Osteology Everywhere: Cerveza Edition

Tapas in Madrid

Tapas in Madrid – Chips

On Friday night I took a much needed break from dissertation work. Instead of staring at my Excel spreadsheets with a furrowed brow, I went out for beer and tapas to celebrate my roommate finishing the two-day long ordeal that is the Cambridge B1 English exam. In the province of Jaén, tapas consist of little dishes that arrive at the table with any beverage you order. You pay for the drink – whether it’s beer, wine, or just soda – but not for the food that accompanies it.
 
 
In other parts of Spain you’ll sometimes receive lesser snacks that are also called tapas – things like peanuts, chips, or small plates of olives. However, in Jaén they really do it up right. 2€ will get you not only a beer, but also such delicacies as a plato alpujarreño (chorizo, blood sausage, fried egg and potatoes), patatas a lo pobre (potatoes cooked in butter with onions, peppers, meat and rustic bread) or boquerones (tiny fish that are either fried or served in vinegar).

Tapas in Jaén - Plato Alpujarreño

Tapas in Jaén – Plato Alpujarreño

Occasionally, bars will let you “eliges tu tapas“, or select your own tapas from a list of between 10 to 30 available dishes. These establishments generally provide more fast-food style options such as bombas (a large ball of meat and cheese that is breaded, deep-fried and served with a spicy red sauce), patatas con alioli (boiled potatoes garnished with a garlic mayonnaise sauce), and perritos (you guessed it, little hot dogs) . Higher-end restaurants tend towards more traditional dishes, like cazón en adobo (dogfish that is marinated before being fried in nuggets), berenjenas fritas con miel de caña (fried slices of eggplant with sugarcane honey), or salmorejo (a cold tomato-garlic soup, thickened with bread, that is a Cordóban specialty). And, of course, tapas would not be tapas without the old, delicious Spanish standbys, jamón Iberico and queso curado.

However, while preparing to launch into a focused consumption of my patatas a lo pobre, one of my drinking companions (the astute Zachary from Lawnchair Anthropology), mentioned that my beer appeared to be having some issues. Specifically, he underscored how much the rings of foam around the glass resembled linear enamel hypoplasias, the lines of growth interruption that usually result from nutritional deficiencies during childhood.

Slide1

I saw it as soon as he pointed it out. Amusingly, this strange phenomenon only affected my beer – everyone else’s beverages acted normally. It seems that osteology really is everywhere, but it’s especially ubiquitous if you’re collecting your dissertation data.

Image Credits: The photo of LEH on the maxillary permanent dentition was taken from Past Horizons, here. The second and third tapas photos appear courtesy of Zachary Cofran.

Posted in Osteology Everywhere, Travel | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Skopje

[Explanatory Note: I’m going to be doing a lot of travelling in the next six months, and  I’ll occasionally post a travel essay that has nothing to do with osteology or bioarchaeology. These will be tagged under a new “Travel Essay” category, so they’ll be easy to bypass if you’re only looking for strategies for siding the calcaneus or palpating the anatomical snuffbox.]

Renfe view

I’m on a train that’s barreling south through the sun-drenched plains of Castilla La Mancha. I’ve been up since three in the morning and a persistent, exhaustion-fueled hunger is starting to kick in; it feels like a widening hole is slowly gnawing into the soft tissue between my stomach and my spleen. As is typical of this summer, I’ve spent much of the past week travelling: on trains, cars, taxis, buses and airplanes, to get from the somnolescent, sun-drenched Andalucían city I currently call home to the mountain-ringed Macedonian capitol of Skopje. This trip marked my second visit to the region, and as my flight from Rome began its descent I realized that I had forgotten how rugged and stereotypically Balkan the surrounding terrain actually is. I mentioned to one of my friends that I don’t think of a place as a real city unless it has a neighboring mountain topped by either a castle or a cross. Skopje meets my criteria, with the looming, cross-brandishing Vodno a constant back-drop to the hum of Eastern European urban bustle. Many of the tiny flourishes of post-Soviet life reminded me persistently of my childhood in the Balkans, from the angular spool-shaped cement blocks unevenly arranged into sidewalks, to the tiny, anachronistic Trabants and Škodas zooming through the streets, and the abashed, amused pleasure the local populace seems to feel at foreigners mangling their language – whenever I attempted even the briefest  “fala” or “smetka” after speaking English, shop keepers giggled and bartenders bit back their smiles.

