Cellular Memory: Life After Transplant

A features article I wrote as part of my A2 English Combined coursework:

It sounds like something out of a science fiction novel- the ability for an organ to remember the memories of its previous owner. But it would appear to be the reality for many people who have undergone transplants and experienced the phenomenon that is “cellular memory”.

Claire Sylvia was one of the first cases to have reported a change in personality from a subsequent organ transplant. In her book “Change of Heart” she details the miraculous operation that changed her life, quite literally.

Claire Sylvia underwent a heart and lung transplant after suffering from PPH (Primary Pulmonary Hypertension). PPH has no cure. Those who suffer PPH will gradually feel worse, and over time, will leave the patient feeling constantly tired, making even the most everyday tasks difficult. At its most severe, the disease can cause heart and lung failure- which, for those lucky enough to receive one, can be treated via a heart and lung transplant.

However, not only did Sylvia receive the heart and lungs of her donor, an 18 year old who had died in a motorcycle accident, but also the memories, preferences and habits her donor had too. Claire had been a health conscious dancer, who now expressed a taste for beer, fried chicken and even green peppers- something she had never normally eaten. What added to the mystery of Claire’s case is that she started experiencing recurring dreams about an 18 year old man named “Tim L”, whom she believed to be her donor.

Upon meeting the family of her donor- something that is not usually allowed due to strict privacy regulations- she found out that in fact the mysterious “Tim L” from her dreams had indeed been the donor of her heart.Talking with his family, many of the habits that Tim had were now being mirrored by Claire. Not only that, but Tim had had a fondness for beer and green peppers.

What had caused these seemingly impossible changes in Claire? How had she known the person in her dream was her donor? Was the heart really the cause? Or was it simply a coincidence? Could cellular memory really be the explanation for the changes in Claire’s life?

So, just what is cellular memory, then? The theory of cellular memory states it is not just our brain that carries memories- but every single cell in our body. The heart has been the most common link between the idea of cells and memory. Is there a particular reason why there are so many phrases we have adopted into our language which incorporate the heart? To learn something“off by heart”, “wearing your heart on your sleeve” and to be “broken hearted”, they’re all expressions we come in contact with quite regularly. The heart plays a significant role in language as well as being highly symbolic – being the centre of love and emotion. There has always been an acceptance that both the body and mind are connected- so why not the idea that other cells are capable of holding memories?

The theory of cellular memory is not well acknowledged throughout the scientific community, and is often even regarded along the lines of homeopathy and other more holistic techniques. However there has been evidence to support the theory in the form of many case studies. The author of The Heart’s Code, Dr. Paul Pearsall supports the idea of “cellular memory”. Dr. Pearsall has identified numerous cases in which the recipient of a donated organ has apparently undergone some form of personality change due to the “memories” that have been stored within an organ. With 5-10% of cases reporting changes to personality, the number is still relatively low; however, as the numbers of transplants and technology to provide them increases, will there be a rise in the number of accounts?

Some rather extraordinary examples of cellular memory include a case several years ago, where an eight year old girl was the recipient of a heart from a ten year old girl- who had been murdered. After receiving her new heart, the girl began experiencing nightmares about the man who had murdered her donor. After being sent to a psychiatrist by her mother, they “could not deny the reality of what the child was telling her.” And so, with the belief she knew who the murderer was, called the police. They gave them the descriptions the little girl had told them, including the time, the weapon, the location, and the clothes the murderer had worn-even what the ten year old had told her killer. “Everything the recipient reported was completely accurate.” Was this just some bizarre coincidence? Or was there something more to the heart she had so gratefully received?

Sometimes it is not just the memories and hobbies of a person that change completely- even sexual preferences can alter; those who have received organs from the opposite sex have sometimes found themselves changing sexuality, or expressing a preference for a particular gender which had not been there previously.

A 24 year old woman, who was the unfortunate victim of a car accident,had her heart and lungs transplanted to a 25 year old male graduate student who had cystic fibrosis. The donor was described by her sister as being a “very sensual person”. She had loved painting, and was very gifted-she had been on her way to her first solo showing when the accident occurred. “My sister was not really very ‘out,’ but she was gay.” The donor enjoyed painting landscapes, which she said were really “representations of the woman or mother figure”. 

So how did this affect the recipient? Fearing having a woman’s heart “would make him gay”, he was surprised to find the opposite effect. “I’ve been hornier than ever.” He reported-“Women just seem to look even more erotic and sensual”. Could the transplant really be the cause of his new found sexual prowess? “I have the same body, but I think I have a woman’s way of thinking about sex now” he concludes. It wasn’t just his opinion however- the recipients girlfriend noticed a change in her boyfriend; “He’s a much better lover now.” Saying it was as though “he knows my body as well as I do”. The girlfriend also commented upon the recipient’s new found love for shopping and paintings.

