Attitude conversion

Here's a hypothetical for you.

There's a therapeutic practice being proposed for widespread use.  It has the following drawbacks:

• its use is strongly correlated with long-term PTSD, depression, and suicidal ideation.
• over half of the patients recommended for this practice are referred not by medical professionals, but by religious leaders.
• it has been denounced by every major medical organization.
• it has very close to a zero percent success rate.

Would you support the approval of this practice?

I devoutly hope the answer is "no," but unfortunately, this is no hypothetical or "proposed practice," it's already being used.  It's "conversion therapy" -- an attempt to "convert" LGBTQ+ people, many of them teenagers, into a straight cis identity.

And the word "convert" softens the impact of what the practice actually consists of.  Because its advocates don't want to use more accurate words like "bully" and "cajole" and "harass" and "subject to emotional abuse."

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Bojan Cvetanović, Rainbow flag ("Progress" variant by Daniel Quasar) at EuroPride 2019 (Vienna), CC BY-SA 4.0]

The topic comes up because of a paper this week in The Lancet Psychiatry, which lays out in no uncertain terms the dangers of this practice.  "Our study found an association between recall of conversion practices and symptoms of depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and suicide," said study lead author Nguyen Tran, of Stanford University.  "In particular, we saw the greatest harms in people who had been exposed to both types of conversion practices — those addressing sexual orientation and gender identity.  This study highlights the need for policy changes at a federal, state and local level, and an understanding of the lasting mental health impacts related to conversion practices."

The whole thing rests on the old idea that sexual identity and orientation are things you can change -- i.e., the ridiculous idea that "it's a choice."  With the tacit part being that queerness is a bad choice, or (to take the religious approach) a sin.  As a trans student of mine said some years ago, "How does that even make sense?  Who the hell would choose this?  To face ridicule and non-acceptance on a daily basis, and in some places, be in danger of injury, imprisonment, or death?  You have to be an idiot to believe that we're choosing this."

And, of course, the people who are straight never seem to be able to answer the question of when and how they decided on their sexual orientation.  I'd bet you cold hard cash you couldn't find a single one who sat down at age fourteen and thought, "Hmmm... guys or girls?  Guys or girls?  How will I ever decide?"

Speaking as a queer man, all I can say is believe me, I tried to change who I was.  I grew up in not only a devoutly Roman Catholic household, but one so uptight it almost beggars belief, and in one of the most conservative, homophobic areas of the United States.  When I was growing up I can barely remember my parents ever saying the word "sex."  Sex, and sexual desire (of any kind), were not something to be enjoyed and celebrated, but were nothing but an embarrassed necessity for procreating.  When it was time for The Talk I was handed a book that explained the mechanics (a book which, by the way, labeled queerness as "a mental illness").  The result: I tried like hell to erase from my brain all the same-sex attraction I felt.  Didn't work, of course, because it never does.  So I simply hid, in shame and fear and self-loathing.

For almost fifty years.

So even though I was never put through the hell of conversion therapy, the Tran et al. research is hardly a surprise to me.  And the fact that we don't have a nationwide ban on this practice is downright criminal -- and provides yet more evidence of the stranglehold religion has on the United States, to the point that religious considerations trump evidence, data, and the health and safety of American citizens.

"The preponderance of evidence indicates that conversion practices are related to negative mental health effects," Tran said.  "There is a greater need for mental health support among survivors of conversion practices.  Other studies that have explored this suggest that helping LGBTQIA+ people find supportive LGBTQIA+ networks, access affirming mental health care, and rebuild their self-esteem and embrace their gender identity or sexual orientation are important for addressing the negative mental health related to conversion practice."

It's attitudes that need to be converted, not people's sexual identity.

People are enraged about the non-issue of children being given sex-change operations on a whim -- like Donald Trump's idiotic lie, "The transgender thing is incredible.  Think of it.  Your kid goes to school and comes home a few days later with an operation.  The school decides what’s going to happen with your child."  (I worked in a school for 32 years, and trust me, school nurses are not equipped to do surgery.  And nothing in a school happens apropos of a child's health without parental consent, unless it's a life-or-death emergency.  Nothing.)  

So if you want to be furious about something, how about choosing something real, something that actually does demonstrable and long-lasting harm?

And then take that fury and turn it into something useful -- working to ban forever a practice that does irreparable damage to the mental health of one of the most vulnerable minorities.

