Our Congenital Anomalies Cluster invites you to join them for an exciting hybrid event at the Advance Training Centre at MRC Harwell on the 23rd and 24th of November.
The meeting title ‘From Cardiac Gene Variant to Mouse Model’ is a good summary of the aims of this informal meeting which are to:
Create a framework for accurately modelling and phenotyping human congenital heart defects in mouse.
Link human and mouse phenotyping.
The target audience is varied and expected to comprise clinicians, clinical geneticists and developmental biologists interested in finding new genes for congenital heart defects and validating them in mouse models.
For more information and to register for the meeting please download our programme
Lessons from developmental biology in how to navigate the scientific career-scape
Between the fifth and tenth days the lump of stem cells differentiates into the overall building plan of the mouse embryo and its organs. It is a bit like a lump of iron turning into the space shuttle.
~Miroslav Holub, Czech poet and developmental biologist
My email pings less than 20 minutes after I work up the courage to send a follow-up message to the biology PhD program. It’s April 14, 2020 — one month after Florida shut down for the COVID-19 pandemic.
As I read the message — I would say there is virtually no chance you would hear positively from us — the proverbial rug is pulled out from under me, the vision of my scientific career destabilizing as fast as ocean waves disintegrating a child’s sandcastle. I am set adrift, yet at the same time frustratingly stuck, forced to face the seemingly infinite possibilities in response to the question: What do I do now?
See the landscape for what it is
It’s been three years, and that question still nags at me as I try to answer it. My conclusion? Maybe the path of a scientific career isn’t linear. Maybe it’s more like Waddington’s epigenetic landscape — a metaphorical description of development that begins with a single egg, with its myriad potential like a marble poised at the peak of a complex and shifting geography. This marble can roll down any number of paths into valleys representing cell divisions and their subsequent differentiations into terminal cell fates.
At first glance, this landscape appears rather straightforward. We don’t see the system of “guy ropes” attached to “pegs” that shape the surface area at the whims of genetic and environmental inputs.
I always assumed that a true science career began with graduate school. But the odds of getting into a PhD program, at least in the US, is only about 20%. That means for every applicant who shouts in excitement after receiving an acceptance notification, four others are staring blankly at their computer screens, hearts thumping as they wonder: What do I do now?
In 2020, I was part of the 80% majority. But I felt very much alone in the quiet lockdown of COVID-19. I didn’t even feel like I had a right to be sad — after all, I had my health, still had my job as a laboratory technician. Surely there were other opportunities for a fledgling scientist like me.
I looked for them, too. In my mind, I needed something that was still applicable to my interest in biology. With the pandemic, I wanted something that would allow me to work from home, if need be. Bioinformatics was appealing, although given my lack of computer savvy I knew there would be a learning curve. I just hoped I could crawl up that steep slope of my personal landscape.
In the fall of 2020, I took bioinformatic classes through the online Harvard Extension biotechnology program. I was enamored with the name and the prestige — so much so that I lost sight of the “wondrousness of this wonder” of biology as I got bogged down in computations and repeated syntax errors flashing on my computer screen, stuck in the rut of wanting a degree for a degree’s sake. It didn’t take me long to realize that this online program was not the right fit for me.
Here, once again, my personal landscape shifted and the possibility of a career in science seemed beyond my reach. I struggled to sleep at nights. I even tried distracting myself with daily 7 mile runs, every pounding step the question echoing: What do you do when you don’t know what to do?
Lean into conflicting signals
Much of early development is determined by antagonistic relationships of gene expression — a wrestle between conflicting signals.
One well known example is the role of sonic hedgehog (Shh) and Bmp/Wnt in forming the vertebrate spinal cord. High concentrations of Shh, secreted from the floorplate, instruct nearby cells to be “ventralized.” But the signal gradually fades and eventually meets the opposing Bmp/Wnt signals coming from the roof plate promoting more dorsal cell identities. It’s in this conflict of gradient signals that a unique cell identity code emerges, specifying the neural progenitor cell subtypes along the axis of the future spinal cord. It’s fascinating to me how seeming conflict — an identity crisis, if you’ll allow the anthropomorphism — eventually resolves itself into a whole organism, given the proper signaling gradient across time and space.
In the months and years after my rejected grad school applications, I went through my own identity crisis. On an intellectual level, I knew the notifications may be more a reflection of a lack of funding, space, or resources and not necessarily of my abilities as a future scientist. On an emotional level, I couldn’t shake my feelings of worthlessness. But sharing my loss felt taboo while a pandemic raged, killing thousands of people or leaving them hooked up to ventilators. So I tried to ignore my feelings and push through, to climb up the cliff of my career’s landscape and remake myself.
One night at a socially distant social activity, I struck up a conversation with local news editor Brian McMillan. We talked about our interests in science and writing and the need for better science communication. He encouraged me to begin writing clips, starting with our local Palm Coast Observer. His invitation took root in my brain, a planted seed that just needed some nourishment and gentle coaxing to grow into something larger than what I saw at the time.
Since then, I’ve begun exploring the world of science communication. I was invited to attend the Creative Science Writing Workshop hosted by The Company of Biologists where I met others who wanted to tell the stories of science in ways that could move people. In October of last year, I was granted a New Horizons Fellowship to attend the SciWri22 conference in Memphis, Tennessee. There, I not only discovered a community devoted to telling the stories of science — I found the words to express the grief I didn’t know I was feeling and could finally begin the slow process of healing.
