Why Data Storytelling Matters to All of Us | Jia Hwei Ng | TEDxUTulsa

Transcriber: Anna Sobota I'm not the kind of doctor

most people want to see. I’m not your beloved pediatrician who can give your child a shot

without a single tear. I’m not even a dermatologist who you love because

they clear up your skin. No, I’m a kidney doctor. Whenever people find out what I do, they usually go, “You know, my friend’s neighbor

is on dialysis. They look exhausted. Hmm... Terrible.” Right... When a patient sees me for the first time,

they are often terrified. They have the data, the numbers,

all of the test results at hand. And it usually goes something like this. “These says I have 45% kidney function.

Am I going to need dialysis?” I tell him, “Think of your kidneys like a gas tank. Except you only get to fill it up once and it should last you

the whole way through. But sometimes something

happens to the kidneys and your function goes down. As long as there’s more than 15%,

there is gas in the tank. But once it hits 15, the light comes on. You could still drive a little, but it’s going to stop

in the middle of the road. That’s when dialysis comes in.” As soon as I hear this story, I see a light bulb in thier eyes - for some months of worry,

roll of their shoulders because before they came in, they genuinely thought

they needed dialysis. And others, they will lean forward,

finally ready to engage. They go, “All right. I get it.

Tell me what I need to do. I don’t want to run out of gas.” It was a story I found myself

telling all the time. And the more I told this story,

the more I realized that this was what I had to do

as a doctor and a researcher: to find the voice of data

and let it be heard. We live in a time where society says.

“Data needs to speak for itself,” but it doesn’t really work like that. No matter how significant

the data might be, without a story, no one is going to be able to hear

what it has to say. And without a story, no one will move

or make changes in their lives. Three years ago,

I completed my Master’s Degree after having done

all the necessary research, and yet I had zero publications. I was embarrassed and I had trouble

finding a research position. Who wants to hire a researcher

who can’t publish their science? Then I found a secret

to publishing research papers: “Nobody wants more data.

People want a solution to their problems.” I had tables and tables of data, but unless I was able to pull the story

out of the numbers, these stacks of information

will only go to one special place: the rejection pile. But when a researcher is able to use

data storytelling to solve a problem, only then can science move forward. Data does not only come

in tabular forms or in Excel sheets. Data comes in many forms:

texts, numbers, images, scenes, and they are everywhere around us. We live in the digital era where there is information overload

and message saturation. We have TV, podcasts, social media... In a world where cat videos get more

attention than more pressing issues, how can we even break through the noise? Don’t get me wrong, I love cats. But I think we can all agree that they’re not the solution

to every problem. Then I went viral on Twitter. I was sharing a Twitter thread

about my experience as a new mother during medical residency pro- training. I was a star intern, but when I came back

after maternity leave four weeks later, people were asking:

“What happened to Jia?” I disappeared in the middle of the rounds. I did not know my patients well

and I completed my notes late. What was I doing instead? I was sneaking out

four times a day to pump. I was hiding in a corner, calling my mom

to check how my baby was doing. What I had not told you was that 1 in 4

physicians are diagnosed with infertility almost double the rate

of the general public. A survey of 700 female surgeons found that 42% of them

had suffered a pregnancy loss, and that is twice the rate

of the overall population. Because of the stress

of residency program, many physicians delay

their family planning until they are done with training, and that’s typically

around the age of 32 to 35. Add to that, those who do start

a family during that time often get resentment

from their colleagues. In reality, my choice to start a family

and taking maternity leave meant that another colleague

could not see his parents during summer because he had to cover my shifts. But, amidst these early struggles, my colleagues extended

their hands to help. “Jia, have you had lunch?” “All right, give me your pager. Go, pump!” Because I had my support system with me, I started to embrace motherhood

both at home and at work. I told my supervisors

that I had to pump at certain times. They adjusted the rounding time

to my schedule, no questions asked. I brought my child

to dinner events unapologetically. At a residence they were observing

my motherhood journey not to judge, but as a source

of inspiration and courage. They felt like they, too, can become a parent

while advancing their careers. This Twitter thread was viewed

3 million times, was shared 5000 times

and had 24,000 likes. If I had just given some data

about physician infertility, no one is going to be really compelled

to share that Twitter thread. It was the story that shed light on

the issues physicians were facing. At the same time,

it was a story that showed how kindness and support

was the first step in building a healthy culture

as we welcome new parents in medicine. This one tweet led

to a journal publication highlighting systemic issues

in medical residency program and recommendations

on how to redesign programs to improve physician well-being. Data does not create movements, stories do. Now, data does not only happen

on the outside. We have so much data within our head. We take snapshots of our experiences

and observations, and then we store them

into our heads as scenes. Sometimes these are scenes

that we are proud of. Other times these are embarrassing

and shameful moments that we want to shove into

the pits of our memory. Whether we like it or not, we keep tabs of all the wins and losses

throughout our lives. When I was nine, I went on stage

to speak for the first time. After the first paragraph,

the words stopped. At that moment, time slowed down as if I was running on 2G internet speed. Finally, I mumbled up “Thank you”

and ran off stage. I’m sure the people in the audience

would not have remembered this story, but in my mind I had this data stored. The number of times being frozen

on stage: one, and for most people

that is one time too many. As I grew, I had more data stored. The number of times I had

a low score in high school exams and medical school exams: 15. The number of paper rejections: 22. The number of cringeworthy moments: 300. The number of times

I came home late from work: 1265. Based on this data, I could deduce

that I’m a bad student, a mediocre researcher, an awkward person, and a terrible mother. But, I could also tell a different story. The number of failures could mean

that I’m brave, always willing to try something

out of my comfort zone. The number of late nights

could mean that I’m the type of parent who would do anything

to secure my family’s livelihood. Data storytelling isn’t just

for scientists or activists. The most important data story of all

is the one we tell ourselves. Depending on how we frame

the story of data, it will lead us to different

actions or different paths. Tell a pessimistic story

and we will retreat. Tell a story full of hope

and we will move forward. What outcome do we desire? Now, close your eyes

and picture a scene in your life. What story have you created around it? If it’s a story that harms you,

say this now, “I have the power to rewrite my story.” Open your eyes. Data itself is not negative or positive. Data alone can’t create change. It is the story we tell

that moves us forward. What story will you tell? Thank you. (Applause)