The heart of the matter

Heart doctor Michael Henein steps back to consider the unseen and unique wonders of the human body’s design.

Michael Henein

Professor Michael Henein is a consultant cardiologist, and a Professor of Cardiology at Umea University, Sweden.

A model of a human heart on a short stand.

Photo by Jesse Orrico on Unsplash.

Shakespeare famously asked:

“What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Humans may be complex, capable of great heroism and deep depravity, yet it is worth stopping for a moment to look at the human body and mind to marvel in what we have become, and how we are made.

The visible design of the human body points out common features shared along with other members of the animal kingdom. Examples of these features are: two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, one mouth and four limbs, attached to a body and head. Detailed study of different seen parts of the body may, however, show some differences. For example, the presence of fingers and nails, hair distribution as well as a developed tail. While most members of the animal kingdom have teeth and a tongue, those two could also vary in their number and size, respectively, according to different species. Genetic investigations have shown that we humans share 99 % of our genes with animals, suggesting that our “earthly” component shares a common origin. Indeed, the twenty first century scientific findings match what is written in the Genesis story of creation, a story written over 3,500 years ago, well before genetic sciences came to light.

Creatures great and small

As for morphological differences between animal species, it is difficult to naively conclude why some are wild while others are man-friendly-even if the wild ones have different shapes, design, dietary habits, body size and life span. Other important observed features of the members of the animal kingdom are that they are all born, they all age, then ultimately die.

If we are to look at the unseen features of the members of the animal kingdom, we can again identify similarities. For example, all have a gastrointestinal tract, a cardiovascular system, a reproductive system, a respiratory system, a urinary system and much more. While these systems may differ slightly between species, the overall structure and function achieve similar purposes. For example, heart speed is faster in small animals like rats compared to big ones like elephants who have very slow hearts. Likewise, the respiratory system and the number of respiratory cycles per minute are significantly faster in running animals compared to the sedentary and slowly moving ones. Finally, the number of offspring also differs in different species, being just one at a time in big animals like elephants and horses, and many offspring in small animals like rabbits and mice. Such paradox between the number of offspring and animal size makes you think of the important determining role of the activity of those animals.

Unseen wonders

Now to turn to the rest of the animal kingdom and the unseen features of the human body. To start, let us look at the amazing functions of the human brain and its various functions. When humanity is sometimes described as the crown of creation, such a description is based on the superiority of human brain function and skills. Its sophisticated structure and how vital centres are created deep in the skull, to be protected from traumas, make you marvel. Also, the brain controls the different functions of the whole body, with its sensory and motor activities, various vital system functions including the lungs and the heart, all endocrine glands’ function, in addition to various receptors and centres that allow utmost precision and accuracy in everything we do. An example of this kind of precision is a doctor feeling a vein or an artery with the tip of a finger to insert a needle or a musician moving a finger a few millimetres while playing a violin, to produce the exact sound needed. Furthermore, the integrated function of human muscles, nerves and spinal cord is also amazing, let alone the synapsis between the nerve endings and muscle bundles, the chemicals secreted in them which allow electric stimulus transmission from the nervous system to achieve the motor function and desired movement.

The human brain also has the unique feature of storing knowledge. Of course, we should not ignore the importance of the training and programming ability of human brain. We learn how to drive a car, how to play games, how to study, how to operate safely on a sick patient. Such acquired skills are quite limited in other members of the animal kingdom. Moreover, the human brain has the unique ability to invent, discover, improve and correct errors it identifies.

Another very unique feature of human brain is its ability to conduct speech, a feature of humans that is under-developed in other members of the animal kingdom. While most animals can make noise and sounds, only humans can articulate words, sentences and even sing very complex songs. This unique ability seems to be the underlying mechanism behind the development of languages which are based on the human ability to talk and transmit information and knowledge by words and phrases.

The unseen brain has allowed human life to develop over time, building skills and achievements from generation to generation. Millennia ago, humans lived in huts together with animals, and now they build houses and palaces to live in. Centuries ago, we used donkeys, horses and camels to travel but now we use cars, trains, ships and airplanes. Our ancestors burned wood and coal to cook and to warm but now we use electricity to do these.

When we look carefully at the unseen parts of the human body, we also realize that we cannot alter any of it, despite the scientific advances made over the years. We can understand what harms our body and take measures to avoid it. Out of the ability of our brain to discover and invent, we have now produced science-based means for curing various diseases. Consider how we can replace a dysfunctional heart valve or a mobility-limiting joint. These inventions have resulted in a better quality of life, alleviating of symptoms, even helping to avoid early death, in some cases such as heart disease and cancer.

