SciChronicles

Salamanders and Scientific Legacies

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This episode of SciChronicles, hosted by Kayla Burgher, features the journeys of two scientists, Diego Olivo and Sofia Salazar, who share stories about seeking support, guidance, and role models as they shape their identities as scientists. 

Diego Olivo is a Biology Ph.D. Candidate at Arizona State University who studies viruses in animals, such as ducks. In his story, Diego opens up about feeling a little in over his head with his science, and how he overcame this feeling by learning to ask for help when needed. 

Sofia Salazar, is a Ph.D. Candidate in the Evolutionary Biology program at Arizona State University who studies mite populations in the sky islands of Southern Arizona. In her story, "Standing on the Shoulders of Giantessess", Sofia shares how discovering women role models in science helped her find her home as a Latina woman in the field of acarology (i.e., the study of mites). 

If you have not already, please consider subscribing so you do not miss future episodes. Also, be sure to check out ASU's Ask a Biologist and its companion podcast, as well.

If you are interested in crafting a story to share on SciChronicles, please fill out this interest form to learn more and connect with the hosts, Risa and Kayla.

Kayla Burgher: Welcome to SciChronicles. My name is Kayla Burgher, and this is a podcast where scientists share stories about why they do science. From the outside, becoming a scientist might seem straightforward, right? You go to school for a long time, then start to work in a lab or the field. But as you listen to these stories from scientists at different stages of their careers, it becomes clear that pursuing this path is anything but straightforward. Our storytellers reveal pivotal moments in their lives that change the course of their career. So whether you're considering pursuing science yourself, or just curious about who scientists are, take a listen. You might be surprised by what you discover. 

Our first storyteller is Diego Olivo, a Biology PhD candidate at ASU who studies viruses and animals such as ducks. In this episode, Diego opens up about feeling a little in over his head with his science and shares how he overcame this feeling by learning to ask for help when needed. 

Diego Olivo: It was the middle of summer, 2019. Instead of hanging out with my friends and going to the bars, I worked as an undergraduate researcher, hanging out in a tiny humid room with a busy sleep-deprived grass student and 300 tiger salamanders. Each green and yellow striped salamander was floating in a water-filled jar lined up in rows across multiple shelves, watching me impatiently with their dopey little faces while they waited for me to bring them to the warm. As I was making my rounds feeding them, I noticed one salamander with an extreme case of the zoomies. It was swimming in circles rapidly and I could see these red swollen lesions on its legs and throat. These were the classic signs that this salamander was infected with the virus my lab was studying. 

And this was the result we had been waiting for all summer. But I hadn't seen an infected salamander in person until that very moment and reading about it is very different from seeing it in person. I could feel my heart start to beat faster with anxiety. 

This salamander was moving unpredictably and I still had to feed it. I wondered if I should ask help from Kelsey, the grad student who was mentoring me at the time, but I knew she had enough on her plate. And I decided not to bother Kelsey. I didn't want to disappoint her. 

I was entrusted with this specific task, so I had to do it. So with that in mind, I went to open the jar. I started working in the lab during the previous spring semester. 

And when I got the chance to help out with animal care and sample collecting during the summer, I was stoked to finally work a job where I could do science. I thought it would be easy. After all, I was an all-star student who aced all my science classes. Everyone in the lab knew I had conquered Gen Bio, so I felt like I was obviously expected to know everything when I started my research. My first few responsibilities were simple. 

Feed cells here, wash dishes over there, or run this experiment. Not to brag, but I was killing it. That is until it was time to start working with the live salamanders and I encountered my first hyper one during that summer. As I opened the jar, the salamander was still swimming in circles rapidly. And I removed the lid carefully. But I washed in horror as the salamander took one more lap around the jar, creating enough momentum to leap out and dive straight onto the floor. Oh shit. And just like this poor little salamander, my stomach dropped to the floor. 

I quickly grabbed it to put it back in its jar, but it was already too late. On top of falling from a relatively high spot, salamanders like all amphibians breathed through their skin. And the lab's floors were bleached to prevent any contamination. 