Vodno The food, however, is what always does it for me. Simple Shopska salads of roughly chopped tomatoes and cucumbers topped by mountains of a shredded sharp cheese called cyrene, the ubiquitous half-bitter, half-sweet roasted peppers that appear in everything, and, of course, the yogurt. Macedonian yogurt is plain, sour, and so fluid that everyone drinks it rather than eating it with a spoon, whether it comes in a bottle or the smaller, pull-top containers we are more familiar with in the West. While your first sip is bracingly cold and sour, the flavor and texture quickly become addictive in the unrelenting heat of Macedonian July, especially when drunk as an accompaniment to the products of Macedonian bakeries. Burek and banichka, differently shaped variants on a cheese pastry theme, are my favorite foods to eat in this part of the world. Greasy, buttery layers of filo dough are layered on top of each other, rolled around chunks of crumbly goat or sheep’s cheese and then shaped into concentric rings of pastry and baked in a ceramic or metal oven, which is traditionally nestled in a constantly banked mound of coals. Bakeries are found all over the streets, selling both burek and the round circles of sesame-studded bread that I remember vividly as being my favorite mid-day snack in Greece, where it is called koulóuria, the lightly sweetened, chewy bread punctuated with the toasted, nutty flavor and gritty crunch of the sesame seeds.

Banichka

Burek only costs 40 or 50 denar if you buy it at a small local shop, around a dollar for a substantial amount of flaky, achingly greasy bread. It’s handed to you hot from the case, wrapped in plain gray paper that immediately becomes saturated with grease, and slid into a filmy plastic bag along with a narrow rectangular receipt only a little wider than the width of your thumb. Receipts are proffered for even the smallest of purchases, printed out on large hand-calculators that flank the cash register in any respectable establishment. On this trip I was also introduced to kiflochki, long breadsticks that are soft only when eaten fresh out of the oven. They are traditionally made with so much salt that they have to be dipped in yogurt to be palatable. Demolishing a paper-wrapped bouquet of them at six in the morning, purchased fresh from a road-side Albanian bakery, was a gustatory highlight of the trip.

Culturally, one of the things that struck me most about the city was the linguistic versatility of its populace. It seemed like everyone in Skopje, from the cashiers to the cab drivers, spoke English. What’s more, they didn’t appear offended or put out at having to use it. I felt none of the low-grade linguistic hostility I’ve witnessed in other European capitals, where my American-ness seems to be taken as a deliberate and uncouth insult, like belching in public or taking off a reeking pair of shoes on a train. In contrast, the denizens of this Macedonian city seemed gently amused by my blundering foreign presence, treating my missteps with smiles rather than scowls. From the old women who kissed my cheeks and patted my face at the wedding, to fellow guests who taught me how to dance the oro, undeterred by my clumsy steps and sweaty hands, all I felt was overwhelming hospitality.

Downtown SkopjeI must admit, in these sorts of contexts its hard not to feel embarrassed by my monolingual vocabulary. This summer I’ve met Japanese scholars with doctorates from German universities who speak English with unerring, American-accented fluency, and German archaeologists who can convincingly wheedle Spanish hostel concierges into finding an extra room during a the chaos of a flamenco festival (and then turn around and explain how they did it to me in English that is just as capable). The wedding I just attended was a Belgian/French-Canadian/Macedonian extravaganza, where everyone had to speak at least two languages just to handle the quotidian politics of familial communication. Even now, the young painter from Barcelona, sitting across the train table from me, is devouring a George R.R. Martin tome – in English. “Do you understand any of that?” another seatmate asked her in Spanish at the beginning of the journey. “Oh, I get most of it” she answered, “though a few things get lost”.

On that note, it is probably time to burrow back into my Andalucían life, and attempt, once again, to apply myself to the slow, exhaustive process of communication. Or, as I would so eloquently put it in my fluid, graceful Spanish “Estoy ya…no,no, todavía…aprendando la idioma, y por favor ¿puede usted hablar un poco mas despacio? No, no desPAcio. ¿Lentamente? ¿Menos rapido? Lo siento, no es importante, no es importante, no pasa nada, no se preoccupe.”

 

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A Travel Agency for Osteologists…

Skopje, downtown This past week I was in Skopje for a friend’s wedding. While exploring the city center (by which I mean searching out and sampling as much banichka as I could get my hands on during my limited time in the Balkans), I glanced across the street and realized I’d been planning my summer travel all wrong. Why have I been using Expedia and Booking.com when I could have been using Fibula Air Travel Agency!?

