'I'll never be able to paint like Mark Rothko. I'll choose medicine!'

What attracted you to study medicine?

I don’t come from a medical family. I also studied art at A Level. I remained torn between art and medicine until I saw an exhibition by Mark Rothko. I remember thinking, ‘Wow! I’ll never be able to paint like that!’ So I chose medicine. I’ve never regretted the decision.

What’s your favourite memory of your time as a student?

I did my undergraduate clinical medicine degree at St Thomas’ Teaching Hospital, then I did a masters at Guy’s. St Thomas’ had amazing views across the River Thames. Even now, I’m still blown away by that area of London. It’s beautiful. There’s the South Bank, the Hayward Gallery, the National Theatre and the British Film Institute.

How was life as an undergraduate medical student in 1980s?

St Thomas’ wasn’t a great fit for me. It was very conservative, very male, and a lot of the doctors and consultants who taught you were quite sexist. Many of the male intake were rugby players and part of the old boys’ network. It wasn’t a great place to be a woman.

But there were good people there, too. I made friends who I’m still in contact with today.

What was it like studying for your masters?

I did my masters about eight years later at Guy’s and that was an amazing experience. As an undergraduate, medicine involved a lot of rote learning. My masters was more mentally stimulating and the teaching was excellent.

You’ve won our Global Health Award for your work in HIV, hepatitis and STI prevention. How did your journey into this area begin?

When I finished my training, I joined the academic GP practice at St Thomas’. You worked as a GP, but you were also involved in public health research.

At that time in the 1980s, HIV started to be recognised in the UK, particularly among people who injected drugs. I got involved in what was called ‘harm reduction’. I worked alongside colleagues at the Maudsley Hospital to create a sort of pop-up shop. It was where people who injected drugs could get clean needles and syringes, a cup of coffee and health information and be linked to methadone programmes.

The UK was forward thinking about HIV prevention for people who used drugs. It took a public health approach. In many other parts of the world, the response was more punitive.

How did your work on HIV research in Africa start?

My husband is a TB academic and he got a job in Zambia. With two small children, my original plan was to look after the kids. As I got off the plane, I met a Jesuit priest, Father Michael Kelly, who said, ‘You’re a doctor. You know about HIV. You start work tomorrow.’ So I did.

HIV was an enormous problem in Zambia in the early 1990s. About 25% of the adult population had HIV. There were limited community services, few HIV specialists, no HIV drugs, and stigma and fear around HIV was profound. I worked with fantastic colleagues to set up the first HIV testing services.

I also helped the Jesuit priest and the Positive and Living Squad (PALS), a group of remarkable people, led by Winstone Zulu, who were open about living with HIV, to establish Hope House. This was a place where people with HIV could find medical and psycho-social support.

How long did you stay there?

For six years. Towards the end, antiretroviral drugs – which were highly effective in treating HIV – became available. But they were hugely expensive. I contacted old friends working in HIV in London asking them to let me have any spare drugs. Whenever I returned to the UK, I’d collect any antiretrovirals I could get and I’d take them back to Zambia.

I remember travelling to the airport on the Tube with my sons. I was lugging a suitcase that contained all the drugs I’d managed to secure. At one point, we got separated from the bags and I shouted, ‘Keep an eye on that case. It’s got tens of thousands of pounds worth of drugs in it!’

But it was quite bleak. The antiretrovirals I had access to could only help a tiny fraction of people I saw with HIV, and many of my friends and colleagues died. It wasn’t until the early 2000s – when generic drugs, at a fraction of the cost, became available and funding through the Global Fund and the US PEPFAR (President Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) programme came online – that HIV mortality and HIV transmission started to fall.

What was your next role when you returned to the UK?

I got a job working on HIV programmes in fragile states and post-conflict countries. When nations come out of war and populations return, there’s often limited health infrastructure. That means there’s a real risk of HIV spreading.

My job was to promote early intervention, testing and support programmes in places such as Mozambique, Angola, Sierra Leone, Democratic Republic of Congo and South Sudan.

You worked for the World Health Organization for 15 years, too...

I worked in Geneva to co-ordinate their testing and prevention programmes for HIV, hepatitis and STIs. I’m devastated that so much of what we built and the successes we secured are now under threat because the American government is withdrawing international aid including for HIV.

Since 2002, PEPFAR has received remarkable results in many low-income countries supporting effective HIV treatment and prevention. This is all now being disbanded, and the consequences are dire and unforgivable. The UK government has regrettably slashed its aid budget, too.

In 2024, you were awarded an OBE. Was that a proud moment?

It wasn’t something I’d anticipated. The scientific and medical response to HIV is important. But it’s the voices of the people in those communities that are affected that are key to ensuring a response is successful. It was humbling to know I got this honour because people from those communities nominated me.

What are you future plans and ambitions?

I retired earlier this year, so my plan is to spend time with my children and grandchildren. But I’ll keep an active interest in HIV and global health, and see if there’s anything practical I can do in these difficult times .

I recently came back from Vietnam where I was supporting a former colleague to review the HIV programme and see how it can be modified in light of substantial US funding cuts.

Finally, what advice would you give to King’s students or alumni wanting to be change-makers?

Always be open and flexible. You may miss opportunities to do interesting work if your career plan is too rigid.

Listen to people, too. Try to understand and respect their perspectives. The best health programmes are ones that have been developed in collaboration with local communities.

Read more about the other winners of our 2025 King’s Distinguished Alumni Awards here.