Pocket the cash and say nothing to mum

Trialling new drugs is a popular way for students to make money. UK-born Herald reporter Stuart Dye recalls his days as a human guinea pig:

The seductive literature promised untold wealth for what amounted to a couple of days relaxation. At least, it seemed untold to a hard-up student desperate to fund food, rent and other more pressing student past-times.

The deal was £110-per-day for three days. A no-brainer. Add to that the fact that everyone had a friend of a friend who had undergone a clinical trial and funded weeks of travelling with the proceeds.

The only rule was self-imposed - don't tell mum. A parent who still worried when you crossed the road did not need to know you were a guinea pig for a new drug, which even guinea pigs may not have tested.

Of course, there were urban myths. Apparently one guy got £100,000 to have his little toe amputated then sown back on by student surgeons. At another research unit it was said they would pay half a million pounds to stop your heart and re-start it. Somehow, that added to the mystique.

The reality was a little more mundane. Along with half a dozen other students I arrived at a research centre close to my Midlands university and was given two pills. I can't even remember exactly what it was for, though it may have been an anti-blood clotting drug.

Over the next couple of days and nights I was asked how I felt, prodded a bit and had my blood pressure and blood samples taken several times. An aversion to needles meant that was about the worst part of it.

The common thread among my fellow trialists was no-one had mentioned it to their families. Didn't want to worry them unnecessarily, we assured ourselves.

There was lots of reading, watching television and playing pool. It's slightly surreal being in a hospital-type environment while perfectly healthy. The pervasive odour of disinfectant and waiting for the next blood test are curious distractions as you try to pot black with a trick shot.

Still, it was in the name of science. And pocketing the cash.

There was no sickness or adverse reaction. Neither, sadly, was there an amputation offer, which according to rumour would have seen me through university and into my first home.

Three days later, I walked out with a cheque to leave my bank balance temporarily a little healthier. I've still never mentioned it to mum.