Ode
to Vitamin A
Vitamin
A refers to a group of molecules called retinoids, with twenty carbon atoms
linked to thirty hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. At the back of the eye,
the retina is a layer of nerve cells sensitive to light. In these cells, a form
of retinoid binds to a protein, a large molecule made of strings of molecules
that fold and twist into complex shapes. This protein, now called a pigment,
absorbs photons of light which trigger a nerve impulse which is sent to the
optic nerve and then the brain. Most of us read these words quickly, pretending
they make sense, suppressing a half-panic of questions. What is a photon and
how does it start a nerve impulse and what is a nerve impulse? How does a
bundle of nerve impulses variously connected to aspects of vision like color,
size, depth, and brightness become a buttery-brown leather couch or an angular
black walnut tree topped by the unmistakable figure of a hawk?
We
can’t hear ourselves think—we can’t process thought—at the speed of the cellular
level. Still, we try to break things down, like cells do. A photon is what we have
named the smallest unit of light. This “packet of energy” sometimes acts like a
particle, sometimes a wave, a description already problematic. Entering the
eye, the energy of a photon causes the electrons in the Vitamin A molecule to
change orbit around their atom’s nucleus. Now hydrogen atoms rearrange into a
new form, all happening in picoseconds, a few trillionths of a second. This new
form of Vitamin A no longer fits into the protein to which it is bound, and in
nanoseconds, billionths of a second, that protein changes into multiple new
shapes. One of them activates another cellular protein which blocks the natural
flow of positively-charged sodium ions into the cell, which changes the cell’s
electrical charge, which creates the electric impulse, which travels—using an
entirely different process—cell to cell to cell.
The
words I am using are rough-shaped and also amorphous, suddenly not quite right,
like that form of Vitamin A binding to that protein. And although we can
pinpoint to some degree the where of what happens next—the electric impulse
sent to the forebrain’s occipital lobe—we really have no clue as to that final
question: how does this biochemistry become the image of a couch or a hawk? Nor
do we understand the next step: how does the biochemistry of consciousness
becomes a sentence? “That hawk every evening in the black walnut tree is the
unwitting sentinel for my sorrow.” Or “No matter how much I love this buttery-brown
leather couch, a sofa-futon would be more practical.”
It’s
all happening without us. Nature as mysterious and secret as clouds racing
across the sky, wild unknown landscapes
that happen to be our own bodies, our very selves.
I
began learning about Vitamin A because I am interested in hunger and the
transformation of food into thought and story—more biochemistry turned to
consciousness. Vitamins are how we describe any organic compound needed by the
body in a small amount. We get Vitamin A or retinoids mostly from eating meat
and meat products, and we get carotenoids—which our body converts to
retinoids—mostly from eating green leafy vegetables and fruits colored orange,
yellow, or red. How much Vitamin A we get from plants, however, is much lower
than we once thought and varies based on season and preparation. Vitamin A is
particularly important in the development of a human fetus and throughout
childhood. We don’t always understand what Vitamin A is doing in the human
body, but we do know that a lack of Vitamin A is the leading cause of
preventable blindness, with a half million children going blind every year.
This
is what happens. As well as morphing into the pigment that absorbs light,
Vitamin A also helps produce mucous and maintain the surface of the eye and
tear production. Without enough Vitamin A, you cannot cry. The mucosa membrane
that covers the front of your eye and lines the inside of your eyelid becomes
rough and dry and prone to infection. So does the cornea of the eye. Small
holes 1-3 millimeters across, with steep sides, form at the edges of the cornea
and then spread. Sometimes the cornea ruptures, liquid material of your eye
escapes, and the result is a shrunken eyeball. Sometimes, the ulcerated areas
are covered by white corneal scar tissue.
Half
the children who go blind in this way die within a year, most from measles or
diarrhea or malaria, because Vitamin A is also an important part of the immune
system. This, again, is related to how Vitamin A produce mucous which protects
the linings of the lungs and stomach and bowel. In truth, millions and millions
of children die every year for lack of Vitamin A, whether they go blind first
or not.
Eat
a range of food and you’ll be fine. A carrot. An apricot. Butter. Scrambled
eggs. Have a grilled cheese sandwich or vegetable soup or a kale salad. Drink
mint tea. Vitamin A is a lovely molecule that fills the world and if you have
access to these foods, eat them. You won’t need to worry about the pigments in
your retina absorbing photons of light or the tears lubricating your eyes or
weird changes in your skin and taste buds. If you are pregnant and understand
that Vitamin A is essential for your child’s bone growth and development, you
won’t wonder obsessively if you are seeing less well in dim light—the first
sign of Vitamin A deficiency. Eat a sweet potato. Eat a fish. Eat a hamburger.
Eat dinner with your family. Eat lunch with friends. Eat alone as you read a
book or stare at the mountains in the distance.
Close
your eyes. For a picosecond, in the darkness, biochemistry is a grace you
understand.