This morning, while jogging around the campus, I took the opportunity and walked by the personal student mail boxes. Amongst the usual advertising (flyers, organizations, information brochures - all they want is my attention or at least my money) lay the certificate for passing pretty well in the recent neurobiology examination. I already closed the drawer again, when a little white piece of paper drew my attention. Because it had only the size of a credit card, I almost missed to discover this one. With increasing interest, I turn it around and read: "Proefpersonen gezocht voor nieuwaardige neuropsychologische studie" (searching for test persons for a novel neuropsychological study), together with an adress on the campus.
Ten minutes later I knock on the prof's door. I'm lucky, he's an early riser.
While I barely find the occasion to get myself seated behind the desk flooded with papers and open books, I'm already let in on this topic. Matters are about a small study concerning students with skills and strong interest in informatics and neuropsychology. Amongst the participants there would be a selection procedure, but on a complete random basis. The stunning fact about this study would be its "absolute novelty" and that it's never been tested with humans. Trials with apes were quite succesful though, added the grey haired prof with his dense full beard. And unfortunately, I couldn't get to know about the full extent of the experiment until finally being chosen as a participant.
I'm like pretty sceptical at first - above all because of the fact of belonging to the first human guinea pigs. But after a few moments, the high educated man seems to note my concerns and tries to compensate them with enthusiasm. He claims there wouldn't be - like in almost all psychological studies - some hidden goal behind the obvious, and that I'd be told every single detail of the experiment, if I would wish so.
Finally, curiosity wins over scepticism - after all, this study is exactly about *my* area of interest - and I agree.
A gleaming smile broadens across the unshaved face of the prof, and he immediately dives into the paper flood on his desk. I almost expect pages flying wildly in every direction, so energetic is the dear guy now searching for a certain document. Then he pauses for a moment, takes a last brief look at the pages and hands them over to me, almost solemnly. This would be my Informed Consent - the piece of paper for me to fill in if I become qualified as a participant. Surprised I take it - these were three pages, double sided and with pretty small font. And thus more extensive than all prior Informed Consents together I ever held in my hands.
Still puzzled, I was praised out of the door - with the final promise to inform me in about a month via email.
I put the thin pages in my student mail box (to read them this afternoon) - and continue my way all around the drowsy campus.
