Where the action is.

I recently learned about an interesting section of the brain, one that gets a lot of use for a lot of people, maybe especially us Mets fans. I did not know that there was a part of the brain specifically devoted to dealing with this common issue. I am, of course, referring to the vomiting center. 

The Encyclopedia Britannica says that "Vomiting is believed to be controlled by two distinct brain centres—the vomiting centre and the chemoreceptor trigger zone—both located in the medulla oblongata."

It's a happening place.

That medulla oblongata is like the O'Hare Airport of embarrassing bodily functions, including sneezing and coughing. Since it handles digestion as well, I will assume it has a farting center or the like. It definitely has its own vomiting center, which is the gate of this airport we're looking at today. 

I guess I always thought that vomiting just kind of happened. The stomach and the senses could take care of business, and the brain's only concern was to butt out and get the body to a toilet, stat. But no, the brain's got to be in the thick of things no matter what.  

So how does this thing work to make for emesis? (Emesis is a pleasant way to say an act of vomiting.) The medulla oblongata contains that cool-sounding chemoreceptor trigger zone, and when the CTZ gets word from the blood that the stomach ought to remove its contents quickly, it telegraphs the nearby vomiting center. "Hey, VC, we got a problem," it says, and before the vomiting center can get any details it's already sending the EVAC notice to the glands and muscles involved in hurling. The vomiting center does not screw around. It takes its job seriously. 

Okay, that explains throwing up from food poisoning, drunkenness, chemotherapy, and opiates, among other things. But what about when there's no actual poison in the system? you wonder. What if you're seasick? 

That's actually a good question, and I'm glad I thought of it. The Merck Manual tells us that "The exact pathophysiology is undefined, but motion sickness occurs only when the 8th cranial nerve and cerebellar vestibular tracts are intact; those lacking a functional vestibulo-cochlear system are immune to motion sickness. Movement via any form of transportation, including ship, motor vehicle, train, plane, spacecraft, and playground or amusement park rides can cause excessive vestibular stimulation." 

So excessive vestibular stimulation is somehow involved, although how it causes the vomiting center to light up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center is a matter of debate. Its efficiency is, however, undeniable, especially at the fairgrounds when your child comes off the Spindizzy Heavemaster ride and lets the stew of corndog and chocolate ice cream fly on your new Jumpmans. 

The human brain is an absolutely amazing biological construction, but sometimes it seems like it's being controlled by a moron. Like a high-tech cutting-edge experimental jet being controlled by a chimpanzee using an Etch-a-Sketch. And that's not even considering the stupid things we do on purpose. On that topic I could blog every day for a year.  

Let's hear from the spleen.

There's a woman I have known for a number of years, and the odd thing about her is that while she has changed many things about herself, she has herself remained unchanged. I'm not sure that's a good thing. 

In a way it shows consistency, but it may be of the hobgoblin-of-little-minds variety. I am not without any respect for her, so I'll say it's somewhere in between consistency and a failure to learn.

Everything about her seems to have changed in many ways, including attitudes, religions, politics, dietary preferences, work ambitions, and on and on, but they're all keyed into the fact that she is ruled by the heart. Intellectually it looks like she's all over the map -- and not a well-drawn map either -- but emotionally I think she's straight as an arrow, following a rule of kindness and love. It seems to me that without the intellectual virtues of prudence and justice, this kind of compass can lead to horrible whimsical decisions, and also hatred for those who get in its path, ending in destruction and misery. 

Then again, my wife thinks I am a logical person, and I've heaped my buffet plate with my share of destruction and misery too. So who knows what's best?

And yet whenever someone uses that aggressively stupid expression "The heart wants what it wants," I chime in with "Could you at least please give the head a vote?"

They might be better off if they polled all the organs, in fact, rather than just cave in to whatever that ignorant thumping dumdum in the chest says all the time. I'm sure the other organs might have interesting counsel. Like:

STOMACH -- "I don't care. When do we eat? Not now? In a little while? How about now? Not yet?"

GENITALIA -- "Who? That person? That GORGEOUS SEXY THANG? YES! LET'S GO! LET'S -- What? We're just here to compare home equity loans? DANG wake us when its over."

LUNGS -- "This nonsense leaves me breathless, although everything does in time. On that note, don't listen to the genitals. They just want to get into everyone's pancreas."

Pancreas: "Hardy har har, lungs."