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Thanks for the memories

I've always been fascinated with memory. From the "tip of the tongue" phenomenon, to the peculiar (and unexplained) phenomenon of déjà vu, to why some people have odd abilities (or inabilities) to remember certain types of information, to caprices of the brain such as its capacity for recalling a forgotten item once you stop thinking about it -- the way the brain handles storage and retrieval of memories is a curious and complex subject.

Two pieces of research have given us a window into how the brain organizes memories, and their connection to emotion.  In the first, a team at Dartmouth and Princeton Universities came up with a protocol to induce test subjects to forget certain things intentionally.  While this may seem like a counterproductive ability -- most of us struggle far harder to recall memories than to forget them deliberately -- consider the applicability of this research to debilitating conditions such as post-traumatic stress disorder.

In the study, test subjects were shown images of outdoor scenes as they studied two successive lists of words.  In one case, the test subjects were told to forget the first list once they received the second; in the other, they were instructed to try to remember both.

"Our hope was the scene images would bias the background, or contextual, thoughts that people had as they studied the words to include scene-related thoughts," said Jeremy Manning, an assistant professor of psychological and brain sciences at Dartmouth, who was lead author of the study.  "We used fMRI to track how much people were thinking of scene-related things at each moment during our experiment.  That allowed us to track, on a moment-by-moment basis, how those scene or context representations faded in and out of people's thoughts over time."

What was most interesting about the results is that in the case where the test subjects were told to forget the first list, the brain apparently purged its memory of the specifics of the outdoor scene images the person had been shown as well.  When subjects were told to recall the words on both lists, they recalled the images on both sets of photographs.

"[M]emory studies are often concerned with how we remember rather than how we forget, and forgetting is typically viewed as a 'failure' in some sense, but sometimes forgetting can be beneficial, too," Manning said.  "For example, we might want to forget a traumatic event, such as soldiers with PTSD.  Or we might want to get old information 'out of our head,' so we can focus on learning new material.  Our study identified one mechanism that supports these processes."

What's even cooler is that because the study was done with subjects connected to an fMRI, the scientists were able to see what contextual forgetting looks like in terms of brain firing patterns.  "It's very difficult to specifically identify the neural representations of contextual information," Manning said.  "If you consider the context you experience something in, we're really referring to the enormously complex, seemingly random thoughts you had during that experience.  Those thoughts are presumably idiosyncratic to you as an individual, and they're also potentially unique to that specific moment.  So, tracking the neural representations of these things is extremely challenging because we only ever have one measurement of a particular context.  Therefore, you can't directly train a computer to recognize what context 'looks like' in the brain because context is a continually moving and evolving target.  In our study, we sidestepped this issue using a novel experimental manipulation -- we biased people to incorporate those scene images into the thoughts they had when they studied new words.  Since those scenes were common across people and over time, we were able to use fMRI to track the associated mental representations from moment to moment."

In the second study, a team at UCLA looked at what happens when a memory is connected to an emotional state -- especially an unpleasant one.  What I find wryly amusing about this study is that the researchers chose as their source of unpleasant emotion the stress one feels in taking a difficult math class.

I chuckled grimly when I read this, because I had the experience of completely running into the wall, vis-à-vis mathematics, when I was in college.  Prior to that, I actually had been a pretty good math student.  I breezed through high school math, barely opening a book or spending any time outside of class studying.  In fact, even my first two semesters of calculus in college, if not exactly a breeze, at least made good sense to me and resulted in solid A grades.

Then I took Calc 3.

I'm not entirely sure what happened, but when I hit three-dimensional representations of graphs, and double and triple integrals, and calculating the volume of the intersection of four different solid objects, my brain just couldn't handle it.  I  got a C in Calc 3 largely because the professor didn't want to have to deal with me again.  After that, I sort of never recovered.  I had a good experience with Differential Equations (mostly because of a stupendous teacher), but the rest of my mathematical career was pretty much a flop.

And the worst part is that I still have stress dreams about math classes.  I'm back at college, and I realize that (1) I have a major exam in math that day, and (2) I have no idea how to do what I'll be tested on, and furthermore (3) I haven't attended class for weeks.  Sometimes the dream involves homework I'm supposed to turn in but don't have the first clue about how to do.  Sometimes, I not only haven't studied for the exam I'm about to take, I can't find the classroom.

Keep in mind that this is almost forty years after my last-ever math class. And I'm still having anxiety dreams about it.

What the researchers at UCLA did was to track students who were in an advanced calculus class, keeping track of both their grades and their self-reported levels of stress surrounding the course.  Their final exam grades were recorded -- and then, two weeks after the final, they were given a retest over the same material.

