Water

My idea of considering things that seem blatantly obvious is to highlight how things get overlooked or omitted from consideration. One cannot quite say that the watery nature of the body is something easily overlooked. However, the ‘blatantly obviousness’ of our bodies consisting predominantly of water (60% by all accounts) means that we fail to explore what water is like or how that impinges upon us. What water is like has a direct bearing on how our watery existence manifests itself. Indeed, to raise the question ‘What is water like?’ seems rather odd.

We can all state the freezing and boiling points—although these vary with air pressure and with the purity of the water, etc. But what else can we bring to mind about what water is like? I suggest very little. ‘Wet’ is an obvious response, but what do we mean by wet or wetness?

For example, take a look at the following:
    Water (in general)
    Properties of water

Textbooks of anatomy and physiology talk about the characteristics of atoms and molecules, but rarely do they talk about what is perhaps the most important molecule of all: water. Without it there would be no body chemistry, no physiology, and no anatomy. For a start, water acts as a medium within which biochemistry can take place.

After that, there are so many other characteristics and properties of water that for me to try to list them would be pointless. Not least because I am not a biochemist and their biochemical roles I am not qualified to discuss. What I do want to do is highlight how little the characteristics and properties of water are appreciated when studying physiology. The physiological significance of the nature of water is under-represented in standard textbooks.

A favourite physiology textbook when I was a student was known simply as BDS.’ (This, I understand, came from the initials of the surnames of the original editors.) More precisely, it was Textbook of Physiology and Biochemistry then edited by Bell, Emslie-Smith, and Paterson. It was into its 9th edition when I was a student and appears to have gone through only a couple more editions—with the altered title ‘Textbook of Physiology’—before’ going out of print.

Its 9th edition is the only edition of a physiology textbook I know that had a chapter devoted to water. Indeed, it is the first chapter in that book on a specific topic. The opening chapter, which it immediately follows, is simply entitled ‘Introduction.’ Entitled ‘The Properties of Water,’ that chapter gave water a prominent place, and the student reader is left with the impression that a lot of what followed owed much to what water was like. Thus, water was something of a foundation upon which much depended.

I have been able to trace copies of the final two editions of BDS when there were changes to its editorship. Sadly, neither gives water as prominent a place as in the 9th edition. Instead the consideration of water is subsumed into the more general discussions about bodily fluids, water balance, etc.

In what I have tried to highlight, there is also a nagging question: ‘What would life have been like had the properties of water been slightly different to how they are?’

Where does anatomy start/stop?

There are many occasions in academic life where a chance conversation may lead to something of lasting value. Coffee breaks are no exception. It was the intention of a former head of a department in which I worked for all available staff to stop for a communal coffee break in the staff room at 11 o’clock each morning. The aim was to allow all staff to mingle and talk. This staff did almost religiously. Indeed, some people were only ever seen at coffee break. A particular reminiscence I have comes from a coffee break in the late 1980s.

I remember overhearing a conversation between two anatomy lecturers. One asked the other where he thought anatomy ended, that is, down to what level of bodily structure one might go before leaving anatomy and entering another discipline. The general conclusion to the discussion was that anatomy ended at the tissue level—beyond this one was entering the realm of cell biology or cytology. Soon after that came molecular biology. Neither of the anatomists gave an argument to substantiate their conclusion. It seemed to be based on a description of structures found at different structural levels. The lack of an argument has stimulated me to mull over the question ever since.

Was it all just a matter of tissue being the lowest level to which our scalpels could take us? The term anatomy, in the traditional sense, does, after all, mean 'cutting up.' Such an argument makes practical sense. Tissues are the last things we can make out with the naked eye. Surprisingly, magnifying glasses are not part of regular dissecting room equipment.

Or was there some other conceptual reason to stop at the tissue level? There are possible avenues along which to proceed. I can raise the question and offer some thoughts, but I don’t expect to be definitive.

The title I am using for this post asks, ‘Where does anatomy start/stop?’ It’s the ‘start/stop’ that should attract attention. It emphasises a direction of travel. ‘Start’ implies that there is the building up from a certain level. ‘Stop’ implies that there is the descent down from some other level above. The question this raises is, ‘What is an anatomist’s direction of travel or approach—top-down or bottom-up?’ Top-down is the direction traditionally adopted for dissection; it is the direction that naturally follows given a body we want to explore and understand. A bottom-up approach is less easy in a practical sense. It is a synthetic approach. To follow it we need to know in advance what is above—we can only get that information from having taken a top-down approach in the first place. Thus, a bottom-up approach is only possible conceptually given prior knowledge.

There is only one book I have ever come across that has taken such an approach. That is Reconstructive Anatomy by Maurice Arnold. Unfortunately, I have yet to find a copy in any of the online libraries offering sight of out-of-print books. Details at Google Books.

Lower Oesophageal Sphincter

When I was first studying the anatomy and physiology of the digestive system, there was no such thing as the lower oesophageal sphincter. Now all of the textbooks seem to mention it. The prevailing view, in my student days, was that food entering the stomach was prevented from returning up the oesophagus (reflux) by the acuteness of the angle at which the oesophagus entered the stomach. Despite there being numerous sphincters associated with the alimentary canal, one place where one was not to be found was at the gastro-oesophageal junction. It was even remarked that this might seem surprising. This, of all places along the alimentary canal, was a place where a sphincter would be decidedly advantageous and might be expected to be found.

Times have changed. Now the lower oesophageal sphincter does exist—if the textbooks are to be believed. Now it is often known simply by its abbreviation, LOS.

