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fagges
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faiged
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faiges
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felched
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felchered
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felchingly
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fellateing
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fellatioing
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feltched
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feltches
feltching
feltchly
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feomed
feomer
feomes
feoming
feomly
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fisteder
fistedes
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fisting
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fistyer
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fistying
fistyly
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floozyed
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floozyes
floozying
floozyly
floozys
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foaded
foader
foades
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foadly
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fondleer
fondlees
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foobarly
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freexed
freexer
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freexly
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frigga
friggaed
friggaer
friggaes
friggaing
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frigger
frigges
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friggly
friggs
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fubared
fubarer
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fubarly
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fuckedly
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fuckered
fuckerer
fuckeres
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Inflammation, atherosclerosis, and arterial thrombosis: Role of the scavenger receptor CD36

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Inflammation, atherosclerosis, and arterial thrombosis: Role of the scavenger receptor CD36

Atherosclerosis is recognized as a chronic inflammatory disorder of the vessel wall. Four categories of evidence support the model of atherosclerosis as an inflammatory disease:

  • Biomarkers of inflammation are clearly associated with risk and prognosis of atherosclerosis. Three that have been linked conclusively are: C-reactive protein, myeloperoxidase (a marker of leukocyte activation), and antibodies to oxidative modifications of low-density lipoprotein (LDL).
  • Tissue studies demonstrate that leukocytes and products of the inflammatory system are prevalent in atherosclerotic plaque.
  • Animal models show an absence of atherosclerosis in the absence of monocytes or monocyte recruitment as well as a crucial role for T-cell–derived proinflammatory cytokines.
  • It is becoming apparent that patients with chronic systemic inflammatory disorders (eg, systemic lupus erythematosus, Wegener granulomatosis, chronic obesity, and aging) have increased risk of atherosclerosis.

This article examines the mechanisms by which inflammation promotes the development of atherosclerosis and coronary artery disease, with particular attention to the role of CD36, a scavenger receptor for oxidized LDL.

OXIDATION IN PLAQUE FORMATION

Prevailing models that link inflammation to plaque formation suggest that inflammatory stimuli (eg, cigarette smoke, hypertension) provoke changes in the phenotype of the cells of the arterial vessel wall that allow penetration of leukocytes and LDL particles across the endothelial barrier, trapping them in the subendothelial space.1,2 An inflammatory reaction then occurs in the subendothelial space involving monocytes/macrophages and lymphocytes (especially T cells). Ultimately, through the production and release of oxidizing enzymes such as myeloperoxidase and nitric oxide synthase, the reaction leads to generation of reactive oxygen and nitrogen species. In this setting, LDL particles become modified to a form known as oxidized LDL (oxLDL). OxLDL loses its ability to bind to LDL receptors, which interferes with its normal processing; perhaps more important, oxLDL gains an affinity for a family of proteins called scavenger receptors. Scavenger receptors on macrophages bind and internalize the oxLDL particles, leading to accumulation of cholesterol and other lipids in the cells. Over prolonged periods, increasing quantities of oxLDL become internalized, leading to formation of foam cells (lipid-laden macrophages), the precursor to atherosclerotic plaque. These lipidladen cells are more prone to apoptosis, which further contributes to plaque growth and rupture.

CD36: A CRITICAL SCAVENGER RECEPTOR

One of the most critical scavenger receptors on macrophages is CD36, which is a transmembrane glycoprotein that crosses the membrane twice. CD36 is expressed heavily on monocytes, macrophages, dendritic cells, fat, muscle, capillary endothelial cells, and platelets. It has multiple physiologic functions, including acting as a high-affinity receptor for specific oxidized phospholipids that are found within oxLDL.3 It is also a receptor for phosphatidyl serine (PS) and oxidized PS (oxPS) that is expressed on the surface of apoptotic cells. CD36 is highly conserved in evolution; orthologs are even found in flies, worms, and sponges. Evidence suggests that CD36 and other scavenger receptors probably evolved as part of the innate immune system as recognition molecules for pathogens and pathogen-infected cells.4

An interesting aspect of CD36 biology is that its expression on macrophages is increased when the cells are exposed to oxLDL. Among the changes that occur in the lipid components of LDL when it is oxidized is the formation of oxidized fatty acids such as 9- and 13-hydroxy octadecadienoic acid (HODE). These oxidized fatty acids are ligands for the nuclear hormone receptor peroxisome proliferator–activated receptor (PPAR) gamma, a transcription factor that regulates expression of many genes, including CD36. Thus, oxLDL promotes increased expression of CD36 and further cellular uptake of oxLDL. This feed-forward loop presumably accelerates foam cell formation in the arterial neointima. Furthermore, CD36 expression is upregulated at the transcriptional level by inflammatory cytokines such as granulocyte macrophage colony–stimulating factor (GM-CSF), macrophage colony–stimulating factor (M-CSF), and interleukin-4. Hyperglycemia increases CD36 expression through a nontranscriptional mechanism and may contribute to the proatherosclerotic state associated with diabetes.

CD36 mediates atherogenesis

The pathogenic role of oxLDL in atherosclerosis is largely dependent on CD36. Studies using macrophages from genetically altered mice developed in our laboratory that do not express CD36 demonstrated that absence of CD36 expression was associated with a lack of foam cell formation in vitro when cells were exposed to oxLDL. Wild-type mice, in contrast, showed foam cell formation after 12 to 24 hours.5

To demonstrate in vivo relevance of these findings, we crossed CD36-null mice with proatherogenic apoE-null mice. When fed an atherogenic Western diet, apoE-null mice develop aortic atherosclerosis within several weeks, in a pattern and histology that closely resembles the human disease. In our experiment, the mice that lacked both CD36 and apoE had a dramatic decrease in the volume of atherosclerosis.5 Further studies showed that the proatherogenic role of CD36 was highly likely mediated by the CD36 on macrophages, since transplantation of bone marrow from CD36-null mice into apoE-null mice had the same effect on atherosclerosis as seen in the apoE/CD36-double-null mice.6

Scavenger receptor–dependent formation and progression of atherosclerosis is supported by findings of an abundance of oxidized phospholipids that serve as binding partners for CD36 in the plaque region of blood vessels, along with an absence of oxidized phospholipids in the nonplaque region of blood. The enrichment of oxidized phospholipid in the plaque allows CD36 to penetrate the plaque, whereas removal of CD36 drastically decreases the progression of atherosclerosis.

 

 

Platelet activation in the setting of hyperlipidemia

In addition to the formation and progression of plaque, CD36 may be involved in the terminal phases of atherosclerosis (ie, the thrombosis that occurs on a plaque) as a result of abundant CD36 expression on platelets. CD36, in fact, was discovered as a platelet protein and named platelet glycoprotein IV, although for many years the function of CD36 on platelets was not known.

