The day my brain was turned off by a magnet
By Roger Highfield
Snap! As the machine fires the first magnetic pulse, my scalp feels like it is
being pinched
and puckered.
After rotating a knob on a box of electronics, Prof John Rothwell holds a giant
black key
against my head once again. Crack! Now it feels like someone is tapping my
forehead with
a pen. From the inside. Curious.
Roger Highfield 'enjoying' the TMS experience
Snap! Snap! Nothing happens. "I was stimulating your brain," he says.
Another twiddle. Snap, snap, snap! My arm becomes possessed. It twitches and
jerks with
each flick of the switch. Prof Rothwell is satisfied. He is ready to boost my
brain by
zapping my temporal lobe with bursts of magnetic energy.
I am in a laboratory in the Institute of Neurology in Queen Square, London,
having the top
of my brain "tickled", as Prof Rothwell calls it, using transcranial magnetic
stimulation
(TMS), one of the trendiest tools in neuroscience.
And even though I am recovering from a bibulous Institute of Physics awards
celebration
the night before, Prof Rothwell manages to improve my brain power.
The first practical demonstration of TMS was made 20 years ago by Prof Anthony
Barker at
the University of Sheffield. Since then, it has become a relatively simple,
non-invasive, and
- usually - painless way to interfere with the workings of the most complex
known object
in the universe: the human brain.
This week, in the journal Neuron, Prof Rothwell and colleagues at University
College
London describe how they have improved TMS so that it can boost and fade
specific parts
of the brain for more than an hour. All it takes is 40 seconds of magnetic
stimulation. I
was happy to become a guinea pig as Prof Rothwell shoots electrical pulses
through a
copper coil in the shape of a figure of eight, held against my scalp. For a
moment, this
induces tiny electrical currents inside my brain.
Inside the brain: click to enlarge
Initial safety tests reveal no long-lasting effects. "I have had it done lots of
times," says
Prof Rothwell. For me, TMS was disconcerting rather than painful. Mild headache
and
transient light-headedness can sometimes result, though not in my case.
I was trying it because I wanted to investigate claims by Prof Allan Snyder,
director of the
Centre for the Mind at the University of Sydney, who believes TMS can act as "a
creativity-
amplifying machine". His colleague, John McDougall, said: "We have shown, and
other
groups have verified, that TMS enhances the ability to draw and proof-read."
Prof Rothwell was sceptical but, after testing the Sydney-style stimulation on
people, was
surprised to report that TMS does seem to amplify brain power. "It worked. I
can't believe
it," he says. Now it is my turn to have bursts of magnetic pulses beamed at my
temporal
lobe.
I do two simple tests. In the first, I have to remember a series of numbers. I
manage eight
maximum. Then a series of words. I can dredge up half a dozen or so.
To improve my performance, Prof Rothwell peps up my temporal lobe, just over my
left
ear. When he energises the coil, a nerve lights up in my jaw to produce pain of
the kind
dentists create effortlessly.
Prof Rothwell moves the coil about my scalp to find a spot which he can
stimulate without
making my face twitch too much. Then follows a series of magnetic pulses for 20
seconds.
Not painful but my teeth grind. After five minutes, we repeat the tests. My word
recall is as
hopeless as before. Remarkably, my ability to recall numbers improves from eight
to nine.
Will we see the day when students resort to magnetic brain-boosting?
Disconcertingly,
Prof Rothwell replies: "I don't believe you can get some improvement without
losing
something else."
He informs me I have just 20 minutes to make use of my turbo-charged brain.
Within that
time, I get on the wrong tube train. A simple mistake or a side effect of TMS?
Only more
research can reveal why my expanded encephalon let me down.
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