Why Anatomy is Like Learning Swedish

Perhaps if I had taken my mother's advice and studied Latin in high school, instead of French, I would have saved myself considerable trouble in my career as a vet student.  But Latin was boring, and my mother was (obviously) out to make me erudite, isolated, and miserable, so French it was.  I barreled happily forward on a high school trip to France without a tinge of regret (one doesn't generally practice one's Latin in sidewalk cafes, mother)... until now.

Let's consider a sentence.  "The fine structure and micropinocytotic capabilities of epithelial cells closely associated with lymphoid follicles in the chicken bursa of Fabricius, rabbit appendix, and mouse Peyer's patch were compared."*

And now, a quote from the front page of the Ikea website:  "Hosting needn't be a hassle with our range of extendable dining tables and beautiful dinnerware... Henriksdal-- chair cover, long; Ingolf--chair; Diod--glass; Ingatorp--extendable table."

At first glance these may appear quite different, but let's consider some vocabulary from the two examples:
Bursa of Fabricius
Ingolf
Diod
Pinocytosis

To the uninitiated, all four of these terms may be equally incomprehensible.  And while taking Latin would probably not have helped me know that an "Ingolf" is a chair, and a "Diod" is a glass, it would certainly have helped me realize that "bursa" is medieval Latin for a purse, or bag.  And that's exactly what the bursa of Fabricius is: a bizarre little bag, unique to birds, that is the site of hematopoesis, or the synthesis of blood cells.  Had I brushed up on my Greek, I'd have known that "pino" meant "to drink," and could have deduced that pinocytosis was the drinking up of exogenous particles by engulfing them.

As it is, many of these Latin and Greek-derived words really might as well be Swedish to me.  And, while lovely resources such as Wikipedia** and the beloved Black's Veterinary Dictionary are ready and willing to aid us in our quest for enlightenment, sometimes it would just be easier to know the damn things.

*I may not have listened to my mother about Latin, but I did pay attention about citing sources, so:
Bockman, DE and Cooper.  "Pinocytosis by epithelium associated with lymphoid follicles in the 
        bursa of Fabricius, appendix, and Peyer's patches."  An electron microscopic study.  American 
        Journal of Anatomy 136(4). 1973, 455-477.
 **I scoffed at Wikipedia when it first started gaining popularity, arguing that it was poorly-moderated and unreliable.  Once I started taking chemistry, I began to realize its tremendous value as a quick reference (not to mention a source of pre-calculated molecular weights).  So, in defense of Wikipedia, it has become a really excellent starting place for further research, and that is invaluable.  Our knowledge is so much greater when we combine it.

First Week of Class

It's been ages since I've written anything, but I find myself with a (rare) spare moment, so here goes.  We're halfway through our second week of classes, and already bogged down with a tremendous amount of schoolwork...sort of.  Honestly, I can't imagine having come out of high school (as many of my UK classmates have done) and doing this sort of program.  First of all, we simply didn't have anything close to the preparation these kids have.  I didn't have organic chemistry, or microbiology under my belt at eighteen.  But more importantly, I didn't have the self-motivation, or even the ability to be self-directed in the way that the program seems to require.  I had thought, entering the program, that there might be a certain amount of hand-holding or guidance provided, since most of the class has never been to university before, but that simply isn't the case.

We have a busy schedule, but not excessively so.  We have lectures most mornings, and practicals most afternoons.  Wednesday afternoon and Friday morning are free.  So, that's about twelve hours of lectures a week, and another ten or so hours of practicals, depending on the week.  Which doesn't seem like a lot, until you consider that you have to study what you learned in lecture.  That is hours and hours and hours of work.  I didn't have a practical scheduled for yesterday afternoon, and I spent literally seven hours making notecards from the lectures.  And I don't mean making notecards and watching YouTube videos, or making notecards and talking to my flatmates.  I mean sitting in an (uncomfortable) office chair and cranking out two hundred or so little bits of paper that are somehow supposed to help me internalize enough information to pass the one, GIANT exam at the end of the year (worth 90% of our grade).

It's certainly a different system than the one at home, and I'm having to readjust my study habits to work with it.  Odd, not having a test every few weeks.  And scary.  It's one thing to get a C- on my first chemistry test.  It pissed me off, but I knew I'd have three or four other tests to make it up.  Here, people look at things in terms of passing or failing.  Failing?  Failing has never been an option.  You don't fail things if you want to go to vet school.  Maybe the odd test here or there (*cough, cough* fourth-grade-states-and-capitols), but failing a major exam?  Failing the year?  It happens to people every year here, sometimes up to 25% of the class.  I think they give you one chance to re-sit it, if you don't pass, but then you're out of luck and have to repeat the year.  So, scary thoughts.  And strange to think that people are usually happy to pass, let alone be worried if they got a good mark.