Recent studies by Podrez and colleagues, along with our group, revealed that oxLDL binds to the surface of platelets in a concentration-dependent manner, whereas normal LDL does not. The binding of oxLDL to platelets can be blocked almost completely by inhibiting CD36 with an antibody; binding did not occur with platelets obtained from CD36-deficient mice or people.7 Importantly, exposure to oxLDL caused platelets to be activated via a highly specific cell-signaling pathway; low concentrations of oxLDL, such as those found in plasma of individuals with even modest hyperlipidemia, made platelets more sensitive to low doses of “classic” platelet agonists such as collagen and adenosine diphosphate (ADP).8 These studies suggest that platelet CD36 could serve as a mechanistic link between inflammation, oxidant stress, and hyperlipidemia to create a prothrombotic state.

It has been known for some time through the work of Eitzman and others that apoE-null mice fed a Western diet are “hypercoagulable”; ie, they have shortened thrombosis times.9 This observation led us to investigate the role of CD36 in the hyperlipidemia-associated prothrombotic state. In one experiment, tail-vein bleeding times were measured in apoE-null and apoE/CD36-double-null mice fed a high-fat diet. Whereas the apoE-null animals had markedly shortened bleeding times (~ 2 minutes), the double CD36/apoE-null animals were normal (~ 6–8 minutes).

To examine a model more reflective of pathologic thrombus formation (eg, heart attack, stroke), we induced carotid artery injury in mice by topical application of ferric chloride. This method induces oxidant injury to the endothelium and causes platelet-dependent carotid occlusion. With this model, thrombosis can be monitored in “real time” with a Doppler flow probe and video microscope. As with tail-vein bleeding time, we found that time to carotid occlusion was much shorter in apoE-null mice fed a high-fat diet than in mice fed a normal chow diet or in wild-type mice; further, this prothrombotic state was rescued by genetic ablation of CD36 expression.7

Possible role in thrombus formation

More recent experiments from our lab have shown that CD36-null mice fed a normal chow diet have a subtle defect in thrombus formation when arteries or veins are subjected to relatively mild injury.10 This finding implies a potential role for CD36 in “normal” platelet function and perhaps the existence of an endogenous ligand for CD36 that is unrelated to hyperlipidemia. Since we know that CD36-null mice and CD36-deficient people do not have a bleeding disorder and have normal bleeding times, it is possible that pharmacologic targeting of CD36 may provide a means to inhibit thrombosis without having a major impact on hemostasis.

The possibility that mice or humans can be protected from developing thrombi by blocking CD36 function is supported by initial data obtained from the carotid artery injury model in mice. In the laboratory, an antithrombotic state can be created by blocking the specific CD36-signaling pathway described below. Thrombocytopenic wild-type mice transfused with platelets from wild-type mice exhibit a dramatic increase in thrombosis time when the donor platelets are pretreated with a CD36-signaling inhibitor.8 This protective effect vanishes when the same experiment is performed in CD36-null mice.

 

 

 

MICROPARTICLES: MAJOR LIGAND FOR CD36

Based on the experiments described above, we hypothesized the existence of endogenous CD36 ligands involved in thrombosis and proposed that cell-derived microparticles (MPs) were likely candidates. MPs are small (200–1,000 nm) phospholipid vesicles that “bud” off from cells as a result of stimulation or apoptosis. MPs can be derived from endothelial cells, leukocytes, cancer cells, and platelets; they contain selected membrane receptors as well as other proteins inherent to their parental cell (eg, MPs derived from a white cell contain tissue factor that can activate the coagulation cascade). MPs are known to circulate in patients with chronic inflammatory disorders, including acute coronary syndromes, lupus erythematosus, Wegener granulomatosis, and rheumatoid arthritis, and their number probably increases with aging.

Our hypothesis is based on the well-known observation that a major feature of MP generation is a loss of membrane asymmetry; that is, the PS normally expressed on the inner limit of the membrane instead is expressed on the surface. Previous studies from our lab and others had shown that PS and oxPS can be a ligand for CD36.11

To test our hypothesis we developed a rapid flow cytometry assay using an antibody to CD105, an antigen expressed only on endothelial cells, to detect an interaction between endothelial cell–derived MPs and platelets. This interaction is CD36-dependent in that it can be blocked with antibodies to CD36 and does not occur if platelets are taken from mice or humans who are CD36-deficient.10 MPs behaved like oxLDL in that platelets pretreated with MPs undergo a dramatic augmentation of aggregation in response to low doses of classic agonists. This augmentation of platelet activation does not occur in platelets from CD36-null donors or CD36-null mice.10

Microparticle accumulation in thrombi

Reprinted from Ghosh A, et al. Platelet CD36 mediates interactions with endothelial cell-derived microparticles and contributes to thrombosis in mice. J Clin Invest 2008; 118:1934–1943. Copyright 2008 by American Society for Clinical Investigation (ASCI).
Figure 1. A mouse carotid artery (in cross section) injured with ferric chloride and then analyzed using immunofluorescent microscopy and an antibody to the endothelial cell–specific antigen CD105. The blue dots represent the nuclei in the vessel (stained with DAPI). In the top panel, a carotid thrombus in the lumen of a wild-type mouse is heavily enriched with CD105 (stained red), implying microparticle incorporation. In the CD36-null mouse (bottom panel), CD105 staining is decreased dramatically. The green staining represents an antibody to the platelet-specific antigen CD61.10
To confirm a role for the platelet-MP interaction during thrombus formation, we examined CD105 antibody staining in thrombi induced in carotid arteries in our mouse models. We found that the endothelial cell–specific CD105 antigen accumulated in the thrombi formed in wild-type mice, but that staining was dramatically reduced in the thrombi formed in CD36-null animals (Figure 1).10

Specific cytoplasmic signaling cascade

When CD36 binds to its ligands (oxLDL or MPs), it transmits a signal to the cell. In macrophages this signal leads to oxLDL internalization and foam cell formation, while in platelets it contributes to platelet activation and aggregation. In a series of studies from our laboratory and others, it has been shown that these signals are relayed by a series of molecular interactions that involve specific tyrosine kinases from the Src family and serine/threonine kinases from the mitogenactivated protein (MAP) kinase family.12 The signal to the platelet is mediated by a MAP kinase called c-Jun N-terminal kinase (JNK). Carotid thrombi in wild-type mice stain for the presence of the activated, phosphorylated form of JNK, whereas phospho-JNK expression is decreased by 50% to 60% in carotid thrombi in CD36-null mice,12 similar to the decrease in MP mass in thrombi from CD36-null mice.

CONCLUSION

These experiments suggest that CD36 has both a proatherogenic and a prothrombotic role in the vascular system. Macrophage CD36 promotes foam cell formation and plaque formation. Platelet CD36 promotes thrombosis by signaling in response to oxLDL and by phospholipids present in cell-derived MP. Therefore, targeting CD36 or CD36-signaling pathways could be a strategy in the treatment of atheroinflammatory disorders and deserves exploration.