During one of the scientific sessions, St. Jude social worker Erica Sirrine introduced me to the phrase “disenfranchised grief,” or “grief experienced by those who incur a loss that is not, or cannot be, openly acknowledged, publicly mourned, or socially supported.” I saw myself — or rather, my experience — reflected in those words. I felt seen and acknowledged by a community, finally empowered to begin making sense of my hidden grief.
Find your niche community and join in
The growth of any science career, like the proliferating cells of a growing organism, requires collaborative interactions between individuals. No scientist, no matter their passion, can be formed in isolation. Mentors, both formal and informal, help us see ourselves — our strengths and weaknesses — and offer organizing principles that shape our career’s landscape. We do ourselves a disservice when we ignore these outside influences.
As a research community, we must crack the myth of a single career trajectory from masters to PhDs to post-docs to tenured faculty. That’s merely one path in the maze of the scientific landscape, a snapshot that misses the full dynamics of what a science career can be, where boundaries blur and overlap, molded into something no less miraculous than a space shuttle forming from a lump of iron ore while in outer space.
Focusing on tenure professorships at the exclusion of any other career path is myopic, even problematic. The number of PhD applications in the US swelled to 770,000 in 2021, growing nearly 10% since my applications were rejected. Of the 651,000 doctoral students in Europe that same year, nearly 40% were in the STEM field. In Asia, there are over 285,000 doctoral students. These statistics, incomplete as they are, hint that the supply of doctoral degrees is fast outpacing the demand for limited tenured track positions. It’s not the role of mentors to shape their pupils after their own image, but rather to help their pupils find a career path that is suitable for them.
That may be as practical as encouraging science trainees to engage in professional workshops like the one The Company of Biologists offered me last year. We need to hearthe stories of scientists who have walked those paths less traveled and see the potential of exploring and even creating new spaces in science. So-called “alternative careers” are as real as academia and need to be de-stigmatized just as much as the grief that comes when doors seem so firmly shut.
A science career is not, nor has it ever truly been, a terminally differentiated state. It’s more like a stem cell niche, maintained in perpetuity until the right signal comes along. Then that marble can start to roll through its personal landscape. If a lab isn’t a right fit, well — there’s always another path, even if it’s unclear where it might lead.
I’m one of those still stuck in the in-between of an undifferentiated career state. But I’ve found a supportive community to encourage me along the way. And that has made all the difference.
Krista Gert, a recent doctoral graduate from Andrea (Andi) Pauli’s lab at the Research Institute of Molecular Pathology (IMP) in Vienna, Austria, recently published a study on how Bouncer, a small egg membrane protein required for sperm binding, governs compatibility between the sperm and eggs of different fish species. Her study, published in Nature Communications in June, juxtaposes two distantly related, reproductively isolated fish species—zebrafish and medaka. Using a structure-function approach guided by evolutionary analysis, her work uncovers what makes a Bouncer protein compatible with one species’ sperm but not another’s, providing an intriguing molecular explanation for fish hybridization. We caught up with Krista to find out more about the story behind the paper.
What brought you to Andi’s lab and how did the project start?
Recent Ph.D. graduate Krista Gert with a tank of zebrafish, the main model organism in the Pauli lab.
I first heard about Andi’s lab through an advertisement for the Vienna BioCenter Summer School program back in 2016 while I was doing my master’s degree at Linköping University in Sweden. I had previously participated in a summer REU (Research Experience for Undergraduates) program while a bachelor’s student and was keen on doing a summer research project again. Developmental biology fascinated me, so I applied to Andi’s lab because of a project on a small protein called Toddler and its role in regulating cell migration during gastrulation. I enjoyed being in Andi’s lab and working with zebrafish that summer so much that I came back for my master’s thesis project in 2017. For that project, I changed gears from working on Toddler to Bouncer and its role in fertilization with a then Ph.D. student, Sarah Herberg. The work I did during that time set the stage for my own Ph.D. project and led to my discovery that Bouncer keeps fertilization species-specific between medaka and zebrafish—a major finding in our first publication on Bouncer in Science. These exciting results provided the momentum for my own Ph.D. project. I dove into exploring how Bouncer mediates specificity in sperm-egg interaction between species, the main goal of my paper in Nature Communications.
What was known about cross-fertilisation between different species before your work?
In general, scientists had observed a high frequency of hybridization among fish species compared to other animal groups, but no one had really sought to understand the molecular basis for it given the fact that we didn’t even know what proteins are generally required for sperm-egg membrane interaction in fish. That’s part of why it was so exciting to work on Bouncer—it was the first egg molecule shown to be required for fertilization in any fish species, opening the door to not only studying its function in sperm binding, but also probing how it might limit binding to only sperm from closely related species or allow hybridization across greater phylogenetic distances.
Can you summarise your key findings?
When I started working on Bouncer, I initially observed that Bouncer enabled fertilization in a species-specific manner: eggs expressing zebrafish Bouncer could be fertilized by zebrafish sperm, but not by medaka sperm. At the beginning of my current study, however, I soon found that there was more to it than that—zebrafish sperm turned out to be compatible with several different species’ Bouncer proteins, and remarkably, some Bouncer proteins could even work with both medaka and zebrafish sperm.