The heart of the matter

Another unseen source of life in humans is the heart. This fist-size organ is so complex in its structure and function. Recent scientific advances have enabled us to study heart function in milliseconds, hence the development of pacemaker treatments. They have also allowed clear imaging of the inside of the heart and the identification of pathologies, developments that guide practitioners to the optimum treatment of heart conditions. Recent discoveries have also allowed us to better understand how people develop coronary artery disease and how the pathology starts at the innermost layer of the arteries, particularly in individuals carrying significant risks for atherosclerosis including, smoking, high blood pressure, diabetes, high cholesterol and obesity. Amazingly, obesity has been shown to be the strongest underlying cause of other risk factors, hypertension, diabetes and hypercholesterolemia. So, nature cannot be blamed in many of these patients but our own patterns of behaviour. Science has shown that walking at least 5,000 steps each day, complying with the design of our body, reduces the likelihood of developing coronary artery disease by 15 per cent.

The unseen physiology of the rest of our body systems and the interaction between systems make us wonder how we are made. A rise of our body temperature by one degree due to a bug infection affects all body systems from the brain to the heart. A virus which cannot be seen by the most powerful microscope can destroy our lungs and cause premature death, as was the case with COVID-19 and others.

Finally, human inventions in the form of powerful microscopes have allowed scientists to study the human cell, which is the smallest living component of our body. Such small cells cannot be replicated in any factory in the twenty-first century, despite the vast scientific developments that surround us. You'll be surprised to learn how complicated and meticulously fine-tuned a human cell is and also how it functions, connects with other cells and other parts of the body. An example of this is the interaction between body minerals, calcium, sodium and potassium with heart and muscle individual cells. Such a function is critically controlled by many factors such as time, electric stimulation and pressure differences producing remarkably harmonious contractions and relaxation of the muscles without missing a beat.

Article

Awe and wonder

Christmas culture

Culture

Music

12 December 2024

7 min read

If you think Christmas is ‘right’ you’ve got it wrong

Contrasting cathedral Christmases conjure world-changing subversion.

Katherine Amphlett

Katherine is a counsellor based in the West Midlands.

A carol singer looks down while candles flicker.

Coventry Cathedral.

Christmas.

The very word is loaded with associations and memories and history and meaning. Just looking at it written down conjures up years of my childhood and particular feelings and impressions and smells. And for good or ill, it seems that that’s the case for most people. Ask any group of individuals for the three words that represent Christmas to them, and you’ll end up with myriad different answers – and an argument about why each person is right and everyone else is wrong!

Interestingly though, Christmas has changed in meaning for me in recent years. Ever since Covid in fact – that weird, strange, historic, awful-in-many-ways-but-unexpectedly-good-in-others period, that already feels like quite a long time ago. Christmas had one significance before it and another afterwards, and the latter is actually much more important.

It was a place that stamped it into my mind; two very different experiences of it, with the second one over-writing and enriching the first. It was Coventry Cathedral.

So. Every year for the 20 years before Covid, we went to the cathedral on Christmas Eve for an afternoon service called The Road to Bethlehem. My husband had been going nearly all his life, having been a chorister there from the age of seven. We gathered with a big group of friends and acquaintances into an enormous rag-tag choir, first for a rehearsal in the undercroft beneath the cathedral before going upstairs to join the equally enormous orchestra for a bit more practice before the service itself. Everyone was in Christmas jumpers and antlers and sparkly earrings, and the conductors of both choir and orchestra had to stand on boxes so we could see them and they could see each other. It was the only time each year that all the singers and players came together, many of them teenagers home from uni, and the whole atmosphere was buzzy and excited.

In addition to all the hundreds of musicians, gradually then the congregation began to pour in – masses and masses of children among them, nearly all dressed up in nativity costumes. There were crowds of shepherds and angels, hordes of wise men, smatterings of Marys and Josephs and a good crop of baby Jesuses, along with Batman and Spiderman and plenty of princesses who came along for the ride. And all of them during the service moved round the cathedral, from Nazareth at the start, via the nasty innkeeper who told them to clear off, no room in the inn (aka the Lady Chapel), to the hills full of sheep behind the altar, and fetched up in the stable down by the font at the end – with the choir and orchestra belting out appropriate carols at each stage. It was absolute mayhem, with babies yelling and small shepherds whacking each other with light sabres and our friend Mark – a professional tenor – singing sublimely overhead as Angel Gabriel. The cathedral was packed to groaning and at the close, when everyone was asked to light the candles they’d been holding throughout, it was also filled with light and heat and noise as everyone bellowed ‘Oh Come All ye Faithful’ at full volume, the trumpets and tubas giving it large and the kettledrums and cymbals thundering and crashing. It was exhausting, but so wonderful.

