Scientists

The driving force behind my decision to pursue—and remain in—a career in science is the knowledge that the work we do has an impact far beyond the day-to-day tasks. It’s the understanding that something you uncover, analyse, or contribute to could have real-world implications: informing policy, shaping public health strategies, and ultimately saving lives.

Nowhere has this felt more poignant than in my work on Neglected Tropical Diseases (NTDs). These are a group of diseases that, despite their significant global burden, remain underfunded and under-prioritised. They predominantly affect the world’s most vulnerable populations—those with the least voice and fewest resources. This makes the work feel not just important, but essential. It gives your efforts meaning. It pushes you to stay sharp, to keep learning, and to stay abreast of the latest techniques.

NTDs also present a unique scientific challenge. They rarely come with straightforward solutions. Diagnoses are often unreliable, treatments may be ineffective or inaccessible, and interventions can be complex and slow to deliver results. Working in this field demands patience, persistence, and a long-term mindset. There are no silver bullets here—progress comes in hard-earned, incremental steps.

This brings me to the second reason why I find this work so fulfilling: the people. You don’t choose to work in this field—or even in this broader industry—unless you’re deeply passionate about science. There are easier, more lucrative paths out there. This field is often defined by short-term contracts, job insecurity, modest pay, and long hours spent alone in the lab or writing code until your eyes blur. Reagents are expensive, and a single mistake can mean the loss of samples that took months to collect. The pressure is very real.

And yet, the people make all the difference. I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some truly inspirational individuals—scientists who are not just brilliant, but also deeply committed to their work. Being around people like this pushes you to go further: to read that extra paper, try that experimental technique, or revisit your assumptions. At times, it’s intimidating. You feel like you're standing among giants—because often, you are. At my workplace, it’s not unusual to pass by colleagues in the corridor who have shaped the global field of infectious disease.

But the beautiful thing is: many of them are surprisingly grounded. Get them to the pub after a conference, and they’re cracking jokes over a pint. Far from the socially awkward stereotype, many are warm, approachable, and empathetic. And empathy matters here. In global health research, relationships and trust are foundational—your science won’t matter if your collaborators don’t trust or respect you.

Here are some photos of colleagues I’ve had the pleasure of working with during my PhD at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine. Some of them have more papers in Nature, Science, and Cell than I can count—they have taught me to be a better scientist, shown me how to be a better person or given me an aim of what I can achieve with my work.

Covid Induced PTSD - A NHS members Experience.

Kat, born and raised in Australia, is an intensive care nurse who worked in the UK for the Covid19 pandemic. She worked through both lock downs and the peaks and troughs in cases that surrounded them. Her experiences in the first wave included treating civilians from all walks of life, all backgrounds and all nationalities.

Patients came in quicker than they were being cured. There weren’t enough ventilation machines for those coming in and patients were slowly degrading and dying. The moral dilemma of keeping patients on ventilators despite the certainty of death, while denying those same machines to new patients who have a higher chance of survival weighed heavy. Patients would come into the Covid wards without family and the prognosis for them at this point was in most cases, death. There was often a rush to help patients call their families and say their last words—while at the same time reassuring them that they would be okay, even though it was known there was only a slim chance of recovery. These experiences were common place.

One experience in particular that left a lasting impression was when Kat was working with a doctor she hadn’t previously, it was a busy day - like usual. A patient had just died on the ward, and Kat and the doctor were completing the summary when the doctor suddenly recognised the person in the bed — it was someone he had worked with before. A heavy silence fell. Then, without a word, the doctor moved on to the next patient. There was no time to mourn, no space to weep, not even a moment to process the loss of someone he once knew. Any hesitation could put other patients at risk.

While this moment stood out to Kat, death had become a daily reality on the ward — relentless and unavoidable. “We were just waiting for people to die so we could move the machines to someone else,” she said.

No treatment, no vaccines and nothing known that could help other than trying to keep oxygen getting to the patients as their lungs become less and less capable. Every possible type of person was being treated in the first wave of Covid. Kat has got through it.

Mentally and physically exhausted - she needed to rebuild her life. Kats health unsurprisingly suffered. Long 12 hour days with overtime as more and more colleagues were getting sick and unable to work. When not at work she couldnt even see her friends, her family were on the other side of the planet and there was no way to switch off. Her mental health deteriorated. She become dependent on alcohol. She had put herself through hell to save people but it had taken its toll.

Finally, vaccine development had succeeded, and the rollout had begun — but at the same time, the second wave of COVID was emerging. Kat sprang back into action. This time, there was something different about the patients: the vast majority hadn’t been vaccinated. The same tragic patterns from the first wave returned — people dying faster than they could be saved, shortages of ventilators, and long, exhausting days with no breaks. Kat was still battling her own deteriorating mental and physical health. What was starkly different about this second wave — and the people she was desperately trying to save — was that they didn’t have to be there. The vaccine could have saved them, and could have spared Kat further trauma. That bitter twist of the metaphorical dagger that COVID had already driven into her made it all the more unbearable. Why were she and her colleagues sacrificing so much for people who could so easily have prevented this?

I met Kat in 2022, when the world was beginning to open up again. She was still working for the NHS, moving from one London hospital to another wherever she was needed. But she doesn’t work there now. The work took its toll — she now suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, brought on by her experiences during lockdown. It wasn’t just burnout turned up to 11 — it was lasting trauma. Self-medication with alcohol, a lack of mental health support, and no one knowing how to deal with the psychological impact of COVID-19 left deep scars. But I’m pleased to say Kat has been recovering. A new role training nurses on novel medical equipment has given her a chance to focus on a lower-pressure path. She’s stopped drinking, returned to a healthier lifestyle, and is slowly emerging on the other side. But will she ever truly be free from those experiences?

there are far more NHS staff who experienced this, dont talk about it and hide it deep down inside. we were not ready as a community for this pathogen but psychologically the impact has also been drastically overlooked. some of our best and brightest young doctors have left the profession and this will have lasting impacts on our health as a nation and the functionality of the NHS.

Jorvik - Vikings return to York

York—a city where history is not just remembered but felt in every stone and shadow. Its winding streets weave through time, while the towering Minster stands as a sentinel over centuries of triumph and turmoil. From its founding by the Ninth Legion to its reign as the heart of the Danelaw, York has worn many names, but today, it reclaims one of its most storied: Jórvík. Once more, the city hums with the presence of Vikings, their banners flying, their footsteps echoing through the alleys, as the past and present collide in a spectacle of Norse spirit and legend.