However, taking advantage of Bouncer’s medaka/zebrafish specificity, I defined features within Bouncer orthologs, both on the amino acid and post-translational modification levels, that are required for interaction with zebrafish or medaka sperm. In terms of evolution, we found that Bouncer remains largely similar from fish species to fish species, yet we identified a medaka-specific change in the amino acid sequence (site 63) which contributes to the medaka/zebrafish cross-fertility block. In zebrafish, this site contains arginine (R), whereas medaka Bouncer contains a leucine (L). We furthermore found that the N-glycosylation pattern of Bouncer really matters for medaka sperm compatibility but does not influence zebrafish sperm compatibility. In this way, I elucidated some of the molecular details as to why zebrafish and medaka cannot cross-fertilize and furthermore demonstrated that there are different levels of stringency for sperm-Bouncer interaction depending on the species, likely impacting their ability to hybridize with more distantly related species vs. only close relatives.
Were you surprised to find that seahorse and fugu Bouncer are compatible with both zebrafish and medaka sperm?
Yes, completely! This result was particularly surprising when considering that both seahorse and fugu Bouncer are ~40% identical to zebrafish Bouncer, whereas medaka Bouncer shares just under 39% identity with zebrafish Bouncer. As I mentioned before, it was also quite a surprise since we originally expected that Bouncer would show strict species specificity beyond just the medaka/zebrafish combination. Nonetheless, it was an informative result because I could then focus on sequence elements that were different between medaka and zebrafish Bouncer and ignore any changes that were also present in fugu and seahorse Bouncer, allowing me to narrow the field in determining what underlies Bouncer’s medaka/zebrafish specificity.
What was it like working with two different species of fish?
A female medaka in the IMP fish facility. Sperm from this species fails to fertilize zebrafish eggs due their incompatibility with zebrafish Bouncer.
For me, working with animals is one of the most enjoyable parts of being a biologist, so I gladly accepted the challenge of introducing a new model species into the lab. Before my project, we had only zebrafish, and I needed to set up all the protocols and tools for working with medaka. It was not easy, but I found it very rewarding once I got everything up and running! Having the side-by-side comparison of medaka and zebrafish was also very informative in terms of their intrinsic species differences, particularly in the process of fertilization itself.
Did you have any particular result or eureka moment that has stuck with you?
My biggest “eureka moment” would have to be when I saw zebrafish eggs fertilized by medaka sperm for the first time. During my master’s project, I had made several bouncer mutant zebrafish lines expressing other species’ bouncer genes to test whether they could rescue fertilization with zebrafish sperm. I tested the Bouncer proteins from human, mouse, Xenopus, and medaka, but none of them were compatible with zebrafish sperm. But what about the other way around? Could I fertilize these zebrafish eggs with sperm that was species-matched with the expressed Bouncer protein? The scenario most likely to work was medaka sperm with medaka Bouncer-expressing zebrafish eggs, so I procured several medaka males from a neighboring lab and gave IVF a try. After a few attempts and to my great surprise, I caught sight of cleavage-stage embryos in the petri dish as I peered through the dissection scope a few hours later—the very first zebrafish-medaka hybrids to ever exist!
And the flipside: were there any moments of frustration or despair?
When I started this project, I believed that I would be able to pinpoint the exact changes needed to make zebrafish Bouncer compatible with medaka sperm. Each time I made a new line, I thought for sure that this would be the one that would finally work. There is a significant time lag between making a new line and getting the results since you need to wait for two generations, and it takes about 3 months for zebrafish to reach sexual maturity. After making and testing all my amino acid substitution mutants without much luck, I was convinced that combining the R63L change with the medaka N-glycosylation pattern in zebrafish Bouncer would be sufficient for medaka sperm to work. It was disappointing when it didn’t, and even more so when I then tried the entire medaka finger 3 sequence plus the N-glycosylation pattern in zebrafish Bouncer, and this still failed to work with medaka sperm. Looking back, though, I am glad I kept trying even though I didn’t quite solve the entire puzzle of species specificity.
AlphaFold-Multimer model of Bouncer and the sperm heterotrimer consisting of Izumo1, Spaca6, and Tmem81. Interestingly, R63 in zebrafish Bouncer is predicted to be at the interface between Izumo1 and Spaca6, in line with functional data supporting its key role in sperm interaction.
My initial discovery of Bouncer as the main block to cross-fertilization between medaka and zebrafish provided a versatile system for uncovering Bouncer’s interaction partner on sperm. On top of this, my current paper highlights the importance of site 63 in determining specificity, and it may therefore also be critical for interaction with the sperm binding partner. Current work in the lab by my colleagues Andreas Blaha and Victoria Deneke uncovered that Bouncer may interact with a heterotrimeric complex on sperm consisting of Izumo1, Spaca6, and a new factor, Tmem81, as they report in their recent bioRxiv preprint (Deneke, Blaha, et al., 2023). This is groundbreaking for the fertilization field since the only sperm-egg protein interaction pair of which we know currently is IZUMO1 and JUNO in mammals. What’s especially striking to me is that when you look at the AlphaFold-predicted model of zebrafish Bouncer and the sperm trimer, the tip of finger 3 where R63 sits in Bouncer is right at the interface between Spaca6 and Izumo1. It’s exciting to see how my work was able to pinpoint a potential key interaction site even though I had only half of the picture. Now that we know Bouncer’s interaction partner on sperm, we can work toward defining the Bouncer-trimer interaction interface and understand why zebrafish sperm are able to bind many Bouncer orthologs, whereas medaka sperm maintain higher specificity.
And personally, what is next for you after this paper?