They do incorporate a good bit of practical information into the first year, which keeps things exciting.  Already, we've had classes on suturing and histological slide preparation (which is cooler than you'd think--it involves wax, and ovens, and scary chemicals).  Our practicals rotate, but I've had horse handling, and a whole lab on washing hands and boots, and I'm doing something with dairy cows tomorrow.  Have I ever mentioned that I'm afraid of cows?  I've handled them a fair amount, and one dairy cow isn't that intimidating, but a herd of cows?  Get me the hell out of there, thank you very much.  They're all talking to each other, plotting in their own weird cow language.  Waiting.  I suppose I'm about to have to do an awful lot of dealing with it, though, so I'll dutifully don my wellies and boiler suit and head off to the farm tomorrow.

Image from Wikipedia

See?  Don't they just look like they're plotting something?  One more thing that's worthy of mentioning:  we are not, in general, permitted to take photos of our labs or on the farm.  So, while I'd love to put up pictures of my beautiful simple interrupted sutures for you all to admire, I'll get expelled if I do that.  Which is, I suppose, reasonable, since our subjects are all either dead (not great PR for a hospital) or someone's property.  However, if I am allowed, at any point, to take photos, rest assured that I will gladly post them here.

The Trials of Transport

Although I have a lovely post waiting to be written about Edinburgh castle, and a few things to say about our orientation week, I had an experience yesterday that I need to do a little good old-fashioned, grouchy story-telling about.

We finished our orientation stuff around one o'clock in the afternoon.  The girl I was sitting next to mentioned that she had been able to find a reasonably priced, used bicycle at a shop in town (near the Kelvingrove Museum, actually).  Since I've been wanting a cheap bike, I decided to check it out.

Things went smoothly as I boarded the 19A bus like a pro, paid my fare, got off, and found the bike shop without much trouble.  They continued to move along nicely as I tried out a few bicycles and settled on one I liked pretty well (it's a violent shade of purple).  I even found a helmet that fits around my hair, although it is bright orange and the "crash-helmet" style indicative of Hair (you know, "he lives in Brooklyn somewhere,\ and wears a whiiiiite crash-helmet).  At least I'll be visible.

I happily wheeled my new bike out of the shop and to the bus stop, where I only had to wait for three or four minutes before the bus came.  I got on, bike in tow, and off we went.  And went.  And went.  At some point, I realized that the scenery wasn't looking very familiar.  In fact, it wasn't looking at all familiar.  Frankly, I had absolutely no clue where we were.  It turns out that, while it doesn't matter if you get on the 6 or the 6A to go downtown, it matters a great deal whether you take the 19 or the 19A home.  Because the 19 goes to some god-forsaken suburb that's forty-five minutes in the wrong direction.  The not-home direction.

The bus driver was nice.  He told me just to keep riding, and eventually we'd get back to the stop where I could pick up the 19A.  "Don't think you're the first person who's done that," he told me.  He even printed me a transfer so I wouldn't have to pay the fare again.

When I finally got to the right stop and saw the 19A bus coming, I rejoiced.  It had begun to rain.  No, to pour.  I hailed the bus and it pulled over, but... the driver wouldn't let me on with the bike.  Even when I pleaded, and looked cute and sad and wet, and explained politely that I had just got off another bus with the bicycle, and I'd never do it again, but it was raining and how was I to get home...  No luck.  Who ever heard of not being allowed to take your bike on the bus?  Even the very dysfunctional Asheville buses have bike racks!

After this debacle, I realized that my only options were to ride the bike four miles home in the pouring rain (which a more hard-core cyclist would certainly have done, but that simply isn't me), or to find the train station.  I had seen bike racks in some of the train cars, so I was fairly certain that they wouldn't kick me off.  The trouble was, I really had not idea how to get to the train station.  So, I started riding east.  The traffic was heavy, and the streets were flooded, and cars kept throwing up horrible, grey, city-street water.  I was soaked.  But, finally, I found a familiar street name, and then another, and figured out that I was in the city centre, close to Glasgow Queen Street Station.  And from there, things (finally) went relatively smoothly.

When I got home, I realized that it had taken me upwards of three hours to make the four-mile trip home.  Clearly, I should just have ridden the bike home in the first place, before it started pouring.  What a nightmare.

Glasgow Cathedral and the Necropolis

This is my second post of the day, so be sure to look at the list on the right for the first one on Dumbarton Rock, too.  Also, if you use the "Follow by Email" widget at the right, I think Google will email you every time there's a new post!

