“Don’t accept my first offer”.

In 2019 I received some key advice from a high ranking doctor in our hospital.

I had a lot of spare time then. My research at that point was on the biometrics of ADHD patients, and I was working with a very clean dataset. As anyone who has delved in data science can tell you, working with a clean dataset takes care of the bulk of the work normally associated with a project. Since my dataset was published on Nature, and was of a very high standard, I devoted myself mainly to exploring and tinkering with features to achieve some satisfying classification results.

Since there were only so many hours one can sit at a computer training models, I also attended a few sessions on ‘making a career as a researcher and doctor’. Attendance was slim. But the speakers were fantastic. I had been advised by a senior ICU doctor earlier in the year to look closely into how the professors in the hospital navigated their careers. He drew my attention to the fact that although he himself was successful, he did not have a PhD, and the absence of a PhD had closed many doors for him. He compared himself to another doctor, who I will call him The Professor.

“The Professor has been very good over the years to put himself in a position where he can get these academic positions, in conjunction with his job in the hospital. He stands out.” It was at that time I noticed, that although the doctor I was talking to did have a private office, it was windowless.

A week later I met The Professor. It was a chilly evening that I’d decided to come into one of the research buildings uphill of the wards, to attend one of the major ‘research information’ night, so I wasn’t surprised to see that there were maybe 20 people in the room. I was also very pleased that The Professor had made an appearance and was going to speak.

“When you approach the supervisor you want to research with, and ask them to give you an idea to research, don’t say yes to the first idea”.

He absorbed the reaction of the crowd with pleasure, and I noticed the wry smiles on the faces of the senior staff in the front row.

“The first idea,” he continued, “Is the idea they think should be worked on by someone ordinary. It’s the idea they would give to a person who wants a PhD. You know, the majority of applicants”.

“The second idea, however, is the one that they would have wanted to work on, if they had another shot at the PhD. It’s the idea they hold back, because it’s worth too much to give to an average candidate. It’s the idea that should only be given to a candidate who is going to do something great with it.”

I noticed another successful researcher nodding in agreement. I found the sentiment very interesting. To this cohort, saying no was seen as a way to move forward. They respected candidates who thought they were too good to devote themselves to low-level research.

I reflected on another doctor, a psychiatrist, who had said something less flattering about The Professor.

“Oh him? He’s narcissistic.” She said, rolling her eyes.

I wagged my finger at her playfully “Be careful,” I said, “That word means something around here”.

“I know what it means!” She said, raising her eyebrows in defiance of my skepticism.

I changed the subject quickly because I did not want to be drawn into an argument.

When I looked at The Professor I noticed a certain calmness that other doctors seemed to lack. He would sit in meetings quietly at great length, allowing discussion to lilt and stagger forward, finally reaching some endpoint (almost always short of the meeting’s stated goal) and then he would make a final, definitive, comment on what he thought. He did not try to steer discussions, or tangle with people. He simply made judgements, and left. In the same way a judge does not remain in court to argue with a lawyer after dismissing a case.

I was reminded of how Richard Feynman described J Robert Oppenheimer’s management style. He said something along the lines of

I didn’t understand. I knew Oppenheimer didn’t agree, but he didn’t say anything. He sat until the meeting was almost over. Then finally, he told people what he thought.

When I saw The Professor arrive at the hospital in a luxury car I made a basic comment about how nice it was. He didn’t laugh nervously or make some additional quip. He simply moved the discussion to work as if I’d said nothing at all. Here was a professional who didn’t need to justify what was given to him. And in addition he didn’t ever justify not justifying what was given to him.

And of course, on the resume, Harvard University with a PhD in drug discovery.

It’s impossible to not notice that many of these very successful doctors are aloof and actually like aloofness as a trait. Underpinning the aloofness, I believe that there is a very savvy sense of holding one’s time, work, and effort in high regard.

Since many researchers are pursuing publications for the sake of publications, and the prevalence of bad science is at an all time high, I wonder if that attitude is a defense mechanism against being drawn into the publication treadmill. Or perhaps, even more likely, a strategy against being drawn into office politics, which I believe are more intense in a hospital than most other workplaces.

I had a chance to observe The Professor with a patient once. He was warm, affable, inquisitive, and professional. He even took the time to teach, and once invited all the attendees of a conference to his country house for a wine tasting. I backed into a wall and broke a clock that had been given to him as a gift, and gathered the pieces to repair it. When I arrived home I glued the clay back together, and found that there was a small extension missing from the underside of the clock which would swing back and forth at ‘wine o’clock’. It was nowhere to be found in my pieces. When I returned the clock to him, he thanked me, then approached me at our next meeting and thanked me again for returning the clock.

“Well, almost all of it.” he said. I admitted I had not found the last piece, but would buy him a spare off ebay if he wanted me to.

“Don’t worry,” he told me, “I think I’ll survive.“

I noticed that the next year, his name had appeared on yet another board for Excellent contribution to research.