I have a recurring nightmare. In this nightmare, I am running around my former high school stark naked. I dash into the bathroom and frantically MacGyver an outfit out of toilet paper. But my makeshift frock falls apart. It’s then that I notice the urinal, and realize I’m not in the girls’ bathroom. I’ve accidentally ducked into the wrong bathroom, and numerous pubescent males are gawking at me.
Now, I’m not some closet Freudian who believes the mind buries its urges in obtuse dream riddles. But there is one minor detail of my recurring nightmare that always leaves me shaking my head when I finally wake up. In the dream, I never attempt to cover my breasts or groin with my toilet paper garment. Instead, I fashion a little backflap to conceal what my dreaming self is so urgently desperate to hide: cellulite.
My cellulite and I have a … complicated relationship. I’ve been trying to break up with my cellulite for years now, but the stubborn bastard just won’t take a hint. It doesn’t matter how many hours I spend at the gym. Cutting back on calories doesn’t do the trick. For seven years now, I’ve been telling myself that if I just work a little harder, I’ll finally achieve the smooth lifted backside I want so badly.
One night in the not-so-distant past, I found myself in tears over the dismal rear view in the mirror, despite my years of hard work and persistence. After wallowing in my self-pity for awhile, I became angry. I wiped away my tears defiantly, and marched to the medical library. “Screw you, cellulite!” I hissed. “I’m going to blast you away once and for all, with science!!!”
I pored over textbooks and journal articles, attempting to understand the evil dimples colonizing my backside. I searched, high and low, for the best weapons to demolish my enemy. Liposuction! Cryosurgery! Laser beams! Take that!!! I expected to find a smorgasbord of fat-blasting options. But much to my horror, the scientific literature on the topic was strangely sparse.
Despite the fact that humans possess the technological sophistication to land a robot on Mars, we still don’t really know exactly what cellulite really or how it differs from “normal” fat. What we do know is that cellulite occurs almost exclusively in women and usually on the lower body. Though the exact mechanism behind cellulite has yet to be discovered, it probably results from the complex interplay of numerous factors like hormones and circulation. This condition, defined by doctors as “a localized metabolic disorder of subcutaneous tissue that provokes an alteration in female body shape,” affects up to 98% of women.
The media often portrays cellulite as a shameful side effect of weight gain, but in reality, there is little correlation between body mass index (or ratio of weight to height) and cellulite. Although extra weight can exaggerate cellulite, not all heavy women have cellulite. In some cases, weight loss improves the appearance of cellulite. But weight loss can also worsen the appearance of cellulite, when previously plump skin hangs loose. The vast majority of lean women have cellulite, and this condition is not associated with any health problems at all.
If cellulite affects up to 98% and women is a completely benign condition, should we really be defining it is a metabolic disorder? Metabolic disorders, like diabetes and hypothyroidism, are pathological conditions that cause significant illness. Cellulite is a complete wimp compared to these health wreckers. Even defining cellulite as a cosmetic disorder is a bit of a stretch. Some cosmetic problems, like balding and varicose veins, can come with risks such as increased chance of skin cancer or blood clots. Not so with cellulite. Physically speaking, cellulite is a total pacifist.
Since the jury is still out on what cellulite is and why it happens, I feel at liberty to offer up my own interpretation. Starvation was a very real problem for our ancestors. Now imagine trying to breastfeed throughout those lean winter months, when you’re already low on fuel. The thighs, hips, and buttocks are known fat storage sites in the female body (FYI, women who store fat in these areas rather than on the abdomen have a lower risk of heart disease). In fact, research shows that the fat stored on the lower female body is much more resistant to lipolysis (or the process of breaking fat down for fuel) than other areas on the body. This means that the body only burns those stylish saddlebags in times of significant calorie deprivation. I think that cellulite is probably some sort of vestigial skin/fat configuration that makes it easy to pack fat on to that area of the body and tough to break it down. Is this good for breastfeeding hunter-gatherers living off of berries and squirrel? Yes. Is it good for spring break on Padre Island? No!
