I AM JOHNS ADRENAL GLAND

By J.D.RATCLIF

With out my 50 odd hormones he'd die in days - so he'd better help ensure my well being!

Gram for gram, I pack more dynamite than any other organ in John's body. I can cripple him, send him mad,kill him. I haven't done any of these things, of course. In fact, I behave so well that John is barely aware of my existence.

I am the adrenal gland that perches on top of his right kidney. Like a little jockey, my twin partner rides the other. I am roughly the shape of a tricorn hat, not much larger than the tip of a finger, and I weigh only about five grams. But my talents are immense: it would take the acres of chemical plant to synthesise the 50 odd hormone or hormone like substances that I manufacture. I produce only a few thousandths of a gram of them a day, yet they play key roles in just about everything John does.

I am absolutely essential to life. Remove my partner and me, and John would be dead in a day or so - unless his doctor started feeding him artificial hormones in a hurry. Slow down our work, and watch John's life slow down too. Soon he would become weak, debilitated - a mere shadow of his former self.

Had a portion of me become overactive when John was a boy, results would have been similarly striking. The little lad would have become a little man. His voice deepened, his beard sprouted, his sexual parts taken on manly proportions. Bone ends, which should have remain open and soft until full growth is reached, would have closed prematurely.

For a long time I was the mystery organ of John's body. No one knew what I did - only that my removal meant death. As biochemists began to pry into my secrets, they discovered my virtuosity.

When they learned of my cortisone-like hormones for instance, they were truly astonished - for these substances alone are useful in treating more than a hundred diseases, ranging form rheumatism to blood disorders; from ulcerative colitis to asthma and eczema.

And consider my architecture. I have one of the richest networks of blood vessels found in the body. Each minute, six times my weight of blood passes through me.

I also have a big reserve capacity. Ten percent of my tissue is sufficient to meet John's normal needs for my hormones. However, if I were to dwindle down to the ten per cent level, and John were subjected to great stress - a severe illness, for example, or major surgery - it would probably kill him. He wouldn't have enough of my protective hormones to save him.

Actually, I produce two basic sets of hormones. My medulla, or core, makes one set; my cortex or rind, the other. My core has a unique feature: a hot line to John's brain.

Let John feel any strong emotion - a sudden rage, an overwhelming fear - and my medulla gets the information instantly. Obviously, I don't know the nature of the emergency. So I prepare John for either fight or flight. My medulla starts pouring two hormones - adrenaline and noradrenalin - into John's bloodstream.

The response to John's body is extraordinary. His liver immediately releases stored sugar, instant energy, into the bloodstream. My hormones shut down blood vessels in the skin - John goes pale - and start sluicing this extra blood into muscles and internal organs. John's heart speeds up and arteries tighten to raise blood pressure.

Digestion comes to a halt - no time to worry about that detail now- and the clotting time of John's blood is quickened, in case of injury.

I've accomplished al this in seconds. Suddenly, John is a virtual superman. If his survival necessitates running faster, jumping further, hitting harder or lifting more than ever before, he is now capable of it. He has heard stories of individuals lifting overturned cars to release trapped victims. It was adrenal hormones that made this possible.

Obviously, such stimulation can't go on indefinitely; John's body would race itself to death. So a tricky bit of protection has gone to work. The same stresses that stimulate production of adrenaline also cause the hypothalamus to signal the pituitary gland to release a substance called ACTH. This ACTH in turn prods my cortex, or rind, into stepping up production of its hormones.

Under certain conditions of stress, it's the job of these hormones to maintain blood pressure and the flow of blood to vital organs, and to help convert fat and protein into sugar - an immediately available form of energy. Soon everything is under control once again.

The hormones that my cortex produces fall into three broad classifications. One set (of the cortisone family) superintends metabolism of fats, carbohydrates and proteins; a second watches over water and mineral balance in John's body. The third batch is sex hormones - supplementing those produced by the gonads (sex glands).

Since these hormones can't be stored, I must manufacture them constantly, and the liver must see to it that any excess is destroyed. Thus the hormones that my cortex produced two hours ago have already been largely replaced by a fresh supply.

Keeping things in exact balance is all-important. Suppose something happens to John - an injury, a disease - that knocks out the working cells of my cortex. Until researchers learned how to manufacture my chief hormones, this was a sentence of death. And it wasn't pretty.

The victim seemed to get a dozen diseases at once. Skin took on a bronze tint; anaemia developed, muscles wasted away, weight and blood pressure dropped; appetite dwindled; there was nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea.

Steadily, the victim grew weaker and wearier, and death was usually welcome. Fortunately, John doesn't have to worry about this today: should anything happen to my cortex, artificial hormones could allow him to lead a near-normal life.

Too much of my cortical hormones can be almost as bad as too little. Suppose there is too much cortisol- my hormones of the cortisone family. John's arms and legs would shrivel as the excess converted muscle protein into sugar. Drained of minerals, bones would become brittle. Fat would accumulate across John's back in folds on his abdomen, overloading his now spindly legs. Blood pressure would soar; mental aberrations would become common.

Another of the major hormones of my cortex is aldosterone, which helps maintain a mineral and water balance in John's body. Too much - even a pin head amount - and John would be in serious trouble. Vital potassium would be lost in urine, and excess sodium (salt) would be retained. His muscles would weaken and possibly become paralysed.

John's heart would race, his blood pressure soar, his fingers tingle; headache would be continuous and almost unbearable. Aldosterone over production is usually caused by tumours, and when the tumour is removed, recovery is assured.

Obviously none of these things have happened to John; not yet, anyway. They merely indicate what a Pandora's box I can be. For years now, I have done many jobs so well that John has almost forgotten I exist. He'd better not forget completely, though, because there is something he can do to help ensure my continued well-being.

John should remember that too much stress - worry, anger, hate - is bad for him and for me. So he might try to calm down a bit.

This article first appeared in the Readers Digest, June 1971 Illustration; Roger Gorringe