References
  1. Tontonoz P, Nagy L, Alvarez JG, Thomazy VA, Evans RM. PPAR-gamma promotes monocyte/macrophage differentiation and uptake of oxidized LDL. Cell 1998; 93:241252.
  2. Steinberg D, Lewis A. Conner Memorial Lecture. Oxidative modification of LDL and atherogenesis. Circulation 1997; 95:10621071.
  3. Silverstein RL, Febbraio M. CD36 and atherosclerosis. Curr Opin Lipidol 2000; 11:483491.
  4. Krieger M. The other side of scavenger receptors: pattern recognition for host defense. Curr Opin Lipidol 1997; 8:275280.
  5. Febbraio M, Podrez EA, Smith JD, et al. Targeted disruption of the Class B scavenger receptor, CD36, protects against atherosclerotic lesion development in mice. J Clin Invest 2000; 105:10491056.
  6. Febbraio M, Guy E, Silverstein RL. Stem cell transplantation reveals that absence of macrophage CD36 is protective against atherosclerosis. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol 2004; 24:23332338.
  7. Podrez EA, Byzova TV, Febbraio M, et al. Platelet CD36 links hyperlipidemia, oxidant stress and a prothrombotic phenotype. Nat Med 2007; 13:10861095.
  8. Chen K, Febbraio M, Li W, Silverstein RL. A specific CD36-dependent signaling pathway is required for platelet activation by oxidized LDL. Circ Res 2008; 102:15121519.
  9. Eitzman DT, Westrick RJ, Xu Z, Tyson J, Ginsburg D. Hyperlipidemia promotes thrombosis after injury to atherosclerotic vessels in apolipoprotein E-deficient mice. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol 2000; 20:18311834.
  10. Ghosh A, Li W, Febbraio M, et al. Platelet CD36 mediates interactions with endothelial cell-derived microparticles and contributes to thrombosis in mice. J Clin Invest 2008; 118:19341943.
  11. Greenberg ME, Sun M, Zhang R, Febbraio M, Silverstein RL, Hazen SL. Oxidized phosphatidylserine-CD36 interactions play an essential role in macrophage-dependent phagocytosis of apoptotic cells. J Exp Med 2006; 203:26132625
  12. Rahaman SO, Lennon DJ, Febbraio M, Podrez EA, Hazen SL, Silverstein RL. A CD36-dependent signaling cascade is necessary for macrophage foam cell formation. Cell Metab 2006; 4:211221.
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Roy L. Silverstein, MD
Chair, Department of Cell Biology, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, OH

Correspondence: Roy L. Silverstein, MD, Department of Cell Biology, Cleveland Clinic, 9500 Euclid Avenue, NC10, Cleveland, OH 44195; [email protected]

Dr. Silverstein reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Silverstein’s presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Dr. Silverstein.

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Author and Disclosure Information

Roy L. Silverstein, MD
Chair, Department of Cell Biology, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, OH

Correspondence: Roy L. Silverstein, MD, Department of Cell Biology, Cleveland Clinic, 9500 Euclid Avenue, NC10, Cleveland, OH 44195; [email protected]

Dr. Silverstein reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Silverstein’s presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Dr. Silverstein.

Author and Disclosure Information

Roy L. Silverstein, MD
Chair, Department of Cell Biology, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, OH

Correspondence: Roy L. Silverstein, MD, Department of Cell Biology, Cleveland Clinic, 9500 Euclid Avenue, NC10, Cleveland, OH 44195; [email protected]

Dr. Silverstein reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Silverstein’s presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Dr. Silverstein.

Article PDF
Article PDF

Atherosclerosis is recognized as a chronic inflammatory disorder of the vessel wall. Four categories of evidence support the model of atherosclerosis as an inflammatory disease:

  • Biomarkers of inflammation are clearly associated with risk and prognosis of atherosclerosis. Three that have been linked conclusively are: C-reactive protein, myeloperoxidase (a marker of leukocyte activation), and antibodies to oxidative modifications of low-density lipoprotein (LDL).
  • Tissue studies demonstrate that leukocytes and products of the inflammatory system are prevalent in atherosclerotic plaque.
  • Animal models show an absence of atherosclerosis in the absence of monocytes or monocyte recruitment as well as a crucial role for T-cell–derived proinflammatory cytokines.
  • It is becoming apparent that patients with chronic systemic inflammatory disorders (eg, systemic lupus erythematosus, Wegener granulomatosis, chronic obesity, and aging) have increased risk of atherosclerosis.

This article examines the mechanisms by which inflammation promotes the development of atherosclerosis and coronary artery disease, with particular attention to the role of CD36, a scavenger receptor for oxidized LDL.

OXIDATION IN PLAQUE FORMATION

Prevailing models that link inflammation to plaque formation suggest that inflammatory stimuli (eg, cigarette smoke, hypertension) provoke changes in the phenotype of the cells of the arterial vessel wall that allow penetration of leukocytes and LDL particles across the endothelial barrier, trapping them in the subendothelial space.1,2 An inflammatory reaction then occurs in the subendothelial space involving monocytes/macrophages and lymphocytes (especially T cells). Ultimately, through the production and release of oxidizing enzymes such as myeloperoxidase and nitric oxide synthase, the reaction leads to generation of reactive oxygen and nitrogen species. In this setting, LDL particles become modified to a form known as oxidized LDL (oxLDL). OxLDL loses its ability to bind to LDL receptors, which interferes with its normal processing; perhaps more important, oxLDL gains an affinity for a family of proteins called scavenger receptors. Scavenger receptors on macrophages bind and internalize the oxLDL particles, leading to accumulation of cholesterol and other lipids in the cells. Over prolonged periods, increasing quantities of oxLDL become internalized, leading to formation of foam cells (lipid-laden macrophages), the precursor to atherosclerotic plaque. These lipidladen cells are more prone to apoptosis, which further contributes to plaque growth and rupture.

