Read Endorphin Conspiracy, The for Free Online

primary problem is the closed head injury,” replied Jackson. “Pupils are mid-position, but sluggishly reactive, eye movements spontaneous. She responds to localized painful stimulation, and over the last few hours seems to be attempting to make some sounds—”
    “Sounds? You must be exhausted Mark,” interrupted Kapinsky, “this girl is deeply comatose.”
    “What’s her coma scale rating, Mark?” asked Geoff. He fixed his gaze in Kapinsky’s direction.
    “Nine out of fifteen, consistent with moderate head injury.”
    “Hardly deep coma, Dr. Kapinsky,” Geoff said. “How has her intracranial pressure been, Mark?”
    The group’s attention shifted to the ICP monitor and its ever-changing digital readout.
    “Doing better now, twelve to thirteen. Was a bit high earlier. After some intravenous mannitol and hyperventilation, her ICP seems to have responded well. Brain swelling must be lessening.”
    “Any other significant injuries?” asked Brian Phelps, briefly lifting his head out of his three by five cards.
    “Collapsed right lung. The chest tube was placed by the general surgeons in the ER, and the lung seems to be re-expanding slowly. I repaired her scalp laceration. Spleen’s okay. No internal bleeding. A smattering of superficial shrapnel injuries, nothing too significant. Just the brain.”
    Just the brain , thought Geoff. A biochemical mass the size and weight of a cantaloupe, the essence of what makes us uniquely human, the seat of our intellect, creativity, and emotions. Containing ten billion nerve cells, its labyrinthine pattern of axonal wiring and peculiar chemical balance of neurotransmitter substances were what distinguished an Einstein from a simpleton, a man of sound mind from a psychopath.
    “Does that imply that if her brain swelling dissipates, she will come out of her coma?” asked one of the medical students.
    “You’re assuming her nerve cells are only swollen, not permanently injured,” blurted Kapinsky. “Only thirty-eight percent of patients with her type of injury have a good recovery. Thirty-two percent have a moderate to severe permanent neurological or psychological deficit. Twenty-five percent die in the hospital.”
    “Thank you, Professor Kapinsky,” said Geoff, no longer able to conceal his annoyance. “How about the PET scan results, Mark?”
    “Her admission scan revealed a grade two out of five level of beta-endorphin flooding her brain’s receptors. Again, consistent with her coma, but with a fairly good prognosis.”
    “That is, if you buy that PET scan endorphin data,” Kapinsky interrupted. “PET scanning is where CT scanning was thirty years ago—in its infancy with crude resolution and lacking standard means of interpretation. And endorphins, well, I don’t see how you can make any reliable statement regarding their relation to brain functions, let alone any clinical prognostication. The data is shaky, all conjecture. The only truly predictive model is Bayesian statistical analysis, utilizing the Glasgow Coma Scale, and according to this patient’s profile—”
    “What do you know firsthand about PET scanning or endorphins?” Geoff tried to contain his rising anger. “I spent last year studying endorphin patterns in the brains of head injury patients using the PET scan. There is an excellent correlation between endorphin levels in the brain and coma prognosis. Dr. Kapinsky, one day you’ll learn all truth does not come neatly packaged in formulas.”
    The medical students ducked behind the safety of their clipboards to avoid the verbal crossfire.
    Kapinsky smacked his lips. “Why do runners all have this irrational, almost fanatic belief in the power of endorphins to control every aspect of the human mind? I can buy the claim they’re natural, morphine-like endogenous analgesics, but when you start telling me, without citing any data from controlled studies, that these compounds are responsible for everything from the anesthetic effects of