Print This PostRather than from my workplace, my kitchen table, or from the micro-office in my flat which is in reality a slightly-larger-than-average wardrobe, I’m writing this blog from a vacant GP surgery consulting room. As a slight departure from my usual content, this month I’ll be thinking about the realities of data collection.
As I mentioned in my last blog, I am now – finally! – in the position to be collecting data. The main study for my PhD, the one on which I will be spending the majority of my time, is a conversation analysis – or CA – study. CA involves the close analysis of conversation, looking at interaction at a minute level of detail. Rather than simply considering the content of what is said, every aspect of verbal, vocal or nonverbal communication may be of interest. Because of the level of detail required, CA studies rely on the collection and analysis of audio- or, ideally, video-recorded interactions. For my own study, I am interested in how GPs, people with dementia and their companions communicate with each other about future care, including potentially delicate conversations around planning for advanced disease and end-of-life. This means video-recording those very GP consultations as they happen.
So right now, I am sitting in an empty consulting room, hoping against hope that my potential participants will arrive for their appointments, that they will agree to participate, that the recording equipment will work, and that everything will go to plan. It can be a bit of a waiting game, which allows me time for introspection.
When I think about my career as a researcher, I wonder which aspect it is that really appeals. What was it that drew me to academia, to research in healthcare, to research in dementia? Do I enjoy planning the study? Being out in the field, collecting data? Is it the analysis that I’m drawn to? Thinking about it now, I can honestly say that I enjoy all of those parts of the process, but some parts naturally require more of me than others.
I’ve noticed recently that data collection is one of those things that can take it out of me. Physically, emotionally. Although I can be outgoing, and I know I can come across as confident and assured, I am naturally more of an introvert. Perhaps because of this, often when I am speaking with people I don’t know particularly well, it can feel a little like I am performing a role, playing a part. In the context of my PhD, data collection currently means meeting patients directly before the consultation which – if they agree – will be recorded. I haven’t had contact with the patients prior to this, so it means explaining why I would like to record their appointment, what we are ultimately looking to achieve, field any questions or concerns that they may have, complete the necessary paperwork, ideally all before the GP calls them in for their consultation. More than that though, it means trying to build trust and rapport as quickly as possible – sometimes with patients who are feeling let down by health services, or disenfranchised when it comes to their own healthcare.
That work has to be duplicated with the GPs participating as well. The idea that their practice may be scrutinised can be threatening or intimidating for some, so in the precious minutes before or after a consultation, I work to reassure clinicians that that isn’t the purpose of my work. What I’m interested in is identifying the features of communication that support the engagement of people with dementia in conversations about their care.
Alongside the relationship-building, I am trying to keep the administrative challenges in my mind. Which participant ID do I need to assign to this patient? What is the status of my GoPro battery, and do I have time to charge it before the next consultation? Have I checked that the forms have all been completed fully? Can I remember which room the next appointment is going to be in? Do I have time to have lunch between appointments, or should I make do with half a Snickers to keep me going?
Often, things don’t go according to plan – clinics overrunning, patients forgetting appointments, suddenly realising you’ve been lurking outside the wrong room, and the GP you need to grab is on the other side of the building. Keeping one eye on the clock, knowing that it will take a good hour or two to get back to North London in time to pick up my toddler from childcare but being desperate to collect all the data I can.
I’ve realised how much all this can take it out of me. More often than not, I end up surviving a full day of data collection on little more than a coffee and a banana, arriving home exhausted, realising I’ve been grinding my teeth the entire time. Data collection is definitely one of the best parts of working in this field, but I would be lying if I didn’t say it was also the most taxing. If I’m honest, this has always been my experience of fieldwork – but I do have to say that it has been exacerbated since becoming a parent. It’s just that little bit tougher when you’ve been awake since 5am, or when your nerves are feeling that little bit more frayed.
While in this phase of my research, I’ve realised I have to give myself a bit more grace, a bit more space to rest. Tonight that will mean forgoing my usual 5-a-side football match in favour of a bath and some trashy TV – something to empty my brain so I can get back to it tomorrow, hopefully refreshed. It’s a privilege to be gifted access to this data – to these individuals, to their experiences – and certainly worth a few more challenging days.
Emily Spencer
Author
Emily Spencer is a PhD Student at University College London looking at improving how GPs communicate with people with dementia and their family carers about their future care. Emily previous had a 5 year career break to pursue a career as a musician, and has previously undertaken research on improving the care people with dementia receive from their GP practice, as well as end-of-life and palliative care provision in the community. Emily is also a new mum and will be writing about her experiences navigating motherhood and a research career.
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