Fibula Air Travel Agency No wonder my itineraries have been so disorganized.

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Gotta hand it to you: identifying manual and pedal phalanges

59. Slide 1At the AAPAs, the Bone Clones table was handing out free phalanx keychains, and when I received mine I had to double-check whether it was manual or pedal. This led me to review White and Folkens’ section on the phalanges, and I realized it would make for a good blog post, since fragmentary and disarticulated phalanges are frequently found at archaeological sites.  I apologize in advance for the poorly-articulated specimens in the photos, but I wanted to show variability and size and shape between and within each category of phalanges.

Manual and pedal phalanges are relatively easy to distinguish from each other, and from the metacarpals and metatarsals, especially if you structure your identification as a series of questions, which is how I’ve outlined the guide below.

1. Is the element a metacarpal, metatarsal, or phalanx?

First off, manual phalanges can easily be distinguished from the metacarpals due to differences in size and form. Pay attention to both the proximal articulations, which will be more concave and uniform in the manual phalanges, and the distal articulations, which are flattened in manual phalanges but rounded in the metacarpals.

59. Slide 2You can use essentially the same rules of thumb (and why yes, my wit has grown even more incisive since arriving in a city where almost no one speaks English, thank you for noticing) for distinguishing  the pedal phalanges from the metatarsals:

59. Slide 32. Is it a manual phalanx or a pedal phalanx?

Once you know you have a phalanx, rather than a metacarpal or metatarsal, it’s time to figure out whether it’s from the hand or foot. Pay attention to overall length of the shaft, as well as the shape of the element. If it is short, narrow and flares proximally and distally, you’ve likely got a pedal phalanx. If it is longer, has a uniform width and a base and head of approximately the same size, it is more likely a manual phalanx. All of the characteristics outlined above are most useful for distinguishing the proximal and intermediate categories—I’ll address the identification of distal phalanges in Section 3.

59. Slide 4The shape of the shaft in cross-section is also diagnostic, since the shafts of pedal phalanges are circular, while those of manual phalanges form half-moons. Finally the presence or absence of rugose muscle-attachment sites is also telling, since such markings characterize manual phalanges rather than pedal phalanges.

59. Slide 7

3. Is it a proximal, intermediate or distal phalanx? 

Once you’ve decided whether the bone is from the hand or foot, it’s time to figure out whether it is proximal, intermediate, or distal. The key feature to pay attention to is the proximal articular surface. Proximal phalanges have only a single concave articular facet (for the rounded head of the metacarpals or metatarsals), while intermediate and distal phalanges have concave and bilobate distal articulations.

Finally, distal phalanges are the smallest phalanges, and have a diagnostic tapering heads that make them unmistakable. Distal manual phalanges are normally narrower and more delicate looking than distal pedal phalanges – to my mind, distal and intermediate pedal phalanges are the miniature blobfish of human osteology – not the most aesthetically appealing of skeletal elements!

59. Slide 5

59. Slide 6

If you’re heading out to the field and don’t have a recently acquired Bone Clones manual phalanx key chain, I cannot recommend White and Folkens’ Human Bone Manual enough for its to-scale photographs of hand and foot bones. Their photos provide a valuable means of double-checking your identifications if you have an element missing both proximal and distal ends.

And finally, since I’ve had this echoing in my head the entire time I spent putting together this post, I leave you with these apropos words of wisdom:

 Image Credits: Fanciful old-timey military headgear photograph found here; Platypus found here. All figures of bones were sketched from the teaching collections housed in the osteology/paleoanthropology lab at the University of Michigan.

References:
White, T. D. and P.A. Folkens. (2005) The Human Bone Manual. Elsevier, Amsterdam.

Posted in Foot, Hand, Osteology | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

The Bear Paw Saga: Volume I

My friend Alice’s parents live in a beautiful but isolated house in the middle of the western North Carolina hills. Their dogs, Ruby and Tucker, are free roaming, and often drag home portions of animal carcasses that they encounter during their sylvan wanderings.