CD36: A CRITICAL SCAVENGER RECEPTOR

One of the most critical scavenger receptors on macrophages is CD36, which is a transmembrane glycoprotein that crosses the membrane twice. CD36 is expressed heavily on monocytes, macrophages, dendritic cells, fat, muscle, capillary endothelial cells, and platelets. It has multiple physiologic functions, including acting as a high-affinity receptor for specific oxidized phospholipids that are found within oxLDL.3 It is also a receptor for phosphatidyl serine (PS) and oxidized PS (oxPS) that is expressed on the surface of apoptotic cells. CD36 is highly conserved in evolution; orthologs are even found in flies, worms, and sponges. Evidence suggests that CD36 and other scavenger receptors probably evolved as part of the innate immune system as recognition molecules for pathogens and pathogen-infected cells.4

An interesting aspect of CD36 biology is that its expression on macrophages is increased when the cells are exposed to oxLDL. Among the changes that occur in the lipid components of LDL when it is oxidized is the formation of oxidized fatty acids such as 9- and 13-hydroxy octadecadienoic acid (HODE). These oxidized fatty acids are ligands for the nuclear hormone receptor peroxisome proliferator–activated receptor (PPAR) gamma, a transcription factor that regulates expression of many genes, including CD36. Thus, oxLDL promotes increased expression of CD36 and further cellular uptake of oxLDL. This feed-forward loop presumably accelerates foam cell formation in the arterial neointima. Furthermore, CD36 expression is upregulated at the transcriptional level by inflammatory cytokines such as granulocyte macrophage colony–stimulating factor (GM-CSF), macrophage colony–stimulating factor (M-CSF), and interleukin-4. Hyperglycemia increases CD36 expression through a nontranscriptional mechanism and may contribute to the proatherosclerotic state associated with diabetes.

CD36 mediates atherogenesis

The pathogenic role of oxLDL in atherosclerosis is largely dependent on CD36. Studies using macrophages from genetically altered mice developed in our laboratory that do not express CD36 demonstrated that absence of CD36 expression was associated with a lack of foam cell formation in vitro when cells were exposed to oxLDL. Wild-type mice, in contrast, showed foam cell formation after 12 to 24 hours.5

To demonstrate in vivo relevance of these findings, we crossed CD36-null mice with proatherogenic apoE-null mice. When fed an atherogenic Western diet, apoE-null mice develop aortic atherosclerosis within several weeks, in a pattern and histology that closely resembles the human disease. In our experiment, the mice that lacked both CD36 and apoE had a dramatic decrease in the volume of atherosclerosis.5 Further studies showed that the proatherogenic role of CD36 was highly likely mediated by the CD36 on macrophages, since transplantation of bone marrow from CD36-null mice into apoE-null mice had the same effect on atherosclerosis as seen in the apoE/CD36-double-null mice.6

Scavenger receptor–dependent formation and progression of atherosclerosis is supported by findings of an abundance of oxidized phospholipids that serve as binding partners for CD36 in the plaque region of blood vessels, along with an absence of oxidized phospholipids in the nonplaque region of blood. The enrichment of oxidized phospholipid in the plaque allows CD36 to penetrate the plaque, whereas removal of CD36 drastically decreases the progression of atherosclerosis.

 

 

Platelet activation in the setting of hyperlipidemia

In addition to the formation and progression of plaque, CD36 may be involved in the terminal phases of atherosclerosis (ie, the thrombosis that occurs on a plaque) as a result of abundant CD36 expression on platelets. CD36, in fact, was discovered as a platelet protein and named platelet glycoprotein IV, although for many years the function of CD36 on platelets was not known.

Recent studies by Podrez and colleagues, along with our group, revealed that oxLDL binds to the surface of platelets in a concentration-dependent manner, whereas normal LDL does not. The binding of oxLDL to platelets can be blocked almost completely by inhibiting CD36 with an antibody; binding did not occur with platelets obtained from CD36-deficient mice or people.7 Importantly, exposure to oxLDL caused platelets to be activated via a highly specific cell-signaling pathway; low concentrations of oxLDL, such as those found in plasma of individuals with even modest hyperlipidemia, made platelets more sensitive to low doses of “classic” platelet agonists such as collagen and adenosine diphosphate (ADP).8 These studies suggest that platelet CD36 could serve as a mechanistic link between inflammation, oxidant stress, and hyperlipidemia to create a prothrombotic state.

It has been known for some time through the work of Eitzman and others that apoE-null mice fed a Western diet are “hypercoagulable”; ie, they have shortened thrombosis times.9 This observation led us to investigate the role of CD36 in the hyperlipidemia-associated prothrombotic state. In one experiment, tail-vein bleeding times were measured in apoE-null and apoE/CD36-double-null mice fed a high-fat diet. Whereas the apoE-null animals had markedly shortened bleeding times (~ 2 minutes), the double CD36/apoE-null animals were normal (~ 6–8 minutes).

To examine a model more reflective of pathologic thrombus formation (eg, heart attack, stroke), we induced carotid artery injury in mice by topical application of ferric chloride. This method induces oxidant injury to the endothelium and causes platelet-dependent carotid occlusion. With this model, thrombosis can be monitored in “real time” with a Doppler flow probe and video microscope. As with tail-vein bleeding time, we found that time to carotid occlusion was much shorter in apoE-null mice fed a high-fat diet than in mice fed a normal chow diet or in wild-type mice; further, this prothrombotic state was rescued by genetic ablation of CD36 expression.7

Possible role in thrombus formation

More recent experiments from our lab have shown that CD36-null mice fed a normal chow diet have a subtle defect in thrombus formation when arteries or veins are subjected to relatively mild injury.10 This finding implies a potential role for CD36 in “normal” platelet function and perhaps the existence of an endogenous ligand for CD36 that is unrelated to hyperlipidemia. Since we know that CD36-null mice and CD36-deficient people do not have a bleeding disorder and have normal bleeding times, it is possible that pharmacologic targeting of CD36 may provide a means to inhibit thrombosis without having a major impact on hemostasis.

The possibility that mice or humans can be protected from developing thrombi by blocking CD36 function is supported by initial data obtained from the carotid artery injury model in mice. In the laboratory, an antithrombotic state can be created by blocking the specific CD36-signaling pathway described below. Thrombocytopenic wild-type mice transfused with platelets from wild-type mice exhibit a dramatic increase in thrombosis time when the donor platelets are pretreated with a CD36-signaling inhibitor.8 This protective effect vanishes when the same experiment is performed in CD36-null mice.

 

 

 

MICROPARTICLES: MAJOR LIGAND FOR CD36

Based on the experiments described above, we hypothesized the existence of endogenous CD36 ligands involved in thrombosis and proposed that cell-derived microparticles (MPs) were likely candidates. MPs are small (200–1,000 nm) phospholipid vesicles that “bud” off from cells as a result of stimulation or apoptosis. MPs can be derived from endothelial cells, leukocytes, cancer cells, and platelets; they contain selected membrane receptors as well as other proteins inherent to their parental cell (eg, MPs derived from a white cell contain tissue factor that can activate the coagulation cascade). MPs are known to circulate in patients with chronic inflammatory disorders, including acute coronary syndromes, lupus erythematosus, Wegener granulomatosis, and rheumatoid arthritis, and their number probably increases with aging.