This means that even in the short period of time the salamander was on the ground, it had already inhaled a massive amount of bleach. Kelsey was rightfully upset. She could have yelled at me and I would have deserved it. But instead of making me feel worse than I already felt, she took that opportunity to teach me an important lesson. She told me it's okay to ask for help, especially if a task is more complicated than you expect. 

It's better to ask for it than take on more than you can handle. I know this might sound like common sense now, but as an undergrad it blew my mind. Why hadn't no one ever told me this before? I began taking this advice to heart and asking for help when I needed it, so not to repeat the same mistake again. In the lab I asked for help with my experiments, with my writing, and when it came to data analysis I asked how to install R. My experience in my undergrad changed and I saw improvements in myself and my work. Now here's the part where I tell you that I'm a superstar PhD student because I'm asking for help all the time. That I never take on too much work or pretend to know what my advisor is talking about even though I have no clue. 

But I'm only human. I lost this whole asking for help lesson somewhere between my undergraduate experience and starting my PhD. Maybe I locked it up in a room after graduation when I felt like I didn't know what I was doing for my career. Or maybe I forgot about it when being yelled at for minor mistakes while working at an industrial science job. Or maybe it was that feeling of inadequacy I had when starting my PhD that many new grad students feel. Either way I had it in my head that being a graduate student meant I had to know it all as a new researcher. I decided to keep on pursuing my passion in viruses and animals for my PhD, but I was adamant about not handling live animals, because you know, of the drama. I found myself working in Dr. Arvind Varsani's lab at ASU, this time studying viruses and ducks. With a new start and a new lab, I found myself in a familiar position where I knew nothing, but this time as a PhD student. 

And again, instead of asking for clarification about what the expectations are for me, I made my own. This led me to make so many mistakes. Experiments not getting the right reagents, not storing samples in the right spot, or staring at the computer for hours while trying to figure out how to analyze my data. I would spend weeks or months stuck on the same problem with little progress. This was an issue, and to be clear, my lab has always been open to helping me out. I was stuck on this narrative that asking for help makes me an incompetent scientist, despite having learned this was not true in my undergrad. I remember carrying this feeling of not being successful in my PhD because I didn't know it all. These problems were snowballing my first year. During the second year of my PhD, things turned around. 

I was tired of being in the cycle of making mistakes and having to fix them after the fact. I had new samples and was using a new protocol that was different from what I was used to. Most of the time, I would generally understand what I needed to do for a protocol and figure it out as I went on, but that was the problem. For some reason, I was more anxious about this protocol than the other ones. 

I think the buildup of all my mistakes was finally weighing on my shoulders, and for the first time, my fear of doing something wrong outweighed my fear of asking for help. So after a long, heated debate with myself, I went with a racing car and sweaty palm to the research scientist in my lab. I found her in her office, processing data on her computer. She turned around when I came in, looking at me slightly confused, and I froze. 

Maybe I should just go back to the lab and figure it out myself. I'll just pretend I was here to look for my phone. But my face is very expressive, so whenever I'm feeling in a moment, you can tell. I didn't need to say much because my face said it all. 

She asked, how can I help? Any chance of escape I had was ruined. I tried to breathe and slow my heart rate, and finally I pushed out the words eloquently. Honestly, I'm so confused with this protocol. 

Can you please help me? Instead of being told I was an incompetent scientist like I thought she would, she said, yeah, of course. She walked me through this protocol until I understood everything about it, and it was that easy. I was shocked. I was being helped when I asked. 

This moment, though small, was a turning point because I remembered Kelsey's words back when I worked with the salamanders. It's better to ask for help than take on more than you can handle. This was the reminder that I needed, that asking for help is an integral part of being a student. 

Just like when I was an undergraduate researcher, I wasn't expected to know at all. Why else would I be here? From then on, I was more cognitive of when I needed help, and I asked anyone who was willing, even if I felt like I was being a nuisance. I still spend more time than I should working on a problem, but that's more because I'm stubborn. This change in my philosophy, asking for help when I needed it, helped me make strides as a scientist, and I barely recognized the former student I used to be. 