LIVER -- "I'm just sick of this behavior. I always have to clean up your stupid mistakes, whether it's the Beer Pong World Championships or the Nuclear Wings Cookout or the gas-station nigiri. How about we just say no to everything for a couple of weeks and let me catch up?"

KIDNEYS -- "We are down with Liver on this, as we are with many things, and for the same reason -- we always have to deal with the fallout. Sorry to rain on your parade. Don't even ask Bladder; he never says anything unless he's all full of himself.”

LARGE INTESTINE -- "I think I speak for my partner Smalls when I say we are just flushed with relief. It bowels us over. Let's move on with this decision right away."

SPLEEN -- "What do I think? I think I'm furious, that's what! And if I don't start doing some venting, there's gonna be trouble around here!"

ISLETS OF LANGERHANS -- "Well, gee, thanks for asking! After all, I'm not really an organ, just a group of pancreatic cells, but since you -- Hey! Where're you going?"

Migraine, and yours.

For decades I've had these weird, occasional migraine symptoms, without the actual migraine.

I get the shimmering lights that they call the aura. It starts as little spot, then slowly spreads into a backward C, and keeps expanding until it goes beyond the range of vision. I can't drive, can't read; it blocks the center of my vision, then a large part of the field; just before it goes away, when it's only at the edges, it's still very distracting. I used to get a headache at the end of this little light show, but no longer.

The aura is the first sign of an oncoming migraine headache for many sufferers. I'm very grateful that I don't get the actual migraine. I've heard stories of people beating their heads on the wall because that pain was less bad than their migraine, so it felt good.

It happens maybe twice a year. Only once was it so bad that I left work. It happened yesterday when I was up early to finish a project I couldn't complete over the weekend. I started work at five, before the dogs (Thing 1 and Thing 2) were awake, and suddenly had this little twinkling dot in the center of my vision. As it grew and obscured my sight, I knew I'd have no choice but to lie down until it passed. That usually takes about half an hour. Of course I fell asleep, and woke at six.

So what causes this problem? Defective brain? Am I Abby Normal?

Years ago I talked to an eye doctor about this, and he was a bit confused. He said it sounded like the migraine aura (which is well-known, but only about 20% of migraine victims have that symptom). He thought it could be a vascular problem, which I believe at the time (the early 2000s) was thought to be migraine-connected.

The National Headache Foundation now says that "we know that aura is due to transient changes in the activity of specific nerve cells." Thanks! I'll make sure to keep those cells safe from transient changes. Seriously, though, I wonder if what I have does count as a migraine; the NHF also notes that there is no specific test that can confirm a diagnosis. "Your blood contains Factor Z, my man -- migraine!"

The Merck Manual, a very good resource, tells us that "Migraines occur in people whose nervous system is more sensitive than that of other people." Well, that sounds like me. "In these people, nerve cells in the brain are easily stimulated, producing electrical activity." Again, me. Some things are known to trigger the headaches, like lack of sleep and stress. Who dat? Me! But why some people get them and others don't is still a pretty dim area.

It's weird to have any kind of condition that science! doesn't understand. Same thing happened with my idiopathic hearing loss last year. You guys figured out the human genome, but you can't figure out this? 

It doesn't always help when they do understand, though -- they know all about the hundreds of cold viruses, but haven't yet managed to come up with a vaccine to prevent them all. Although, to be fair, they're trying.

Oh, well. I'm still very grateful that these attacks are rare, and that I don't get the crippling migraine headaches. Sinus headaches are another story. And tension headaches. Those I get. Doesn't everybody? Or is it just us people with more sensitive nervous systems?

Fantastic voyage.

Here are some parts of the body that sounds like they came from a bad fantasy novel. All I ask is that if you write the novel using these and make a million dollars, that you send me half.

