Chapter 3: Dr. Parkman is Invited to Tea
The next morning, Gilbert assembled his staff. He had hoped to begin promptly at nine o'clock, but was forced to wait until Dr. Lowell arrived twenty minutes later. The others had already begun their preparations for the day when Gilbert called them away from their workbenches to gather in the open space in front of his desk.
"Let me begin by thanking you all for allowing me to observe you yesterday," Gilbert said, striving for a tone that was both collegial and authoritative. "I see that there is tremendous talent in this room, and I know that we can do excellent work together. I will need a few more days to observe and plan before we make any major changes in procedures or overall operations. For now, there are only two things I want to say: First, that medicine is an art, and each of you is an artist. As such, I want you to feel that you may always impress your own stamp on this work. If you have an idea, share it freely. If you think something could be done better than it is at present, speak up. You will always have permission to speak as long as I'm supervising this lab."
"Medicine isn't an art," Dr. Parkman piped up, a hint of irritation in her voice. "It's a science."
Gilbert smiled patiently. "Indeed, Dr. Parkman. We must always take care to support our own evaluations with empirical evidence. Quite right."
"I'd like to see a bit more of the empirical around here," Dr. Parkman continued, uncharmed. "Is it true that Dr. Almroth Wright argues for an experiential method in which doctors rely on their own impressions to evaluate whether a vaccine is working? That he rejects statistical methods and controlled trials?"
Gilbert was slightly taken aback. It was true enough; Dr. Wright was deeply skeptical of statistics. Many of his colleagues in England had recently begun questioning whether his laboratory data was reliable, inattentive as he was to questions of sample size, control groups, and the differences between mean, mode, and median.* But how had Dr. Parkman known any of that?
"You are correct, Dr. Parkman," Gilbert conceded. "Dr. Wright is not overly fond of statistics."
"Without statistics, how can we ever know whether one version of a vaccine has any advantage over another?" she asked, her steady gaze never wavering.
Dr. Lowell interjected, "Shouldn't it be enough to trust an experienced doctor? If a Fellow of the Royal Society like Dr. Wright has seen many applications of the vaccine, shouldn't his own evaluation of a new version's efficacy be enough?"
Drs. Cabot and Appleton nodded along with Dr. Lowell, but Dr. Parkman curled her lip. Gilbert winced. Privately, he agreed with Dr. Parkman — the mathematical deficiencies of Dr. Wright's techniques really were scandalous — but he had not meant to spark a full-fledged debate on his second day . . .
Instead of staking out a position, Gilbert opted to ask a question. "How do you analyze your data here?"
Silence.
"Dr. Parkman?" Gilbert probed.
"Not well," she muttered.
"Well then, perhaps that is a good place to begin making changes," Gilbert replied. "I don't have much of a background in statistics myself, coming from Dr. Wright's lab. But I'm willing to try out a system of data analysis if one of you is willing to devise one."
More silence.
Gilbert looked from one of his subordinates to the next. Dr. Lowell studied his shoes. Dr. Cabot adjusted his apron. Dr. Appleton merely stared off into the distance.
Only Dr. Parkman met his eye.
Gilbert raised an eyebrow, inviting her to speak.
"I'll do it," Dr. Parkman said, somewhat fiercely.
Gilbert could not quite read her tone. Was she eager for the challenge? Exasperated at the lack of ambition among her peers? Angry at being asked to take on extra duties? Oh, well. She had volunteered, hadn't she?
"Excellent," Gilbert said, clapping his hands once. "I look forward to hearing your proposal. Now, shall we get back to work?"
"What was the second thing?" Dr. Parkman asked.
"I'm sorry?" Gilbert replied.
"You said that you had two things to say," she said impatiently.
"Oh, yes," Gilbert brightened. Addressing the staff in general, he said, "Despite certain failings of Dr. Wright's lab, I would like to implement some of his procedures here. Nothing onerous to start with. But, from now on, the policy of this lab will be that each of us will clean our own glassware before leaving for the day. Is that understood?"
