A Brief Introduction to an Amazing System

Two main sets of arteries feed blood to the human brain. At the front of the neck are the left and right common carotid arteries. The common carotids divide into the external and internal carotids. The carotid arteries are big, as far as arteries go, at about six millimetres in diameter for the average adult, and they account for about eighty percent of the total blood supply to our brains.

At the back of the neck, we find the left and right vertebral arteries—the verts. These major arteries run from a point behind the collarbones, up and through the vertebrae in our neck, and into the back of the brain. The verts originate from a junction with the subclavian arteries, another pair of large arteries that deliver blood into the arms. The verts are smaller than the subclavians, at about three millimetres in most adults.

As I’ve mentioned before, I look at medical subjects from a strictly layman’s perspective. One aspect of the arterial system feeding the brain that I find fascinating is the amount of redundancy that is built into it. In most people, the left and right vertebrals do the same job. The two separate arteries meet up in the back of the skull to form the larger basilar artery. It is the basilar artery that supplies the remainder of the blood to the brain, about twenty percent of the total.

Redundancy extends further than just between the left and right vertebrals. It also includes connectivity between the two sets of arteries feeding the brain, the carotids and the vertebrals. At the base of the brain, where the various arteries come together, there is a circle of connections between the carotid and vertebral arteries. This arrangement of communicating arteries is called the Circle of Willis, named for Thomas Willis, an English doctor who discovered it in the seventeenth century. Several other arteries meet up in the Circle of Willis and then take blood away to other parts of the brain.

The reason for the Circle of Willis is quite simple and elegant. If any of the main arteries is blocked, or occluded, then the parts of the brain that depend on the blocked artery can still get blood supply. In other words, blood can flow around the circle to get to its destination by another route.

Not the Circle of Willis

There can be differences in each person’s arterial connections, and many people have an arrangement other than a textbook Circle of Willis. This is what a neurologist would refer to as an “incomplete Circle of Willis”. It doesn’t seem that having an incomplete Circle of Willis is necessarily a problem. Besides, there is no option to fix it, given the complexities involved. In other words, an incomplete Circle of Willis is likely something that would only ever be discovered in an autopsy.

So, why am I even writing about this?

I know from personal experience that having an incomplete Circle of Willis can lead to higher risks of stroke or other neurological problems.

Even if that weren’t the case, I look at this system from a chemical engineer’s perspective. And when I do, I can’t help but be fascinated by the perfection of the design for this most essential system.

Mine just doesn’t happen to be perfect.

A Different Perspective on Sustainability

I just picked up my 1954 Leica M3 from a routine but overdue service. I couldn’t wait to get it home and load it with film. Yes, 1954. Yes, film.

Holding this remarkable machine in my hands, feeling the impressive weight of its all-metal construction, is an experience. But looking through its now clean and perfectly clear rangefinder to compose a picture and pressing its silky-smooth shutter is something else entirely. And don’t get me started on the feel of its double-stroke film advance. I hope I haven’t lost anyone yet.

Some would suggest that my nearly seven-decade-old camera, totally manual and without any kind of exposure metering, is the best camera ever made. Others might take one look and scoff at it as a worthless anachronism.

It got me thinking about how much we have lost, in our seemingly endless quest for the latest gadget. When did we get on this treadmill? The more relevant question is, why?

There are other examples of devices that seem to have reached a point of perfection, before sliding down a slippery slope on the back of consumerism. Italian racing bicycles are a good example. There are few things more suited to their purpose than steel-framed bicycles from Bianchi or Colnago, especially when kitted out with high-end components from manufacturers like Campagnolo. Just like my camera, they are perfectly suited to one job, and they were built to last.

The curious thing is that the apex for many such devices was reached at about the same time. The mid-to-late 1970s seem to have been a watershed period. After that time, something changed. An endless push for profit ensured ever-decreasing quality. Offshoring of production and substitution of parts with (usually) plasticky alternatives sealed the fate of manufacturers who had built their reputation by designing equipment that could last indefinitely.

From the consumer point of view, we came to accept this trend, because rapidly changing tastes made it less likely we would want to hold onto one product for a lifetime anyway. Fashion, which has always been at the forefront of the throwaway mindset, became a model for how other goods were marketed.

No one stops to ask if there is an alternative to the mania that accompanies each new release of the latest iPhone or the newest gee-whiz electronic gadget. To my mind, it does nothing but ensure that we will be putting a lot of material in landfills, as last year’s devices are cast aside just before they fail.

All of this makes it more satisfying that I can still pick up a camera that is older than I am and take pictures that are every bit as impactful as those coming out of the latest high-resolution, high-frame speed digital monster. Maybe more so, in fact.

Posing for her portrait, Leica M3 and Ilford Delta 100 film, 2022

When I travel with my M3, I don’t have to worry about chargers or SD cards. When I estimate the exposure with my brain, and when I get it right, there is no feeling that can compare. Sure, not all my shots are keepers, but that’s the quest that makes it worthwhile. Even the wait for my film to be processed seems to enhance the experience.

And when I’m done, I will be able to pass this wonderful machine onto my sons, knowing that with a bit of care it will serve them well for their lifetime too. How’s that for sustainability?