Me with the beasts, sometime in 2011

Me with the beasts, sometime in 2011

My favorite story that Alice tells about her courtship with her husband details the first time she brought him home to meet her parents. Late one evening, after a day of travel, they began the long drive up the steep, densely forested hill that leads to her family’s place. As they wound up the gravel path, the car headlights lit upon strings of articulated vertebrae, festooning the trees that lined the drive like macabre Christmas ornaments. The sight was not one guaranteed to instill confidence in a visiting suitor, and Alice worried that her parents had made a less than perfect, potentially homicidal, first impression. However, rather than attempting to scare off her beau, her father had merely been trying to prevent the dogs from dragging the deer spines back into the house, and so had thrown them up into the local foliage. This gives you some sense of the havoc these domesticates wreak on a daily basis.

In late December, the following post went up on Facebook:

Alice with bear foot As you can clearly see, I was not at all excited about the prospect of obtaining a bear foot. Particularly not one that was this enormous:

Bear paw, Alice's hand for scale

Bear paw, Alice’s hand for scale

And while I am perpetually enamored of comparative faunal specimens, I was particularly interested in procuring a bear paw because of their striking resemblance to human appendages. When I attended the NMHM forensic anthropology course a few years back, the instructors stressed that most forensic anthropologists are likely to come across at least one case of a bear paw mistaken for a human hand during their careers. Accordingly, ursine specimens were high on my faunal wish-list.

DO NOT EAT

Not a burrito.

Alice put the paw in a ziploc bag, wrapped it in tin foil, and froze it. Two months later she drove the paw back up to Ann Arbor, where it moved into my freezer for a time. It remained happily ensconced in my apartment until I realized that I needed to do something with it before I left the country for eight months – while my roommate is exceedingly tolerant, I really didn’t want to have to explain to the subletters that the item in the freezer was “not a burrito” and “please, for the love of God, don’t open it”.

While I was initially planning on bringing the paw to the dermestids at my museum, two days before I was due to leave I found out that I couldn’t use the beatles because the remains were unprovenienced . This led to a momentary lapse in confidence – where on earth was I going to store a decaying bear paw for eight months? I had thawed it out over the weekend in anticipation of removing the fur for the dermestids, and it was already beginning to smell slightly rank. For some reason, problems of this nature always seem to plague my life.

Stages of bear paw dissection. Looks like a human foot in Figure 3, doesn't it!?

Stages of bear paw dissection. Looks like a human foot in Figure 3, doesn’t it!?

Thanks to the kindness of faculty, all systems were go for bear paw burial.

Thanks to the kindness of faculty, all systems were go for bear paw burial.

Fortunately, after pondering my predicament for several minutes I remembered that I am friends with lots of archaeologists, and all archaeologists are CRAZY. Someone had to be willing to help me out. One emeritus professor, who works just down the hall from my lab, is famous for telling numerous stories about burying full bison skeletons in his yard. Compared to a whole adult bison, a bear paw seemed like a relatively small favor to ask. And, indeed, it was.


Just as I’d never dissected a bear paw, I’ve never buried a specimen in order to skeletonize it. After having an in-depth discussion with my faculty benefactor about best practices for burying faunal specimens, I decided to wrap the paw in chicken wire, so as to not lose any of the smaller tarsals or phalanges, while deterring any particularly intrepid animal scavengers. Initially I planned to staple the chicken wire shut, but what would up working best was simply folding the ends over into a sort of metal envelope, as you can see on the right.

Then, all that was left to do was to use the hard-won skills I have garnered from nearly a decade of archaeological training – in other words, dig a hole to put it in.

I realized after the fact that this was essentially a reverse test pit. So, while I am abroad finishing my dissertation data collection, the bear paw is safely planted in Michigan soil. Stay tuned next spring for the rest of the adventure, starting with what transpires when I unearth it….

To be continued....

To be continued….

Image Credits: The first three photos were taken by Alice Wright. All other images my own.

Posted in Fauna, Prepping Animal Skeletons | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Osteology Everywhere: Edición ‘Bienvenido a España’

This sculpture sits at the entrance of Madrid’s Chamartín train station. While dragging fifty-plus pounds of luggage up a nearby escalator, I was struck by its resemblance to one specific bone from the human body.

Name both the element and the distinctive feature that makes it instantly recognizable in either archaeological or artistic contexts.

Chamartín sculpture

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Anatomy Quiz 1

It’s time to kick off the summer with a new type of quiz! I haven’t dissected in awhile, but I recently got the opportunity to whip out a scalpel and scissors again. I forgot how satisfying it is to gently tear through fascia and reveal the structures underneath. I would make a terrible surgeon because I have little interest in vessels or nerves –  I’m all about the muscles. Of course, this appreciation for musculature is nothing new.