Drs. Appleton and Cabot nodded agreeably. Dr. Lowell scowled. Gilbert felt a slight flicker of satisfaction at the obvious surprise in Dr. Parkman's wide, brown eyes.
On Saturday morning, Gilbert climbed the stairs to the third-floor lab feeling optimistic. Finally, he could get some work done with no one else around. Maybe sort through the overstuffed filing cabinet by his desk, have a nice cup of tea . . .
He was startled to find the lights on and the door unlocked. Tapping hesitantly as he stepped through the door, he found Dr. Parkman sitting at her workbench, shuffling through a sheaf papers. Several large reference books were stacked at one elbow and a tidy pile of notebooks at the other.
She looked up sharply as he entered.
"Dr. Parkman," Gilbert said in surprise. "Forgive me, I didn't expect to find anyone here today."
Dr. Parkman squared the edges of the papers she had been reading. "Dr. Blythe. I did not expect you either."
"Do you often work Saturdays?" Gilbert asked, setting his satchel down on his desk.
"Yes," she answered simply. "Particularly when I have a lot of work to do and need quiet in which to do it."
Gilbert looked at the spines of the reference books. Statistics.
"You needn't do that statistics project unless you want to," he assured her. "I didn't mean it as extra work for you."
Dr. Parkman shook her head. "No. It needs to be done. Our previous supervisor shared Dr. Wright's aversion to statistics and I think it has held our work back."
"Do you have any background in statistics?" Gilbert asked, curious.
"I was first in my mathematics classes at Boston University." Dr. Parkman answered primly. "All of them."
Gilbert nodded. "Well, carry on, Dr. Parkman. I have my own work to do and hope that I will not to distract you from yours."
Dr. Parkman turned back to her papers, seemingly unconcerned. If she glanced sideways as Gilbert began to unload files from the cabinet beside his desk, he did not notice.
An hour later, Gilbert stood and stretched. Forget statistics. What the lab needed was a filing system. He was reluctant to throw anything away, but without proper order, these piles of notes were worse than useless. Sighing, he filled his copper kettle and set it over the burner on his workbench.
While the water boiled, Gilbert went into the supply closet to check on the glassware. All week, he had inspected the beakers and flasks at the end of each day to be sure that the staff adhered to his policy. Dr. Parkman's drying rack required minimal attention. The orderly rows of gleaming glass exhibited the same clockwork precision as her attire. Dr. Appleton and Dr. Cabot had cleaned their equipment adequately, though Gilbert had spoken to both of them about laying the clean vessels neatly in their drying racks, rather than leaving them higgledy-piggledy on towels on the counter.
And then there was Dr. Lowell. Gilbert sighed again. Was the man even trying? On the first day of the new policy, Gilbert had been glad to see Lowell standing at the sink before he left for the evening. Unfortunately, closer inspection revealed that standing was all he was doing. Gilbert found test tubes rimed with residue, beakers clouded with goodness-knew-what, and Pasteur pipettes still holding liquid of various colors.
"I guess I'm just not as skilled at domestic tasks as some others are," Lowell had shrugged when Gilbert pulled him aside to address the matter.
Reluctant to ascribe bad faith, Gilbert had stood with Lowell that evening, demonstrating the proper way to rinse, scrub, and rinse again to remove all traces of contamination. Now, examining Lowell's glassware again, Gilbert was perplexed to find that half of it still bore unmistakeable smudges.
"Your water is boiling," Dr. Parkman called from the lab.
Gilbert left the dirty glassware where it was, washing his hands quickly in the double sink. He hurried out to his workbench, drying his hands as he walked. After turning the burner off, he fished the tea canister and strainer from his desk drawer, pausing over the cups.
"Dr. Parkman? Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked.
"No, thank you," she replied, never looking up from her work.
*The real Dr. Almroth Wright was notorious for his distrust of statistics. It was a problem.