The fascinating result is that stress was unrelated to students' scores on the actual final exam, but the students who reported the most stress did significantly more poorly on the retest.  The researchers call this "motivated forgetting" -- that the brain is ridding itself of memories that are associated with unpleasant emotions, perhaps in order to preserve the person's sense of being intelligent and competent.

"Students who found the course very stressful and difficult might have given in to the motivation to forget as a way to protect their identity as being good at math," said study lead author Gerardo Ramirez.  "We tend to forget unpleasant experiences and memories that threaten our self-image as a way to preserve our psychological well-being.  And 'math people' whose identity is threatened by their previous stressful course experience may actively work to forget what they learned."

So that's today's journey through the recesses of the human mind.  It's a fascinating and complex place, never failing to surprise us, and how amazing it is that we are beginning to understand how it works.  As my dear friend, Professor Emeritus Rita Calvo, Cornell University teacher and researcher in Human Genetics, put it: "The twentieth century was the century of the gene.  The twenty-first will be the century of the brain.  With respect to neuroscience, we are right now about where genetics was in the early 1900s -- we know a lot of the descriptive features of the brain, some of the underlying biochemistry, and other than that, some rather sketchy details about this and that.  We don't yet have a coherent picture of how the brain works.

"But we're heading that direction.  It is only a matter of time till we have a working model of the mind.  How tremendously exciting!"

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Saber-toothed tigers.  Giant ground sloths.  Mastodons and woolly mammoths.  Enormous birds like the elephant bird and the moa.  North American camels, hippos, and rhinos.  Glyptodons, an armadillo relative as big as a Volkswagen Beetle with an enormous spiked club on the end of their tail.

What do they all have in common?  Besides being huge and cool?

They all went extinct, and all around the same time -- around 14,000 years ago.  Remnant populations persisted a while longer in some cases (there was a small herd of woolly mammoths on Wrangel Island in the Aleutians only four thousand years ago, for example), but these animals went from being the major fauna of North America, South America, Eurasia, and Australia to being completely gone in an astonishingly short time.

What caused their demise?

This week's Skeptophilia book of the week is The End of the Megafauna: The Fate of the World's Hugest, Fiercest, and Strangest Animals, by Ross MacPhee, which considers the question, and looks at various scenarios -- human overhunting, introduced disease, climatic shifts, catastrophes like meteor strikes or nearby supernova explosions.  Seeing how fast things can change is sobering, especially given that we are currently in the Sixth Great Extinction -- a recent paper said that current extinction rates are about the same as they were during the height of the Cretaceous-Tertiary Extinction 66 million years ago, which wiped out all the non-avian dinosaurs and a great many other species at the same time.  

Along the way we get to see beautiful depictions of these bizarre animals by artist Peter Schouten, giving us a glimpse of what this continent's wildlife would have looked like only fifteen thousand years ago.  It's a fascinating glimpse into a lost world, and an object lesson to the people currently creating our global environmental policy -- we're no more immune to the consequences of environmental devastation as the ground sloths and glyptodons were.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!] 

Purging memory

Last night I had a good bit of trouble sleeping.

This isn't all that uncommon.  I've had issues with insomnia ever since I was a teenager.  Sometimes the issue is physical restlessness; sometimes it's anxiety, either over something real or something imagined.

Last night, it's because my brain was shrieking, over and over, "FELIZ NAVIDAD, FELIZ NAVIDAD, FELIZ NAVIDAD, PRÓSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD."

At least its timing was reasonably good, being that yesterday was Christmas.  What I wonder is why it couldn't choose a song that I don't hate.  I'm not one of those Bah-Humbug curmudgeons who dislikes all Christmas music; some of it I actually rather enjoy.

I'm of the opinion, however, that listening to "Feliz Navidad" over and over would have been ruled out as a torture device by Tómas de Torquemada on the basis of being too cruel.

Leaving aside my brain's questionable choice of which song to holler at me, a more interesting question is how to get rid of it once it's stuck there.  I've found that for me, the best thing is to replace it with something less objectionable, which in this case would have been just about anything.  There are a couple of pieces of sedate classical music and a slow Irish waltz or two that I can usually use to shove away whatever gawdawful song is on repeat in my skull, if I concentrate on running them mentally in a deliberate fashion.  It eventually worked, but it did take much longer than usual.

José Feliciano is nothing if not persistent.