Identify:

1. The appendage (there’s a punny hint in the paragraph above);

2.The superior-most tendons visible in the dissection shown below (the ones heading for digits 2-5);

3. The bone visible at the very base of the photo (it is still covered in fat and soft tissue).

DSCN9655

 

Answers below the jump.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Answers_Anatomy_Quiz_1

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AAPAs 2014 – Calgary

It snowed this morning. And no, it’s not because I’m still in the land of never-ending, Game of Thrones-style winter (also known as Michigan), but because I’m in Calgary. I’m here in Alberta for the annual American Association of Physical Anthropologists (AAPA) meetings. I’m presenting a poster tomorrow morning, so if you’re in Calgary feel free to swing by. I’m sure my poster neighbors will appreciate being saved from the never-ending monologue about how much food you can buy at Tim Horton’s for under a toonie.

Details

Date: Friday, April 10, 2014: 8am-5pm

Location: Telus CC Exhibit Hall E4

Poster Session: BIOARCHAEOLOGY: Childhood, Population and Cranial Change

Title: Intrasite variability in subadult burial during the Iberian Copper Age

Posted in Biological Anthropology, Conferences, Travel | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Blogging Archaeology: March

blogging-archaeology-e1383664863497

So far this year I have applied for thirteen different fellowships or grants.  It’s pretty much par for the course in today’s academia to apply for as much as you possibly can and hope you get lucky somewhere, but it’s still a torturous slog.

All_is_Lost

How I feel about funding applications

I was thinking about this recently in the context of the final “Blogging Archaeology” question, which asks where people want their blogs to go. In many ways, I find funding applications  to be the polar opposite of blogging. When you apply for funding you spend most of your time trying to write for an audience who, on a visceral level, are  extremely disinterested in what you have to say. When you blog, you invest far less time writing for an audience who will VOLUNTARILY read what you write.

Or people who are looking for pictures of sad otters. Whichever.

Or an audience searching for pictures of sad otters. Whichever.

In contrast, funding applications involve either:

(a) Trying to convince people who know nothing about your field  that what you do is important, painting a broad-strokes picture of the impact of your research that likely has little to do with why it is actually important to you;
(b) Trying to convince people who are experts in your field that what you do is important, painting a minutely-detailed picture of the disciplinary ramifications of your research that likely has little to do with why it is actually important to you.

The back-and-forth between “broad-strokes importance” and “discipline-specific justification” is  exhausting. For example, this month I’ve had a draft returned  to me with the advice to avoid terms like “targeted sampling strategy”, in case the people who read the  application are humanities scholars. An informal review of a different proposal was handed back  with the caveat that I should remove a number of citations published over two decades ago, because one potential reviewer “doesn’t like the author that much”.  Faculty reviewers of still other proposals have underscored that I need to be explicit about my sampling strategy and statistical framework. These waves of conflicting advice  (“Make this important to non-anthropologists.”; “How is this relevant to anthropology?”; “Don’t use explicit terminology like bioarchaeology, it will confuse reviewers.”; “Be as explicit as possible about the techniques you will use to answer your question.”) have begun to make my academic life feel exceedingly Kafka-esque.

Blogging, in contrast, is delightfully simple. Is there a bioarchaeological topic I find interesting? Is there a siding trick for the tibia that I think warrants sharing? Do I want to discuss my thoughts on brain evolution in domesticates? Then I can.

And that’s why I enjoy the medium so much. Contrary to popular opinion, graduate school is not an idyllic, lackadaisical getaway where people lounge on manicured lawns and discuss their feelings about Foucault.  The first few years are taken up with coursework, which is followed by preliminary exams, both of which entail tremendous energy investment in order to live up to the expectations of faculty. At this point in their careers, grad students are often employed as instructors, which is also extremely time-consuming.  Even if students are mildly engaged, TA-style teaching is always an uphill battle. You’re effectively trying to convince twenty-plus 19-22 year old adults to sit around in a circle and discuss a reading that only three of them have completed. Predictable problems ensue.

Once you get past the first few years, you become obsessed, Roy Neary-level obsessed, with obtaining funding. Without grant money you can’t conduct your research, and without fellowship money you can’t write your dissertation. So securing a source of funding, and hedging your bets by applying to multiple funding sources, consumes nearly all of your time. I’m not sure what happens next. I believe that you are actually expected to produce a dissertation at some point, but I’ll keep you posted.

