Bridging the Gap Between Science and Medicine

Pradipta Ghosh M.D. is a professor of medicine and cellular and molecular medicine at the University of California (UC) San Diego and the founding director of the Institute for Network Medicine, which is home to four centers of transdisciplinary science: the Center for Precision Computational Systems Network (PreCSN), the HUMANOID Center of Research Excellence in Organoid-Based Disease Modeling, the Agilent Center of Excellence in Cellular Intelligence and the Consortium for Cell-Inspired Systems Engineering (ConCISE). To say she has a “full” career would be an understatement. But if that’s not enough, she’s first and foremost a physician–scientist and is an elected member of the American Society for Clinical Investigation (ASCI; 2016) and the Association for American Physicians (AAP; 2023), two milestone achievements for anybody on this career path. This makes her one of a special breed of individuals driven to make a difference not only directly to patients, but in the pursuit of research that goes deep into understanding, treating and preventing the conditions that ail them.

Professor Ghosh's vision is to enhance, enrich and improve human existence by using the fundamentals of the “intranet of cells” (IoC) paradigm to drive disruptive research in biology, medicine and engineering.

We spoke to Professor Ghosh about what drove her to follow this career path, her current work, the value of and challenges faced by physician–scientists and advice for those who are considering following in her footsteps.

Karen Steward (KS): What inspired you to become a physician–scientist? Have there been any important people that have influenced you in developing this career path?

Pradipta Ghosh (PG): When I started medical school, I didn't know I'd become a physician–scientist. I knew I was drawn to physics and biology and I was driven by a curiosity about the body's workings and its failures. However, I do think that what happened afterward would not have happened if I did not go to medical school at a very special institution, the Christian Medical College and Hospital (CMCH) in Vellore, India. For those who are unfamiliar with CMCH, it suffices to say that it stands as a beacon of hope for countless individuals seeking medical care from all over Southeast Asia. To attend CMCH, I had to be among the top seven candidates in a nation of billions. As a trainee there, I encountered human disease conditions most US medical students only read about. While my schedule was jam-packed, I discovered a lot about myself: I loved exams, easily got bored and, most importantly, had a very special gift — a photographic memory — such that I could walk into the library at lunch break and walk out in an hour with an entire textbook's worth of knowledge by just browsing the tables and images. By the time I graduated, and despite having won gold medals in almost every subspecialty and the nation's top rank from the Indian Medical Association, I found myself utterly restless. I realized that although I had become a doctor, I wouldn't be happy just following guidelines and implementing them when caring for patients. The path I was on felt too scripted, with too many guardrails and directions to follow — I needed more challenge, excitement, awe, adventure and fulfillment. One of my professors, recognizing both my discontent and great potential, suggested I explore a career in experimental research abroad, where I could find everything that I was looking for.

I attached my resume and sent it out to random emails research@XXXX.edu that I found on the websites of all major US-based institutions. One of them was to research@wustl.edu. Years later, I learned that an administrator who manages that account found the keywords "I want [to be a] physician–scientist" within the body of my email and decided to forward it to Stuart Kornfeld, the chief of the Division of Hematology at Washington University and its physician–scientist program director. He invited me to visit his laboratory and I recall asking him repeatedly during our first phone conversation, "You DO know that I have never seen a laboratory, right? And you still would want me to come by?" The rest is history, and I soon became a trainee in the Kornfeld lab.

Kornfeld is regarded as the "father of glycobiology" for his pioneering work in elucidating the molecular mechanisms of glycoprotein degradation within cells. His research has significantly advanced our understanding of how cells process and degrade glycoproteins, shedding light on crucial aspects of cellular function and disease. As can be expected of a true physician–scientist, Kornfeld's groundbreaking discoveries paved the way for new therapeutic approaches targeting glycoprotein-related disorders. But it was not just that. Each day for the 18 months that I spent in his laboratory, I witnessed up close what it means to be a responsible scientist, leading a career characterized by honesty, integrity and a commitment to advancing knowledge. I witnessed what it takes to pioneer new fields — and do so with a dedication to truth, setting a standard for ethical conduct that ensures their work leaves a lasting impact on science and society. It was Kornfeld who made me fall in love with this career path.