Discovering how to make hybrids between medaka and zebrafish spawned another whole project on which I embarked during my Ph.D. I used them to address another question of species specificity: how is the timing of zygotic genome activation (ZGA) determined? Medaka and zebrafish have proved to be a very interesting comparative system for this study as well, given their different times of ZGA onset during embryogenesis. Currently, I’m finishing up work in the lab for a paper on how we used these hybrids to explore this question. In case you are curious, there’s already a preprint on bioRxiv (Gert et al., 2021).
I defended my Ph.D. earlier this summer and am currently looking for a post-doc position to continue working on fertilization or reproductive biology. I am especially excited to work on understudied species and to establish new animal models, as my work with Bouncer in two distantly related fish species has really convinced me of the value of a comparative system. In the future, I hope to work with endangered species and develop new reproductive technologies to aid their conservation.
We are based in the MRC Human Genetics Unit in the Institute for Genetics and Cancer at the University of Edinburgh. It is close to the Stockbridge neighbourhood with lovely views over the city and surrounding countryside.
We are interested in early mammalian development, using mouse and human as model systems. We have a particular focus on preimplantation cell lineage acquisition and gastrulation, also specialising in derivation and use of stem cell lines from both species.
The Nichols lab members (from left to right: Takuya, Elena, Lawrence, Jenny, Kasia)
Can you give us a lab roll call, with a sentence including what each person works on and career stage
Jenny: PI.
Elena: Postdoctoral research associate, in collaboration with Kevin Chalut; investigating the role of the mechanical microenvironment and signalling mechanisms during cell lineage specification in pre-implantation mammalian embryos
Takuya: Postdoctoral research associate; investigating the role of Stat3 signalling in the gastrulation stage of mouse development using embryos and stem cell derived ‘gastruloids’.
Lawrence: Postdoctoral research associate, studying events in gastrulation, integrating signalling and transcriptional networks.
Kasia: Edinburgh Clinical Academic Track PhD student, co-supervised by Jenny and Hannah Long. I’m a plastic surgery trainee interested in developmental biology and genetics. I am particularly focused on the role of neural crest in cranio-facial and appendage development using stem cell derived models. I’m using SOX9 gene as a model locus to understand the impact of coding and non-coding mutations in human disease.
Favourite technique, and why?
Jenny: Blastocyst injection is my favourite technique. Apart from being a useful tool for testing stem cell potency and generating mutant mouse lines, it allows us to address interesting questions, such as cell competition in the primary lineages and early post-implantation embryo. In collaboration with Bertie Gottgens’ lab in Cambridge we have been using single cell chimera-seq as a powerful technique to study the function of genes that would result in early embryonic lethality in complete knock-outs.
Apart from your own research, what are you most excited about in developmental and stem cell biology?
Jenny: I am fascinated by the potential to replicate specific organ units from stem cells using quite basic culture regimes and no obvious directional cues. These are invaluable for scrutinising developmental mechanisms in a 3Rs compliant manner and have obvious translatable value.
How do you approach managing your group and all the different tasks required in your job?
Jenny: I see myself more as a facilitator than manager. I am fortunate to have a small lab of highly motivated young scientists inspired by their particular interests. In between all the admin tasks, I like to work in the lab beside my team. I provide them with a coffee machine and unlimited refills, and the door is always open for discussions.
What is the best thing about where you work?
Jenny: It is a very friendly and welcoming environment, and there are lots of opportunities to attend seminars to hear about the work of our colleagues. Edinburgh University as a whole also has a great developmental biology community with plenty of seminars.
Elena: Microscopes and machines to fabricate our own glass tools! We moved to the HGU recently and our lab neighbours – the Mill lab – have been incredibly helpful and welcoming to us, not only scientifically but also with baked goods!
Takuya: Technical staff, especially FACS, microscopy and image analysis.
Lawrence: There’s a great social community in our institute.
Kasia: I enjoy the collaborative and interdisciplinary environment in the institute. It’s interesting to interact and learn from scientists coming from a variety of different backgrounds. Core facilities are approachable and helpful.
What’s there to do outside of the lab?
Jenny: It is lovely to walk in the local hills, highlands or along the coast. There is also plenty of culture to enjoy in Edinburgh throughout the year, especially music.
Elena: Take a bus to the south of the city and enjoy a hike in the Pentland Hills! Closer to the HGU are the old railway paths with no cars and surrounded by trees, they take you to Haymarket, Wardie Bay and Leith, I normally use them to run home after work.
Takuya: I enjoy visiting the Highland area of Scotland and the distilleries.
Lawrence: I was thrilled to find places that serve a really good coffee!
Kasia: Edinburgh is a great place to live with access to amazing restaurants, famous theatre and comedy festival and many tourist attractions. I particularly enjoy yoga and doing sports with my kids. We’ve recently discovered a junior parkrun for kids and parents in our local park.
The Nichols lab at the BSDB meeting (from left to right: Kasia, Elena, Jenny, Lawrence, Takuya and Stan)
Browse through other ‘Lab meeting’ posts featuring developmental and stem cell biology labs around the world.
“Vaccines don’t just stop short-term disease. They can shape your whole health future”
Dr John Tregoning, Imperial College London
In the latest episode of the Genetics Unzipped podcast, we’re going “Vax to the Future” to look at the science behind DNA and RNA vaccines. How do they work? What can they do, and how can they be made at scale so that more people around the world can benefit from them?