And then, 2020.

We didn’t think we’d get to the cathedral at all that year, but the decision was made to hold mini carol services – five of them – across two weekends, sung by small groups from the cathedral’s own choirs, with congregations being admitted by ticket to sit in household clumps, face masks on and no joining in please. It was dark when we got there, and raining, and the streets in Coventry were empty. The people attending the service, not many of them, were stretched in a silent line outside the doors, big gaps between them, masks on, no talking. Inside too, the lighting was low and chairs stood in lonely islands of two, empty acres of space between them (though my husband did firmly go and get a third chair so he and I and our daughter could sit together). I didn’t realise that the lady who let us in was someone I’ve sung with for years – her hair had grown and I couldn’t see her face or hear her voice properly, and when a small choir of girls filed silently in followed by the director of music looking extremely severe, I found it difficult not to cry. In fact for a considerable part of the service I did cry, which was such a pain as it misted up my glasses and I couldn’t wipe my eyes or nose because of the wretched mask.

But something interesting happened as I sat there struggling with all of this. Because, I think, of the quietness and the emptiness, I started to notice the cathedral itself – to feel its presence around me, to see its bones. There is an enormous tapestry there behind the altar, a vast portrait of Christ – strange and distorted and Picasso-like, full of symbols and odd colours – and it is very cleverly lit so that nearly all of it is in shadow except for Christ’s face, with piercing eyes that seem to look directly at you wherever you stand. In front of it are flights of highly stylised wooden doves fixed to the tops of the choir stalls, silhouetted against the tapestry as sharp crisscross shapes. There were lines and lines of tea lights on the ground along the steps, around the base of the pulpit, across the altar rail – like twinkling necklaces of light, reflected in the polished stone floor and casting strange upward shadows on the faces of the choir. And not singing and not joining in the spoken stuff meant I really began to listen – to the quietness of the building, to the sounds from the city outside, to my daughter breathing next to me, to the words of carols I know so well that I stopped hearing them years ago. It was like a sort of warmth creeping over me – I could almost feel it coming up from the floor and gradually making me feel better.

One of the canons gave the address. She looked as if she had been crying herself. ‘It’s not right, is it!’ she cried passionately. ‘That we’re separated from the people we love, that so many are afraid, or sick, that millions have lost livelihoods and now fear for the future, that our young people are missing out on friendships and education, that there’ll be empty places at so many tables.’ But, she went on to say, Christmas has never been ‘right’, not from the beginning. ‘Think of Mary’, she said. ‘So young and so vulnerable – having to give birth to her first child without her mother and aunties, not even with a proper roof over her head or a bed to rest on. Just a pile of straw and a man who wasn’t sure he even wanted to be with her at that point.’ I thought of my colleague, about to have her first baby, with her birth plan and her ‘nesting’ and her husband spending half the night wrestling with the new pram – so loved and precious, not lonely or homeless or disgraced.

‘And what about the shepherds?’ the canon continued. ‘Outcasts, forgotten ones, the lowliest of lowlies, poorest of the poor – but it was they who the angels visited. And it was only common sense that took the Wise Men to Herod’s palace. They were seeking a king after all… but they couldn’t have been more wrong, could they!’

Christmas is always all wrong, in other words. It’s meant to be. It’s meant to subvert the order of things, to teach us new lessons, to get us to think differently. So in many ways, the horrible upside-down 2020 Christmas with the world in disarray was just like the first one. And as with that one, there was light and wonder to be found, which darkness has never quenched yet.

It doesn’t matter, I don’t think, whether you believe or don’t believe in the existence of God: the fact is that the nativity is an extraordinary story that has guided millions of people for centuries, and inspired and comforted and influenced them in all kinds of ways. Even by itself, that is amazing. And the miserableness of Covid and upset and disruption and spoilt plans were – weirdly – the reason that I heard the story differently that year.

It is all right for things to be all wrong.

And because of hearing it like this, I have found that it’s given me a new kind of resilience – a higher capacity for tolerating wrongness; a cheerfulness that is not entirely centred in everything being fine and everyone behaving beautifully. Which, let’s face it, is just as well… and probably the very best gift that Christmas can give to anyone.