Could Humans Hibernate?

Some animals have it made. Their whole day revolves around eating and having sex (and, to be fair, trying not to get eaten themselves). And when winter arrives, they get to curl up somewhere and wait things out until the weather is nice again. Can humans get in on this hibernation thing?

Bear image via Shutterstock

First, a note on the lingo. While people often use the term loosely to refer to any state of dormancy in animals, true hibernation is a pretty specific thing characterized by “profound reductions in metabolism, oxygen consumption and heart rate.”

A hibernating animal’s core body temperature drops to extreme lows, sometimes matching the local outside temperature. As its body cools, its metabolism slows. This reduces the need for oxygen, and its breathing will also slow, sometimes to just one to five breaths per minute. The heart rate will likewise slow to just a few beats per minute. All of this ensures that the animal’s body will conserve as much energy as possible, which is necessary because it’s largely fueling itself with a limited supply of fat. "True hibernators" don’t shut down for the whole winter, though, and occasionally rouse to use the bathroom, eat from stored food, and stretch a little so their muscles don’t atrophy. Some animals may even switch hibernation spots.

Animals go into this energy-saving mode to ride out long stretches of environmental extremes, like lack of food and water, or very cold or very hot seasonal temperatures (dormancy during cold seasons is hibernation, and dormancy in the summer is called aestivation). Humans can deal with these situations while remaining active because we have things like canned food, greenhouse tomatoes, air conditioners, heaters, and turtleneck sweaters. Our bodies aren’t required to hibernate and we’re not perfectly adapted to it, but scientists have turned up a number of ways in which we’re pretty close.

Deep Sleepers

There are plenty of documented cases of humans going into hibernation-like states. In October, 2006, rescuers found Mitsutaka Uchikoshi 24 days after he’d gone missing on western Japan’s Mount Rokko. When they discovered him, he had no detectable pulse or respiration and his body temperature had dropped to 71 degrees Fahrenheit. Doctors would later confirm that his metabolism was almost at a standstill. When he woke up, remarkably showing no signs of brain damage or other ill effects, he explained that the last thing he remembered was falling on the trail and hitting his head. The entire time he’d been missing, he was unconscious, exposed to the elements and without food or water. The doctors who treated him said that the quick onset of hypothermia slowed his body down like hibernation would, and probably saved his life.

Similar survival stories include a Norwegian skier who’d fallen into icy water and woke up unfazed after showing no heartbeat, no respiration, and a core temperature of 57ºF, and the Canadian toddler who got lost outside on a cold night and was later revived after cooling to 61ºF and exhibiting no heartbeat for a full two hours.

In a controlled experiment in the early 1970s, the Yogi Satyamurti confined himself to a small, sealed underground pit in a state of deep meditation for eight straight days while being monitored by an electrocardiogram. At first, the yogi’s heart rate was normal, and then increased to 250 bpm for a while. On the evening to the second day, the ECG flatlined and remained like that until about 30 minutes before the pit was scheduled to be opened on the last day. The astonished researchers who’d been monitoring the yogi - whose core temperature had dropped four degrees in the pit - were sure that something was wrong with their equipment, but couldn’t find any malfunction or explanation besides the yogi’s heart stopping or decreasing in electrical activity below a recordable level.

Sleep image via Shutterstock

It looks like our bodies have some of the abilities needed for hibernation. But like we said already, we’ve never had to, so our bodies aren’t completely adapted to the task. A few of the things holding us back are rather big obstacles. For example, researchers at the Paul Flechsig Institute for Brain Research in Leipzig discovered a few years ago that the brains of hibernating ground squirrels have brain cells containing modified proteins that are similar to those in the brains of Alzheimer's patients. The synapses that connect the brain’s neurons in both groups were also similarly degraded. The catch is that the squirrels’ brains bounce back after hibernation. They repair themselves and the animals show no signs of damage when they wake up in the spring, while human brains in the same state continue to deteriorate.

But hibernation on-demand would be useful to humans for reasons other than avoiding winter. Inducing hibernation in an accident victim on the way to the hospital could stave off extreme blood loss and cell breakdown, plus buy surgeons extra time to repair the injuries. It would also allow for the sort of space exploration that only seems possible in the movies. Placing astronauts in a dormant state, like in the Alien franchise, would allow them to sleep off the multiple years it would take for a spacecraft to travel to the outer reaches of the solar system and beyond.

Put to Bed

Researchers have been toying around with various ways to turn hibernation states “on” in animals over the last few years. Hydrogen sulfide seems to be one possible way to do that. By binding at the same cell sites as oxygen, the gaseous compound reduces the need for oxygen and depresses the metabolism. Mark Roth at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle induced hibernation for the first time in lab mice in 2005 by having them inhale large doses of a hydrogen sulfide gas. Their metabolic processes slowed, their temperatures dropped, and then they snapped right out of it when they got a big breath of oxygen hours later.

Surgeons at Massachusetts General Hospital took a different approach in an experiment on Yorkshire pigs, to see how beneficial induced hibernation was in a trauma setting. After anesthetizing the pigs and giving them serious wounds that led to shock and extreme blood loss, the surgeons quickly chilled the pigs' bodies to 50ºF and pumped their veins full of a solution used for preserving transplant organs. At that point, the pigs were almost dead. They had little to no heartbeat, extremely reduced blood flow and no measurable electrical activity in the brain. The surgeons operated on the pigs and repaired their injuries. The pigs were revived when their temperatures were returned to normal and warm blood was pumped back in. The pigs bounced back with no noticeable physical or cognitive impairments.