Name: Femur
What it is: Thigh bone
What it sounds like: Norse hero

Name: The Adenomeres
What it is: Functional unit of the salivary glands
What it sounds like: Femur's people, beset by a curse

Name: Superior Vena Cava
What it is: Wide vein
What it sounds like: Chief of the Adenomeres, who sends Femur on a quest to save his people

Name: Islets of Langerhans
What it is: Regions of the pancreas that produce hormones
What it sounds like: Where Femur's quest takes him

Name: The Sphincter of Oddi
What it is: A muscle valve that controls the flow of digestive juices
What it sounds like: Magic artifact Femur needs to find on the Islets of Langerhans to set the Adenomeres free of their curse

Name: Medulla Oblongata
What it is: Lower half of brain stem
What it sounds like: Mysterious witch woman on the Islets of Langerhans who prophesies big fat trouble for Femur

Name: Urethra
What it is: Tube that connects the bladder to the genitals
What it sounds like: Beautiful tribal princess on the Islets of Langerhans

Name: The Cholecyst
What it is: The gallbladder
What it sounds like: Urethra's tribe

Name: Thorax
What it is: Part of the body that lies between the head and abdomen
What it sounds like: The half-warlock, half-demon beast that steals the Sphicter of Oddi and kidnaps Urethra

Name: The Epithelium
What it is: One of four basic kinds of animal tissues
What it sounds like: Band of tribal elders who blame Femur for the kidnapping of Urethra

Name: Crypt of Lieberkuhn
What it is: A gland found in the epithelial lining of the small intestine and colon
What it sounds like: Where Thorax spirits Urethra and the Sphincter of Oddi to

Name: Submandibular
What it is: A salivary gland
What it sounds like: The hideous monster that answers only to Thorax

"Submandibular Attacks Femur,"
by Frank Frazetta

Name: Auerbach's plexus

What it is: Part of the nervous system
What it sounds like: The mysterious weapon Femur finds that leads him to the Crypt and helps him destroy Submandibular and Thorax

Name: The Fovea
What it is: Part of the eye
What it sounds like: The vessel on which Femur and Urethra depart to bring the blessings of the Sphincter of Oddi back to the Adenomeres

Who says there's no romance in science?

Be glad they have not put up a Viagra guy.

I enjoyed the Super Bowl this year, but I avoided the halftime show. Also, the commercials were the usual parade of crass garbage, freakish nightmare fuel, and maudlin sentimentality, and to hell with them.

Lately I've been getting especially annoyed by prescription medications that are enlisting animated versions of our own body parts against us. We got the latest installment of Toe Theater during the game, thanks to Valeant's antifungal medication, Jublia.

Your toe is fierce. 

Sometimes you can't always tell what body part is nagging you. This blob looks like a heart, but is supposed to be your bladder. He's on your case to try Myrbetriq, by Astrellas.

He doesn't know what it does, but he just needs some. Don't you want a happy bladder?

Some people think that the absolute worst anthropomorphic body part is the intestines, as seen by Gut Guy, the mascot for Xifaxan by Salix:

He's all tied up at the moment.

You have to admire the animators, who probably took to drink when given the assignment. "Okay, Aaron, give me a friendly pile of intestines, something for people to watch while the voiceover guy reads the disclaimer. Make him cute."

"A cute pile of intestines."

"Great, you got the idea. By Tuesday."

Gut Guy---and that is his trademarked name---has got to be the grossest animated body part, right? Not like someone would come up with something really bizarre, like Pete the Prostate.

Oh.

I don't think that Actavis named Rapaflo's spokesorgan Pete, but it would figure, wouldn't it?

I don't see an end to this. Diabetic meds are going to have people being followed around by a pleading pancreas. COPD sufferers will be chased by a pair of irritating lungs. Not to mention:

Relieve chronic spleen pain with SPLEENQINEX!

Don't let strep throat hang around! Try new UVULAX!

It's bound to happen. They're going to keep doing this. Maybe I should get in on the mascot action. (I wrote the book on advertising mascots, as you know---or at least, A book.)

Drug companies interested in using my designs for Spleeny or Uvula Jack can contact me at frederick_key AT yahoo.com. I accept large cash payments by check, money order, PayPal, wire transfer, and briefcases stuffed with bills. Thanks a lot.

And remember, I'm kind of a pill myself.

Why does the heart get all the songs?

People who get heart transplants don't suddenly wind up with the emotions of the person who donated the heart, as far as we know. Neurologists will be happy to tell us at length that the emotions, while influence by other biological processes, all come out of the brain. But we still think of emotions as being seated in the heart.

It is reasonable---when you get an emotional response, it's your heart that responds. When you say that your heart dropped, your heart skipped a beat, your heart ached, your heart melted, even that your heart broke, you're describing legitimate physical feelings that occur in the vicinity of the heart. When you say your brain froze up during a test, you don't actually feel like ice is forming on your head. At least I've never felt that.

