Most of our day-to-day tasks - buying birthday gifts, getting an annual check, writing thank-you cards to teachers before the end of the school term, filling of tax return, applying ethical approval for clinical trials, redeeming rebate - are set with deadlines. Such deadline always looms large when it's around the corner. We begin to become a little edgy. Okay, we panic. We sigh and moan and wish we had more time.
Deadlines, by definition, are deadly.
As deadly as the MERS-coronavirus. There is no vaccine to prevent it, and there are no drugs to treat it.
Yesterday, my colleague posted his update on Facebook after fighting with time to admit patients to hospitals, barely beating his deadline to submit research grant proposal. "Had a hectic day running between PCR and CPR." That's what he says. Which is basically medical doctor gobbledygook for "mission impossible." Within half day, there were a dozen replies. Condolence. Praise. Encouragement. Long enough to fill a page, I swear. We all know it's tough.
What is it that makes deadlines so dreadful? And why can't we go without deadlines? How much better would our world be if deadlines are scrapped?
Actually, no. Merits of deadline are backed up by behaviour science. For evidence that supports the use of deadlines, consider the British example of the Economic and Social Research Council, which means funding opportunity for university researchers interested in areas of global economics, security and education. At one time, the council decided to remove research grant submission deadlines and accept proposals on a rolling basis. And that, in essence, means more freedom for researchers who won't need to submit proposals on a fixed day (like my poor friend); they can simply submit a proposal whenever they want. No more deadly deadlines. It looks as if that's a big improvement, at least in terms of flexibility.
But wait: do we really know what happened after this new policy?
Proposal submissions plummeted by 15 to 20 percent.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
Outside the Box
Psychologists coined the phrase word leap to describe how we solve a puzzle by a shift of mind, such as the experience of seeing two faces instead of that picture of a vase.
When I observed two big carton boxes of milk powder in my wife's car, I was thinking of my sister-in-law who has recently moved in with her twin babies (when her helper is on leave). Clearly this is just common sense; I'd been enjoying the babysitting those two little boys.
But hang on. The carton boxes were empty.
The carton boxes didn't have milk powder. Not any more. Instead of throwing away the used boxes at her clinic, my wife brought them home. They were meant for our daughter, not Gabriel and Joshua. The idea is for Jasmine to build whatever she likes. This appears counterintuitive to me just because I have to stop seeing the milk powder boxes as a thing other than its original purpose. This is exactly what daddies were challenged to do at my daughter's school last Friday; we were to create a slide tunnel (or whatsoever treadmill for a marble to run) out of paper, straws, dried spaghetti, scissors and tapes. Some dads had trouble with this - some kids, too.
Which reminds me a similar scenario known as the Box Problem. Imagine being supplied a candle, a book of matches and a box of tacks, and you're alone in a room with a wooden door. How can you attach the candle to the door so that you can light it, have it burn normally, and create light to read by?
You've got a lot of choices when you're facing this difficult puzzle. Melt part of the candle and use the melted wax to fix the candle to the door. Or else, tack the candle to the door. But does it work? Yes and no. They won't work too well.
It would have been better solved by emptying out the tack box, tack that to the wall, and use it to hold the candle. And then the penny dropped. Like many good ideas, it's so simple you wonder why nobody had thought of it before. Not every psychology expert agrees that it is simply a shift, or a leap, of mind to solve the problem. And, in a way, it doesn't matter very much how we arrive at the solution as long as we can think outside the (tack) box.
A postscript to the story: my daughter and her buddy constructed a hotel, train station and her primary school out of the carton boxes yesterday, and for that, I am proud of the two innovative kids.
When I observed two big carton boxes of milk powder in my wife's car, I was thinking of my sister-in-law who has recently moved in with her twin babies (when her helper is on leave). Clearly this is just common sense; I'd been enjoying the babysitting those two little boys.
But hang on. The carton boxes were empty.
The carton boxes didn't have milk powder. Not any more. Instead of throwing away the used boxes at her clinic, my wife brought them home. They were meant for our daughter, not Gabriel and Joshua. The idea is for Jasmine to build whatever she likes. This appears counterintuitive to me just because I have to stop seeing the milk powder boxes as a thing other than its original purpose. This is exactly what daddies were challenged to do at my daughter's school last Friday; we were to create a slide tunnel (or whatsoever treadmill for a marble to run) out of paper, straws, dried spaghetti, scissors and tapes. Some dads had trouble with this - some kids, too.
Which reminds me a similar scenario known as the Box Problem. Imagine being supplied a candle, a book of matches and a box of tacks, and you're alone in a room with a wooden door. How can you attach the candle to the door so that you can light it, have it burn normally, and create light to read by?
You've got a lot of choices when you're facing this difficult puzzle. Melt part of the candle and use the melted wax to fix the candle to the door. Or else, tack the candle to the door. But does it work? Yes and no. They won't work too well.
It would have been better solved by emptying out the tack box, tack that to the wall, and use it to hold the candle. And then the penny dropped. Like many good ideas, it's so simple you wonder why nobody had thought of it before. Not every psychology expert agrees that it is simply a shift, or a leap, of mind to solve the problem. And, in a way, it doesn't matter very much how we arrive at the solution as long as we can think outside the (tack) box.