If you enjoy the show, please do rate and review on Apple podcasts and help to spread the word on social media. And you can always send feedback and suggestions for future episodes and guests to podcast@geneticsunzipped.com Follow us on Twitter – @geneticsunzip
I didn’t become aware of developmental biology (DevBio) until a lecture during my first year of undergraduate studies. From that moment on, however, I was hooked and even changed my degree from forensic biology to biochemistry to have more DevBio modules. DevBio has been the basis of my career ever since. As a first-generation university student with no scientists in my family, I simply didn’t know that DevBio existed nor did I appreciate that there was a whole community of scientists experiencing the joy of working with embryos and other model systems.
I wondered whether my experience was representative of others in the field so, a couple of years ago, I took to Twitter to find out more. Obviously, there are a number of drawbacks to the methodology of this short survey; the nuances of every participant’s background cannot be appreciated and limited poll options restrict detailed (and possibly accurate) feedback. Still, since the DevBio community is (or at least, was) quite active on Twitter, I think the results could be interesting as an initial sample.
First, I asked at what stage of their career members of the DevBio community became aware of the field. At least two flaws to bear in mind here: I was unable to specify whether ‘university’ was considered by participants to be at the undergraduate or postgraduate level and there wasn’t a distinction between learning about DevBio as part of their university studies (e.g. from being a biology student) or just the stage of life (e.g. learning about it from peers or the media while being a student).
I’m curious about some things. So, #devbio Twitter community, when did you first become aware of Developmental Biology as a field?
Like me, the vast majority of participants (78% of 312) discovered DevBio at university, which is important because most members of the community were in a privileged position of being able to attend university in the first place, highlighting that most people probably aren’t exposed to DevBio in everyday life. It also makes me curious to think how many young students might have chosen to study biology – or go to university at all – if they had known about DevBio beforehand. If, like me, you agree that science is strengthened by diversity every effort needs to be made to provide opportunities for people from all backgrounds. The SDB Choose Development! and the University of Michigan’s Developing Future Biologists programs are excellent examples of promoting DevBio for undergraduates. However, I’d argue that the main message from this poll is that people aren’t aware of DevBio during the formative stages of thinking about their future careers. One of the flaws from the question above is somewhat addressed by the next question: who introduced you to DevBio?
Again, the vast majority (80.9% of 94) said that a university lecturer introduced them to the field, indicating that most participants learned of the field through their studies (presumably as an undergraduate in a related subject). Looking back, at least two important options are missing: the media, and extracurricular sources (such as workshops, summer schools, open days and similar outreach and engagement events). Indeed, there are a number of great initiatives to bring DevBio (specifically) to younger students, particularly those from underrepresented backgrounds both inside and outside the classroom. Some examples include Student Scientists, NERD SQUAD Inc., BioEYES, and droso4schools – if you know of others please do mention them in the comments below. I was slightly surprised that very few (1.1%) were introduced to DevBio by family, suggesting that DevBio is not necessarily an inherited vocation!
So, how do we expose the hidden gem of DevBio to more people? Realistically, it won’t be possible for all researchers to create their own outreach and engagement program, although if you’re interested see how some of the ones mentioned above came about by reading some articles with the organisers: Michael Barresi (Student Scientists), Cagney Coomer (NERD SQUAD Inc.), Engaging new audiences with imaging and microscopy (featuring Jamie Shuda from BioEYES) and Developing Future Biologists: developmental biology for undergraduates from underserved communities. Similarly, it might not be feasible to lobby for a change in the biology curriculum in schools around the world, although I hope that, one day, we will see developmental or stem cell biology as a standard topic in the classroom and I think this might positively impact public engagement more generally (for more on this see Exploring the challenges and opportunities of public engagement with fundamental biology). Finally, although we can try to promote DevBio through press releases, it’s not necessarily under our control which stories the media will pick up and how accurately they will report on it. But do we talk about the field at all when outside the company of other biologists? My next question: how would you describe your field when talking to someone outside of academia/industry?
When talking to someone outside of academia/industry, how would you describe your field?
In this case, there was a roughly 50:50 split in responses. Just under half (49.5% of 93) said that they describe their field as “developmental biology”, while 47.3% preferred a broader term, such as “biology” or “science”. I propose that one simple way to expose more people to DevBio is to tell people that it exists. When someone asks, don’t shy away; choose to say “I am a developmental biologist“, rather than “I am a scientist”, “biologist” or “researcher”. Use the opportunity to explain what DevBio is and what it means to you. Your conversation partner might tell their own children or friends about it and spread awareness of the field to a whole new audience. Word of mouth may be simple, but it’s often an effective way to inspire the next generation of DevBio researchers. Having then potentially recruited a number of new developmental biologists, how easy is it to integrate into the field?
Thankfully, none of the 67 respondents considers the community to be “antisocial” and just over half (52.2%) agree that the community is “welcoming”. However, there is still work to be done to make sure that the DevBio community is inclusive because the remaining respondents felt that the community is “exclusive” (10.4%) or “cliquey” (37.3%). There isn’t a magic bullet to solve such issues, but considering and welcoming diversity and inclusion of scientists all backgrounds should be in all our minds and executed to the best of our ability.
Perhaps, then, a more appropriate response to “what do you do?” would be, “I am a developmental biologist and you can be one too“. Indeed, in the words of John Wallingford, “We Are All Developmental Biologists“.