There is a related story about an old, rather curmudgeonly professor of mine. A guest speaker would be invited to give a talk to the staff and students of his department on the first Tuesday of each month during term time. A colleague was charged with the task of sending out invitations and making all the arrangements. The speaker was left with the details of their talk—title, topic, etc. Story has it that on one occasion, the speaker’s topic strayed into the area of the lower oesophageal sphincter, which he began to describe. There being no such structure in the anatomical canon at that time, the professor apparently rose to interject. He is reported to have risen and pointed out that “We don’t teach this here” and, turning to the audience, said, “Students, please ignore what this man is saying.”

I was not witness to these events. It was a story that entered department folklore before my arrival. As reported, the story is to characterise the professor’s rather brusque personality. Having experienced it, I can certainly attest to his brusqueness. However, I find the story a little difficult to believe in the form that it is related. In the time I was in his department, Prof. was always courteous to the visiting speakers. If something like this story did happen, I suspect that he may have interjected in a more polite way than department folklore remembers. He may instead have interjected to counsel caution about what at that time was not in the textbooks or in any of the regular teaching. We must remember that we were teaching medical students and that that would have a bearing on their later careers—not to mention the lives of their patients.

Looking at the most up-to-date edition of Grey’s Anatomy available about that time shows that there was only a footnote about sphincters in the lower oesophagus having been found in a few primate species so far studied. There was no such structure accepted at that time.

The Mind of a Human Biologist

Following my ‘First Anniversary' post, this would be a good time to mention more about the mentality I bring to this blog. My undergraduate degree was in Human Biology, as studied at the University of Surrey. There the course and department flourished between the 1970s and early 1980s, but now neither exist. Its demise began in the early 1980s with university cutbacks. Deemed more economically viable, an undergraduate nursing degree program ultimately took Human Biology’s place.

Interestingly, while the course did exist, no strict definition of the course title was ever given. What ‘Human Biology’ was, or how it should be understood, was never strictly prescribed. Whether it was a deliberate decision to remain uncommitted to a strict definition of ‘Human Biology’ is unclear. However, I think that this lack of definition was ultimately a good thing. We were left as students to discover what human biology was—and what it could be—for ourselves. Furthermore, whatever it was was not necessarily the same for every student. The course had many different and quite diverse facets. Each of us was allowed to develop our specific interests to the full. Each of us was a human biologist in our own particular ways. That is not to say that some commonality did not unite us.

There was a book that might be called the ‘book of the course.’ That was Human Biology (Harrison, Weiner, Tanner, & Barnicott. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964). Even though that book considered many of the facets of the course, it gave only a flavour of the breadth of our course. More importantly, what it gave was a sense of the ethos of the course. Nowhere was this better set out than in the Foreword written by the Nobel Prize-winning biologist Sir Peter Medawar (1915-1987). In it he describes how he understood human biology. It is worth quoting from it extensively. Medawar suggested that...

    "Human Biology is not so much a discipline as a certain attitude of mind towards the most interesting and important of animals. Human Biology portrays mankind on a canvas that serves also for other living things. It is about men rather than man: about their origin, evolution, and geographical deployment; about the growth of human populations and their structure in space and time; about human development and all that it entails of change in size and shape. Human Biology deals with human heredity, the human genetical system, and the nature and import of the inborn differences between individuals; with human ecology and physiology, and with the devices by which men have met the challenges of enemies and of hostile environments. Human Biology deals also with human behaviour - not with its wayward variations from one individual to another, but rather with the history and significance of, for example, family life; of love, play, showing off, and real or sham aggression. Finally, and most importantly - because most distinctively human - it must expound and explain the nature, origin and development of communication between human beings and the non-genetical system of heredity founded upon it."

(NB Writing in 1964, we must allow for how he refers to ‘men’ and ‘man.’ While it does not sound inclusive, human beings in every manifestation are included. If that were not implicitly the case, then Human Biology would be worthless.)

Reading for a degree, one does not usually read books from cover to cover. One typically omits prefaces, forewords, etc. It was only some years after graduation, when studying Medawar’s philosophical thought for a Master’s dissertation, that I bothered to read that foreword. Ironically, it was only then that I read a description of what I had already found to be the case for my undergraduate course. I am particularly drawn to the sentence, “Human Biology is not so much a discipline as a certain attitude of mind towards the most interesting and important of animals.”

Human Biology then is a way of thinking about ourselves.

First Anniversary

This post marks the first anniversary of me starting this blog. I would like to thank all those who have dropped by and read my various musings.

The turn of the year also offers me a good opportunity to remind myself about what I am doing… or think I am doing. Fortunately, I have a ‘What to expect’ statement of intent in my first post. My intentions remain largely unaltered, but I do not rule out development in unexpected directions. (Even directions as yet unknown to me!) I find that as I go along, there are certain things I’d like to share that are well suited to the blog format and other things that are not. Fortunately, I appear to have plenty of the former to be going on with.

The aim of this blog is to share things from my former academic life that cannot be shared in any other way. Otherwise they would vanish. I wonder what would have happened to these musings were it not for the invention of the blog and the blog format. I wonder how much has been lost of the musings of our forebears because they lacked such a vehicle. Even if some of the things I share are of minimal (possibly no!) value, I hope they are worth a quick read and a wry smile before they are forgotten.

Some might be worth remembering, though. At the end of a lecture many years ago, a student approached me and asked if I’d taught a girl called Sarah. I said that I had and that I remembered her very well. ‘I thought so,’ the student replied. ‘She taught me this subject on an access course I did before coming here. All the interesting and funny stories you’ve been telling, she now tells!’ I was deeply flattered.

If you, the reader, can use anything from these blogs, then please do so. I would be delighted if they were to find a new lease of life elsewhere.

Reminder: I continue to post on the 3rd, 11th, 19th, and 27th days of each month. This was an additional anniversary post.