Thus, I am indebted to those who advised me and the one who opened the doors to his lab, but I lament that I could never trace back the identity of the administrative personnel whose role in making this happen is unquestionable.

KS: Can you tell us a bit about the current focus of your work?

PG: My training in biochemistry and cell biology, coupled with my background in medicine, uniquely positions me as a scientist who studies biomedical systems across scales, from the fundamental building blocks at the biochemical level to the complexities of cellular function, and ultimately to the broader context of human health and disease.

My laboratory has been focused on studying how cells communicate within and with their environment. Although this area of study is foundational, and therefore vast, our focus has been to study the tiny molecular machines in living systems. In our group, we have been fascinated by one particular class of proteins, known as G proteins. True to their classification as molecular switches, G proteins serve as "gates" for information flow inside the cell and have two distinct functional states: “ON” and “OFF”. They hold on to a single guanosine diphosphate (GDP) in their “OFF” state until an incoming signal makes them fumble it, at which point it can get turned “ON” by binding a guanosine-5'-triphosphate (GTP) and can transduce signals. Subsequently, it is a matter of time before they revert to their “OFF” state by hydrolyzing the GTP back to GDP using their enzymatic abilities as “GTPases”. As this ON–OFF cycle completes each time, a signal successfully triggers a fumble of the GDP. It turns out that, based on what kinds of signals and processes they turn ON/OFF and from where they do it, these switches belong to different classes. A long-held belief was that one class of switch, the trimeric GTPases, just sense the outside environment via a special class of cell-surface sensors called G protein-coupled receptors (GPCRs). Another class of switch, the monomeric GTPases, just mind the “business” within the cell, the so-called housekeeping jobs such as coordinating the membranes and cytoskeleton within the cell and communicating between its various parts. How communication from the outside connects with the cell’s interior, and if the two types of these switches help connect the two, have been elusive. This is where we are today.

Our team has been exploring the complex system within cells known as the intracellular switch-coupled system. This system involves the trimeric-(t)GTPase switch, along with their group of activators called GEM (guanine nucleotide exchange modulators). Simply put, GEMs can turn G proteins “ON”. The discovery of GEMs was pivotal because, over the past decade, we have now learned that they serve as versatile tools for cell communication, allowing cells to operate independently as they sense and respond to their environment — a fundamental aspect of how cells function in organisms like us.

Being one of the first to uncover the role of GEMs, our research has significantly advanced our understanding of this switch-coupled system. Leveraging the powerful synergy generated by our collaborative network — spanning cellular, molecular and structural biology, molecular imaging, computational and systems biology and bioinformatics — we have demonstrated the crucial importance of the switch-coupled GEM system in coordinating diverse cellular processes, both within the cell and in sensing its external environment. We undertook the task of revealing the mechanistic basis of how GEMs function, rigorously studying the problem across scales, from amino acids to entire organisms. These efforts led us to see and show how switch-coupled GEMs act as universal conduits for information flow from the outside to the cell’s interior through their ability to “snap” connect with virtually all types of cell-surface sensors. These sensors include receptors for growth factors, attachment (integrins) and immune responses (such as Toll-like receptors), among others. Each class of sensors commands its own field, necessitating that we frequently face the associated challenges during peer review.

As a physician–scientist, I have relentlessly pursued the question of why and how aberrations in the GEM system contribute to diseases such as cancer progression, fibrosis and insulin resistance. Our findings have provided the impetus to develop drugs targeting GEMs in disease states. More recently, we discovered that the switch-coupled GEM system serves as a crucial linker between external environment sensors and the switches that gate vital processes performed by the myriad of cellular organelles. This creates a communication grid, which we refer to as the IoC, that enables connectivity within the cell and between its interior and environmental sensors. Our research has shown that such connectivity is the cornerstone of cellular autonomy and intelligent behavior in uncertain environments, allowing cells to learn, adapt and become resilient. Disruption of this system can lead to a loss of these vital characteristics.

