{"product_id":"the-pleasure-shock-isbn-9781101986530","title":"The Pleasure Shock","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe electrifying, forgotten history of Robert Heath's brain pacemaker, investigating the origins and ethics of one of today's most promising medical breakthroughs: deep brain stimulation\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe technology invented by psychiatrist Robert G. Heath in the 1950s and '60s has been described as among the most controversial experiments in US history. His work was alleged at the time to be part of MKUltra, the CIA's notorious \"mind control\" project. His research subjects included incarcerated convicts and gay men who wished to be \"cured\" of their sexual preference. Yet his cutting-edge research and legacy were quickly buried deep in Tulane University's archives. Investigative science journalist Lone Frank now tells the complete sage of this passionate, determined doctor and his groundbreaking neuroscience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMore than fifty years after Heath's experiments, this very same treatment is becoming mainstream practice in modern psychiatry for everything from schizophrenia, anorexia, and compulsive behavior to depression, Parkinson's, and even substance addiction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLone Frank uncovered lost documents and accounts of Heath's trailblazing work. She tracked down surviving colleagues and patients, and she delved into the current support for deep brain stimulation by scientists and patients alike. What has changed? Why do we today unquestioningly embrace this technology as a cure? How do we decide what is a disease of the brain to be cured and what should be allowed to remain unrobed and unprodded? And how do we weigh the decades of criticism against the promise of treatment that could be offered to millions of patients?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElegantly written and deeply fascinating, \u003ci\u003eThe Pleasure Shock\u003c\/i\u003e weaves together biography, scientific history, and medical ethics. It is an adventure into our ever-shifting views of the mind and the fateful power we wield when we tinker with the self.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Pleasure Shock\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] wide-ranging, thoughtful exploration…Frank has written an excellent, balanced portrait of an inventive psychiatrist with a complicated legacy.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A thoughtful, always interesting look into the workings of the mind—and the sometimes-surprising implications of how those workings have been revealed.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Frank has traced and interviewed surviving patients, former collaborators, family members and current DBS scientists. The result is a rarity: a thrilling, well-researched read.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eNature\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Compelling... engaging... an accessible and entertaining description of this relatively unknown chapter in the history of DBS.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eThe Lancet\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Nuanced and thoughtful.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eWashington Free Beacon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A beautifully written, nuanced compendium that unfurls like an engrossing mystery, filled with colorful characters, gripping drama and mind-blowing scientific history in the making, definitely one of the most mesmerizing nonfiction books with New Orleans roots ever.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eNew Orleans Living\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Pleasure Shock\u003c\/i\u003e is a page-turner full of fascinating characters, high-stakes drama, and profound ethical dilemmas. Lone Frank—a trained neuroscientist and gifted storyteller—illuminates the dark roots of a modern-day medical marvel, and her book should be required reading for anyone interested in our ongoing efforts to tame the human mind by tinkering with the human brain.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–Luke Dittrich, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003ePatient H.M.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Scientists who are ahead of their time are often odd characters.   Robert Heath is a dramatic example. Lone Frank brings his history and dramatic personality to life. She tells the untold story of his  work on deep brain stimulation as a treatment for mental disorders. Was it pioneering or premature? Her nuanced portrait reveals Heath as a scientist-clinician who is neither monster nor hero, but passionate and persistent. I am astounded that I never knew this story despite decades in psychiatry. Others will be as fascinated as I am.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–Dr. Randolph Nesse, author of \u003ci\u003eWhy We Get Sick\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Pleasure Shock\u003c\/i\u003e is an illuminating expose on yet another dark, misunderstood time in our medical past. I could not put this book down.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–Paul Ruggieri MD, author of \u003ci\u003eConfessions of a Surgeon\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The Pleasure Shock \u003c\/i\u003eis not only a fascinating biography of brain-implant pioneer Robert Heath. It also explores a profound and disturbing question: Can we, and should we, use technology to eradicate suffering and evil?