Just because cellulite is normal and harmless doesn’t mean we all need to commune beneath the moonlight to embrace the organic beauty of our cellulite. Personally, I believe that whoever invents a completely safe, cheap, effective cure for cellulite deserves every damn penny of the billions of dollars she’ll make. Yet, by the same token, whining and crying over one’s less-than-perfect backside as I’ve done in the past is a lame waste of energy that our ancestors probably didn’t have the time for. This self-hatred is a form of self-obsession, which is the real modern plague with consequences far more dire than a little smattering of cellulite.
When it comes to modern women, the world is too full of perils and wonders to get caught up in the cellulite shame spiral. This is not something that will ruin your eyesight or land you in a wheelchair (unless you experience some adverse reaction to an anti-cellulite treatment). It won’t even ruin a romantic date, unless low self-esteem robs you of your enjoyment. A leg with cellulite can still dip a toe into a summer lake, or enjoy the warm sunshine, or run a marathon every bit as well as a leg without cellulite. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you’re a woman with cellulite, it’s your birthright to bypass the stages of grieving that I’ve subjected myself to… denial, anger, bargaining, and depression… and skip right to the acceptance part. Yup. There it is. Cellulite. Now tear yourself away from the mirror and go enjoy your life.
While perusing the sweatshop-produced underthings at Retail-Giant-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named recently, I stumbled upon a product that absolutely delighted my inner capitalist: diabetes socks.
A staggering number of people have diabetes. People with diabetes buy socks.
Ergo: diabetes socks.
The beautiful calligraphy on the product’s purple packaging alerted me to the fact that these were diabetes socks for her. The self-described “health socks” claim to promote circulation via a “non-binding top.” In other words, these socks achieve their therapeutic effects by fitting poorly.
Deconstructing our federal government is pretty similar to dissecting one of the waxen cadavers from my college anatomy lab. Peel back the layers and you’ll find judicial brains, and military muscle, and convoluted channels funneling money, the lifeblood of government, to all its various parts.
If government were an organism, however, it might look like some freakish homunculus with an oversized mouth and a huge anus. The vitals parts, like the heart and the hands, would appear atrophied, leaving us with a system that’s incapable of doing much besides talking, eating, and squeezing out feces. What are we supposed to do with such an obnoxious patient? Is our government, like a cadaver on the table, already dead, or is there some kind of life support that would help reanimate the precious organs and return our system to dynamic, efficient functionality?
Perhaps we should take a cue from Mother Nature and invest in a beefy pair of kidneys for our dying system. In the human body, the kidneys have about a zillion hobbies, but their day job is filtering waste products from the blood and preventing a toxic overload of metabolic byproducts like urea. They also excrete or reabsorb water and electrolytes as needed in order to keep blood pressure normal. For instance, if a person is dehydrated, the kidneys sense the drop in blood pressure and begin reclaiming every spare water molecule in sight. As such, they play a major role in maintaining homeostasis, or the stable internal equilibrium of a living system.
The kidneys know that fiscal responsibility has more to do with sustainability and recycling than tightfisted, miserly budgeting. The kidneys never hesitate to spend, but they spend wisely, always keeping an eye on the wellbeing of the whole organism. They secrete the hormone calcitriol when they sense the body is low on calcium. They regulate the body’s red blood cell production via the hormone erythropoietin, and they manufacture a hormone called renin in response to dropping blood pressure. They reclaim important molecules, like sugar and protein, and return them to the body for reuse. They’re like waste management, recycling, manufacturing, and the EPA all rolled into one, or rather two, sweet little bean-shaped organs. They’re located towards your back, flanking your spine on either side just underneath your two lowest ribs.
The kidneys have always been my favorite organ. Like a good Sophia Coppola film, the kidneys have a kind of quiet, indie appeal to me. The heart thumps predictably, the guts squish and squirt without regard to decorum, and the lungs wheeze and rattle and cough. The music of the kidneys, however, is an ambient, internal whirr. And the pieces of the kidney have the best names, like nephron and glomerular tuft and distal convoluted tubule and minor calyx. Yesssss. Plus there are two of them, and who doesn’t like twins?
I think that our country’s founders tried to build a solid set of kidneys into the infrastructure of our government with a series of checks and balances. But, like human kidneys, disease and aging take their toll. Human kidneys are vulnerable to infection, injury, and the devastating consequences of systemic illnesses like diabetes or high blood pressure over time.