Although these insights represent a significant breakthrough, we are just getting started. We approach our studies with utmost respect, awe and humility, recognizing that we have stumbled upon a highly sophisticated system within our cells that has evolved over billions of years. Previous attempts to decipher this intricate communication network have fallen short, highlighting the significance of even our baby steps in unraveling this elegant and highly evolved system.

KS: What adversities did you face and how did you overcome them? What lessons did you learn?

PG: I don’t want to give the impression that our journey was a smooth ride or that we were naive about the potential consequences of our discoveries; I was adequately warned. Allow me to explain.

Approximately 38% of currently marketed drugs target GPCRs, which help control everything from mood, blood pressure, allergy and inflammation to metabolism and reproduction. Consequently, this field has received unparalleled attention, being honored by the Nobel committee seven times between 1994 and 2012. GPCRs are undeniably the cornerstone of modern medicine, making this a GPCR world! However, significant controversies and enigmas have surrounded trimeric GTPase signaling for the seven decades since their discovery. For instance, if these G proteins are meant to sense the outside world, why are they found on intracellular membranes, and what could they be doing there? Why do pathways and signals, such as growth factors, seemingly unrelated to G proteins, appear to interfere with GPCR function?

We approached these questions with the belief that tackling foundational problems in a high-profile field was both an opportunity and a challenge. The “opponent” was formidable, as exploring beyond signal-gating for GPCRs could unveil a whole new realm of trimeric G protein functions. Such a breakthrough could revolutionize our understanding of why targeting GPCRs has failed in many diseases, such as cancers and chronic conditions like organ scarring (fibrosis). We were prepared to face intense scrutiny and opposition, driven by the conviction that insights into such foundational problems could transform the future of medical science. I still remember the first words uttered by some when I shared our findings with a close group of mentors who had expertise on the subject matter: “Ouch!” This single word perfectly captures the painful journey of our first decade. From this journey, there are several lessons I can share, hoping that some would be helpful to others should they choose to follow:

• Fate and informed choices: Fate and choice are intertwined in the tapestry of our lives. I attribute my privilege of studying GEMs to fate; I was in the right place at the right time (I elaborate later on how postdoctoral training in the “Farquhar Lab” impacted the trajectory of my life and career). Fate may have very well played a role in opening this door for me, but I was fearless in jumping in without a map or a parachute, right into pitch darkness. I chose to do so because it seemed like an opponent (problem) worth wrestling (solving).
  
  
• Leadership: Progress flourishes when we embrace challenges that stretch our limits. By placing myself in situations where I felt inadequate, I embraced lifelong learning and forged invaluable partnerships with others in disciplines that would be necessary to propel the field forward. Recognizing that my identity was already intertwined with GEM biology, I learned to be a good quarterback and know when to hand over or throw the ball to the right person who can score and the importance of following it through, all the way.
  
  
• Courage, seeking feedback and discipline: My journey is guided by these three pillars. Over the years, I have periodically reached out to some of the greatest minds in different fields (who did not know me!) to ask them if what I was thinking was right and seek timely and valuable feedback. Taking the chance paid off because each time I received a response, and sound advice. Seeking feedback has served as my compass, reflecting areas for improvement and affirming my strengths; it has served me well for personal growth. Discipline underscores everything I do, anchoring me to core principles and driving me forward, and I have chosen the pain of discipline over the pain of regret all my life.
  
  
• Branding: Steve Jobs famously said, "Your brand is what other people say about you when you're not in the room." In my mind, the most important brand we scientists seek to be associated with is "authenticity”. If critics tear apart your data, you can recover by producing better evidence. However, if they question your authenticity or the integrity of your work, recovery becomes nearly impossible.
  