A postscript to the story: my daughter and her buddy constructed a hotel, train station and her primary school out of the carton boxes yesterday, and for that, I am proud of the two innovative kids.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Challenge
It's one thing to look darn cool to solve a intellectually challenging case like Sherlock Holmes, and quite another to meet a mysterious patient when you have only half day to sort out the riddle.
When my registrar told me the story of a young chap who had dizzy spell and blackout after climbing four flights, I knew this is tricky. I quickly brought my students to see him, only to find my patient having a seizure in front of us.
This is a good example to tell my students tests don't make a diagnosis - thinking does. After an hour or so, we were pretty sure where the problem is: blood vessels in his lungs got stuck with blood clots. Let me put it this way: If you saw this condition in a 19-year-old, it'd be as rare as having traffic jam in countryside. Oh, my goodness. I knew I didn't have time to figure out why; I'd promised to take half day off to meet my daughter at her school. I looked at my watch.
Still. The urgent and important issue was sizing up the option of open surgery or delivering medicine to dissolve the clots (thrombolysis). After that had been ironed out, I headed for my daughter's school where they are celebrating the important role that fathers play in raising children. I know, because I have a daughter. As the school principal felicitously put it, "While the traditional father's role is different to that of a mother, it is no less important in the growth and development of a child."
Few things are more rewarding than healing as a doctor and teaching as a father. Fortunately, I can be both.
When my registrar told me the story of a young chap who had dizzy spell and blackout after climbing four flights, I knew this is tricky. I quickly brought my students to see him, only to find my patient having a seizure in front of us.
This is a good example to tell my students tests don't make a diagnosis - thinking does. After an hour or so, we were pretty sure where the problem is: blood vessels in his lungs got stuck with blood clots. Let me put it this way: If you saw this condition in a 19-year-old, it'd be as rare as having traffic jam in countryside. Oh, my goodness. I knew I didn't have time to figure out why; I'd promised to take half day off to meet my daughter at her school. I looked at my watch.
Still. The urgent and important issue was sizing up the option of open surgery or delivering medicine to dissolve the clots (thrombolysis). After that had been ironed out, I headed for my daughter's school where they are celebrating the important role that fathers play in raising children. I know, because I have a daughter. As the school principal felicitously put it, "While the traditional father's role is different to that of a mother, it is no less important in the growth and development of a child."
Few things are more rewarding than healing as a doctor and teaching as a father. Fortunately, I can be both.
Monday, June 1, 2015
London
I'm sure there are times when we do something for the very first time, and that something seems familiar to most people around.
Well, I'm not sure how many times you have set foot in London. This is my first time.
After going to Edinburgh for my postgraduate examination almost twenty years ago, I still kept some of those United Kingdom bank notes and now found out they're outdated when I arrived in London to attend a medical conference this week. Although I had no time to shop at Harrods or see those not-to-be-missed highlights like the Tower of London or St Paul's Cathedral, I considered myself lucky to get mostly (and let me emphasize the word mostly) good weather and long daylight during London's summer.
It's hard to overstate the basic rule of travel, and the rule is: Be happy no matter what. It's that simple. The easiest way to truly enjoy a trip is get plenty of psychological sunshine. Now, what is psychological sunshine? Ponder on that. This is the last day of the conference when its program ends earlier than usual. Being able to spend time around the capital without hurrying is good news. I headed to Trafalgar Square. Somehow the National Gallery was not open today (for reason I don't really know), whereas London's biggest Waterstone's bookshop nearby closes at six (because it's Sunday). And the weather, it turned out, was the cloudiest in the week. Those are the kind of moments when you look up at the sky, or just down at your shoes, and say, jeez, I've gotta look for my DIY sunshine and move on.
I changed my plan and visited the National Portrait Galley. In a few minutes, surprising as it might seem considering the overcast day, the sun came out briefly. The sunlight was short-lived, but that's good enough for me to capture the fascinating lighting that outlines the iconic National Gallery. I must say I'm most pleased with that photograph today.
Well, I'm not sure how many times you have set foot in London. This is my first time.
After going to Edinburgh for my postgraduate examination almost twenty years ago, I still kept some of those United Kingdom bank notes and now found out they're outdated when I arrived in London to attend a medical conference this week. Although I had no time to shop at Harrods or see those not-to-be-missed highlights like the Tower of London or St Paul's Cathedral, I considered myself lucky to get mostly (and let me emphasize the word mostly) good weather and long daylight during London's summer.
It's hard to overstate the basic rule of travel, and the rule is: Be happy no matter what. It's that simple. The easiest way to truly enjoy a trip is get plenty of psychological sunshine. Now, what is psychological sunshine? Ponder on that. This is the last day of the conference when its program ends earlier than usual. Being able to spend time around the capital without hurrying is good news. I headed to Trafalgar Square. Somehow the National Gallery was not open today (for reason I don't really know), whereas London's biggest Waterstone's bookshop nearby closes at six (because it's Sunday). And the weather, it turned out, was the cloudiest in the week. Those are the kind of moments when you look up at the sky, or just down at your shoes, and say, jeez, I've gotta look for my DIY sunshine and move on.
I changed my plan and visited the National Portrait Galley. In a few minutes, surprising as it might seem considering the overcast day, the sun came out briefly. The sunlight was short-lived, but that's good enough for me to capture the fascinating lighting that outlines the iconic National Gallery. I must say I'm most pleased with that photograph today.
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