Despite the “sad otter” tone, this wasn’t meant to be a woe-is-me rant about the pitfalls of academic life for graduate students. Coursework is essential for developing a broader understanding of anthropology, even if you’re never likely to use your knowledge of dipthongs or Malinowski’s diaries in an professional context. Teaching experience is also key for learning how to disseminate knowledge. Knowing how to effectively communicate information to non-specialists (in the case of undergrads, often aggressively disinterested non-specialists) is a useful skill in any profession. And, if you’re going to be an academic, you have to know how to write grants.

However, what I’ve realized lately is that with all of this grant-writing and section-planning and career-strategizing, very little of my time is left over for bioarchaeology itself. And since bioarchaeology is the reason I came to graduate school in the first place, I have to keep that curiosity and excitement alive in the face of multiple other far more stressful pursuits. So, to answer this month’s blogging archaeology question, I’d like to continue writing about things that interest me, for an audience that also finds them interesting. Until I get to teach my own osteology course or bioarchaeology seminar, blogging provides a way for me to interact with people who  find things like paleopathology and osteology as fascinating as I do. So to that end, I hope that this time next year the blog is still serving the same purpose as it has served for this past year.

And also that someone has given me tens of thousands of dollars to conduct my dissertation research and write up my results.

As a final salute to any other graduate students who are currently swimming in a sea of budget justifications, here’s one more visual metaphor. I am Basil Fawlty, and funding applications are this tiny British car.

Image Credits: Unhappy feline found here.

Posted in Blogging, Grad School | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

Porotic Hyperostosis and Cribra Orbitalia

I recently found a short synopsis I’d written a few years back about the etiology of cribra orbitalia and porotic hyperostosis. I think that this was initially meant to go into my predoctoral paper, before I realized that I did not want my predoctoral paper to be 3oo pages long. Despite its lack of utility for that requirement , it’s still a useful introduction to both pathologies. In the interest of not condemning this short literature review to a life of languishing on a folder on my desktop, I’m publishing it here for the time being.
Happy weekend everybody!

Porotic Hyperostosis and Cribra Orbitalia: A brief literature review

Porotic hyperostosis presents as macroscopic porosity on the flat bones of the cranium, particularly the frontal, parietal and occipital bones (Stuart-Macadam 1987), producing a characteristically “coral-like” or “sieve-like appearance” on the compact bone of the cranium (Goodman & Martin 2002; Walper et al. 2007).

Porotic hyperostosis on a parietal

Porotic hyperostosis on a parietal

Cribra orbitalia is similar in appearance to porotic hyperostosis, but occurs only on the orbital roofs. Many researchers treat cribra orbitalia  as a symptom that results from the same etiological and pathological processes as porotic hyperostosis (Angell 1966; Stuart-Macadam 1985, 1987, 1992) though more recent research challenges this assumption (Walker et al., 2009).

Cribra orbitalia

Cribra orbitalia

Extensive radiographic and histological studies have demonstrated that porotic hyperostosis is brought about by an expansion of the hematopoietic diploë at the expense of a rapidly thinning outer table (Stuart-Macadam 1987). Marrow hypertrophy is instigated by lowered levels of hemoglobin in the blood, resulting from either a decrease in the number of red blood cells or a decrease in the levels of hemoglobin available within red blood cells. Early research on the frequency of hyperostosis in prehistoric Old World populations emphasized the adaptive resistance to malaria conferred by heterozygosity for thalessemia and sickle cell anemia (Angel 1966), but this etiology was inappropriate for New World populations that also demonstrated high frequencies of porotic hyperostosis. Accordingly, iron deficiency anemia gained increasing popularity as the primary agent responsible for the development of such lesions (Holland et al., 1997; Roberts & Manchester 2005).

It has long been acknowledged that the frequency of porotic hyperostosis increases regionally with the adoption of agriculture (Cohen & Armelagos 1984), and the ‘maize-dependency’ hypothesis suggests that a reliance on cereal grains, which are low in iron, as staple foods, led to the fluorescence of porotic hyperostosis that appeared subsequent to the increasing reliance on domesticated crops around the world. In addition to being poor sources of iron themselves, cereal grains like maize contain phytic acid, which has a deleterious effect on the ability of the intestine to absorb dietary iron (Holland & O’Brien 1997).

