A New Pair Of Eyes

Transplants, transplants, everywhere.

This is an amazing time in modern medicine. It seems like nearly anything a dead person can have and a living person can need is transplantable – even faces, as we’ve seen of late.

We hear a lot about heart, liver, and kidney transplants, but much less is said about the most common type of transplant in the U.S. (about 40,000 per year.)

Corneal transplantation is relatively easy and safe. Since the cornea is not blood-infused like the liver or heart, there’s no need to match donors with recipients; any cornea can go to any patient who needs one. And because the surgery is relatively noninvasive, it can be done as an outpatient procedure. Patients spend a few days with an eye patch, then they’re good to go.

It’s such a minor, common surgery that I hadn’t heard of it until my dad became a donor. A few months after his death, my family received a card in the mail. It said that a woman in Oak Park could now see because of my father’s donation.

I think about that often. Even though he’ll never see the world again, he’s given her a window so that she can see.

Weird science? Yes. But beautiful.

Recommendation and Regret

I couldn’t sleep last night and it was all Lowboy’s fault.

I was reading the novel Lowboy by John Wray. Click here for its review in the New York Times.

The book is about a 16-year old boy with schizophrenia on the run in the New York subway system. It’s a fantastic read – fast-paced yet poetic, and short enough to consume in a few days.

One of the interesting footnotes about this book is that the author wrote most of it on the NY subway line while listening to heavy metal guitar. Another is that he did a unique (albeit slightly awkward) reading from the book to other passengers on the train. Here’s a great interview of the author in a recent NPR podcast.

So that was my recommendation. Now for the regret.

The driving force of the novel is the threat of violence. The main character of the novel, Will Heller (a.k.a. Lowboy), has nearly killed someone before, has attacked others, and is now unmedicated and on the loose in public. I enjoyed the book immensely, but I couldn’t help feeling sad that it reinforced the public misconception that people with schizophrenia are violent.

This is not a criticism of the book; literature isn’t and shouldn’t be a public service announcement. A doctor in the novel even mentions that most patients with schizophrenia aren’t violent. Still, the young patient in this story is transformed into a terrifying figure.

Groups like NAMI and NIMH need to continue educating people about mental illness. The public needs to know that most people with schizophrenia aren’t violent and most violent people don’t have schizophrenia.

If patients are going to find treatment and recover, they’ll need the support of people in their lives. They will need our kindness, not our fear.

Mice: Songbirds With Paws

We romanticize the calls of birds and whales and ascribe meaning to the vocalizations of our pets. Yet most people don’t know that mice talk too, and that we would be wise to listen.

Mice vocalize at ultrasonic frequencies, above the threshold of human hearing. With special audio equipment, it is possible to hear what they would sound like if their vocalizations were brought down to an audible range. Here are two samples of mouse vocalizations, one chirpy and one whistle-like.

Scientists have found that male mice ‘sing’ to potential mates. These vocalizations are composed of syllables that form repeated phrases, a characteristic of song across species. Can you imagine these little guys singing love ballads on your kitchen floor?

The fact that mice vocalize and that these vocalizations are behaviorally relevant is not just fodder for trivia night. It may actually help us understand the causes of major psychiatric and neurological illnesses in humans.

Transgenic (a.k.a. mutant) mice are in widespread use in labs around the globe. Each strain of mutant mouse is designed with a specific change to their DNA. For example, the deletion of a specific gene from a strain’s DNA results in “knockout” mutant mice. By making the gene disappear and seeing what happens to the mice, we learn what that gene does. If the gene is related to disease in humans, we learn something about the disease. This method works more often than you might think, since more than 90 percent of the mouse genome is shared with humans.

Thank god for the remaining 10 percent. Shared DNA aside, we all know that mice and humans are very different, so it can be hard for scientists to tell whether abnormalities in the mouse are truly analogous to symptoms of human disease.

The problem is even tougher in studies of brain function and illness. How can we tell what a mouse does and doesn’t remember? Can mice have symptoms of schizophrenia, depression, or autism? Do they ever feel insecure and yearn for someone to love? Scientists have to put a lot of thought into answering questions like these.

I once attended a talk by Jacqueline Crawley, a neuroscientist at NIMH who wrote the book What’s Wrong With My Mouse? She pointed out that mouse vocalizations might serve as a model for human vocalizations. And since speech and social interaction are affected in several brain disorders, ‘listening’ to mutant mice could help us learn about the genes involved.