Alex Eve trained as a developmental biologist and is now a Reviews Editor at Development
Reactions from the community
Great piece! it reminds me of an essay from Scott Gilber: "Developmental biology, the stem cell of biological disciplines"https://t.co/4tleOkX9mR
With increasing focus on equity, diversity and inclusion in academia in recent years, disabled scientists/ scientists with disabilities, who face tremendous barriers navigating their academic careers, are still often left out of these discussions. Building on the success of the ‘Working in science with a disability’ session at the 2022 Young Embryologist Network (YEN) meeting, Issue 16 of Development features two Perspective articles on the topic of disability in research.
In the Perspective ‘Navigating a research career with a disability‘, five biologists share their lived experiences, including the obstacles and successes of undertaking a scientific career with a disability. One of the authors, Katharine Hubert, also wrote a longer piece on the Node to share her experience living with an invisible disability, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), while pursuing a PhD.
In ‘Disability and developmental biology’, Jack Morgan gives an overview of the current literature exploring disabled scientists’ experiences in academia and provides ample references, resources and further reading to spur our community towards authentic disability inclusivity in developmental biology. In the article, Jack also discusses findings from a survey conducted at the 2022 YEN meeting, with the hope to conduct a larger scale survey on the Node to gain valuable insight into the experiences of disabled scientists in our community — watch this space!
The Node is also keen to gather more voices from the developmental and stem biology community about this under-discussed topic — if you would like to write a piece, get in touch.
This post is an extension of the Perspective Article “Navigating a research career with a disability” published in Development, where five biologists share their lived experiences, including the obstacles and successes of undertaking a scientific career with a disability.
Last year, I had 68 doctor’s appointments.
I have an invisible condition, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), that results in defective connective tissues, the glue that holds our bodies together. Thus, everything in my body is affected; my musculoskeletal, cardiovascular, nervous, gastrointestinal, and integumentary systems all succumb to the fate of my mutation. I experience dislocations, heart palpitations, tachycardia, loss of appetite, acid reflux, delayed wound healing, bruising, migraines, pain (a lot of pain), and so much more on a daily basis.
Despite these extensive symptoms, it took six years to receive a diagnosis. While tests like EMGs (electromyography) can be used to assess muscle function, there are currently no medical tests to understand the functional impact of connective tissue disorders; it is easy for doctors to dismiss your symptoms, when you look like a “healthy” 19-year-old. During my diagnostic odyssey, I realized that there were huge gaps in knowledge surrounding the etiology and downstream (tissue specific) consequences of mutations in genes that sustain the extracellular matrix (ECM). Curiosity and frustration from medical dismissals and lack of viable treatment options fueled by motivation and passion to dedicate my life to studying the ECM. After all, who better to study mutations in connective tissues than someone who lives with the physical, social, and economic consequences of it every day? This is precisely why I decided to pursue a PhD in Genetics.
I am now in my fourth year of graduate school, and while extremely taxing, I do not regret pursuing this path. My motivation and passion sustain my interest and dedication to science. However, motivation and dedication are meaningless without accessible, supportive environments that allow me to pursue my work. Part of creating this environment is becoming aware of the experiences of disabled scientists and supporting us by creating lab spaces, equipment, and policies that are inclusive. Disabled scientists are an asset to the scientific community. We are resilient, creative, and provide unique perspectives. Yet, there are still many obstacles to our inclusion in STEM. Inclusion and change cannot happen without first knowing how to improve the current environment and we can only learn this information by engaging with disabled scientists. I have decided to share aspects of my experiences as a physically disabled scientist with the goal of sparking conversation, challenging stereotypes, and motivating the pursuit of inclusive change in academia. Importantly, my experiences are my own and I do not speak for other disabled scientists. Below, I share what I believe are the most important aspects of the physically disabled scientist experience for all of those who work in academia to know about.
Living with an invisible disability is a privilege (and a nuance).
My physical disability is invisible. To most, I appear to be an average 26-year-old woman, but ask me to press the elevator button and my finger might dislocate. Being invisible has its advantages; I pass as an able-bodied individual, so I am not subject to overt discrimination, stereotypes, or the never-ending stares that individuals with visible disabilities endure. But my invisible disability is a double-edged sword. When I disclose my physical disability, I must always brace myself for the immediate invalidation that follows, usually to the well-intentioned tune of “but you don’t look sick”. It is emotionally and mentally exhausting to repeat this process. Ingrained societal stereotypes about what disability “looks like” means that many individuals with invisible physical disabilities are not considered “disabled enough”. In diversity-based grant applications, invisibly disabled scientists must strike a delicate balance and convince the reviewer that they are disabled enough to be worthy of the grant, but not too disabled so that confidence is not lost in their ability to pursue the proposed work. In the lab, it is easy for colleagues to forget about accessibility for individuals with invisible disabilities, perhaps because the visible reminder is not there. When accommodations are forgotten, disabled scientists must do additional work to receive their accommodations. This is often perceived as continually asking for “help” or “favors” instead of a necessary, guaranteed right.
Living with a disability requires creativity.