Our hypothesis is based on the well-known observation that a major feature of MP generation is a loss of membrane asymmetry; that is, the PS normally expressed on the inner limit of the membrane instead is expressed on the surface. Previous studies from our lab and others had shown that PS and oxPS can be a ligand for CD36.11

To test our hypothesis we developed a rapid flow cytometry assay using an antibody to CD105, an antigen expressed only on endothelial cells, to detect an interaction between endothelial cell–derived MPs and platelets. This interaction is CD36-dependent in that it can be blocked with antibodies to CD36 and does not occur if platelets are taken from mice or humans who are CD36-deficient.10 MPs behaved like oxLDL in that platelets pretreated with MPs undergo a dramatic augmentation of aggregation in response to low doses of classic agonists. This augmentation of platelet activation does not occur in platelets from CD36-null donors or CD36-null mice.10

Microparticle accumulation in thrombi

Reprinted from Ghosh A, et al. Platelet CD36 mediates interactions with endothelial cell-derived microparticles and contributes to thrombosis in mice. J Clin Invest 2008; 118:1934–1943. Copyright 2008 by American Society for Clinical Investigation (ASCI).
Figure 1. A mouse carotid artery (in cross section) injured with ferric chloride and then analyzed using immunofluorescent microscopy and an antibody to the endothelial cell–specific antigen CD105. The blue dots represent the nuclei in the vessel (stained with DAPI). In the top panel, a carotid thrombus in the lumen of a wild-type mouse is heavily enriched with CD105 (stained red), implying microparticle incorporation. In the CD36-null mouse (bottom panel), CD105 staining is decreased dramatically. The green staining represents an antibody to the platelet-specific antigen CD61.10
To confirm a role for the platelet-MP interaction during thrombus formation, we examined CD105 antibody staining in thrombi induced in carotid arteries in our mouse models. We found that the endothelial cell–specific CD105 antigen accumulated in the thrombi formed in wild-type mice, but that staining was dramatically reduced in the thrombi formed in CD36-null animals (Figure 1).10

Specific cytoplasmic signaling cascade

When CD36 binds to its ligands (oxLDL or MPs), it transmits a signal to the cell. In macrophages this signal leads to oxLDL internalization and foam cell formation, while in platelets it contributes to platelet activation and aggregation. In a series of studies from our laboratory and others, it has been shown that these signals are relayed by a series of molecular interactions that involve specific tyrosine kinases from the Src family and serine/threonine kinases from the mitogenactivated protein (MAP) kinase family.12 The signal to the platelet is mediated by a MAP kinase called c-Jun N-terminal kinase (JNK). Carotid thrombi in wild-type mice stain for the presence of the activated, phosphorylated form of JNK, whereas phospho-JNK expression is decreased by 50% to 60% in carotid thrombi in CD36-null mice,12 similar to the decrease in MP mass in thrombi from CD36-null mice.

CONCLUSION

These experiments suggest that CD36 has both a proatherogenic and a prothrombotic role in the vascular system. Macrophage CD36 promotes foam cell formation and plaque formation. Platelet CD36 promotes thrombosis by signaling in response to oxLDL and by phospholipids present in cell-derived MP. Therefore, targeting CD36 or CD36-signaling pathways could be a strategy in the treatment of atheroinflammatory disorders and deserves exploration.

Atherosclerosis is recognized as a chronic inflammatory disorder of the vessel wall. Four categories of evidence support the model of atherosclerosis as an inflammatory disease:

  • Biomarkers of inflammation are clearly associated with risk and prognosis of atherosclerosis. Three that have been linked conclusively are: C-reactive protein, myeloperoxidase (a marker of leukocyte activation), and antibodies to oxidative modifications of low-density lipoprotein (LDL).
  • Tissue studies demonstrate that leukocytes and products of the inflammatory system are prevalent in atherosclerotic plaque.
  • Animal models show an absence of atherosclerosis in the absence of monocytes or monocyte recruitment as well as a crucial role for T-cell–derived proinflammatory cytokines.
  • It is becoming apparent that patients with chronic systemic inflammatory disorders (eg, systemic lupus erythematosus, Wegener granulomatosis, chronic obesity, and aging) have increased risk of atherosclerosis.

This article examines the mechanisms by which inflammation promotes the development of atherosclerosis and coronary artery disease, with particular attention to the role of CD36, a scavenger receptor for oxidized LDL.

OXIDATION IN PLAQUE FORMATION

Prevailing models that link inflammation to plaque formation suggest that inflammatory stimuli (eg, cigarette smoke, hypertension) provoke changes in the phenotype of the cells of the arterial vessel wall that allow penetration of leukocytes and LDL particles across the endothelial barrier, trapping them in the subendothelial space.1,2 An inflammatory reaction then occurs in the subendothelial space involving monocytes/macrophages and lymphocytes (especially T cells). Ultimately, through the production and release of oxidizing enzymes such as myeloperoxidase and nitric oxide synthase, the reaction leads to generation of reactive oxygen and nitrogen species. In this setting, LDL particles become modified to a form known as oxidized LDL (oxLDL). OxLDL loses its ability to bind to LDL receptors, which interferes with its normal processing; perhaps more important, oxLDL gains an affinity for a family of proteins called scavenger receptors. Scavenger receptors on macrophages bind and internalize the oxLDL particles, leading to accumulation of cholesterol and other lipids in the cells. Over prolonged periods, increasing quantities of oxLDL become internalized, leading to formation of foam cells (lipid-laden macrophages), the precursor to atherosclerotic plaque. These lipidladen cells are more prone to apoptosis, which further contributes to plaque growth and rupture.

CD36: A CRITICAL SCAVENGER RECEPTOR

One of the most critical scavenger receptors on macrophages is CD36, which is a transmembrane glycoprotein that crosses the membrane twice. CD36 is expressed heavily on monocytes, macrophages, dendritic cells, fat, muscle, capillary endothelial cells, and platelets. It has multiple physiologic functions, including acting as a high-affinity receptor for specific oxidized phospholipids that are found within oxLDL.3 It is also a receptor for phosphatidyl serine (PS) and oxidized PS (oxPS) that is expressed on the surface of apoptotic cells. CD36 is highly conserved in evolution; orthologs are even found in flies, worms, and sponges. Evidence suggests that CD36 and other scavenger receptors probably evolved as part of the innate immune system as recognition molecules for pathogens and pathogen-infected cells.4

An interesting aspect of CD36 biology is that its expression on macrophages is increased when the cells are exposed to oxLDL. Among the changes that occur in the lipid components of LDL when it is oxidized is the formation of oxidized fatty acids such as 9- and 13-hydroxy octadecadienoic acid (HODE). These oxidized fatty acids are ligands for the nuclear hormone receptor peroxisome proliferator–activated receptor (PPAR) gamma, a transcription factor that regulates expression of many genes, including CD36. Thus, oxLDL promotes increased expression of CD36 and further cellular uptake of oxLDL. This feed-forward loop presumably accelerates foam cell formation in the arterial neointima. Furthermore, CD36 expression is upregulated at the transcriptional level by inflammatory cytokines such as granulocyte macrophage colony–stimulating factor (GM-CSF), macrophage colony–stimulating factor (M-CSF), and interleukin-4. Hyperglycemia increases CD36 expression through a nontranscriptional mechanism and may contribute to the proatherosclerotic state associated with diabetes.