Crawley recently published an example of this kind of work: a study of vocalizations in a mutant mouse model of autism. Children with autism usually exhibit abnormal speech and social development. Crawley found that the vocalizations of the mutant mice were also abnormal. Kazow!

It’s too early to draw any real conclusions from this study, or to say that mouse vocalizations are truly analogous to human vocalizations. I’m sure more studies are in the works to find out.

In the meantime, let’s all do our part. If you find a mouse in your home, don’t just kill it. Wait and hear what it has to say.

Modern Relics

For millennia, Christians have saved the corpses of saints. Worshipers would make pilgrimages to view the bodies or body parts on display and share in their holiness.

I recently listened to an NPR book tour podcast featuring Peter Manseau, author of a recent book about holy relics. He described how worshipers would be so overcome with awe that a few bit off pieces of the saints’ bodies (in one case, a toe). I was both horrified and impressed. I’ve never believed in anything strongly enough to make me want to go Mike Tyson on the dead.

The relic discussion got me thinking about the modern era, and I realized that science is teeming with relics as well. This is true both on a general and an individual level. On a general level, we can point to archaeologists unearthing ancient remains of lost civilizations and species. A recent Nova special on Neanderthals documented the genomic analysis of Neanderthal remains to answer questions about our common ancestry. More commonly, bones are carbon-dated and skeletons are modeled for their aerodynamics or for bipedal versus quadrupedal motion.

But the most fascinating kinds of modern relics come from specific individuals. They are prized for the unusual features of that individual rather than their representativeness of a species as a whole. For example, Einstein’s brain was preserved and studied. Scientists found that the size and surface morphology of his parietal lobes were different from those in non-genius controls. Fragments of Beethoven’s skull and hair have revealed that the composer died of lead poisoning, which might account for his medical problems later in life, although probably not his deafness. And scientists have been trying to get a DNA sample from Lincoln’s tomb to conduct genetic testing for a specific type of genetic illness, spinocerebellar ataxia type 5.

To understand why relics have persisted over time, it’s useful to ask what purpose they serve. Why collect the dead? As I mentioned, the ancient relics were valuable for their holiness. At the time, religion was the only path to understanding the world. Why are we here? What came before us? How can we gain control of our lives, both on Earth and after death? God was the source of those answers and the relics were a portal to god.

Despite all that has changed about our society and our ways of thinking, modern relics serve the same purpose. They may not be thought of as a phone line to god, yet we still value them for what they can explain. They tell us about our evolution and about the lives of the historical figures who shaped society and have become our modern legends. They provide a window into the nature of human genius, creativity, good and evil; a portal to ourselves. And that is something I can truly believe in.

Her Nose Is Just For Show

No one knew my mother couldn’t smell until the day the septic tank was replaced. She was a curious girl and sat nearby to watch, while the rest of her family kept as far away as possible. Stench? she’d said. What stench?

My mother has no recollection of ever having smelled anything. She was either born without the sense or lost it at a very young age. Scientists call this ‘developmental anosmia.’ Thankfully, it’s a lot less incapacitating than losing other senses, such as sight or hearing. Mom’s lack of smell is good fodder for conversations (and blog entries), but other than the risk of missing a gas leak, she isn’t impaired. Since flavor depends mostly on smell, her ability to taste is probably restricted to the few types (e.g., salty, sweet) that the tongue detects. Still, she claims she gets a full spectrum of flavors, thank you very much, and she reminds me in stinky public bathrooms that her quirk is also an asset.

Although my mom is perfectly happy, it can be catastrophic when people lose their sense of smell later in life. This can happen for many reasons, including head trauma (wear your helmets!) or complications due to antibiotics. Even though most of us aren’t consciously aware of all the things we smell, odors are woven into all of our experiences and are powerfully tied to memory. People who have grown accustomed to the world’s symphony of smells are often severely affected by its loss. They can experience a profound absence in their lives. They can lose their appetite, their sex drive, even fall into depression.

I’ve tried to describe scent to my mom and she’s tried to imagine it, but always to no avail. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be left out of an invisible, inaudible, untouchable secret that everyone else shares. I’m pretty sure I’d be frustrated. And why should we cause anosmics frustration? Let’s give them a break and announce that olfaction is a hoax. While we’re at it, let’s say the same about telepathy, prophesy, and channeling the dead. I hear some people were born without those too.