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e–John Horgan, Director, Center for Science Writings, Stevens Institute of Technology, and author of \u003ci\u003eThe End of Science\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eLONE FRANK\u003c\/b\u003e is an acclaimed science writer and the author of two previous books in English, \u003ci\u003eMy Beautiful Genome\u003c\/i\u003e (Oneworld, 2011)--which was shortlisted for the Royal Society's Winton Prize for Science Books--and \u003ci\u003eMindfield \u003c\/i\u003e(Oneworld, 2009). She has also been a presenter and coproducer of several TV documentaries with global distribution and is currently working on a feature-length, internationally financed, English-language documentary about Heath and deep brain stimulation. Before her career as a science writer, she earned a PhD in neurobiology and worked in the US biotech industry. She lives in Copenhagen.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Singing the Brain Electric\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The year 1951 was a little over a month old when the small group      of men in lab coats gathered in the operating theater.      Anticipation hung heavy in the air but everyone went out of their      way not to act as if this was just like any other day at the      office.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The surgeon, a psychiatrist, and the others in turn offered their      commentary on the unusually cold New Orleans winter. As they      talked, a young woman lay before them on the operating table,      conscious but not fully present. For the past six months she had      been hospitalized, silent, and withdrawn, and almost immobile. If      an aide started brushing her teeth or combing her hair, she would      complete the task, but only torpidly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e DIAGNOSIS: Schizophrenic reaction, catatonic type, read her      medical record.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The file noted that she was an only child, and had lived all of      her twenty-six years with her parents in the countryside. They      reported that she had always been a quiet and obedient child.      \"She's a good girl,\" her mother said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the same time, the woman's health was fragile. There was a long      litany of complaints: discomfort, diffuse pain, general fatigue,      repeated fainting spells. The year before her hospitalization,      these episodes morphed into a chronic condition of irritable      confusion and a morbid obsession with her guilt. With tears      running down her cheeks, the good girl begged her parents again      and again for forgiveness from sins neither of them could      recognize-including imaginary sexual transgressions she supposedly      committed in her early childhood. Finally, her parents had decided      to try a private clinic that promised a definitive treatment for      their daughter's overexcitement: a series of electric shock      treatments.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The shock therapy helped a bit, but the woman quickly developed an      exaggerated fear of disease. She was particularly anxious that her      body was producing insidious, malignant cancers. Eventually, the      worries became too much for her, and she attempted to kill herself      with her father's hunting rifle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"A feeble suicidal gesture,\" the medical file reported, but enough      to land the young woman in New Orleans's Charity Hospital. She had      been put in the women's ward-the white women's ward-where she had      spent the past six months. Then, unfortunately, she had started to      experience new delusions and hallucinations. Another round of      electroshocks provided relief from these symptoms, but had also      thrown her into a state of mute isolation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There was a separate sheet in the medical record, marked \"Patient      4,\" dedicated to the bold experimental treatment under way on this      frigid February evening. That night, a young surgeon named      Francisco Garcia was conducting a fourth surgery on the young      woman's brain under the supervision of his boss, Robert G. Heath.      Four hours earlier, they had opened her skull and cautiously      placed a single, thin silver electrode through her right frontal      lobe all the way down to the bottom of her brain, leaving its      conductive tip in what was called the septum. This was Heath's      area: a little region of the brain that he believed served as a      focus for emotions, desires, and lust. Heath was convinced the      septum was the key to waking his patient from her schizophrenic      trance. It was the prince to her Sleeping Beauty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her shaved head was covered with a white, caplike bandage. On the      right side of her pate, the back end of the fixed electrode jutted      out like an antenna. In and of itself, the operation was simple,      but Garcia was familiar with how difficult it was to place the      electrode precisely. He had to cut through one side of the      prefrontal cortex, the brain's tightly folded outer layer, and      create a small opening into the cavity of the lateral ventricle,      one of two fluid filled cavities almost at the brain's center. He      then had to guide the electrode, following a chain of anatomical      markers leading him to the tiny ventricular channel called the      foramen of Monro, which was near the brain's midline. Using a      technique called pneumoencephalography, Garcia and his helpers      would then pump air into the hollows of the brain and take an      X-ray to verify that the electrode was in the place they wanted.      The process would give the patient a terrible headache later, but      there was no way around it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The electrode now properly placed, Heath took over. He turned      toward the technician, a man called Herb Daigle, and told him it      was time to connect the electrode to the power supply. Heath then      moved gently to the patient's side. She looked petrified, her eyes      nearly closed. When he began to speak to her, he adopted an      everyday tone, as if the situation were entirely normal. He was      here to help; she should follow his directions. It didn't seem as      if she had heard anything, but he did not hesitate: He gave the      signal to Herb to turn on the juice. The room went completely      silent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They had agreed to start cautiously and stimulate the patient's      septum for one minute at 4 volts and 2 milliamps of current.      