CD36 mediates atherogenesis

The pathogenic role of oxLDL in atherosclerosis is largely dependent on CD36. Studies using macrophages from genetically altered mice developed in our laboratory that do not express CD36 demonstrated that absence of CD36 expression was associated with a lack of foam cell formation in vitro when cells were exposed to oxLDL. Wild-type mice, in contrast, showed foam cell formation after 12 to 24 hours.5

To demonstrate in vivo relevance of these findings, we crossed CD36-null mice with proatherogenic apoE-null mice. When fed an atherogenic Western diet, apoE-null mice develop aortic atherosclerosis within several weeks, in a pattern and histology that closely resembles the human disease. In our experiment, the mice that lacked both CD36 and apoE had a dramatic decrease in the volume of atherosclerosis.5 Further studies showed that the proatherogenic role of CD36 was highly likely mediated by the CD36 on macrophages, since transplantation of bone marrow from CD36-null mice into apoE-null mice had the same effect on atherosclerosis as seen in the apoE/CD36-double-null mice.6

Scavenger receptor–dependent formation and progression of atherosclerosis is supported by findings of an abundance of oxidized phospholipids that serve as binding partners for CD36 in the plaque region of blood vessels, along with an absence of oxidized phospholipids in the nonplaque region of blood. The enrichment of oxidized phospholipid in the plaque allows CD36 to penetrate the plaque, whereas removal of CD36 drastically decreases the progression of atherosclerosis.

 

 

Platelet activation in the setting of hyperlipidemia

In addition to the formation and progression of plaque, CD36 may be involved in the terminal phases of atherosclerosis (ie, the thrombosis that occurs on a plaque) as a result of abundant CD36 expression on platelets. CD36, in fact, was discovered as a platelet protein and named platelet glycoprotein IV, although for many years the function of CD36 on platelets was not known.

Recent studies by Podrez and colleagues, along with our group, revealed that oxLDL binds to the surface of platelets in a concentration-dependent manner, whereas normal LDL does not. The binding of oxLDL to platelets can be blocked almost completely by inhibiting CD36 with an antibody; binding did not occur with platelets obtained from CD36-deficient mice or people.7 Importantly, exposure to oxLDL caused platelets to be activated via a highly specific cell-signaling pathway; low concentrations of oxLDL, such as those found in plasma of individuals with even modest hyperlipidemia, made platelets more sensitive to low doses of “classic” platelet agonists such as collagen and adenosine diphosphate (ADP).8 These studies suggest that platelet CD36 could serve as a mechanistic link between inflammation, oxidant stress, and hyperlipidemia to create a prothrombotic state.

It has been known for some time through the work of Eitzman and others that apoE-null mice fed a Western diet are “hypercoagulable”; ie, they have shortened thrombosis times.9 This observation led us to investigate the role of CD36 in the hyperlipidemia-associated prothrombotic state. In one experiment, tail-vein bleeding times were measured in apoE-null and apoE/CD36-double-null mice fed a high-fat diet. Whereas the apoE-null animals had markedly shortened bleeding times (~ 2 minutes), the double CD36/apoE-null animals were normal (~ 6–8 minutes).

To examine a model more reflective of pathologic thrombus formation (eg, heart attack, stroke), we induced carotid artery injury in mice by topical application of ferric chloride. This method induces oxidant injury to the endothelium and causes platelet-dependent carotid occlusion. With this model, thrombosis can be monitored in “real time” with a Doppler flow probe and video microscope. As with tail-vein bleeding time, we found that time to carotid occlusion was much shorter in apoE-null mice fed a high-fat diet than in mice fed a normal chow diet or in wild-type mice; further, this prothrombotic state was rescued by genetic ablation of CD36 expression.7

Possible role in thrombus formation

More recent experiments from our lab have shown that CD36-null mice fed a normal chow diet have a subtle defect in thrombus formation when arteries or veins are subjected to relatively mild injury.10 This finding implies a potential role for CD36 in “normal” platelet function and perhaps the existence of an endogenous ligand for CD36 that is unrelated to hyperlipidemia. Since we know that CD36-null mice and CD36-deficient people do not have a bleeding disorder and have normal bleeding times, it is possible that pharmacologic targeting of CD36 may provide a means to inhibit thrombosis without having a major impact on hemostasis.

The possibility that mice or humans can be protected from developing thrombi by blocking CD36 function is supported by initial data obtained from the carotid artery injury model in mice. In the laboratory, an antithrombotic state can be created by blocking the specific CD36-signaling pathway described below. Thrombocytopenic wild-type mice transfused with platelets from wild-type mice exhibit a dramatic increase in thrombosis time when the donor platelets are pretreated with a CD36-signaling inhibitor.8 This protective effect vanishes when the same experiment is performed in CD36-null mice.

 

 

 

MICROPARTICLES: MAJOR LIGAND FOR CD36

Based on the experiments described above, we hypothesized the existence of endogenous CD36 ligands involved in thrombosis and proposed that cell-derived microparticles (MPs) were likely candidates. MPs are small (200–1,000 nm) phospholipid vesicles that “bud” off from cells as a result of stimulation or apoptosis. MPs can be derived from endothelial cells, leukocytes, cancer cells, and platelets; they contain selected membrane receptors as well as other proteins inherent to their parental cell (eg, MPs derived from a white cell contain tissue factor that can activate the coagulation cascade). MPs are known to circulate in patients with chronic inflammatory disorders, including acute coronary syndromes, lupus erythematosus, Wegener granulomatosis, and rheumatoid arthritis, and their number probably increases with aging.

