キャリアニュース2018年12月4日～12月11日

I never thought my mom's first tour of Stanford University would be of the psychiatric ward. When I arrived in sunny California 2 years earlier to start my Ph.D. studies, I was on top of the world. But that feeling of triumph vanished quickly. The uncertainty that had nagged at me for years grew overwhelming. I loved learning new things and talking about science, yet I couldn't envision working at the bench for the rest of my life. But after building my identity around being a scientist, how could I turn away? Stanford was, in many ways, my Hail Mary. If I was going to be happy, it had to be there—right? ![Figure][1]</img> ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT NEUBECKER > “I didn't see my problems as legitimate, so I didn't seek help.” I loved the students in my program. My classes were marvelously interesting and challenging. I found a mentor who cared about his students. I was pursuing fascinating research questions. I had a nice apartment, the most supportive and wonderful girlfriend imaginable

After her own violent childhood, emergency physician Rebecca Cunningham is jump-starting research to prevent gun deaths in kids. ![Figure][1]</img> PHOTO: MELANIE MAXWELL Rebecca Cunningham has only one kind of memory from her early childhood: violence. Her father shattered mirrors, tore up the house, and beat and threatened to kill her mother. Cunningham, then less than 5 years old, remembers her older sister trying to protect her. “When my father would start in with my mother, my sister would cover my eyes and try to hide with me behind the couch,” recalls Cunningham, now a 48-year-old emergency physician and researcher at the University of Michigan (UM) here. “The police were in and out of the house a lot. If there had been a gun in my home in those years, my mother certainly would have been killed.” One day Cunningham's father, a lawyer, called her mother threatening to kill her. Her mother changed the locks on their New Jersey house. She sent Cunningham's two older siblings t

We were ecstatic when our supervisors allowed us to work remotely. Friends in graduate school, we hadn't worked in the same place in years. But our lives had taken a similar turn. Paul—a scientist at a state agency at the time—was living apart from his wife on weekdays. Every Friday he'd leave his office and drive 3 hours to spend the weekend at home, but with his wife pregnant with their first child, that situation would soon become untenable. Lauren, a newly married postdoc, lived in a different state than her husband and was growing weary of long-distance romance. Our work lives revolved around computer analyses and writing, so remote work was feasible. It seemed like an ideal solution. ![Figure][1]</img> ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT NEUBECKER Paul, an introvert, harbored fantasies of burying himself in computer tasks, free of the noise and distractions of offices. But when he started to work from home, he struggled to maintain focus and avoid getting sucked into house chores. As Wiscons