A diabetic patient in kidney failure must go to dialysis three times a week, sit in a chair for half the day while their blood is pulled from the body, filtered through the dialysis machine, and returned to the body via the largest, scariest needle you’ve ever seen. People often die on dialysis, awaiting a kidney transplant that never materializes. I think, in much the same way, cultural and social illnesses have disabled the homeostatic apparatus of our government, and we must wait on dialysis until the dead parts are removed and replaced with shiny new organs. What will the government’s new kidneys look like? Congressional overhaul? Economic restructuring? Massive investments in education and the environment? I don’t know. But I know we can’t sit here for the rest of time, with a damn needle in our arm and a body full of waste. Let’s clean this mess up before the grip of death turns our society into a cadaver, useful only for future generations to cut open and identify the diseased parts.
Be afraid. Be very afraid. At least, that’s what your amygdalae are telling you to do. These two almond-shaped neural hotspots are groups of nuclei (or clustered neurons) deep in the middle of your brain, one on each side.
One of the best ways to learn about what a specific brain region does is to study a person in which that region has been destroyed. People with a damaged prefrontal cortex lose judgment and personality, while people who’ve knocked out Wernicke’s area can’t understand language. The hippocampus is often obliterated in Alzheimer’s patients, which is why they suffer memory dysfunction. And the amygdalae? These little puppies play a role in learning and emotion, particularly fear. Injure your amygdalae and conquer your fear!
JK. Seriously. Don’t do that.
Today, my amygdalae began tweeting to me as I pondered the onslaught of the upcoming flu season. It’s supposed to be a bad one, and there I’ll be in clinic, being coughed upon, sneezed upon, barfed upon, yelled at by cranky patients, and scolded by overworked colleagues. Flu season really activates my fear response, as it should yours.
Actually, I take that back. I don’t want to steal the politicians’ strategy of the manipulating you with fear. Flu season shouldn’t activate your fear response as it does mine. After all, you won’t be facing the waiting rooms crammed with unhappy people (unless, of course, you fail to get your flu shot and wind up in a waiting room yourself). Instead, flu season should activate the above-mentioned prefrontal cortex. This is the executive center of your brain, the planner and decision-maker, the smart librarian-looking lady with the black-rimmed glasses who, like a calculator, can look at a situation and weigh the pros and cons, the risks and benefits, the good and bad, without messing up even one little hair in her perfect French twist. Yes, the prefrontal cortex, your brain’s inner librarian lady. She can tell you the cold hard facts about how the benefits of the flu shot outweigh the risks. She can do so coolly, objectively, without emotion or fear. Here are the facts, my child. At the very least, even if you were never destined to get sick, a flu shot can prevent you from being a carrier that spreads the virus to others. The flu shot can save you a miserable weekend spent in bed, or an ER bill, or a hospital bill. It can even save your life. And the risks are nanoscopic. Now go in peace, my child.
One more thing. When you go get your flu shot, don’t forget to take granny and the kids with you. A new study found that kids who contracted H1N1 last year were more likely to suffer neurologic problems than kids who just got seasonal flu. A second round of H1N1 is predicted to make a comeback this year, and the new batch of flu shots contain protection against H1N1. Another study found that flu shots actually decrease risk of heart attack in older adults. So maybe crazy Great Aunt Agnes can avoid that third triple-bypass she’s been working on.
For those of you who develop an overly stimulated amygdala at the thought of shelling out money for a vaccine, relax. The University of New Mexico is offering free flu shot clinics to the public. Here’s a list of time, dates, and locations you can swing by to get your annual free poke.
The University of New Mexico Health Sciences Center 2010 schedule for free flu shots for the public:
Think of your favorite bar. It might be an unpretentious dive bar, a kitschy sports bar, or maybe it’s a faux-swank establishment crawling with coked-out LA types. Perhaps it’s one of those pervasive Meccas of cultural rot where popped collars abound, or some cooler-than-thou hipster hangout. I care not. The point is that you’re sitting there at your favorite bar, deciding what you’re going to drink. There’s a special on well liquor, but you find yourself eyeballing the shelf selections appreciatively. A bloody Mary? Scotch on the rocks? Some nauseating lametini concoction? If liquor isn’t your thing, you night turn your attention to the wall of beers on tap. Or perhaps your closeted wine-enthusiast wants to come out and play. Even if you’re a twelve stepper or teetotaler, you’ve got plenty of options. Hey, there’s no shame in ordering a champagne flute of maraschino cherry juice. Wait, yes there is.