Scientists with disabilities must be creative in how they adapt their environment to their needs. One avenue is to request accommodations through human resources (HR) and while this can be helpful for standard needs (i.e. accessible doors), HR cannot provide adaptive lab equipment that does not exist. It is here that the innovative nature of disabled scientists shines. I created #labdaptations (lab-adaptations) on Twitter, not only to start the conversation surrounding physical disabilities in STEM, but more importantly to share what I have done to adapt to the lab space. After a few posts went viral, it was increasingly clear that my tools were being shared by both disabled and able-bodied scientists. This is the beautiful thing about accessibility; it benefits everyone. If the standard lab bench were height adjustable, this would not only benefit individuals who use a wheelchair, but also scientists who are not of average height (i.e. if taller than average, the bench could be raised to avoid hunched posture). Ergonomic pipettes and dissection tools benefit every user, not just those with dexterity impairments. But our creativity is even broader and is present in the very essence of how we work. We must continually solve puzzles and adapt work schedules to meet our physical needs. If you have varying, unpredictable symptoms like me, the day-to-day decisions are like a game of Jenga; one wrong move and the tower collapses.
Living with a disability is expensive.
In December of 2020, I submitted my application for the F31, a National Institutes of Health (NIH) funded pre-doctoral training fellowship. When I received the news that my F31 would be funded, I cried. Not because I was happy or proud, but because I was relieved. Government funding meant I could afford to stay in graduate school. Government fellowships cover segregated fees, which constitute ~5% of my stipend and each year I allocate roughly ~10% of my stipend to necessary medical care; I could not afford to do both. The financial expense of training disabled graduate students extends into the lab space. At my institution, graduate students in the lab are considered employees (vs students). Therefore, any accommodations that are needed must be funded by the PI. This additional expense placed in the lab creates an uncomfortable system where disabled students must not only disclose their needs to their PI, but also heavily rely on the PI to provide this equipment. Perhaps this system, unintentionally, disincentivizes PIs to mentor students with disabilities.
Living with a disability is time consuming.
I truly believe I owe my current success as a graduate student to my keen ability to manage my time efficiently. What many do not realize is that this skill is a survival mechanism. Maintaining my health is a full-time job that requires so much of my time and energy. I need additional time to execute experiments that are physically challenging for me. I need time to see my physicians and to travel to and from those appointments (not to mention re-establishing medical care after moving to a new city). Most importantly, I need time to care for my body, physically and emotionally. Unless you are a close friend of a disabled individual, these necessary time allocations may not be obvious, but are an important part of understanding the challenges associated with having a physical disability in STEM.
Living with a disability is isolating.
The history of disability in America is gruesome; eugenics, forced sterilization, and “ugly laws” made integration into academia and society difficult, if not impossible. The ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act), which prohibits discrimination against people with disabilities, was only passed in 1990. It should, therefore, not be a surprise that finding a disability community in STEM is challenging, yet essential to feel included. We see that disabled undergraduates have the same intent to major in STEM, but these degrees are not being received at the same rate as able-bodied peers. This speaks to the dire need to create and foster the scientific disability community at the undergraduate level. In an effort to build this community, a friend and I co-founded CHAMP (Chronic Health Allies Mentorship Program). In this program, undergraduate students who have chronic health, illness, or disability are matched with graduate student mentors, who share similar experiences, to create a one-on-one mentorship experience. Graduate student mentors work to instill self-advocacy skills, confidence, and promote feelings of belonging in their mentees. Nearly all the graduate student mentors in the program (~30) noted that they would have benefitted from a program and community like this during their undergraduate studies.
Living with a disability has made me a better person and scientist.
The decision to publicly identify as a physically disabled person was a risky one. Many will choose to see how I am limited by my disability, instead of seeing how it makes me a better person and scientist. My disability has made me more empathetic; young and old people alike come to me to talk about their health ailments. For young people especially, I am a sanctuary, one of the few people of similar age who understands how they feel. I work more efficiently than many of my peers, allowing me to make time for both my science and health. I am creative in how I approach scientific problems and questions, providing a plethora of new ideas and hypotheses. As I have grown more confident in my identity, I have become a stronger, more motivated, and dedicated advocate. I want to help create an accessible academic environment where scientists with disabilities not only feel included, but also feel as though they can thrive. Creating this change starts now—Reader, learn about your institution’s accommodations and disability policies, engage with the disability community, and actively start working to change discriminatory barriers. We all must work together to make this change happen.
Every year, the Pasteur Institute of Paris organizes a course on Advances in Stem Cell Biology (ASCB). Directed by Professors Laure Bally-Cuif and Shahragim Tajbakhsh, this course brings together over twenty experts from around the world.
Over the course of two weeks, practical sessions and conferences follow one another, providing a comprehensive overview of various technologies and advancements in the field of stem cell biology.
Participants and instructors (S.Tajbakhsh, M.van de Wetering, B.Gayraud-Morel, L.Bideau, E.Gazave, G.Nigro, A.Martinez-Arias, M.Cohen-Tannoudji, L.Bally-Cuif, M.Huch) of the ASCB course in front of the historic building of the Institut Pasteur (Paris, France, 2023)
This year, 14 students were selected to participate in the course (master’s, PhD, and postdoctoral students). This exceptional experience allowed them to deepen their knowledge in the field of stem cells. They learned numerous techniques such as the culture of iPSCs, organoids, and gastruloids. They also became acquainted with different animal model systems, such as chicken embryos for studying early development stages or platynereis worms for regeneration studies. Grouped in pairs, participants have time to assimilate concepts and techniques, but more importantly, they share privileged moments with the rest of the group and the numerous speakers.
In addition to the concepts and techniques associated with stem cells, this course also addresses the importance of critical analysis, the limitations of using different models, and the significance of scientific integrity, communication, sharing, and exchanging current ideas.
Thanks to all the participants of this 2023 session!