The reason all of this comes up -- besides my Christmas-music-based bout of insomnia -- is some research out of a team from the University of Colorado - Boulder and the University of Texas - Austin that appeared in Nature Communications this month.  Entitled, "Changes to Information in Working Memory Depend on Distinct Removal Operations," by Hyojeong Kim, Harry Smolker, Louisa Smith, Marie Banich, and Jarrod Lewis-Peacock, this research shows that the kind of deliberate pushing away I use to purge bad music from my brain works in a lot of other situations as well -- and may have applications in boosting creativity and in relieving anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and PTSD.

What they did was to put a thought into their test subjects' heads -- a photograph of a face, a bowl of fruit, or an outdoor scene -- instructed them to think about it for four seconds, and then to deliberately stop thinking about it, all the while watching what happens to their neural systems using an fMRI machine.  Ceasing to think about something without replacing it with something else is remarkably hard; it brings to mind my dad's recommended cure for hiccups, which is to run around the house three times without thinking of an elephant.

The three different sorts of things they asked the subjects to try -- to replace the thought with something else, to clear all thoughts completely, or to suppress that one thought without replacing it -- all resulted in different patterns on the fMRI.  "Replace" and "clear" both worked fairly rapidly, but both left a trace of the original thought pattern behind -- a "ghost image," as the researchers called it.  "Suppress" took longer, and subjects described it as being more difficult, but once accomplished, the original pattern had faded completely.

"We found that if you really want a new idea to come into your mind, you need to deliberately force yourself to stop thinking about the old one," said study co-author Marie Banich, in a press release from the University of Colorado.

Co-author Jarrod Lewis-Peacock concurred.  "Once we’re done using that information to answer an email or address some problem, we need to let it go so it doesn’t clog up our mental resources to do the next thing."

[Image © Michel Royon / Wikimedia Commons; used with permission]

This explains another phenomenon I've noted; that when I'm trying to think of something I've forgotten, or come up with a solution to a problem that's stumping me, it often helps if I deliberately set it aside.  Just a couple of days ago, I was working on my fiction work-in-progress, and found I'd written myself into a corner.  I'd created a situation that called for some as-yet-undreamed-of plot twist, or else rewriting a big section of it to eliminate the necessity (something I didn't want to do).  After basically beating it with a stick for an hour or two, I gave up in frustration, and went to clean up my garage.

And while working on this chore, and not thinking about my writing at all, a clever solution to the problem simply popped into my head, seemingly out of nowhere.

This is far from the first time this sort of thing has happened to me, and the Kim et al. paper at least gives a first-order approximation as to how this occurs.  Pushing aside what you're thinking about, either consciously and deliberately or else (as in my garage-cleaning example) by replacing it with something unrelated, clears the cognitive thought patterns and gives your brain room to innovate.

Now, where exactly the creative solution comes from is another matter entirely.  I've described before how often my ideas for writing seem to originate from outside my own head.  I don't subscribe to a belief in any sort of Jungian collective unconscious, but sometimes it sure feels that way.

In any case, all of this gives us a lens into how to make our own thought processes more efficient -- in cases of clogged creativity as well as situations where errant thoughts are themselves causing problems, as in PTSD.  What the Kim et al. research suggests is that the first thing to work on is consciously purging the brain in order to create space for more positive and beneficial thoughts.

It's not necessarily easy, of course.  For example, my brain has finally stopped screaming "Feliz Navidad" at me, but has replaced it with "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow," which is only fractionally less annoying.  My considered opinion is that whoever wrote "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow" should be pitched, bare-ass naked, head-first into a snowbank.

Okay, so maybe I am a Bah-Humbug curmudgeon.  God bless us every one anyhow, I suppose.

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Not long ago I was discussing with a friend of mine the unfortunate tendency of North Americans and Western Europeans to judge everything based upon their own culture -- and to assume everyone else in the world sees things the same way.  (An attitude that, in my opinion, is far worse here in the United States than anywhere else, but since the majority of us here are the descendants of white Europeans, that attitude didn't come out of nowhere.)  

What that means is that people like me, who live somewhere WEIRD -- white, educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic -- automatically have blinders on.  And these blinders affect everything, up to and including things like supposedly variable-controlled psychological studies, which are usually conducted by WEIRDs on WEIRDs, and so interpret results as universal when they might well be culturally-dependent.

This is the topic of a wonderful new book by anthropologist Joseph Henrich called The WEIRDest People in the World: How the West Became Psychologically Peculiar and Particularly Prosperous.  It's a fascinating lens into a culture that has become so dominant on the world stage that many people within it staunchly believe it's quantifiably the best one -- and some act as if it's the only one.  It's an eye-opener, and will make you reconsider a lot of your baseline assumptions about what humans are and the ways we see the world -- of which science historian James Burke rightly said, "there are as many different versions of that as there are people."