It's a-maizeing how much this impedes iron absorption! (See what I did there).

It’s a-maizeing how much this impedes iron absorption! (See what I did there).

Importantly, however, iron deficiency anemia does not always result from nutritional deficiencies, but can be brought about by blood loss, pregnancy, growth processes, menstruation, chronic disease, poor hygiene, vitamin C deficiency, gastrointestinal ulcers, and parasitic infection (Stuart-Macadam 1992; Wapler et al. 2004; Roberts & Manchester 2005). Some causal explanations for porotic hyperostosis go so far as to underscore its potentially adaptive status – because pathogenic micro-organisms rely on their hosts to supply them with iron, Stuart-Macadam (1992) has argued that a chronic hypoferremic (or iron-deficient) state is an evolved physiological response to high pathogen loads, rather than a symptom of iron deficiency anemia brought about by nutritional deficiencies. She notes that archaeologically observed cases of porotic hyperostosis increase in frequency the closer the parent population to the equator, a distribution which likely mirrors that of micro-organisms which thrive in hot and humid climates. However, other researchers have underscored that this distribution overlaps significantly with early agricultural centers, and that prime mover explanations are overly simplistic, noting that it is likely that “nothing is the major factor; rather there may be (and most likely is) a multitude of more-or-less equally important, and interdependent factors” (Holland & O’Brien 1997:191) that contribute to the etiology of the disease.

Iron. This kind likely wouldn’t help you with porotic hyperostosis, though.

Recent research on porotic hyperostosis, however, has challenged the explanatory efficacy of both the pathogen-load model and the iron deficiency model. While many archaeologists have portrayed the physiological response to anemia as a fairly simple process, in which a severe reduction in hemoglobin or hematocrit levels triggers marrow hypertrophy, Walker et al. (2009) underscore that the body’s response to anemic insult is more complex, involving a hierarchical series of reactions. When the body becomes hypoxic it releases the hormone erythropoietin, which stimulates the accelerated production and maturation of red blood cells. It is only after this initial hormonal response fails that bone marrow is called into action to produce more red blood cells. Because the process of erythropoiesis is responsible for the marrow hypertrophy which defines porotic hyperostosis, and because erythropoiesis requires sufficient iron stores, “the simple fact that iron-deficiency anemia effectively decreases mature red blood cell production means that it cannot possibly be responsible for the osseous expression of hemopoietic marrow expansion that paleopathologists recognize as porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia”(Walker et al. 2009: 112). Instead, hemolytic anemias like thalassemia or sickle cell anemia (which occur when red blood cells are destroyed prematurely) or megaloblastic anemias (which result from dietary deficiencies and malabsorption of folic acids and vitamin B12) are more convincing etiological culprits. The prevalence of porotic hyperostosis in the Old World can thus be most profitably explained with reference to the hemolytic anemias, particularly in light of their anti-malarial effects. In the New World, however, porotic hyperostosis was likely symptomatic of the megaloblastic anemias, rooted in “the synergestic effects of nutritionally inadequate diets, poor sanitation, infectious disease, and cultural practices related to pregnancy and breast-feeding”(Walker et al. 2009: 114) that combined to limit individuals’ access to foods of animal origin.

Gross.

Gross.

Finally, recent research has also begun to more carefully interrogate the relationship between porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia. Past studies which combined radiographic, clinical and demographic data have suggested that both pathologies share the same etiology (Stuart-Macadam 1987), but in a recent study of a Nubian sample, in which a thin-ground sections were sampled from 85 individuals evincing cribra orbitalia, only 35.3% of the cases identified macroscopically demonstrated the histological features characteristic of anemia (Wapler et al. 2004). The apocryphal diagnoses resulted from postmortem erosion, hypervascularisation and osteitis, among other factors. Similarly, insults other than anemia, particularly scurvy, rickets, hemangiomas and traumatic lesions can produce subperiosteal inflammation or hematomas. Walker et al. report that “during the healing processes, these blood clots are transformed into plaques of highly vascular, superiosteal new bone that on gross examination can appear identical to cribra orbitalia”(115).