Chances are, you’re no idiot. You see that this article is about saliva, so you maybe you think I’m going to describe the medical implications of drunkenly French kissing the herpetic bar patron sitting next to you.
The human body is analogous to a bar in that many of its most vital components are liquid. With water comprising up to 75 percent of the human body, it’s no wonder that the story of life is written in aqueous characters. There are some old familiars, such as urine, sweat, and tears. Other bodily fluids remain mysteriously aloof. What’s in blood plasma, anyways? And where the hell does bile come from? Still others fall into that category of the beautifully exotic. Ghostly lymph circulates silently through the lymphatic system, while cerebrospinal fluid courses through the ventricles of your brain and your spinal canal. And there’s about a billion more, from stomach acid to the thin layer of fluid between the membranes lining your lungs (pleural fluid) to semen to pancreatic juice to snot. Each and every one of these fluids has a at least one job. Pleural fluid allows the lungs to expand smoothly when you breathe. Vaginal secretions protect the vagina against pathogens and provide lubrication during sex. Pancreatic fluid contains enzymes that help digest food. And urine, well, urine exists so that we can continue making jokes about R. Kelly.
Of all the bodily fluids, though, saliva might be the hardest working. This multitasking oral tenant contains digestive enzymes, antibacterial compounds and antibodies, lubricants, sex hormones, and even a pain-killing substance. Its various jobs include softening food for digestion, facilitating taste, and protecting the teeth. Saliva allows us to talk, kiss, and play musical instruments. In this sense, it not only plays a role in survival but also in the experience of being human.
Medically, saliva can tell us a lot about someone’s health. We can measure someone’s drug or alcohol level using saliva. Saliva production requires adequate hydration, and so health care providers should always look inside the mouth of a sick person to make sure they’re not dehydrated . Certain autoimmune disorders destroy the salivary glands, producing chronic dry mouth. There’s even a whole segment of the dental market dedicated to artificial saliva for people with dry mouth.
What does this all mean? It means, mon frère, that you should go out to your favorite bar tonight. Order a margarita and lick the salt off your lips. Chew on the mint leaves in your mojito. Laugh and talk with your friends. Spit on that one rude guy. Drool over your nachos. Make out with someone cute. Summer is almost over, so there’s never been a better time to enjoy all your fluids while you can, before you dry up and flutter to the ground like the last leaf of autumn.
Everyone has a dark secret, biologically speaking. Perhaps it’s a mole shaped like Fozzie Bear. Maybe a habitual after-dinner fart marathon. Could be bad breath, or slow sperm, or toe hair.
Even the Adonis-like Dr. Muscles eventually developed a biological glitch. His arrived suddenly one night, in the form of unremitting, head-crushing, intensely sonorous snoring. I’d lie awake next to him, pillow over my head and hands clasped over my ears, quietly emitting an unbroken stream of profanity so foul and hateful that you’d think I was being tortured within inches of my life, rather than just being kept awake by my boyfriend’s snoring. Clearly, sleep deprivation doth make monsters of us all.
One night, a month or so into Dr. Muscles’ nightly snorathon, I found my mind wandering as I listened to his billion-decibel honking. I started to think about a book I had been reading that day, and I began picturing myself as one of the characters in the book. Soon my mind descended into that dim, loose-association cognitive limbo that happens just before sleep. The next thing I remember, I woke up the following morning, well-rested and feeling like the star athlete on a box of Wheaties cereal.