Nothing. Absolutely no reaction. Throughout, they kept an eye out      for any sign of seizures, which had been a complication during the      surgery for Patient 2 a month earlier. No one wanted to see that      again. They watched her blood pressure just as carefully. From      animal experiments, they knew that blood pressure could rise      sharply when the deep regions of the brain were tickled. But,      again, she had no response. The current was turned off. Yet there      was no reaction from the young woman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After waiting for a moment, Heath nodded and Herb restarted the      stimulation. This time, the intensity went up a notch, to three      milliamps-higher, but still on the low end. The electric pulse was      kept on for a minute and a half this time. They watched the      patient's blood pressure but her body appeared to give no      resistance to the stimulation. They were not sure what this meant.      So, quickly, they drew a small amount of blood to test for changes      in the woman's stress hormones. Heath once again spoke to the      woman, asking trivial, easy questions: What's your name? Where are      you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hos-pital . . .\" she whispered suddenly, and, a moment later,      \"New . . . Orleans . . .\" this time more hesitantly, almost      inaudibly, as if having a voice were new to her, something she      must get used to. Heath, who had been standing in front of her      until this moment, bent down and laid a hand on her arm. Looking      directly into her eyes, which were now open, he asked whether she      was in pain anywhere, if she felt anything special.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After a long pause she answered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No pain, Doctor.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The surgeon and the psychiatrist glanced at each other above the      patient. Heath was glowing. This was exactly what he had      predicted, what he had always known had to happen. At that moment,      right there in the operating room, he might even have allowed      himself the luxury of imagining a future in which he finally      unlocked the mystery of schizophrenia and found a method to break      the hardened shell of the disease and drag the person inside back      into the real world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you see the change?\" said Heath to the room, but he was mostly      talking to himself. Behind his instruments, Herb was relieved,      almost elated. He had helped construct the electrodes in the      machine shop, and had spent hours discussing the dimensions and      materials with his boss and the neurophysiologists. From the      beginning, he had sensed a special quality in Heath, a vision or      drive that instilled a passionate desire in everyone around him to      deliver their very best. Of course, he was merely a technician,      not one of the men confidently assembled around the operating      table with their long, prestigious educational pedigrees to back      them up. Yet Herb knew he had his role to play in something big,      and important.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In total, the little team stimulated the woman's brain six times,      at the highest pushing the needle up to 4 milliamps and 8 volts,      and holding it there for a good two minutes. She was awake and      attentive throughout. She didn't break into long sentences, or      elegant argumentation, or even song, but it was the first time in      months she had responded to anyone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Heath made a signal, and finally, the experiment was over. Garcia      stepped forward to secure the silver thread sticking out of      Patient 4's scalp. They were going to attempt another round of      stimulations in a couple of days, and until then, the electrode      would have to remain in place. With infinite care, he put a little      bone plug into the hole in her scalp, pulled the skin tight around      the opening, cleaned the wound, and bandaged it, hoping that would      keep everything in place. Inwardly, he crossed his fingers, to      ward off the threat of infection. If the site got infected, their      work with Patient 4 was effectively done.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Back on the ward, the young woman turned to a nurse and, for the      first time in months, spoke on her own initiative. She was tired      of all the therapists who had been circling around her bed trying      to get her to talk, she complained. She would like to be rid of      them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By the age of thirty-four, Heath had created his own medical      fiefdom. He ruled supreme over two floors of the new, boxy      building on Canal Street where Tulane University had consolidated      its medical research facilities. He had chosen to decorate his      territory in the simple, modern, academic style, a classic      psychiatristÕs couch snug up against the wall, the clean lines and      beige tones exuding competence and efficiency. His laboratories      were stocked with the most advanced measuring instruments; he had      access to a seemingly endless supply of cats and monkeys on which      to run animal models; and his operating suite had been customized      to his specifications. There was even a room filled with camera      equipment, so that every experiment could be documented on film.      Most important, he had surrounded himself with top-notch      colleagues who were keen to follow him into unknown territory.