Dark Banquet - Bill Schutt [50]
I knew from my investigation on bloodletting that in the second century Galen had prescribed leeches as a means to reduce “plethoras”—perceived excesses in the volume of blood (one of the four humors)—and that the word leech was actually derived from loece or laece, an old Anglo-Saxon word meaning “to heal.”
“And for all our technology and a multibillion-dollar drug industry, leeches are still being used in hospitals today. In fact, in 2004 the FDA approved Hirudo medicinalis as a medical device.”
I wondered if I’d heard him correctly. “Device?”
“That’s right. The medicinal leech is only the second-living creature to ever receive that designation.”
Rudy knew the answer to my next question, so before I could ask it, he said, “Maggots.”
“Maggots?” I parroted.
“Sure. Doctors figured out hundreds of years ago that if they applied maggots to an open wound, they’d only eat the dead or decaying tissue—not the viable stuff.”
“Cool,” I replied, ever the scientist. “So what about leeches?”
“Most of ours go to hospitals or medical centers where doctors perform reattachment surgeries—ears, scalps, noses, breast reconstructions too. Somebody walks into a hospital carrying their finger in a bag of ice—we get a call.”
Rudy explained that during delicate procedures like the reattachment of an ear or finger, tiny arteries and veins are reconnected with microscopically thin sutures. With their thicker, sturdier walls, arteries are easier to work on, but the thin-walled veins that return blood to the heart are often problematic. As a result, blood pumps freely into the reattached tissue (via the surgically mended arteries) but it often pools up owing to the compromised venous flow out of the area. If not corrected, this “venous congestion” leads to blocked circulation and, ultimately, the death of the reattached tissue, which starves from the lack of oxygen and nutrients.
“At some point, someone figured out that by placing leeches near the site of the reattached tissue you could establish a sort of artificial circulation.”
“How’s that?”
“The leech drains the accumulating blood so that new arterial blood can arrive on the scene. This fresh blood brings with it the ingredients necessary to repair the damaged blood vessels and stimulate the growth of new veins into the area.”
“Got it,” I replied.
“They might use ten to twelve leeches on a finger reattachment and several hundred after a scalp reattachment surgery.”
Rudy explained how over a thousand leeches had been used to save the remaining portion of one Canadian man’s leg after cancer had forced surgeons to perform a partial amputation.
“Still, it wasn’t until the 1980s that leech use progressed from being a last resort to becoming a rather standard procedure.”
“Why the reluctance?” I asked.
Rudy leaned across his desk and lowered his voice. “Most surgeons thought that it reflected badly on them if they needed to use leeches. Initially, it was quite a tough sell. Now we ship thousands of them each year—all over the U.S. and Canada.”
I asked Rudy if all of the leeches he sold were headed for reattachment duty.
“Mostly,” he replied, “but veterinarians are using them, too, for reattachments in dogs and sometimes to treat swollen ankles in horses. They’re also popular in teaching labs.” Rudy explained how leeches had relatively huge neurons (nerve cells), making it easier for students to study nervous system function at a cellular level.
The leech-meister could tell that I was impressed but he wasn’t quite finished.
“At Beth Israel Medical Center, studies are showing that leeches can be an effective treatment for pain and inflammation, especially for people suffering from osteoarthritis. They’re one of the first hospitals in the country to offer this type of leech therapy.”
Rudy sat back in his chair and grinned like a proud father. “Quite an accomplishment for a creature that most people consider a repulsive,