So how did I manage to fall asleep amidst the nocturnal music of Dr. Muscles’ obstructed upper airway? My reticular formation, or a part of the brainstem that acts like a gatekeeper for all kinds of incoming sensory data, can take the credit. The reticular formation is responsible for a variety of functions, from helping to maintain balance and resting muscle tone, to helping the brain integrate sensory data with motor coordination. Part of the reticular formation’s job is to determine which sensory data is allowed to reach the conscious part of the brain. Luckily for me, the reticular formation can learn to ignore repetitive, meaningless stimuli, such as the sound of someone snoring. This allows the brain to quickly process and react to new or unusual stimuli, like a smoke alarm.
Though my reticular formation learned to ignore the sound of Dr. Muscles’ snoring, it never learned to ignore the hundreds of other handsome men prowling around the hospital, with their beepers constantly chirping inside the pocket of some gracefully crumbled lab coat or some overly laundered pair of scrubs. Oh, hospital land. With so much to enjoy, who needs a boyfriend or sleep anyways?
So, in the spirit of full disclosure, I’ll tell you right off the bat that the fibula isn’t exactly the most riveting body part. It’s pretty much just your average bone. And as fascinating as bone tissue is, there isn’t anything especially unique to the fibula itself that makes it any more or less fascinating that other bones. But, like people, not all body parts are destined to capture the imagination and adoration of the public. As such, I think it’s worthwhile to focus on the supporting players rather than the anatomical hotshots (like that damned fancy liver) every now and again.
The fibula is one of two long bones in your lower leg that connects the ankle area to knee area. It’s kind of a sidekick to the tibia, which is the larger of the two bones. You can feel your tibia on the front of your lower leg, in the area also known as the shin. The fibula runs parallel and just lateral to the tibia. (In anatomy, the term “lateral” means “moving away from the midline of the body”, i.e. the eye is lateral to the nose, the ear is lateral to the eye, etc. So the fibula is to the right of the tibia in the right leg, and to the left of the tibia in the left leg.) It’s covered by muscle and tissue, so it can’t be felt as easily as the tibia.
Like the tibia, the fibula is involved in the ankle joint and connects to the other bones of the ankle via ligaments. The bony bump you feel on the outside of your ankle, called the lateral malleolus, is the lower end of the fibula.
Unlike the tibia, the fibula is not directly involved in the knee joint.
This means that many injuries to the fibula occur at the level of the ankle. In fact, the majority of ankle fractures in older women involve the fibula.
Whether you’re young or old, male or female, Team Edward or Team Jacob, having a broken bone sucks. A broken ankle is particularly distressing, given that the whole walking and standing and weight-bearing nonsense we normally take for granted becomes extremely painful, if not impossible, for quite a long time. And “a long time” is no exaggeration: bones take forever to heal! This is because they don’t receive very much blood supply. Blood flow is crucial for delivering the nutrients that the body needs to heal itself, and although blood vessels snake in and out of your bones like ivy through a terrace, there just simply aren’t enough of them to make healing an efficient process. This is why bones require immobilization and activity restriction for a prolonged period of time to heal. Anyone who has been in a cast and crutches for six weeks knows how slowly those weeks crawl by.
Because of this, I hereby designate this day as “Help Out Someone with a Broken Ankle” Day. President Obama’s actually considering making this a federal holiday, in which our nation collectively commemorates important broken ankles throughout American history. So, though you probably rarely think about it, take a moment to lavish some attention on your fibula. Touch the bony lateral malleolus, hop on one foot, kick someone you dislike, and savor the feeling of an intact ankle. Coo to your legs about how they’re absolutely fibulous. Then march yourself over to the house of someone with a broken ankle and help them do laundry or make them breakfast or something. It’s OK to tease them about how they broke their ankle while guzzling Jim Beam and trolling around Central in a pair of stiletto heels. So long as you make their life a little easier, you’ll be making America proud.
Most neurons (or nerve cells in the brain, spinal cord, and peripheral nervous system) are shaped kinda like a sunflower. In general, neurons have a cell body (the center of the sunflower), projections off the cell body called dendrites (the petals of the sunflower), and one long tail called the axon (or the sunflower’s stem). In order to “talk” to one another, nerve cells pass electrical impulses down their axons and spread the impulse to the dendrites of other nerve cells.