Kayla Burgher: Our second story comes from Sofia Salazar, a PhD Candidate in the Evolutionary Biology program at ASU researching mite populations in the sky islands of Southern Arizona. In her story, called "Standing on the Shoulders of Giantesses", Sofia shares how discovering women role models in science helped her find her home as a Latina woman in the field of acarology. 

Sofia Salazar: It's the mid-2000s, and I'm a curious little girl who just learned a quote that will later become one of my favorite phrases. "If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."

The famous phrase, coined by the philosopher Bernard de Chartres, is used as a metaphor for building on previous discoveries to achieve a better vision, but also remain elevated by collective knowledge. This is essentially how science works. Since I was a kid, I loved the idea of becoming a scientist. I imagined my tiny self looking straight up at the scientists who come before me. I imagined them as these massive knowledgeable creatures that tower upon my small self. 

I ruminated about the distance between us, asking myself how in the world I could get up there to admire the beautiful landscape on top of their shoulders. Growing up, I never had a place I could call my own. My family always rented and moved a lot between cities and states in Mexico, which often led me to experience discrimination and loneliness. My many intersecting identities didn't help with this. 

My queerness, my skin color, and my learning disabilities made me feel out of place in almost every social interaction. However, I always found happiness in my books, friends, beautiful family, and observing my surroundings. I could spend hours just sitting in silence, looking at the ends climbing on a tree, or transporting little crumbs with expert skills. 

Because of this fascination with nature, I decided to dedicate my life to understanding and protecting our environment and all the creatures that live in it. But how does a Mexican girl from a low income family become a scientist when science is so unfamiliar to her? When I thought of a scientist, I could only picture a middle-aged white man speaking in a foreign language in a tuxedo suit or cargo short. Like many, my brain was wired to normalizing science as an upper class, male-dominated field. I naturally accepted the notion of not having female references in science and history books, fluid with brilliant male brains. Genuses, full of a rica moments in which an apple plus spontaneous inspiration can be the key to more scientific revelations of the century. All these, while women, were portrayed as mothers, wives, students, muses, or even on the most serious distractions and calamities for these brilliant, vulnerable giants. It was easier to picture myself as a subject than as a researcher. 

Nevertheless, I could not see myself doing anything besides what I love. So I took the university entrance exam and officially entered into the beautiful world of biology. During this time, I met the few female professors who taught in my school while I daydream about becoming a mentor. However, I cannot say that my sense of belonging grew. 

I was in my favorite class as an undergraduate. My hands were sweating and my pulse accelerated. Only 10 minutes had passed since I last raised my hand, but I had another question. My classmates always mocked me because I asked too many questions, but I hated being left without. My professor rolls his eyes when he sees my hand in the air. 

Yeah, Sofia, go ahead. He said, with a big sigh, that tells me he's fed up. I asked my question. He sighed once again while he leaned on his desk. Oh, okay. 

Let me try to level with you. Then he proceeded to mimic injecting some kind of drug into one of his arms. Now, I can answer your crazy question. The students went wild, laughing and cheering at his joke. I felt so small and embarrassed that I left school for the rest of the day. I remember thinking to myself, would my teacher have had the same reaction if one of my male peers asked the same question? 

I am confident now that he will not. Over the years, I constantly hear my mentors, even to this day, say that science might not be for me. To them, I am too sloppy, too sensitive, not right enough, too human. 

It is always too much or not enough. They never said I was too Latina outright, but many of those traits are part of my culture. And for some of my mentors, I believe that they too were wired not to see me as a scientist. For a long time, I could not recall the name of one Latina scientist who looked like me. I tried memorizing the names of black and brown women who science has changed paradigms. Still, the names that came first in my mind were the ones of white rich and famous women who looked so far from my reflection, far more like those giant gentlemen. 

It was so frustrating to me. Biology is a beautiful area deeply connected with women, yet if I end up standing on those shoulders, I knew people would say it was because of my luck of the goodwill of my mentors who, in quotes, supported me despite my condition. Despite all the discouragement, I stuck with biology. 