Whatever your feelings about religion, it's hard not to be inspired by a good cathedral.  So, I bring you the lovely Glasgow Cathedral, one of only two intact cathedrals in Scotland (the Reformation didn't go over so well for the Catholic churches, and all the others were destroyed... according to the legend, the descendents of the stone-masons who built Glasgow cathedral threatened to defend the building to the death, so the reformers let it be).

The Glasgow Cathedral that stands today was built in the 1100s.  A few additions have been made since then, but the building remains more or less the same.  The patron saint of Glasgow, St. Mungo, was allegedly responsible for choosing the cathedral's site.  His tomb is located under the main hall of the cathedral.

 The cathedral from the Necropolis above it.  More about that in a moment.

 The front of the building.  More scaffolding... every site I visit seems to be having something done to it.  I guess this is good, though, since it means the Historic Scotland people have the money to put into restoring their properties.  At Glasgow Cathedral they're re-pointing the masonry inside and out.  Evidently they've had some problems with leaking.

 Photos never do justice for buildings like this.  There's such an overwhelming urge to look up.

 This is one of only two of the original oak doors left.  It's from a tree that was growing in the 1100s or before.  Pretty amazing it's still there.

 This is a statue of John Knox.  I think it's hilarious that he's looking right out over the cathedral from the Necropolis at the top of the hill.  Probably disapproving. 

Behind and above the Glasgow Cathedral is the Necropolis, where in the 1800s, running out of cemetery space downtown, the important leaders of the Industrial Revolution started burying each other.  Everyone who was anyone is buried here, along with a lot of other miscellaneous well-to-dos.  There are monuments designed by famous architects, including (of course) Charles Rennie Mackintosh.  The Necropolis is huge (according to Wikipedia there are around 3,500 monuments there, and a lot more dead than that), and it's also a popular place for dog-walking and picnics.

Dumbarton Rock

Once again, I've got a lot of catching-up to do, so I'll try to be brief.  Dumbarton Rock is what's left of an extinct volcano in the town of Dumbarton (no-brainer there), which lies a bit southeast of Glasgow.  It's just a short train ride to get there, and then about a mile's walk to the rock itself.  Some of the signs refer to Dumbarton Rock as Dumbarton Castle, because there have been a number of fortifications built there over the years.  However, I'll call it Dumbarton Rock, since there isn't one definitive castle there at the present.

So.  Why should you care about Dumbarton Rock?  It's cool for a number of reasons.  First of all, it's really, really old.  There have been people there for thousands of years, although the first recorded history dates from about 1,500 years ago .  The rock was the center and main fortress of the ancient kingdom of Strathclyde from the 5th to the 11th centuries.  In fact, some legends have Merlin staying at Dumbarton rock.  The Rock was attacked by Vikings in the 11th and 12th centuries, and the first royal castle was built there around 1220.  William Wallace (one of the main defenders of Scotland during the Wars of Independence) was probably imprisoned at the Rock, and Mary, Queen of Scots definitely spent some time hiding there before fleeing to France for several years.  Then, like so many of Scotland's castles and fortresses, the Rock fell into military hands until being turned over to the preservation people.

 The fortifications that you see from the ground.  I'm not sure what dates from when, although the building with all the scaffolding is the governor's house, built in the 17th century.  I'd guess that all of the walls are from a similar time period.  The oldest thing standing today is a portcullis arch, which is from the 14th century.

 There's a wonderful long walk on the walls around the Rock.

 A view of the Clyde from the walls.  Glasgow would be just to the right, out of the frame of the picture.

 Just to prove I was here, and didn't take the photos off Wikipedia...  It was super windy that day.  I actually felt like I was going to get blown over when I was high up.

 There's a very small, polite note as you enter, suggesting that Dumbarton Rock may not be suitable for disabled badge holders.  These steps were steep.

 Dumbarton Rock from the top of Dumbarton Rock.  Very picturesque.

Just to show how hard the wind was blowing, I took a short video of the flag on the top of the hill.  They actually have to have support cables on all four sides of the pole, so that it doesn't get blown down.

Stirling Castle

On Friday I visited Stirling Castle in (predictably) the town of Stirling.  Stirling Castle, like Edinburgh Castle, is one of the "must-see" visitor attractions in this part of Scotland, so I figured I'd better take a look.

Like many castles in Scotland, Stirling has had people and structures of various sorts occupying the site for a long time.  The earliest evidence they have of a building at Stirling is the remains of a chapel (no visible evidence remains, they must have found it with archeological wiles) dating back to the 12th century.  That said, they suspect that there were people there well before that.