  
• Hustling: Setbacks are inevitable, but our response defines our journey. I had my fair share of crushing defeats. At times we needed tools and technologies that did not exist. Faced with these challenges, I hustled. I prioritized recruitment of the right talent and first created, then perfected what we needed. Recognizing the potential of these tools and technologies, we shared these innovations and welcomed others to benefit from these. We run because standing still means falling behind.
  
  
• Generate the evidence: Evidence is the cornerstone of change. In tinkering with paradigms deeply ingrained in modern medicine, such as those that we were seeking to change (above), generating evidence was paramount. We faced strong opposition, early on, and that told me that this was a formidable opponent worthy of studying. My mentor (Farquhar) reminded me: “People will not start to believe you because you arm-twisted them into it; make the effort to learn what evidence they may need, and then work hard to generate such evidence. Once you do that, skeptics will automatically move over to the camp of believers.” I have personally experienced just how vital this is, because a leader without followers in any field is a (wo)man out on a lonely walk.
  
  
• Go the extra mile: Every pixel, every word, every comma reflects our commitment to excellence and ensures that the work we produce lasts long. Perfecting these details isn't just about satisfying the reader; it's about honoring the standards we set for ourselves. My advice has always been to try to consistently go that extra mile that others will not.
  
  
• Clear your thinking, often: One of the most valuable habits I developed early in my career was to contemplate a problem just before going to bed, often waking up with solutions. However, as I grew older, sleep became more precious. To maintain clarity and introspection, I turned to running five to six miles at dawn. This routine sparked a flow of ideas, often leading to creative solutions. Christopher McDougall encapsulates this experience perfectly in his book "Born to Run," where he famously says, "If you don't have answers to your problems after a four-hour run, you ain't getting them." Activity offers a unique clarity, helping us to navigate life's challenges with renewed perspective and insight.

KS: Why do you think physician–scientists are important to science and medicine and why do you think they are a “dying breed”? How might their loss impact the field and how might it be prevented?

PG: Physician–scientists are often seen as a dwindling group due to the myriad challenges they encounter, such as balancing not just one career, but two (clinical and research). With career progression, other tasks get added on, which may include mounting administrative burdens, teaching, mentoring and service (at local and national arenas). Now, add on to that restricted research funding and growing responsibilities, such as starting a family, parenting chores or incurring debts (mortgage and education loans). Just from what I have said so far, one must be insane to want to get two degrees and/or prolonged training periods to cover two career paths, all for what?

I vividly remember that the very next day after I cleared the American Board of Internal Medicine (ABIM) board exams, my inbox flooded with offers for high-paying positions in private practice. Even within academia, lucrative opportunities beckoned, especially in my field of gastroenterology. However, these offers did not tempt me because I had come here to escape that career path, and my passion for discovery and academic freedom far outweighed any monetary incentive. While others chased after hefty salaries, I held onto the priceless value of intellectual freedom, knowing that true fulfillment lies in pursuing one's dreams, not in monetary gains.

Two crucial factors that can contribute to dropouts from this career path are circumstances and mindset:

• Circumstances: The foundation of success for all in this field often hinges on the choice of a supportive spouse. They must be supportive of your decision to prioritize your career (which I address in detail later), even if it means taking a financial hit. Personally, my spouse provided a stable primary income, serving as the family's breadwinner, which allowed me to pursue the career path I desired. But if he were struggling to make ends meet, I might not have had the same freedom of choice.
  
  
• A logical mindset: Unless one is driven by non-monetary incentives such as passion, altruism or a desire to make a positive impact, it is understandable how persistent obstacles and uncertainties might lead individuals to consider more financially rewarding clinical specialties. Such consideration is logical (see later, where I talk about why being a physician–scientist needs one to be illogical).