[Note:  If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

The persistence of memory

One of the many amazing things about the brain is its ability to form connections between associated events.

These links can have amazing staying power.  The smell of old books will forever remind me of my grandmother's attic, which was my bedroom for a year when I was about ten years old.  Dan Fogelberg's songs always bring back painful memories of my ex-wife (a shame to have that association, because I actually like Dan Fogelberg).  The pretty little flowers called "sweet williams" call to mind the small plot of garden I had in my parents' back yard -- they were the first flowers I had real success with, and I still remember the pure, unalloyed joy of watching them flower for the first time.

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Jim Evans, Sweet William -- Dianthus barbatus, CC BY-SA 4.0]

That we form these kinds of associations is common knowledge; how we do it is another matter entirely.  But some new research at Columbia University's Zuckerman Mind-Brain Behavior Institute has shed some light on this innate and ubiquitous capacity of the human mind.

In "Hippocampal Network Reorganization Underlies the Formation of a Temporal Association Memory," by Mohsen S. Ahmed et al., which appeared a couple of weeks ago in the journal Neuron, we find out that memories are as persistent as they are not because of a change in the neural firing pattern -- but because they actually cause a reorganization of synaptic connections in the hippocampus, a part of the brain long known to be crucial in memory consolidation.

The researchers taught mice to associate a neutral sound with a short, startling puff of air.  They were quick to learn to link the two; which, after all, was no different than Pavlov's dog connecting a bell with being fed dinner.  Because the two events being linked in the brain occurred with a significant separation in time, the researchers didn't think it could be that the parts of the hippocampus responsible for storing the memory of each were engaging in some kind of continuing cross-talk.  "We expected to see repetitive, continuous neural activity that persisted during the fifteen-second gap, an indication of the hippocampus at work linking the auditory tone and the air puff," said Stefano Fusi, professor of neuroscience at Columbia's Vagelos College of Physicians and Surgeons and co-author of the study, in an interview with Science Daily.  "But when we began to analyze the data, we saw no such activity...  We were happy to see that the brain doesn't maintain ongoing activity over all these seconds because, metabolically, that's not the most efficient way to store information.  The brain seems to have a more efficient way to build this bridge, which we suspect may involve changing the strength of the synapses."

Understanding the way memories of different events become linked in the brain isn't just of academic interest, explaining the kinds of ordinary associations I described from my own life; it could be of real help in treating people with severe anxiety and/or post-traumatic stress syndrome, where traumatic events are linked to common stimuli (such as survivors of wartime who are triggered to panic by loud noises).  "While our study does not explicitly model the clinical syndromes of either of these disorders, it can be immensely informative," said study lead author Mohsin Ahmed.  "For example, it can help us to model some aspects of what may be happening in the brain when patients experience a fearful association between two events that would, to someone else, not elicit fright or panic."

The strength and persistence of memories can be a lifelong reminder of something joyful, or of something tragic, shocking, angering, or outright painful.  This experiment represents the first step on the road to understanding how our brain forms one memory and links it to another, and -- possibly -- gives us a direction to pursue in searching for how to disconnect that link, and allow people with severe anxiety and PTSD to live more normal lives.

And anything we can do to alleviate that suffering is a most laudable goal.

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This week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is one that should be a must-read for everyone -- not only for the New Yorkers suggested by the title.  Unusual, though, in that this one isn't our usual non-fiction selection.  New York 2140, by Kim Stanley Robinson, is novel that takes a chilling look at what New York City might look like 120 years from now if climate change is left unchecked.

Its predictions are not alarmism.  Robinson made them using the latest climate models, which (if anything) have proven to be conservative.  She then fits into that setting -- a city where the streets are Venice-like canals, where the subways are underground rivers, where low-lying areas have disappeared completely under the rising tides of the Atlantic Ocean -- a society that is trying its best to cope.

New York 2140 isn't just a gripping read, it's a frighteningly clear-eyed vision of where we're heading.  Read it, and find out why The Guardian called it "a towering novel about a genuinely grave threat to civilisation."

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Fear itself

Past experiences in my life have instilled into me a deep dislike of being the center of attention.  Talking about what you love, what you're interested in, is arrogance and conceit -- I learned that lesson early.  Also, protect what you care about, or it'll be ridiculed, demeaned, or taken away.  The result was that even in safe situations, I have always been afraid to open up, and even people I've known for years really hardly know me at all.