While the etiologies of porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia are fiercely debated in the literature, there is strong agreement about their connection to human life histories. In nearly every study conducted, porotic hyperostosis is found to overwhelmingly affect children and juveniles in terms of both its frequency and potency of expression (Stuart-Macadam 1985; Holland & O’Brien 1997). Many processes that exacerbate or foster conditions of both chronic iron deficiency anemia and megaloblastic anemia, such as long periods of breast-feeding, weaning onto low iron cereal staples, and diarrheal disease, differentially affect young children (Holland & O’Brien 1997; Walker et al. 2009).

bone-marrow

Physiologically, this tendency is underscored by differences between the functional import of bone in children and adults. Because children devote the majority of their marrow space to hematogenesis, there is limited additional room for marrow hypertrophy, and so the diploë begins to expand at the expense of the outer table. In contrast, a far higher proportion of bone marrow in adults is yellow marrow, devoted to storing fat rather than producing red blood cells. In times of hypoxic strife, adults can convert inactive yellow marrow into red marrow, an option unavailable to younger individuals. Similarly, because young children have more malleable and plastic bones, the pressure wrought by the ‘overcrowded’ hypertrophic marrow creates far more extreme alterations in the outer table than would be possible in the firmer cortex of an adult (Stuart-Macadam 1985). Cribra orbitalia is similar in its differential impact on younger individuals, whether the presumed etiology is iron deficiency anemia (Stuart-Macadam 1985), pathogen-load (Stuart-Macadam 1992), or subperiosteal bleeding (Walker et al., 2009). Because (i) the periosteum of children is more loosely attached to the orbital roof, and (ii) children have a higher density of blood vessels connecting the periosteum to the orbital roof, “orbital roof hematomas most commonly occur in children (Walker et al. 2009: 116).

Accordingly, there is general agreement that these pathologies are indicative of insults suffered during childhood, rather than adulthood. While multiple etiologies have been proposed for both conditions, including iron-deficiency anemia (Holland & O’Brien 1997), pathogen resistance (Stuart-Macadam 1992), hemolytic anemias (Angel 1966), megaloblastic anemias (Walker et al. 2009), or other infections or dietary deficiencies (Wapler et al. 2004; Walker et al. 2009), many are exacerbated by similar environmental conditions. In particular, the mutually reinforcing effects of a decreased reliance on animal foods, increased sedentism and crowding, unhygienic living conditions, longer periods of breastfeeding, and increasing levels of diarrheal disease are likely to have instigated increased levels of porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia in prehistory, no matter what the proximate cause of the pathology.

References

ResearchBlogging.orgAngel, J. (1966). Porotic Hyperostosis, Anemias, Malarias, and Marshes in the Prehistoric Eastern Mediterranean Science, 153 (3737), 760-763 DOI: 10.1126/science.153.3737.760

 

ResearchBlogging.orgHolland, T., & O’Brien, M. (1997). Parasites, Porotic Hyperostosis, and the Implications of Changing Perspectives American Antiquity, 62 (2) DOI: 10.2307/282505

 

ResearchBlogging.orgStuart-Macadam, P. (1985). Porotic hyperostosis: Representative of a childhood condition American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 66 (4), 391-398 DOI: 10.1002/ajpa.1330660407

 

ResearchBlogging.orgStuart-Macadam, P. (1987). Porotic hyperostosis: New evidence to support the anemia theory American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 74 (4), 521-526 DOI: 10.1002/ajpa.1330740410

 

ResearchBlogging.org Stuart-Macadam, P. (1992). Porotic hyperostosis: A new perspective American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 87 (1), 39-47 DOI: 10.1002/ajpa.1330870105

 

ResearchBlogging.org Roberts, Charlotte and Keith Manchester. 2005. The Archaeology of Disease. Third Edition. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

 

ResearchBlogging.orgWalker, P., Bathurst, R., Richman, R., Gjerdrum, T., & Andrushko, V. (2009). The causes of porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia: A reappraisal of the iron-deficiency-anemia hypothesis American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 139 (2), 109-125 DOI: 10.1002/ajpa.21031

 

ResearchBlogging.orgWapler, U., Crubézy, E., & Schultz, M. (2004). Is cribra orbitalia synonymous with anemia? Analysis and interpretation of cranial pathology in Sudan American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 123 (4), 333-339 DOI: 10.1002/ajpa.10321

 

Image Credits: Porotic hyperostosis on parietal from University of Florida page, here. Cribra orbitalia on orbits found here. Malarial vector found here.Image of anvil found here. Bone marrow diagram found on dxline website.

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