Physician–scientists are the architects of medical breakthroughs, transforming scientific discoveries into life-altering treatments and technologies. Allowing this extraordinary breed to fade would not only impede progress in healthcare but also deprive future generations of vital innovations that could save countless lives. I firmly believe that the key to preventing such a loss lies in fostering more role models and providing early exposure (starting in middle or high schools) and then following through (in college, to aspiring physician–scientists). Seeing that this breed was dwindling, many institutions did set up dedicated boot camps (such as medical scientist and physician–scientist programs). However, I believe that is a bit too late, when college loans are starting to accumulate and peer pressures are sky-high. What may be necessary is that we approach this much like a career path mirroring any professional sport, one that “catches them young”, teaches them to respect the “opponent”, equips them with the ability to focus amidst thunderous chants of the crowd (there could even be chants cheering the opponent) and "trains them for longevity". Imagine what we can achieve if we train middle/high-school kids and undergraduate students to fall in love and stay in love with the idea of pursuing this career, driven by passion and equipped with the necessary mindset from the beginning. A simple way to do that would be not just to teach science and medicine, but how it was discovered and by whom. That way, we would have a generation of kids addicted to the pursuit of truth, finding exhilaration in uncovering new knowledge and making discoveries that push the boundaries of science and medicine. I often liken it to a rush akin to the thrill of cocaine, that "I did it, I saw it, I found it, because I could!" feeling that drives us forward. This addiction to finding truth fuels our passion, commitment to our work and persistence in our quest to make a difference.

KS: Achieving a healthy work–life balance can be challenging at the best of times, let alone when you are balancing home life with clinical and research responsibilities. Do you have any tips and advice you’d like to share?

PG: I agree it is a difficult act. Nobody who is disturbed at home tap dances to work every day or can celebrate their work accomplishments. Similarly, nobody who is miserable at work enjoys family life at home. We enjoy what we do in each sphere because the other one is intact, each serving as a stable fulcrum for the other, and even as a boost!

Hence, I don't like the phrase "work–life balance”, and it turns out I am not the only one! Speaking with Axel Springer CEO Mathias Döpfner, Jeff Bezos articulated it best by pointing out: "That's [work–life balance] a debilitating phrase because it implies there's a strict trade-off." “It actually is a circle,” Bezos explained, “It's not a balance."

But this circle model of work–life harmony lacks the sense of growth or the concept of a safety net.

I prefer the metaphor “continuous compounding.” In simple English, it means that we take the "interest" from one and "invest" in the other, take turns in a disciplined way to ensure that while we compartmentalize "work" and "life" accounts, both accounts generate interests that can be re-invested in each other, and both grow over an infinite period. For math geeks, continuous compounding is the mathematical limit that compound interest on any investment can reach if it is calculated and reinvested into an account's balance over a theoretically infinite number of periods (there is a formula for this!). There will be constant guilt of cheating — on both accounts — but continuous compounding makes it possible to invest with fluidity (flexibility during deadlines) and maximize the harmonic growth of both. Having both is more like work–life integration or work–life synergy or work–life optimization (it does not feel like a balance or trade-off). Continuous compounding just adds on the additional feeling of personal growth and holistic gain.

On a personal note, I have repeatedly used this continuous compounding model and recovered from moments of crushing defeats in my career by cuddling my little son to sleep (he had no clue that the cuddle was therapeutic for me). I have also endured tragic personal losses with creativity from the abyss of sadness. Each aspect of my life acts as a safety net for the other, allowing me to withdraw from one when needed and invest in the other. I involve my family whenever possible, ensuring they understand how their sacrifices contribute to something meaningful. For instance, I have enlisted my son's help in proofreading important documents, leveraging his superior English skills. When navigating challenging administrative issues, I seek advice from my spouse, capitalizing on our intellectual diversity. These examples are already making a positive impact; my son sees demanding careers as aspirational and my spouse believes that the length of our marriage (21 years!) has a lot to do with the fact that I can deploy an invisible cone of silence around me when I am intensely focused on tasks. It reaffirms Ruth Bader Ginsburg's wisdom: "In every good marriage, it helps sometimes to be a little deaf."

KS: What advice would you give to anyone considering a career as a physician–scientist?