The castle was subsequently built and rebuilt, captured by the English in the Wars of Independence, re-captured by the Stewarts, and re-designed by James IV and V in the 1500s.  Mary, Queen of Scots spend part of her childhood there, and was crowned at Stirling.  Post-Stewarts, the castle fell into the hands of the military in the 1700s, and was used as a base and training ground until 1964, when it was given to the preservation people.

What you see when you visit Stirling is largely the work done in the 1500s by James IV and V.  This includes the entrance (or "forework"), Great Hall, and Royal Palace.  Most of the surrounding fortifications were built in the 18th century, and there are a few odd buildings from the military's ownership in the 18th and 19th centuries, including a prison.

Stirling is also one of the homes of the famous Unicorn Tapestries, which you can see at the cloisters in NYC if you're nearby.  They're really worth a visit.  Anyway, I'm sure Stirling Castle would love to have the real things, but the Metropolitan owns them and probably isn't keen to give them up.  So, private donors have sponsored an almost-completed project to re-weave the Unicorn Tapestries (I believe there are seven of them)  Most of the new tapestries are already hanging at Stirling Castle.  I have seen the real Unicorn Tapestries a few times at the Cloisters but was unaware of their connection with Stirling Castle, so I was pleasantly surprised to walk in and find new, colorful ones hanging there.

 A statue of Robert the Bruce greets you as you approach Stirling Castle.

 The front entrance and side of the King's Palace from the formal gardens below.  This part really looks more like a fairy-tale castle than anything I've seen here so far.

 The orange building on the right is the Great Hall.  It's stone, like the rest of the buildings.  The strange color comes from a lime-wash (a very fresh coat, actually, they've done a lot of restorations in the past 10-15 years).

 Inside the Great Hall.  Castles are very dark!

 The bedchambers of Mary of Guise (Mary, Queen of Scots' mother).  The little queen would have played here as a child.

 The receiving room where subjects would have met with the queen.  See the newly-woven Unicorn Tapestries on the walls?

 Another thing Stirling is known for is the "Stirling Heads."  When they built the Royal Palace, the King's receiving chamber had a ceiling covered in approximately three-foot round portraits of courtiers, members of the royal line, and even a few gods and jesters.  Part of the ceiling collapsed when the military had the castle, and they tore the rest of it down.  However, many of the original heads have been recovered, although they lack their original paint (see above).  The ceiling has also been recreated and freshly painted.  It's strange to be somewhere so old and see such bright paint everywhere.

 The outside of the royal chapel, which has statures of several gods and the king.

 Some of the heads are quite worn and twisted, making them look a bit gruesome, like this one.

On my way down from Stirling, I stopped at a little coffee shop and had a bowl of the best soup I've ever eaten.  It was called honey-buttered carrot soup, but it wasn't sweet, really... It was great, and in a charming little place.

The Kelvingrove Museum (or, Stuffed Elephants, Spitfires, and Salvador Dali)

Since it's been a few days since I've written anything, I'll split it into two posts.  On Thursday I went to the Kelvingrove Museum, which is the big all-inclusive art, science, and culture museum in Glasgow.  The museum is in a pretty amazing building that opened in 1901, at the Glasgow International Exhibition.

 The grand front entrance of the Kelvingrove Museum.

This is a view of the main hall.  You can see the pipe organ when you walk in.  Originally this housed a sculpture gallery, with topiary and nudes, but the gallery was hit by a bomb in the second world war and that was the end of that.  However, the damage was somewhat minimal and much of the building's interior is still original.

I found the museum to be interesting but extremely eclectic.  It has six large wings (two each on three levels), and they seem to be only vaguely related.  They have a nice collection of French Impressionist paintings, in a hall right next to a great exhibit on the early inhabitants of Scotland.  On the ground floor, you walk from a women's rights exhibit into a room about ancient Egypt.  Egypt is followed by a beautiful ichthyosaur fossil and a stuffed circus elephant with a real Spitfire hanging above it.

 A prehistoric giant reindeer.  This thing is huge.

And a taxidermy haggis, for those of you who don't know where it comes from...

The museum people also have a strange sense of humor.  In the middle of the native Scottish wildlife exhibit, next to the grouse, was a bottle of Famous Grouse with no explanation whatsoever.  There was a packaged haggis next to the haggis, too. 

Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the Art Nouveau darling of Glasgow, also has a whole room devoted to his (and his wife Margaret's) interior designs.  And Salvador Dali's Christ of Saint John of the Cross is also there, although I must admit it was not at all to my taste.

All in all, the museum is definitely worth seeing, and they have some pretty neat stuff in their collection, but it's certainly on the eclectic side.