No, the heart grabs all the credit for the emotions, and the heart gets almost all the songs. Eyes get some songs; heads a few; some dirty songs give us some more base organs. But that's about it.

What about all the other organs that we all have? Other organs we all enjoy, that we would all hate to part with? Just because the heart feels doesn't mean our other organs shouldn't get a song. Take the nose. Aren't we are all glad that we have noses?

Aside from these guys, I guess.

But then I looked over some well-known heart songs, and...

My Nose Will Go On

Noses Afire

This Nose of Mine

Hard-Nosed Hannah

Your Nose Is as Black as Night

Young Noses Run Free

Nose and Soul

Tell It to My Nose

Cold Cold Nose

Me and My Broken Nose

How Can You Mend a Broken Nose

Nose of Glass

Nose of Gold

Nose of Stone

Nose Wants What It Wants

Noselight

Don’t Go Breaking My Nose

Nosebreaker

Nosebreak Hotel

Un-Break My Nose

Hole in My Nose (All the Way to China)

Total Eclipse of the Nose

With a Child’s Nose

Nose-Shaped Box

Nose Like a Hand Grenade

Noseache Tonight

Hungry Nose

The Nose of the Matter

Two Noses

Two Noses Beat as One

Yeah, I guess we'll stay with the hearts.

Unless... Pancreas songs...?

Something I SHOULD eat?

Regular readers know how often I eat things I should not eat. (Irregular readers should be more concerned about their own diets.) But this week I ate something I possibly should eat, and the results were amazing!

The first amazing thing is that I ate something with "pod" in the title. Pods are either vegetable-related or dehumanizing or both. I'll let you decide which.

The Chia Pod is a healthy snack from The Chia Co, maker of---Chia Pods, I guess. I don't think they make anything else, although the pods come in seven flavors, so they make a lot of them. It's possible that some big well-known company full of meanies owns them and won't reveal their name, the way Kellogg's owns Kashi and Bear Naked.

The strawberry one, which I tried, contains "chia seed gel (filtered water, chia seed), strawberry puree, coconut milk, coconut palm sugar, aronia berry." Sounds healthy, although I don't know what aronia berries are and I'm too lazy to look them up right now. Here, you do it.

The second amazing thing is that I didn't get this for me, I got it for my wife. She's always looking for a healthy protein-filled snack, and I'd heard chia seeds are pretty good at that (4g protein in this pod), so what the heck.

Thought she was going to heave.

My wife is very sensitive to food textures. Polenta makes her ralph. She can't stand slimy stuff, and this was a bowl full of slime. She got half of one tiny viscous spoonful into her and almost shot it out. She may be thinking that Chia Co. is owned by ExxonMobil.

I'm not so moved by texture, so I ate the rest.

It was okay. Kind of just okay. It hardly had any flavor at all, I thought; you could taste the strawberry, but I didn't think there was one half strawberry in the whole 6 oz cup. Just a very mild flavor. And very slimy texture. I guess I could have felt noble and wise for eating it, but I just felt like a guy who ate a bowl of berry slime. Not like I burst forth with energy like Underdog.

Let it never be said that I've never eaten anything healthy. There, I did it, okay? Can I wait ten years until the next one? Thanks.

Parts and their roles.

I was thinking the other day about how certain verbs are associated with certain parts of the body. Nerves are racked, hair stands on end, and so on. Of course, something stupid had to come of it, and I'm pleased to share it with you. 

Verbal Bodies (Scored for Organs)

Some bodily bits are stuck in a rut.

See how your spine always tingles?

It could jingle or jangle or mingle or mangle,

But sure as the break of your back,

The nerve will conform and become the nerve racked,

Ever neat, always sweet and compact.

The gut likes to wrench in a similar way.

It surely could demonstrate torque,

But no, the gut wrenches, at terrors and stenches,

At things you should flick off your fork.

You can kvetch and complain and go call the cops,

But it’s only a belly that flops.

Your eyes only bug and your ears only burn

And your hair never lifts, but it raises,

Your kidneys and spleen are never so keen

On such terrible public displayses.

Your teeth clench and rattle; your tongue likes to twist.

Your Islets of Langerhans never do thist.

But the heart has a number of tricks it can try. 

It aches or it stops or it pounds.

It bursts out in stages, it batters rib cages

And thunders incredible sounds,

I can't quite explain the heart's large repertoire;

Such drama just seems to thrive down in the core.