PG: My first piece of advice would be: don’t go into it; that is unless you absolutely want to do it for the right reasons. Let me explain.

It takes courage, sacrifice and a certain degree of altruism to get into either of these careers (i.e., physician or scientist). But to want to do both, one needs to be foolish and hungry. I highly recommend that everybody considering this career — at various stages of their career — monitor their commitment by taking the “mirror challenge” that Steve Jobs cited, among the many pearls he shared in his 2005 commencement address at Stanford University. Jobs narrated that, at the age of 17, he came across a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” That quote had a long-lasting impression on him and since then he looked in the mirror every morning and asked himself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” He went on to say: “And whenever the answer has been 'no' for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”

I did not read/hear this commencement address until much later; but when I read it, I realized that I had set up a similar dial of commitment internally. I kept asking myself, repeatedly at every turn of my career, if I was enjoying this for the right reasons, to justify leaving my birthland, deserting my family and putting them through immeasurable grief, denying my son access to his grandparents' love and my country a doctor it produced. I always put the price on one pan of the weighing scale and my dreams/results in another. I was relieved to hear a voice say: “yes.” Nowadays I just use the mirror test, and so far, the answers have been: “hell yes!” If people are right in saying that love and romance are illogical, then being a physician–scientist is less of science, and more of romance and passion. You've got to love it, all parts of it.

My second piece of advice would be: marry right; pick a good corner (wo)man. Your family needs to be ok with not just accepting you for being foolish, they must be cheerleading you on many days, and give you first-aid on other instances when you are all bruised/scorched up after a rejection of some kind. But most importantly, make sure that they want this as much as you want it. There is a Japanese proverb that says: fall seven, rise eight. I have my own version of it: fall seven, rise eight and recruit a “corner (wo)man.” In the world of boxing, a corner man is a person who is permitted to be present in a fighter's corner during a boxing match to provide advice or assistance to the injured. I lucked out that my spouse not only understood "why" I chose this career path but told me that he was proud of my choice. I liken such support to a building's foundation: unseen but essential.

My third piece of advice would be: find mentors who have time for you. The best mentors are those who are able (pioneers and successful), available (access to their time, attention and office) and who know how to enable. Both my mentors — Kornfeld and Farquhar — were able. One is the father of glycobiology and another the mother of modern cell biology as we know it! Both were available because they hardly traveled (almost never). I had unbridled access to their time, interest, hearts, minds, networks and offices. Both had an open door/no appointment policy, which allowed me to watch their styles, approach to anything (conflicts, etc.), disciplined and principled behavior traits that were the basis for the longevity of their own careers and, most importantly, learn what it takes to build a legacy/field/paradigm.

Both were enablers: their roles changed, sometimes multiple times a day: therapist; guide; advisor; cheerleader; confidant; parent; coach; friend and colleague. And yet it remained constant — they were mirrors — just reflected the cold, hard, naked truth and, most importantly, what I could grow up to be if I worked on my deficiencies. I say this often to those early in their career that I had no easy way to produce an excuse for my failure because of who mentored me. I always say that my time with Kornfeld made me fall in love with this career and my time with Farquhar ensured that I gained the skills to sustain and thrive in it. From Farquhar, who is remembered for her contributions over seven decades as a pioneering microscopist, an inspiring researcher, mentor and eminent leader of cell biology, I learned countless invaluable lessons. The time she invested in me equipped me with everything she deemed essential for my growth. She introduced me to her first postdoctoral fellow, Dorothy (Dee) Ford Bainton, M.D (a physician–scientist, a hematopathologist and the former vice chancellor of academic affairs at the University of California, San Francisco), subtly planning the final chapter of her legacy and leaving nothing to chance. Shortly after her passing in 2019, Dee and I co-authored the “In Memoriam” article for the National Academy of Sciences, in which we shared how fortunate we feel “to have been fellows in her laboratory, experiencing her humanity, generosity, high ethical standards and unwavering commitment to excellence”. Her influence has been profound and I am deeply grateful for the foundation she provided, which continues to inspire and guide me.