The fact that I no longer have to spend my life in a protective crouch has not eradicated that fear.  It's a significant part of why I'm as shy and socially awkward as I am, and why I'm the guy at parties (if I get invited in the first place) who's standing there with a glass of scotch, looking around frantically for a dog to socialize with.  I've tried for years to be okay with graciously accepting compliments when they come, and to open up to others about my interests, but to say it doesn't come naturally to me is a wild understatement.

This all comes up because of some research released last month from scientists at the RIKEN Center for Brain Science in Saitama, Japan.  A team consisting of Ray Luo, Akira Uematsu, Adam Weitemier, Luca Aquili, Jenny Koivumaa, Thomas J.McHugh, and Joshua P. Johansen published a paper in Nature: Communications called "A Dopaminergic Switch for Fear to Safety Transitions," wherein we find out that a single neurotransmitter (dopamine) acting in a single part of the brain (the ventral tegmental area) is apparently responsible for unlearning fear responses.

The authors write:

Exposure therapy, a form of extinction learning, is an important psychological treatment for anxiety disorders such as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  Extinction of classically conditioned fear responses is a model of exposure therapy.  In the laboratory, animals learn that a sensory stimulus predicts the occurrence of an aversive outcome through fear conditioning.  During extinction, the omission of an expected aversive event signals a transition from fear responding to safety.  To switch from fear responding to extinction learning, a brain system that recognizes when an expected aversive event does not occur is required.  While molecular changes occurring in the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (vmPFC) and amygdala are known to be important for storing and consolidating extinction memories, the brain mechanisms for detecting when an expected aversive event did not occur and fear responses are no longer appropriate are less well understood... 

[Our] findings show that activation of VTA-dopamine neurons during the expected shock omission time period is necessary for normal extinction learning and the upregulation of extinction-related plasticity markers in the vmPFC and amygdala.  Notably, inhibition of VTA-dopamine neurons during the shock period of fear conditioning facilitates learning, suggesting that activity in VTA-dopamine neurons is not simply important for learning in response to any salient event.  These results also reveal that distinct populations of VTA-dopamine neurons... are important for the formation of stable, long-term extinction memories.

Team leader Joshua Johansen was unequivocal about the potential for this research in treating long-term anxiety and PTSD.  "Pharmacologically targeting the dopamine system will likely be an effective therapy for psychiatric conditions such as anxiety disorders when combined with clinically proven behavioral treatments such as exposure therapy," he said in a press release from RIKEN.  "In order to provide effective, mechanism-based treatments for these conditions, future pre-clinical work will need to use molecular strategies that can separately target these distinct dopamine cell populations."

Illustration from Charles Darwin's Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872), captioned, "Terror, from a photograph by Dr. Duchenne."  [Image is in the Public Domain]

I have suffered from serious anxiety most of my life, and I have a dear friend who has PTSD, and believe me -- this is welcome news.  My one attempt to use an anxiolytic medication was a failure (it killed my appetite, which someone with as fast a metabolism as I have definitely doesn't need), and "exposure therapy" has, all in all, been a failure.  The idea that there could be a way to approach these debilitating conditions by targeting a specific molecule in a specific part of the brain is pretty earthshattering.

I know it's a long way between identifying the brain pathway involved in a disorder and finding a way to alter what it's doing, but this is a significant first step.  The idea that I might one day be able to go to social gatherings without feeling a sense of dread, and to talk to people rather than just dogs, is kind of amazing.  Until that happens, I'm probably still going to have to deal with my anxiety, but it's nice to know someone is working on the problem.

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This week's book recommendation is especially for people who are fond of historical whodunnits; The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson.  It chronicles the attempts by Dr. John Snow to find the cause of, and stop, the horrifying cholera epidemic in London in 1854.

London of the mid-nineteenth century was an awful place.  It was filled with crashing poverty, and the lack of any kind of sanitation made it reeking, filthy, and disease-ridden.  Then, in the summer of 1854, people in the Broad Street area started coming down with the horrible intestinal disease cholera (if you don't know what cholera does to you, think of a bout of stomach flu bad enough to dehydrate you to death in 24 hours).  And one man thought he knew what was causing it -- and how to put an end to it.

How he did this is nothing short of fascinating, and the way he worked through to a solution a triumph of logic and rationality.  It's a brilliant read for anyone interested in history, medicine, or epidemiology -- or who just want to learn a little bit more about how people lived back in the day.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]