Was it just coincidence? It’s certainly an interesting case- but there’s no real evidence to suggest that the transplanted organs had anything to do with the change in personality the recipient experienced. It’s easy to say that being the recipient of a new organ may give you a new outlook on life. You are given a second chance- which could certainly be a reason to make any individual evaluate their life- living more vigorously than they had before.

 It goes without saying that finding any explanation for this can often lead to the metaphysical, with suggestions that it is the donors “spirit” still lingering within the body that causes these glimpses or “memory”. James Van Praagh, one of the “foremost spiritual mediums in the world” suggests it could be that as most organ donors are young, they are not yet ready to pass over. They have often died in unexpected, sudden ways, and so Praagh makes the point that the spirits may ‘linger’ having not yet completed their full time upon earth.

Although not all explanations are quite so metaphysical- research has been conducted into the connection between the brain and body, and has provided some explanations for the theory. There have been suggestions that it is the role of short chains of amino acids, known as neuropeptides, which have been found throughout the body. Although previously thought to exist solely within the brain, it is now known that they are also found in other areas, particularly within major organs like the heart. These neuropeptides could therefore possibly account for the ‘memories’that are transplanted between donor and recipient.

And yet even with these explanations, there is still no real evidence to suggest that cellular memory is a credible theory. Many experts have disparaged the idea and so it is difficult for it to be regarded well by the wider scientific community. Until more research has been completed, then ultimately it is impossible to conclude whether transplanted organs really can hold the memories of their past owners. Over time, hopefully new research will be conducted which will give us a better insight into the phenomenon. But until then, more cases will arise and be studied. It is certainly an interesting topic, and who knows- it may encourage people to donate their organs so that a part of them may still live on. 

Drift Away

Here, read the short story thing I went and wrote as part of my A2 English Combined coursework:

Drift Away

At first the memories seemed to come and go like the ebb and flow of the tide. They washed into his mind; filling it with the accumulated images of years gone by, only for them to drift away again. And always ever so slightly out of his grasp. The tide of memories that flooded him each day left him feeling exhausted. Drowned by his thoughts. He was sinking.

 It got worse.  But eventually the tide has to go out.  

Each morning was a wave of new feeling. It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when all that surrounded him was familiar, the yellow paint on the walls, providing false happiness in its jovial colouring. Now everything was so bleak. He had been happy, now he felt numb. Devoid of all emotion. Because are you a person without your memories? Hank was not. He was an empty shell, an apple without a core. Infested by the worm of dementia.

Next to him, a woman lay sleeping. Who was she? All he knew was that he felt calm towards her, she must be one of the good people, he thought. The good people would talk to him with their loud, exaggerated words, mouths opening wide with slow phrases, as though he were a foreigner. In some ways he was. A foreigner in his own body, and Hank had lost his passport to return home. 

 The curtains opened in front of him, throwing light upon his weathered face. The wrinkles embedded on him like roads on a map. Each crease, a different journey, a different memory. Hank remembered one of those journeys, his wedding day; at least he remembered a version. The woman who lay next to him, perhaps? Yes. He recalled her body, the softness of her arms, the lazy spattering of freckles on her chest, the feel of her underneath him on their wedding night. She stood at the window now, back turned towards him, her figure outlined by the curve of her dress. He glanced over her, still slim, he observed. Although perhaps she’d put a bit more weight on at the hips? That could have been from the children, though. On the top of her left arm lay a bruise, spread out in a galaxy of colour. He wondered how she had got it.

“Are we here this morning?” she asked, turning towards her husband, who sat upon their bed. She joined him, always slow gestures, never wanting to frighten him in case he was not there. Today, though, he smiled. Relief washed over her. She was grateful he was in a better mood. He stood, and she reached out to him. Her hands found his, their fingers intertwined.  She felt the warmth of his breath on the top of her head, and was comforted by the familiar scent of him, a combination of peppermint and coffee.

“I’m here.” He whispered, and for a moment her husband was back. 
Hank turned, he felt thirsty, and contemplated making himself a drink. He liked tea, didn’t he? Probably.  That’s what they drunk here, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been used to such vast quantities when he had first moved to England. His life had been in the States. Or had that been a film? He wasn’t all together sure, and anyway, wasn’t he making coffee? There was a coffee machine somewhere, he would go find it, and then take the dog out for a walk, or should he feed it first? Had he fed it? Did he have a dog? Hank stopped. He put his hands to his head, trying to cease the drops of thoughts that rained down, splattering the puddles of his mind. He decided to make some tea.

Their kitchen had always held fond memories. Hank remembered cold nights stood at the blinds, watching the stars dance at the horizon line, stretching up far in a waltz of light. He loved the coast, how it offered the true dark of night, not tainted by the cities garish lights. Hank had never been afraid of the dark. He didn’t understand why people were. He embraced the darkness, how it cloaked him, allowed him to feel hidden. Safe. It was the light Hank was afraid of. Light was revealing. It exposed all- the flaws, the cracks, the imperfections. And Hank felt like he was in the spotlight.

