bioinformatics, neuroscience, statistics/epidemiology, and neuroanatomy.

In hindsight, being exposed to so many different subjects was perfect for a curious person like me. There was always something new to study! It also gave me good foundational knowledge across a number of different areas, which proved useful years later when I started working as a journalist (although that’s a story for another day). But probably the most important thing my undergraduate degree taught me was what I liked - and what I didn’t like.

For example, I loved anatomy and physiology. Getting to learn about how the body worked was incredibly interesting, and getting to learn by working with cadavers and other anatomical models is something I’ll never forget. On the other end of the spectrum we had things like biochemistry (I could never remember the all the different reaction pathways, like the Krebs cycle) and bioinformatics (although the general dislike for this subject probably had more to do with the fact that the final exam - which was a hurdle requirement - was only worth 30% of the grade. There were plenty of people scored over 50% on the subject but had to repeat it the following year because they failed the exam).

As we entered the third and final year of our degree conversations inevitably turned to what people would be doing after we graduated. I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted to do, so I decided to aim for an Honours degree, which was an extra year of university where you worked with a supervisor, completed a research project, and wrote a small thesis about what you had found. But there were two requirements I had to overcome to be accepted into the Honours program.

The first requirement was that you needed a distinction average in at least four subjects in your final year. I averaged a few decimal points off a high distinction across all eight subjects, so I ticked that box.

The second requirement was that you needed to find a supervisor who was willing to work with you (technically two, as you needed to have a back up or reserve listed on the form in case your first preference didn’t work out for whatever reason). After thinking about all the lecturers we had come across over the years and what subjects I had enjoyed the most, I was able to whittle the list down to two: Dr Jillian Broadbear, who I had met through neuroscience and neuroanatomy, and Dr Richard Loiacono, who I had met through pharmacology.

I got along with both of them quite well but ultimately ended up working with Jillian as she seemed like the safer option. Richard was a little too obsessed with dalmatians, Scarlett Johansson, and explaining how different drugs worked by describing what would happen if he administered them to his wife for my liking. (We were pretty sure he was joking about that last one.)

My Honours project involved testing the potential anti-anxiety and antidepressant effects of two hormones, oxytocin and vasopressin, in anxious and depressed rats. I know what you’re thinking - how do you make a rat depressed? While it sounds like you’re setting someone up to deliver a great punchline, the actual answer is far less interesting. These rats had been selectively bred to have similar changes in their brain chemistry to what is seen in humans with depression.

I learned a lot in my Honours year - even if the hormones didn’t have the groundbreaking effects we hoped they would - and graduated with First Class Honours (equivalent to a high distinction). By this point I well and truly needed a break from studying, so I decided to try and find a job as a researcher the following year. But I didn’t have a lot of luck, and ended up working in the medical records department in a hospital after doing a short course in clinical research at the University of Melbourne.

After spending nearly 12 months looking for work I was considering leaving Melbourne and moving to Adelaide, where a number of my high school friends lived. But one day I received an email from Jillian, my Honours supervisor, who had been contacted by another group of researchers in the psychology department at Monash. They were looking for a PhD student to work on a project exploring the effects of oxytocin on pain, and knowing that Jillian had also worked with oxytocin, were curious to see if she knew anyone who might be interested.

The money wasn’t great (PhD students are paid a stipend of roughly $40,000 a year, although you can get additional scholarships or work part-time to supplement your income), but it meant I could stay in Melbourne and delay having to go off and get a “real” job for another few years. I was a full time student once again, with my PhD research investigating the physiological and psychological factors that changed the way we perceive and react to pain.

The next three and a half years flew by - designing experiments, collecting and analysing data, trying to get my results published, and a lot of paperwork… Most people think you are really smart if you have a PhD. And while there is a degree of truth in that, I feel that completing a PhD is more of an exercise in persistence and dedication than intelligence. It can be a long and difficult journey, and I’m incredibly thankful to my family, friends, supervisors, and lab mates for all of their support and encouragement along the way.

I submitted my PhD thesis for examination in mid-2017, and a few months later I was passed after needing to make some minor changes and clarifications based on the examiners’ comments. I graduated in December of 2017, getting to wear the floppy hat and fancy robes to celebrate the achievement.