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the anteroom of his office, Heath's efficient secretary, Irene      Dempesy, was on top of any problem or administrative nonsense that      walked in the door, leaving Heath free to envision a different      path forward for psychiatry. From his office, he could lean back      in his cozy chair and look out on New Orleans's celebrated, and      notorious, French Quarter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When he had told his colleagues at Columbia University about his      offer from Tulane, they had reacted with incredulity. They didn't      understand how Heath could want to leave a cushy position and      great career prospects in New York to go off to such a backwater.      After all, he belonged to an urbane milieu that tended to think      there was nothing down South but swampland hicks, illiterates, and      corrupt politicians.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He understood their objections. He had a lucrative private      psychiatric practice on Park Avenue and a tenure-track position at      Columbia. New York City was the promised land of American      psychiatry. By comparison, Tulane was a one-horse town, backwards,      without any research tradition. In fact, the place did not have      its own psychiatry department. Not yet, anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But he also understood that Tulane was offering him the chance to      realize his grand ambitions. The new dean of the medical school,      Max Lapham, was something of a tornado, a force of nature that      could not be held at bay. Lapham was obsessed with the idea of      getting his institution into the big league. He regularly talked      of creating a \"Harvard of the South,\" which would require, above      all else, recruiting innovative researchers. He needed hungry      young men (and a few women) who would grab the money, space, and      freedom to pursue new ideas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e During a vacation to Atlantic City, Lapham had bumped into a      psychiatrist from Columbia who had mentioned his young colleague,      Robert Heath, as one such rising star. Heath was a certified      neurologist as well as a psychiatrist. He was known for his hard      work in the lab. But what piqued Lapham's interest was the report      of Heath's character. The psychiatrist said Heath possessed an      unusual dynamism and charisma. He was the type who would get      people-including the media-excited about his research.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lapham decided to get a look at Heath for himself. In Manhattan,      he was greeted by a tall, elegant, almost beautiful man who could      have easily nailed a screen test for MGM. He exhibited athletic      grace and an inner calm, the latter unusual for someone so young.      He quickly saw that Heath deserved his reputation as one of those      people who naturally captivated a room when he entered it. And he      was surprisingly sharp. He was more than current in his knowledge      of the brain and the psyche, but at the same time wasn't afraid to      argue-convincingly-for his own original ideas. This was the man      for Lapham's dreams for the medical school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lapham wooed Heath and his wife, Eleanor, to visit New Orleans,      but they were barely arrived when the city was hit by a hurricane.      The city was shut down for the next several days. Lapham couldn't      believe his bad luck. He was sure these two delicate souls from      the well-ordered North were ready to decline his hospitable offer      to move to the disheveled South. But Heath had just laughed and      professed to the dean how he had fallen in love with the place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As he would later suggest to one of his interns, it was not so      much the New Orleans sights and sounds. Instead, as he was being      shown around, he had been taken across the walkway connecting the      medical school directly to Charity Hospital, and discovered what      to him was a veritable gold mine: degenerate, raving syphilitics;      catatonic psychotics petrified like awkward, living statues;      melancholics who had completely disappeared into themselves and      could no longer get out of bed on their own; volatile paranoids      who had to be strapped down to keep them from living out their      delusions and harming themselves and others. All of them      disturbed, tormented souls. And all of them fantastic \"clinical      material.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Heath's private passion was schizophrenia, the terrible and      mysterious disease that struck the young, crippling and darkening      the rest of their lives. \"It is the most disabling disorder we      have,\" he explained to his medical students during lectures.      \"Anyone who goes into medicine must be interested in      schizophrenia.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But what sort of illness was it? No one had found any explanatory      changes in the brain structure of schizophrenics, or even      biochemical irregularities. In fact, the consensus had formed that      it was not an ailment at all but a purely psychological      disturbance-a \"super-neurosis,\" in the reassuring words of the      psychiatrists. Psychiatry at the cusp of the 1950s was, for all      practical purposes, synonymous with psychoanalysis. In the period      following the Second World War, Freud's doctrines and a small army      of his disciples had swarmed into every psychology department in      the United States. Independent psychoanalytic institutes outside      the aegis of the university were established left and right, and a      private market for the \"talking cure\" was booming.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303217025253,"sku":"NP9781101986530","price":28.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101986530.jpg?v=1767740979","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-pleasure-shock-isbn-9781101986530","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}