I loved it too much to do something else. As I continued studying science, I also became obsessed with learning about those women in history who have always thought, despite being told that they were too much or too little. I found that women and gender dissidents have always been present as pioneers, witches, genies, always fighting to be heard, to have better opportunities and to be properly acknowledged. 

Even today, the stories of struggle and resistance of these women are still missing in schoolbooks and most classrooms. As I dove into the magical work of hidden history, I observed a rather rare phenomenon in acarology, the study of the smallest, most diverse and funniest arachnids, mites. Although the community of mite experts is relatively small, there is a higher representation of women than in other scientific disciplines like entomology or ecology. Latina women are internationally recognized in this branch, to name only a few of the amazing women in acarology and my personal heroes. Margarita Ojeda, Zoë Lindo, Valerie Behan-Pelletier, Diana Rueda, Daysi Lopez-Baltazar, and Tatiane Marie de Castro.These and many more are my giants. Anita Hoffman, the first Mexican acarologist, wrote the same book that introduced me to mites. 

Most people would get the Heebbie Jeebbies, but to me, mites are super interesting. In 2014, during my bachelor's, after reading her book, I decided to pursue acarology. I got a research position at the UNAM in Mexico City. There, I worked with Lupita Lopez Campos, a mentor who taught me how to put on your mighty color glasses to focus on looking at mites in the plants and soil. Lupita was amazing. She welcomed me as part of her laboratory and scientific community, even though I was a foreign undergraduate student working for just a few weeks. It is worth mentioning that Lupita was mentored by my biggest hero, Anita Hoffman. I like to say that she's my academic grandma. 

In my research position in Mexico City, I got to look through the same lenses that Anita did. I was standing on the shoulders of my giantesses. In my experience, all these giantesses make time and space for students and fellow acarologists. They are no shy to share their experiences, encouraging more people to discover this beautiful field. Interacting with them, I realized that acarology is a place where I can feel at home. After my bachelor's, I applied to ASU to keep working on mites and gutting, moving to Arizona to study the diversity of mites that exist in the skylands of the Sonoran Desert. Now, I am part of a community that celebrates diversity and collaboration and has so many women at the forefront who are not concerned about your flaws but your strengths. 

Angel Herrera, a colleague and friend once told me, acarology is a beautiful matriarchy, referring to the fact that my research has so many women on the front. Seeing them fills me with the energy to reach higher. These giantesses welcomed you on their shoulders and placed their hands to help you climb up. The epic phrase about standing on giant shoulders invite us to work as a team, reminding us that we not only exist in isolation but require multiple and diverse knowledge to expand our vision. 

Now, I see giantesses everywhere, in my teachers, friends, and peers. We can continue creating spaces that allow us to share our work and passions without ceasing to be your true selves. As the giant Gloria Martin tell us and Amparito choa sings to us, "la vida empieza donde todas y todos son iguales" (life begins where everyone is equal).

On many days, I find myself in the middle of the forest. Breathing, there is so much calm as the wind sings and touches my face. I feel excitement when a golden eagle flies above me and hundreds of baiburines (chiggers) dance between my feet on the ground. I look around and recognize that I am now standing where, as a little girl, I've dreamt so many nights about, on the shoulders of giantesses. Hopefully, one day, my life experience and research will also become a helping hand for others to rise. 

Kayla Burgher: Thanks for tuning in to SciChronicles. This podcast is recorded at Arizona State University, which sits on the ancestral homelands of the Akimel O’odham and Pee Posh peoples, without whose care and keeping we would not be here today. We would like to thank the School of Life Sciences, the Center for Biology and Society, and Ask a Biologist for helping us make these stories into a podcast. This podcast was developed by me, Kayla Burgher, and my co-host, Risa Aria Schnebly. We put a lot of effort into making this podcast. The two of us work with every storyteller to create and write each of the stories you hear. By the way, if you might be interested in telling a story for this podcast, please fill out the interest form linked in the show notes so we can reach out to you and get you started. Risa and I also record and edit all of the audio ourselves, and Risa developed the original music that you hear between stories. Thank you so much for listening, and if you have not already, please subscribe so you don't miss future episodes.