Research is fascinating!

To be honest: not really. That’s exactly what I like – no two days are the same.

I plan experiments, work in the lab, order materials or prepare cell cultures. I work with students, analyse results or attend meetings. And in between: waiting around, reading papers, new ideas, problems, solutions. It’s a constant mix of learning and working.

The opportunity to really delve deep into a subject and conduct independent research. You can’t just copy something else. You have to contribute something yourself, and that’s how you produce your first piece of academic work.

As a child, I wouldn’t have said, ‘I want to be a scientist one day.’ But I was fascinated by documentaries about researchers from a very early age. The idea of contributing, through research, to something that lasts beyond the present moment still inspires me today.

Then comes the reality check during my studies. Nevertheless, that’s exactly what I find exciting: being part of this community that gains new insights step by step. I’d like to stay in research even after I’ve completed my PhD.

In Year 10, we studied the structure of the cell. I really enjoyed that. I found it fascinating how logically everything is organised. Later on, it became clear to me that biology is actually the only subject I’m truly passionate about. I want to know everything about the human body and how life works down to the smallest detail.

During my degree, I learnt about many things – from botany and ecology to biochemistry – but I soon realised that human biology is my passion.

I’m often asked: “What does this actually achieve? Can it cure cancer or Alzheimer’s?” The answer is: not directly. But: we’re tackling questions that no one has yet answered. Because before therapies can be developed, we first need to understand which mechanisms are actually at play. Without basic research, many subsequent developments would not exist.

My hope is that I can gain scientifically relevant insights into Parvulin17 and thereby make a small contribution. In many areas, we still know surprisingly little. Every insight is another piece of the great jigsaw puzzle of life.

You might not win a Nobel Prize, but you do become an expert in a very specialised field and, above all, you learn to think scientifically and work meticulously: formulating hypotheses, planning experiments, critically evaluating data and dealing with setbacks. Good science sounds obvious, but it isn’t – and learning exactly that is just as important as the results themselves.

I think it’s great that I was able to try out so many new things right from the start. Although my supervisor, Prof. Dr Peter Bayer, supported me every step of the way, I was also given plenty of scope to develop, which meant I quickly learnt to work independently and build a broad professional network. For example, I was the first person in our research group to use high-resolution microscopy. So I built up a network, taught myself the ropes and took on responsibility at an early stage. That was a very valuable experience.

It’s very important. But especially at the start, I didn’t want others to think I had no idea what I was doing. For example, I wasn’t sure how to calculate concentrations in the lab. It has to be very precise. If small errors occur – for instance, if the salt concentration in the buffer is wrong – the whole experiment can fail. That’s why it’s important to ask questions rather than making mistakes out of uncertainty.

My PhD is going so well largely because I feel at home in my research group and have a really good supervisor. I’m taken seriously and supported. That gives me a sense of security.

You also have to enjoy going to the lab – especially when things aren’t going to plan. And that works really well here.

You meet lots of people who share your enthusiasm, which is brilliant. You network, make friends and exchange ideas. And at conferences, you meet people with whom you often end up collaborating later on.

Yes, I’m very happy to do that, because I recognise myself in them. Many of them have the same worries I had when I started out. And I think it’s important to tell them honestly: “You’ll fail at first in the lab. That’s all part of it. The important thing is to keep at it.”

For example, when I developed a protocol entirely on my own – really from scratch – and it actually worked. I was as happy as a little child who’s just been given their favourite cake.

In the lab, a protocol is something like a tried-and-tested guide for an experiment. It describes exactly how to proceed so that the results are reliable and can be replicated by others. If a method, for example for localising proteins, consistently delivers good results, it is considered established.

To achieve this, I tried out many variations: different cell lines, various antibody staining methods, fixing solutions, fusion proteins and microscopes. Step by step, I adjusted the conditions so that everything worked together perfectly.

That was my own achievement: my mind, my knowledge, my creativity. Even if they’re just small adjustments, there’s an incredible amount of work behind them. Moments like that stay with you.

How often you fail – and that’s exactly part of the process. At first, I thought you just worked your way forward step by step. In reality, a lot of things don’t work out. But that’s exactly where you learn the most. In the end, it’s not the perfect experiments that get you ahead, but the ones that didn’t work out.

Victoria Momand, Structural and Medical Biochemistry, Tel. 0201 183-4679, victoria.momand@uni-due.de

Editorial: Janina Balzer, janina.balzer@uni-due.de