Our hypothesis is based on the well-known observation that a major feature of MP generation is a loss of membrane asymmetry; that is, the PS normally expressed on the inner limit of the membrane instead is expressed on the surface. Previous studies from our lab and others had shown that PS and oxPS can be a ligand for CD36.11

To test our hypothesis we developed a rapid flow cytometry assay using an antibody to CD105, an antigen expressed only on endothelial cells, to detect an interaction between endothelial cell–derived MPs and platelets. This interaction is CD36-dependent in that it can be blocked with antibodies to CD36 and does not occur if platelets are taken from mice or humans who are CD36-deficient.10 MPs behaved like oxLDL in that platelets pretreated with MPs undergo a dramatic augmentation of aggregation in response to low doses of classic agonists. This augmentation of platelet activation does not occur in platelets from CD36-null donors or CD36-null mice.10

Microparticle accumulation in thrombi

Reprinted from Ghosh A, et al. Platelet CD36 mediates interactions with endothelial cell-derived microparticles and contributes to thrombosis in mice. J Clin Invest 2008; 118:1934–1943. Copyright 2008 by American Society for Clinical Investigation (ASCI).
Figure 1. A mouse carotid artery (in cross section) injured with ferric chloride and then analyzed using immunofluorescent microscopy and an antibody to the endothelial cell–specific antigen CD105. The blue dots represent the nuclei in the vessel (stained with DAPI). In the top panel, a carotid thrombus in the lumen of a wild-type mouse is heavily enriched with CD105 (stained red), implying microparticle incorporation. In the CD36-null mouse (bottom panel), CD105 staining is decreased dramatically. The green staining represents an antibody to the platelet-specific antigen CD61.10
To confirm a role for the platelet-MP interaction during thrombus formation, we examined CD105 antibody staining in thrombi induced in carotid arteries in our mouse models. We found that the endothelial cell–specific CD105 antigen accumulated in the thrombi formed in wild-type mice, but that staining was dramatically reduced in the thrombi formed in CD36-null animals (Figure 1).10

Specific cytoplasmic signaling cascade

When CD36 binds to its ligands (oxLDL or MPs), it transmits a signal to the cell. In macrophages this signal leads to oxLDL internalization and foam cell formation, while in platelets it contributes to platelet activation and aggregation. In a series of studies from our laboratory and others, it has been shown that these signals are relayed by a series of molecular interactions that involve specific tyrosine kinases from the Src family and serine/threonine kinases from the mitogenactivated protein (MAP) kinase family.12 The signal to the platelet is mediated by a MAP kinase called c-Jun N-terminal kinase (JNK). Carotid thrombi in wild-type mice stain for the presence of the activated, phosphorylated form of JNK, whereas phospho-JNK expression is decreased by 50% to 60% in carotid thrombi in CD36-null mice,12 similar to the decrease in MP mass in thrombi from CD36-null mice.

CONCLUSION

These experiments suggest that CD36 has both a proatherogenic and a prothrombotic role in the vascular system. Macrophage CD36 promotes foam cell formation and plaque formation. Platelet CD36 promotes thrombosis by signaling in response to oxLDL and by phospholipids present in cell-derived MP. Therefore, targeting CD36 or CD36-signaling pathways could be a strategy in the treatment of atheroinflammatory disorders and deserves exploration.

References
  1. Tontonoz P, Nagy L, Alvarez JG, Thomazy VA, Evans RM. PPAR-gamma promotes monocyte/macrophage differentiation and uptake of oxidized LDL. Cell 1998; 93:241252.
  2. Steinberg D, Lewis A. Conner Memorial Lecture. Oxidative modification of LDL and atherogenesis. Circulation 1997; 95:10621071.
  3. Silverstein RL, Febbraio M. CD36 and atherosclerosis. Curr Opin Lipidol 2000; 11:483491.
  4. Krieger M. The other side of scavenger receptors: pattern recognition for host defense. Curr Opin Lipidol 1997; 8:275280.
  5. Febbraio M, Podrez EA, Smith JD, et al. Targeted disruption of the Class B scavenger receptor, CD36, protects against atherosclerotic lesion development in mice. J Clin Invest 2000; 105:10491056.
  6. Febbraio M, Guy E, Silverstein RL. Stem cell transplantation reveals that absence of macrophage CD36 is protective against atherosclerosis. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol 2004; 24:23332338.
  7. Podrez EA, Byzova TV, Febbraio M, et al. Platelet CD36 links hyperlipidemia, oxidant stress and a prothrombotic phenotype. Nat Med 2007; 13:10861095.
  8. Chen K, Febbraio M, Li W, Silverstein RL. A specific CD36-dependent signaling pathway is required for platelet activation by oxidized LDL. Circ Res 2008; 102:15121519.
  9. Eitzman DT, Westrick RJ, Xu Z, Tyson J, Ginsburg D. Hyperlipidemia promotes thrombosis after injury to atherosclerotic vessels in apolipoprotein E-deficient mice. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol 2000; 20:18311834.
  10. Ghosh A, Li W, Febbraio M, et al. Platelet CD36 mediates interactions with endothelial cell-derived microparticles and contributes to thrombosis in mice. J Clin Invest 2008; 118:19341943.
  11. Greenberg ME, Sun M, Zhang R, Febbraio M, Silverstein RL, Hazen SL. Oxidized phosphatidylserine-CD36 interactions play an essential role in macrophage-dependent phagocytosis of apoptotic cells. J Exp Med 2006; 203:26132625
  12. Rahaman SO, Lennon DJ, Febbraio M, Podrez EA, Hazen SL, Silverstein RL. A CD36-dependent signaling cascade is necessary for macrophage foam cell formation. Cell Metab 2006; 4:211221.
References
  1. Tontonoz P, Nagy L, Alvarez JG, Thomazy VA, Evans RM. PPAR-gamma promotes monocyte/macrophage differentiation and uptake of oxidized LDL. Cell 1998; 93:241252.
  2. Steinberg D, Lewis A. Conner Memorial Lecture. Oxidative modification of LDL and atherogenesis. Circulation 1997; 95:10621071.
  3. Silverstein RL, Febbraio M. CD36 and atherosclerosis. Curr Opin Lipidol 2000; 11:483491.
  4. Krieger M. The other side of scavenger receptors: pattern recognition for host defense. Curr Opin Lipidol 1997; 8:275280.
  5. Febbraio M, Podrez EA, Smith JD, et al. Targeted disruption of the Class B scavenger receptor, CD36, protects against atherosclerotic lesion development in mice. J Clin Invest 2000; 105:10491056.
  6. Febbraio M, Guy E, Silverstein RL. Stem cell transplantation reveals that absence of macrophage CD36 is protective against atherosclerosis. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol 2004; 24:23332338.
  7. Podrez EA, Byzova TV, Febbraio M, et al. Platelet CD36 links hyperlipidemia, oxidant stress and a prothrombotic phenotype. Nat Med 2007; 13:10861095.
  8. Chen K, Febbraio M, Li W, Silverstein RL. A specific CD36-dependent signaling pathway is required for platelet activation by oxidized LDL. Circ Res 2008; 102:15121519.
  9. Eitzman DT, Westrick RJ, Xu Z, Tyson J, Ginsburg D. Hyperlipidemia promotes thrombosis after injury to atherosclerotic vessels in apolipoprotein E-deficient mice. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol 2000; 20:18311834.
  10. Ghosh A, Li W, Febbraio M, et al. Platelet CD36 mediates interactions with endothelial cell-derived microparticles and contributes to thrombosis in mice. J Clin Invest 2008; 118:19341943.
  11. Greenberg ME, Sun M, Zhang R, Febbraio M, Silverstein RL, Hazen SL. Oxidized phosphatidylserine-CD36 interactions play an essential role in macrophage-dependent phagocytosis of apoptotic cells. J Exp Med 2006; 203:26132625
  12. Rahaman SO, Lennon DJ, Febbraio M, Podrez EA, Hazen SL, Silverstein RL. A CD36-dependent signaling cascade is necessary for macrophage foam cell formation. Cell Metab 2006; 4:211221.
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Pioneer Award Address: Ignorance isn’t biased: Comments on receiving the Pioneer Award

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Pioneer Award Address: Ignorance isn’t biased: Comments on receiving the Pioneer Award

This is a momentous occasion for me, for the extraordinary people in the Clinical Neurocardiology Section at the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and for my family—my wife Minka and son Joey drove all the way from Maryland late last night and early this morning to be here. I thank them publicly here.