Some nerve axons can be incredibly long. The longest axons in the human body are over a meter in length. Wow! And as we all know, size matters when it comes to neural excitation. The nervous system depends on lightning fast communication to function properly, and we can’t have electrical impulses puttering along limp axons. So in order spread electrical signals quickly, nerve cells have a special insulating substance covering their axons. This insulating substance, known as myelin, is a fatty material that coats the axon and keeps the electrical impulse from dissipating. The coating of myelin around the axon is called the myelin sheath. If it helps you to think of myelin as an electrical lubricant, be my guest.
Myelin is white in color, thus imparting the characteristic color (or lack thereof) to the brain’s white matter. White matter can be found on the interior of the brain, and comprises trillions of myelinated axons linking all the various parts of the brain.
Myelin is made by a special type of neural support cell called a glial cell. Glial cells and neurons are like BFFs. Glial cells are the Paul Rudd to the neuron’s Jason Segal. They’re the Nicole Richie to the neuron’s Paris Hilton. Like Harold and Maude, or Fred and Ginger, or King Arthur and Sir Lancelot they are. Do you like how my pop culture references just get more and more outdated? Shut up. I’m in grad school. I have no time to keep up with the latest Bromance movies, okay? I don’t even have time to feed myself dinner. I just slurp down old cans of cat food I find in the alley behind my house.
Anyhow, so special glial cells make myelin and deposit it along the axons of neurons, and everyone’s happy because now electrical signals can zip through the brain and body in milliseconds.
Unless, of course, you suffer from a demyelinating disorder like transverse myelitis or Guillain-Barre syndrome. Then your neural transmission slows to a crawl and you find yourself having a tough time, say, moving your limbs or the muscles that allow you to breathe.
The poster child of all demyelinating disorders is Multiple Sclerosis (MS), an autoimmune disorder in which the body’s own immune cells periodically “attack” the myelin sheaths of neurons. More specifically, the body attacks the glial cells that maintain the myelin sheath. After an attack, glial cells can recover and help repair the damaged myelin sheaths up to a certain point. However, the disease progresses when destruction of myelin outpaces repair. The repair process can also generate scarring (or sclerosis). Scar tissue is non-functional, and patients with MS will have characteristic scars or tangled myelin plaques on the white matter of their brains.
MS is a sad, difficult, frustrating disease. Unfortunately, it’s not terribly uncommon, and it’s more likely to occur in women. Before scientists discovered the physiologic underpinnings of the disease, some dismissed it as a psychosomatic manifestation in fragile or hysterical women. You know. Just women being dramatic. Not walking. Not moving. Not breathing. Darn women and their emotions!
Now we know much more about MS, and a slew of new information is on the horizon. You can bet I’ll take time out of my busy grad school schedule to blog about advances in MS therapies when they arise. Until then, put your myelin to use and go make me some dinner or something.
The heart is a rectangular structure in the lower duodenum. It comprises three parts: the medulla, the cortex, and the mysterious outermost layer called the external bladder. While the exact function of the heart has eluded scientists for millennia, modern researchers believe the heart may play a role in defecation and extracorporeal data processing.
C’mon. You should know this one. Your heart is in your chest. You can probably feel yours palpitating away in a state of arousal as you read this brilliant blog entry. Freshly oxygenated blood in your lungs is delivered to your heart via your pulmonary veins. Your heart, which is essentially a massive four-chambered ball of muscle, then pumps this oxygenated blood throughout your body. As red blood cells flow through your tiny little capillaries, they unload their oxygen to your body’s tissues. Deoxygenated blood is then returned to your heart, which pumps it back through the lungs so it can pick up more oxygen. The oxygenated blood then travels back to your heart, which pumps it through the body again, and thus the great circle of life can continue.
Excess “bad” fat (like trans-fats from processed foods and animal fats from industrially produced meats), and toxins (like those found in cigarette smoke) cause inflammation, which damages your blood vessels. The heart has to work harder to pump blood through damaged vessels, which can weaken your heart over time. Fatty plaques can also build up inside your blood vessels. These plaques may eventually rupture and clog the arteries that supply blood to your heart or your brain, causing a heart attack or stroke. Not fun.
You only get one heart. Be good to it. Eat healthy. Take walks. Sleep. Smile and laugh a lot. Quit smoking. For reals.