 When he and his wife had married, the first thing they had decided was that they would live near the coast, away from the pollution of the city. They would bring up their children knowing how to swim; they would never be afraid of drowning. He had taught them about the tides, and together they had searched rock pools, gazing into them, picking out shells like little treasures. Hank remembered the delighted laughter of his children, the feeling of soft mud between small toes; their mouths open in amazement at the marine life that dwelled in the tiny rocky pools.

The newspaper lay unread on the kitchen table in the centre of the room. He gazed at the headlines, the bold letters begging to be seen, luring the reader with their promise of anything scandalous in nature. The headlines provoked outcries of rage, everyone is offended-and that was the point of the media. And if you weren’t offended by it, they weren’t doing their job right. “RISING SEA LEVELS: WHY IT’S YOUR FAULT”. He glanced over the article, not making sense of the jargon from apparent “experts” on the field. There was an expert on everything nowadays. Hank turned away. Maybe he’d have a drink, he was thirsty.

The car journey to the clinic was quiet, but for the sound of the radio. Roads slipped by as the music played. Thank you for the days, those endless days, those sacred days you gave me. Hank whistled along slightly out of tune, his hands tapping out a beat on his lap. I'm thinking of the days, I won't forget a single day, believe me. “Where are we going?” he asked the woman beside him. His wife? Yes. Definitely his wife.

“We’re going to the clinic, you have an appointment there.” She paused, and then added, “About your memory”. Hank pondered this, yes, he supposed, his memory hadn’t been working as well as it once had, but doesn’t that come with age? He wasn’t quite sure anymore. He hadn’t been sure of anything, not in a long while.

The car slowed down, Hank felt himself sink. Eventually the tide goes out.
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Progress Notes:  Patient Treatment Plan

Patients name: Hank C. Planson             
Patient has shown significant deterioration. Since the last appointment 3 months ago, there have been signs of increasing mental instability. At initial assessment patient seemed to only suffer mild periods of short term memory loss, forgetting the location of car keys and described having trouble recalling names. However having run the same cognitive function test, patient is unable to complete questions and seems confused when asked to recall dates. Although it appears he can recognise his wife, he fails to recall her name.

A trial period was run using 5mg of Donezepil once daily. Have discussed with the patient the possibility that present medication should be altered accordingly. Galantamine could be offered to patient, although given the progression of the disease, it is unlikely to be very effective. Blood tests were run, although no significant results were shown. The patient complains of frequent dehydration.  An MRI showed the extent of deterioration of the neocortex, which could account for the temperamental behaviour the patient has been expressing recently. Suggests there is now significant damage to the amygdala.

Although on initial examination no damage to the long term memory was present there now appears to be a malfunction. Patient has been describing memories of his children, mentioning trips to the beach near their home. He does not seem to recall the children’s deaths.  It would appear the patient is suffering hallucinations, possibly from damage to the noradrenergic parts of the locus coeruleus.

Patient has left the house on numerous occasions and got lost; only to be returned by the authorities. On contacting them, there has been suggestion the patient could potentially be moved to a secure unit for his own safety. Further assessment of home life would need to be undergone if this is the case.

Wife mentions occasional aggressive bouts which were not present on initial assessment. The bruises on the patient’s wife lead me to believe there have been violent accounts. She has denied they had been caused by the patient. The mood swings the patient displays appear to range from extreme violence to very affectionate behaviour.

Patient often complains of feelings of suffocation and trouble breathing. There are no signs of respiratory problems after a basic examination was carried out. There is likely to be a psychological link.
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On the kitchen table lay the local newspaper, the headline reading: “Body Washed Up On Beach”.

Funerals For Bees

Some more short snippets of a young Joanne:

In my younger days, I was always scared of the possibility that people might not want to be doctors or surgeons or fire fighters any more. What if, suddenly one day, all the children growing up decided that it was all too much effort? So I was scared of that. And I guess I'm pretty grateful there's enough pushy parents around to force their children into medicinal careers.

~~~

In primary school, traversing the fields with my best friend, we stumble across a lone bee. This bee, unfortunately, is not looking too healthy. We try and nurse it back to health as best we could (Meaning, shouting words of encouragement that probably only prolonged it's agony further). Alas, the bee didn't make it. So what am I to do in these circumstances? Why, you go gather some flowers, you prepare a few mourners, and you have yourself a service. At least, that's the sort of thing I got up to when I was younger.

~~~

My sister, back in our youth, told me one tale that shall forever haunt me. Having our evening beverage; the Korova milk bar of my childhood- except without quite so much innuendo. So, milk in hand, my older sister speaks to me "Joanne, you do know milk has bones in?" "But only your milk. Mine's fine". Shocked, I refused to drink milk for quite a large amount of my younger years, due only to the fact my sister found it funny. Oh childhood. I blame her for my weak bones.