Keeping it Human

The human body has long been likened to a machine. A brilliant, self-sustaining machine in which each part contributes to the functioning of another part, and so on. Just the other day, I used the image of a engine to create an analogy for the seventh graders to help them understand calories as fuel and the car’s output. Biology was my second favorite subject in high school, because I LOVED learning about cells and body systems. I was enamored with the complexity of these miniscule microcosms and the way in which they worked together and relied on each other.

Unlike a machine, however, the body can “fix” itself. We fall down and get a cut, and clotting cells rush to the area, as well as red blood cells to fill the clot and white blood cells to kill the intruding bacteria. The mouth comes equipped with two sets of teeth to better suit our growing and hygiene. The heart reacts within milliseconds to danger as a result of a rush of adrenaline causing us to run fast or duck low, all senses on high-alert, blood pumping furiously.

Like a machine, the body can break down beyond its own self-repair. It cannot maintain its own homeostasis when disease takes over. When injuries are so great that a system cannot function, which causes trauma to the other systems. At these times, we rely on actual machines, to breathe for us, to reroute and clean our blood, to provide the correct hormones or neurotransmitters or to provide those electrical signals to get our hearts going again.

The concept of medicine has become a very sterile force over the decades of research and developing methodologies. We have the newest sonograms to see the very deepest of our inside parts to the 4th dimension (apparently, the 3rd just wasn’t enough). We can have open-heart surgery without even opening the chest. We can correct an abnormality in the heart of an unborn baby. We put blood into a microscope and it tells us things about that blood. It’s easy to lose the human aspect of this human “machine.”

I gave blood today. The American Red Cross’ promotional posters inform me that with my measly one-pint donation, I can save up to seven lives. There is something about blood, actual human blood that cannot be replicated by a machine, and medicine must rely on it. My offering of humanity is a force that will preserve another’s experience of their own humanity.

Yes, the body is a machine. My system will have replaced all the platelets, plasma and red blood cells in about two weeks. My nervous system registered pain when I got suck by that huge, scary needle, and my adrenaline got my heart going just a wee bit more which increased the pressure on my arm cuff so that my hand got a little tingly. I will have a tiny scab where the clotting factors rushed to the rescue, and I will have a bruise from the moments before those factors could fill the hole in my vein.

But beyond the discomfort, beyond the fear and pain, I have contributed my humanity to preserve seven others’ beautifully intricate machines.