The next session will take place from June 24th to July 5th, 2024, at the Pasteur Institute of Paris (France).
This two-week course combines lectures and practical sessions on leadingedge technologies and questions in Stem CellBiology.
Practical sessions:
Stem cell strategies for organogenesis and regeneration
Making iPS cells, organoids and gastruloids
Leading-edge approaches in identification and analysis of stem cells
Stem cells in distinct model organisms (Mouse, Chick, Zebrafish and Platynereis)
Networking and discussion opportunities
Co-directors: Laure Bally-Cuif and Shahragim Tajbakhsh
Do you think it is important to distinguish basic from applied science in science communication? How necessary is it to develop communications training approaches that are unique for basic scientists?
These were the questions the participants were asked in the poll at the beginning of an online conference I attended back in July. The conference, ‘SciPEP 2023: New Insights for Communicating Basic Science’, brought together science communication practitioners, researchers and scientists to discuss insights and generate ideas to advance communication of basic scientific research.
Thinking about science communication with my developmental biologist hat on, here are five things I learned from this conference.
(1) Process-minded vs payoff-minded approaches to science
Many of us know that science communication works best when the message reflects the interests of the audience. That’s why it’s important to understand what the different ‘publics’ think and feel about science; equally relevant are the needs and motivations of the scientists who are doing the communication.
On the first day of the conference, we heard about a series of studies conducted to look into the perception of science, motivations for people to engage with science, and how the public’s interest might vary among cultural, political, economic, and other demographics.
Chris Volpe from Science Counts presented data from surveys conducted in 2018: in America, the public doesn’t care about the difference between basic and applied science, and they mostly associate science with hope. As for scientists, their attitudes towards science seems to be more divided — basic scientists associate science with joy and excitement; applied scientists associate science with hope [report]. The report termed the people associating science with joy and excitement as process-minded, and those associating science with hope as payoff-minded. While process-minded people focus on the ‘how’, pay-off minded people focus on the ‘what’ and often the ‘why’.
According to this report, applied scientists’ attitudes towards science are more in line with the majority of the public, i.e. payoff-minded, whereas basic scientists are more process-minded and have to overcome an extra hurdle to connect with the public. These findings suggest that perhaps when we talk about basic science topics, we should move towards a more pay-off minded approach. But different ‘publics’ might have different feelings towards science — that’s why it’s important to always understand our specific audiences when engaging with them about our research.
(2) Relevance of science should go beyond utility
Many of us are trained to, and easily default to, talking about the utility of our research. In moving towards a more pay-off minded approach and making our communications relevant to non-scientific audiences, does that mean we have to always talk about our research with some eventual utility?
To open the session ‘Relevance or Connection?’, we listened to a thought-provoking talk from Mónica Feliú Mójer on ‘What does relevance mean for basic science?’. Monica posed the following questions, “What makes you feel connected to science? What makes science relevant to you?”
Monica argued that the ‘relevance equals utility’ framework is limiting and can be counter-productive — making basic science relevant has to go beyond talking about its utility. Instead, Monica suggested that we should center on connection, find common ground with our audiences, and communicate with them in their own language. We have to connect our research to people’s everyday lives, who they are, and what they care about. Relevance is about connecting with audiences in ways that are meaningful and pertinent to their culture. Thinking about relevance in terms of connection can help us engage a more diverse audiences across differences and be more effective in our communications.
Thinking back to communicating about developmental biology, how do we connect with our audiences beyond talking about the utility of our research? Is curiosity and awe enough to make development biology relevant to people?
(3) Is it helpful to distinguish between basic and applied science?
What do the public think about the term ‘basic science’? What do scientists themselves think about the term? Is it counter-productive to distinguish between basic and applied science communications? In a recent report on why and how to engage in effective and meaningful science communication on basic science topics, many interviewees (consisting of basic scientists, scicomm practitioners and researchers) were unsure about whether and when ‘basic science’ is a helpful focal point. There are many factors that motivate scientists to communicate, not just the nature of their research. The discussions throughout the conference kept circling back to the process versus payoff-minded approaches. Perhaps the distinction between pay-off/ process-mindedness can be more useful that basic/ applied when it comes to science communication? Are ‘discovery’ or ‘fundamental’ science better terms than basic science?
(4) It’s not easy to articulate goals and set concrete actions
In the final session of the conference, the organizers created a collaborative Miro board for conference participants to get together and discuss opportunities and priorities for basic scicomm training, research, and practice. The board was very lively with all the ‘Visiting inventors’ ‘Visiting builders’ and ‘Visiting pioneers’ (you’ll understand if you’ve ever used a Miro board!).
Many ideas put down on the Miro board were more conceptual ideas than concrete actions. The few concrete ideas on the Miro board were actual examples that people have tried to do. Instead of starting from scratch, we should probably do a better job at sharing and showcasing brilliant scicomm examples, so that others can learn from and build on them. Check out the existing long-term science communication and public engagement initiatives in fundamental biomedical research in this special issue.
(5) Listening is the first step to effective communication
Communication works best when we listen. Listening is a skill that can be developed, and it’s vital that as scientists, we bring humility and empathy when trying to connect with people about our research. It is also important that scientists, scicomm researchers and practitioners listen and talk to each other to come up with creative ideas and approaches to science communication.
So now, let’s listen to your views and experiences — what are your motivations for talking about your research to non-scientists? Do you have any examples of effective communications about developmental and stem cell biology?
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