While these are incredible breakthroughs and promising starts, we’re still a long way from making human hibernation simple, safe, and reliable. Other experiments failed to induce hibernation in sheep and pigs with hydrogen sulfide, so it might not work on larger animals, including us. Testing the Massachusetts method on humans, meanwhile, would be a bit tricky, ethically speaking. It’s a start, though, and sooner or later we might move beyond mere sleep and hibernate our way through surgery, or a flight to Jupiter.

Big Questions
How Do They Dye the Chicago River Green for St. Patrick's Day?

It wouldn’t be a St. Patrick’s Day celebration in the Windy City without 400,000 spectators crowding the banks of the Chicago River to “ooh” and “aah” at its (temporarily) emerald green tinge. But how do officials turn the water green?

First, a bit of history: The dyeing tradition became an annual thing nearly 60 years ago, in 1962, but its real origins go back even further. In the early days of his administration as Mayor of Chicago, Richard J. Daley was a man on a mission to develop the city’s riverfront area. There was just one problem: The river itself was a sewage-filled eyesore. In order to get to the bottom of the city’s pollution problem and pinpoint the exact places where waste was being discarded into the waterway (and by whom), Daley authorized the pouring of a special green dye into the river that would allow them to see exactly where dumping was occurring.

Fast-forward to late 1961 when Stephen Bailey—part of the Chicago Journeymen Plumbers Local, the city’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade chairman, and a childhood friend of Daley’s—witnessed a colleague’s green-soaked coveralls following a day of pouring Daley’s dye into the Chicago River. That gave Bailey an idea: If they could streak the Chicago River green, why not turn it all green?

Three months later, revelers got their first look at an Ecto Cooler-colored river when the city poured 100 pounds of the chemical into the water. They got a really good look, too, as the river remained green for an entire week.

Over the next several years, the same practice was repeated, and again it was carried out by the Plumbers Local. The only difference was that the amount of dye used was cut in half over the next two years until they finally arrived at the magic number: 25 pounds of dye = one day of green water.

Unfortunately, the dye that was intended to help spot pollution was an oil-based fluorescein that many environmentalists warned was actually damaging the river even more. After fierce lobbying, eco-minded heads prevailed, and in 1966 the parade organizers began using a powdered, vegetable-based dye.

While the exact formula for the orange powder (yes, it's orange until it's mixed with water) is kept top-secret—in 2003 one of the parade organizers told a reporter that revealing the formula would be akin to “telling where the leprechaun hides its gold”—there are plenty of details that the committee lets even non-leprechauns in on.

The dyeing process will begin at 9 a.m. on the morning of the parade, Saturday, March 17 (it's always held on a Saturday) when six members of the local Plumbers Union hop aboard two boats, four of them on the larger vessel, the remaining two on a smaller boat.

The larger boat heads out onto the water first, with three members of the crew using flour sifters to spread the dye into the river. The smaller boat follows closely behind in order to help disperse the substance. (The best place to catch a glimpse is from the east side of the bridge at Michigan Avenue, or on Upper and Lower Wacker Drive between Columbus and Lake Shore Drives.)

Approximately 45 minutes later, voila, the Chicago River is green—but don’t expect it to stay that way. These days, the color only sticks around for about five hours. Which is roughly the same amount of time it takes to get a perfectly poured pint of Guinness if you venture out to an Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day.

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Big Questions
What is the Riot Act, and Why Don't I Want It Read to Me?

In 2011, NBC published a guide on how employees could "read the riot act" to their subordinates. Professional footballer Stéphane Mahé was once "read the riot act" after fouling a rival player so hard he needed four stitches. In Bibb County, Georgia, a Superior Court Judge "read the riot act" to a group of wayward teens in an effort to curb their bad behavior.

The idiom, which has been in use for centuries, is generally thought to mean the admonishment of a person or persons who have committed an error in judgment. But the origin of the term "riot act" concerns a very particular wrongdoing—an unlawful public assembly that peace officers of the 16th century fought with a pre-written warning to disperse or face serious repercussions. Like death.

Atlas Obscura reports that the riot act was first passed by British Parliament in 1714 and took effect on August 1, 1715. At its core, the Act served as what linguists refer to as a speech act: a word, phrase, or order that carries real weight. (Think of an ordained minister pronouncing a couple husband and wife.) If confronted with a rowdy crowd, an authoritarian would arrive and—this was crucial—read the Act aloud in order to serve formal notice that the parties involved were overstepping their bounds.

A copy of language appearing in the Riot Act
Jenson, Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

The Act was passed in haste because supporters of the Catholic Jacobite political movement had been voicing their disapproval of King George I. A "riot" was any group of 12 or more people that was engaged in public disharmony. Typically, the raucous formation would be given 60 minutes to take a hike. If not, their just punishment would be prison, labor, or death. If the peace officer believed danger was imminent, he wouldn't have to wait the whole hour: He could deputize citizens to try and break up the gathering.

To enforce the Act and any punishments, the officer had to punctuate the reading by shouting, "God save the King!"

Scholars have wondered how successful such orators were in scolding a large assembly of angry protestors. In 1768, the answer was: not very. People opposing the imprisonment of radical John Wilkes ignored the Riot Act and suffered shots of musket ball, which killed seven.

The Riot Act was officially repealed in England and Wales in 1967 as part of some legislative housekeeping. Today, it's almost always used as a figure of speech, although Belize still recognizes it as a meaningful method of crowd dispersal. In 2017, police officers drew criticism for launching tear gas into a People's United Party protest without first reading them the Riot Act.

Questioned by a reporter, assistant commissioner of police Edward Broaster said that the incident didn't "meet the threshold" for busting out the paperwork.

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