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It is a quarter to five, nearing the end of a long
day in my niche of the Psychiatry department laboratories. My eyes
are starting to glaze over due to several hours spent ogling at
the computer screen, monitoring yet another rat as it traipses around
the open field (a.k.a. big box). A message board pops up onscreen,
jolting my mind back to attention: Do you want to add acquired tracks
to the experiment?
I choose the “yes” option and gleefully
snatch off my headphones. “Forty-two for forty-two trials.
Now I can finally analyze this data.” I pop the tape out of
the VCR and place it neatly beside my stacks of scored Porsolt swim
test and plus maze videos.
At this moment my graduate mentor Dave enters the
office, loudly as usually. “Hey Amena, what’s going
on? How’s the family? You look tired, go home!”
“You don’t have to ask me twice today,”
I sighed, “I’ve been glued to this monitor for hours!
I actually miss interacting with the rats.”
“Aww, you need a pony.” Wait, have you played with your
animals today? No, you haven’t. Go do it--only take you ten
minutes, then you can go frolic with your friends.”
I enter the animal housing room relieved that this routine, somewhat
enjoyable task is the day’s last. I don the typical white
ensemble, approach my rack of twenty cages of rats, and begin handling
them carefully, mechanically, one at a time. Even though I hold
them gingerly, I wonder if they fear me, and for good reason. How
would I react to a person who injected me multiple times with a
slightly acidic, psychotropic drug then threw me into uncomfortable,
isolated environments? Certainly I believe that this CRF receptor
antagonist will potentially relieve the anxiety and depression of
suffering people, but these animals must think (if they think at
all) that I’m purely sadistic. Well, question aside, preclinical
trials are necessary and relatively brief. How aversive can the
paradigms be anyway? I snap the lid of cage 20 shut, make a kissy
face at the quivering pink nose protruding through the bars, and
exit lab for the day.
Upon my return to the Beta House, I find my dorm room empty and
the hall quiet for once. Two little words ring softly in my ears:
Nap time. I grab my comfy Abercrombie “A-team” jersey
from the p.j. drawer and change in haste. One should never go to
sleep on an empty stomach, so I scour the meager contents of the
fridge. Cheese, salsa, leftovers…bologna, jackpot! I make
and devour two sandwiches, set the alarm clock, then climb into
my unmade yet welcoming bed. Five then ten minutes pass, but I still
lie there on the brink of a dream--with an unkind knot in my stomach.
When did I buy that meat again? Oh yeah…first trip to the
grocery store eight weeks ago…
When I open my eyes I am no longer lying in my bed
but on hard green earth. I leap up onto my feet to survey a broad
meadow, completely devoid of animation. In shock I fall two steps
back and run smack into a hard surface. It is a wall, a wall that
stretches to the blue sky, and it is deceptively painted, like an
expanded stage set, to mimic the barren field. What is going on
here? In frenzy I run the length of the partition and bang into
a second wall, confused, searching, with no clue as to an exit.
I sprint ahead once more, intermittently throwing my weight against
the barrier in hopes of deducing a weakness, some way of escape.
I grow weary…hot tears blind my face and I feel the third
wall before I see it. I acknowledge the sun that hangs white and
glaring above me, curse it, then wipe my sweating brow and advance
with a second wind of ire. This time I glimpse my faint reflection
with two feet to spare. There is something different about my jersey—it
now reads “V-team.” At this fourth wall, I collapse
and freeze. Is someone watching me? Cannot miss a chance to overcome
these barriers… afraid to progress towards the center…
will not be a target…wet with perspiration…trapped.
I close my eyes and pray it will all go away.
I awake next underwater. Rapidly, I shoot towards
the surface for a gasp of fresh air. I am in an Olympic size swimming
pool and the water is half drained. In smooth adrenaline fueled
strokes I advance towards a ladder at the head of the pool. It is
too high to reach. I try kicking off the bottom and flailing my
outstretched arms towards the taunting bottom rung. Finally my legs
tire, my arms ache, and I float there dejected and uneasy. When
my face dips below the surface I notice the number three emblazoned
on my jersey. I lift my sopping head and fix my eyes once more on
the unattainable escape. No, it isn’t unattainable, I will
keep fighting and work my way out. The struggle ensues but to no
avail. Spinning, diving, maniacally trying to displace water from
the pool until the surface becomes frothy—why is nothing working?
I use every ounce of available strength just to keep my nose above
the threatening ripples. I am going to die here. But maybe someone
will rescue me first…I close my swollen eyelids and within
moments am plucked from the water by an unseen hand.
Will I rise forever? This thought passes when I plummet
from the sky and land abruptly in a narrow alley between two tall,
brooding buildings. There are no windows, no doors, and a soft mechanical
drone is the only sound. I jog down the dark corridor towards a
lighted portion of the alley where there seems to be an exit. I
slow as I approach the crossway--oddly enough neither cars nor pedestrians
are passing. My way grows more brightly lit until finally I can
peer around the right corner. In the intense daylight it is easy
to notice the number ten on my sleep jersey. I look ahead, take
two steps, and then freeze. I’m atop another building, suspended
many stories high by a narrow roof without peripheral support…cautiously
I step once, twice, then again out onto the open platform. This
is extremely dangerous. I feel foolish but also mildly giddy at
my own boldness. I’ll just keep to the center and everything
will be ok. As I edge further out my heartbeat slows to normal and
I can now deliver some of my focus to the serenely beautiful panorama
that encompasses my position. Delicate white clouds, gently evolving
with the current, sweep across a profound blue sky. The sun is high
and brilliant but with pleasing warmth. There are no more distractions,
no fears, and I walk on now with fuller strides toward the horizon.
One step too far. My balance is lost and I hurtle downward again
like a bullet, a bird, I just close my eyes…
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…whoa, what just happened…BEEP…whack!
I sit up in bed and relief floods in as I recognize my own room.
My covers are in a twisted heap on the floor, and where exactly
is my pillow? I check my jersey—it reads “A-team”
once more. I remember the transient inscriptions in that bizarre
dream, “V-team, three, and ten.” Wait, 3 and 10mg/kg
R121919 are two drug concentrations that we administer to the rats,
and “V” has got to stand for vehicle! We give each dose
in the Open Field, Porsolt Swim Test, and Elevated Plus Maze paradigms.
My mind is slow, but now fully aware. I grab my journal off the
nightstand and begin writing: Notes to self 1) don’t skimp
on the t.l.c. during animal handling time; 2) never underestimate
the importance of pre-clinical trials; 3) in case of major depression
or prolonged anxiety, do take moderate medication. Sucks to be a
vehicle. *4) throw out the old bologna.
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