My fourth piece of advice: timing is key when deciding to go together or go solo. When faced with the choice between working alone or collaborating, consider going solo initially (early career), but opt for collaboration later (mid–late career). Why? Because if you're aiming to pioneer something groundbreaking, whether it's a new paradigm or an entirely novel field, you'll need others to share your vision. If you're committed to winning over skeptics, it's crucial to understand their perspective and provide the evidence they need. If obtaining evidence requires expertise beyond your own, strategic collaborations are key. Remember, when you go together, you can go much farther.

My final piece of advice: immunize yourself against paralyzed academic investigator's disease syndrome (PAIDS). In a 1986 piece in the Journal of Clinical Investigation, Joe Goldstein reminds us of the dangers of fixating on superficial concerns rather than delving into the deep mechanisms of disease. By focusing on uncovering the fundamental workings of GEMs, I embarked on a journey that led me from the micro level of amino acids to the grand scale of human biology. This level of breadth and depth ensured that we would never really run out of ideas (i.e., we derisked) and that we could drive progress and innovation in whichever area of medicine our work would take us.

In conclusion, I hope that I have not discouraged anybody or intimidated them. My journey highlights the endless possibilities that this career has to offer. Every step, from my decision to come to the United States to my deliberate choices in seeking mentorship and making bold decisions on the kind of science and collaborations to pursue, has shaped my journey. Two key things to remember are that it’s a marathon, not a sprint, and that you can do everything, but just not all at once.

Finally, I would be remiss if I did not add something important, and this is about UC San Diego, which holds a special place in my heart. Despite tempting offers elsewhere, repeatedly, I stayed because of its unique environment that encourages innovation and fosters a culture of support. Still a young institution, it has the start-up mentality where hustling and getting things done is encouraged. If you have a vision, you are free to chase it. The collaborative atmosphere and the culture of a relatively flat organizational structure at UC San Diego create what we, in medicine, refer to as the Swiss cheese model. This model offers a valuable perspective on managing errors within complex organizations. Imagine the organization as a stack of cheese slices, each representing a layer of support. Even if leadership changes or administrative colleagues leave their positions, or if not everyone in a position of power supports your ideas, it's rare for all the "holes" to align. This ensures that good ideas are less likely to fall through the cracks.

As I reflect on my journey, I am grateful to have had the right preparation, the right mentors and the right environment. As a proud product of the UC San Diego Physician–Scientist Training Pathway, I am excited for the journey ahead, knowing that every challenge is an opportunity to learn and grow. Here's to chasing dreams, overcoming obstacles and making a difference in the world of medicine and science.

Professor Pradipta Ghosh M.D. was speaking to Dr. Karen Steward, Senior Scientific Specialist for Technology Networks.

About the interviewee

Credit: Erik Jepsen, UC San Diego.

Professor Pradipta Ghosh, MD, obtained her medical degree from Christian Medical College, Vellore, in India before starting her career in science under the mentorship of Professor Stuart Kornfeld at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri. She then moved onto an internship and residency in internal medicine and postdoctoral training in the laboratory of Professor Marilyn G. Farquhar, PhD at UC San Diego. Her postdoctoral work directly led to the characterization of a novel stratum in signal transduction by a unique class of molecules, which she christened guanine nucleotide exchange modulators (GEMs). Professor Ghosh now investigates how GEMs facilitate cellular communication, and how that influences health and disease. To enable the study of complex eukaryotic systems and to determine the foundational rules that support their communication, she founded the Institute for Network Medicine at the UC San Diego School of Medicine. This institute and its four vibrant centers unite mathematics, computer science, systems biology and tissue engineering to explore and develop new interdisciplinary tools for precision disease modeling. The institute also provides opportunities for cross-disciplinary training for graduate students and postdoctoral trainees, creating a fertile ground for scientists to inspire and be inspired.