THE ‘SPARKLE OF INSIGHT’ FROM ENLIGHTENED INDUCTION

In these brief comments, as I look back on the road I have taken over the past 40 years carrying out patient-oriented research in heart-brain medicine, I would like to convey a viewpoint instead of dwelling on the presentation of research data.

The idea I wish to convey is that ignorance isn’t biased. If you have a hypothesis you want to test, you are inherently biased to find something positive—and, if you are in academic medicine, publishable—in the data you obtain. But if you have the technical capability to measure something no one else can measure, and you have sufficient mastery of the topic to know what is not yet known, then if you make an observation that you did not predict and if you recognize its significance, you have made a discovery. You have revealed a bit of the truth. You experience the highest joy and thrill a scientist can feel—a “sparkle of insight.” When this happens, if you have sense, you stop what you have been doing to pursue that discovery.

Hardly anyone has received a Nobel Prize for testing a theory, but many Nobel Prizes have been awarded for technological advances and for discoveries based on those advances. In my view, discoverers use an enlightened inductive approach at least as much as deduction. They develop new technology that enables key novel measurements, and they keep in mind gaps in knowledge, so that they are ready to appreciate the significance of their observations.

A PERSONAL EXAMPLE

‘You have to measure something’

Let me share an example of this process by relating a sparkle of insight I had several years ago. When I began working at the NIH, I met with the chief of the Hypertension-Endocrine Branch of the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute about the research program I would pursue. After listening patiently to me for many minutes as I spouted about how I was going to test hypotheses derived from the concepts that people with hypertension are “hyper-tense,” and that stress causes heart disease, the chief responded, “Well, these ideas are all well and good. But what are you going to measure? You can measure whatever you want, but you have to measure something.”

Measure something. I wanted to see if there was hyperactivity of the sympathetic nervous system or excessive sympathetic innervation in hypertension, and I started working on ways to measure sympathetic activity.

The sympathetic nervous system at a glance

First I should introduce you to the sympathetic nervous system, which is one of the main effectors by which the brain regulates the heart and blood vessels. It is a key link between the brain and heart. The sympathetic nerves to the heart and other organs do not come directly from the brain but from ganglia, which are clumps of nerve cell bodies strung like pearls on a necklace on each side of the spinal column. This origin outside the central nervous system will be an important fact to keep in mind.

In the heart, the sympathetic nerves travel with the coronary arteries and then dive into the heart muscle from the outside. Sympathetic nerves also enmesh the walls of arteries and arterioles. The arterioles constitute the main determinant of total peripheral resistance to blood flow in the body and therefore figure prominently in the control of blood pressure. The architectural association between sympathetic nerves and the muscle in the heart and arteriolar walls has enticed hypertension researchers for many decades.

A false start with plasma norepinephrine measurement

I developed novel methods for measuring plasma levels of norepinephrine, which is the chemical messenger that the sympathetic nervous system uses in regulation of the circulation, and of adrenaline (epinephrine), which is the well-known and potent “fight-or-flight” hormone.1 Applying this technology to patients with high blood pressure led to several publications2–9 but actually shed more heat than light on the hypothesis of sympathetic hyperactivity as a cause of or contributor to hypertension. In the face of negative data, the theory was qualified—sympathetic hyperactivity might be apparent only in the young, or the thin, or the Caucasian, or the male—but not abandoned.

Insights from visualizing sympathetic nerves in the heart

Then I embarked on a project to visualize sympathetic nerves in the heart, by a new technology called positron emission tomographic (PET) scanning. With several colleagues—including Irwin J. Kopin, Graeme Eisenhofer, Peter Chang, David Hovevey-Zion, Ehud Grossman, and Courtney Holmes—to whom I will always be grateful, I developed a PET imaging agent called 6-[18F]fluorodopamine.10–13

Figure 1. Thoracic positron emission tomographic scans in a healthy control subject and in patients with pure autonomic failure, multiple system atrophy, and Parkinson disease. The top row shows 13N-labeled ammonia perfusion scans and the bottom row shows 6-[18F]fluoro dopamine sympathoneural scans in each subject. Note the absence of cardiac 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the subjects with pure autonomic failure and Parkinson disease in contrast with the normal radioactivity in the patient with multiple system atrophy; the decrease in radioactivity is particularly severe in the patient with Parkinson disease (red border). Adapted from Goldstein et al.14
After injection of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine into a person’s vein, PET scan slices of the chest reveal the sympathetic nerves in the heart (Figure 1). The top row of Figure 1 shows where the blood is going—perfusion—in four people, and the bottom row shows the 6-[18F]fluorodopamine scans in the same people. The horseshoe-shaped structure is the main pumping muscle of the heart, the left ventricular myocardium. The “blob” on the patient’s right is the liver.

Normally, PET scans using 6-[18F]fluorodopamine look remarkably similar to scans using 13N-labeled ammonia, a perfusion imaging agent. The first patient I studied with this new technology was a patient with a rare disease called pure autonomic failure (PAF). In PAF, there was already good evidence for a loss of sympathetic nerves throughout the body. Myocardial perfusion in this patient was normal, but there was much less than normal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the heart muscle. In another uncommon disease, multiple system atrophy (MSA), the perfusion was also normal, and the cardiac sympathetic nerves seemed intact, in line with what was already known about this progressive neurodegenerative disease.

Then I tested a patient who had been thought to have MSA but actually had Parkinson disease (PD) with orthostatic hypotension (a fall in blood pressure each time the person stands up). PD with orthostatic hypotension can be very difficult to distinguish from the parkinsonian form of MSA. To my complete surprise, the patient with PD had a remarkable decrease in 6-[18F]fluorodopa mine-derived radioactivity in the heart muscle. There was normal blood flow to the heart muscle, so the 6-[18F]fluorodopamine was being delivered, but there was no evidence of sympathetic nerves in the heart. The scans resembled those in the PAF patient, not the MSA patient.

This finding did not arise from a prediction to test a hypothesis. It wasn’t long before I tested additional PD patients and found the same unexpected results.14,15 Because I was ignorant, I wasn’t biased. I felt I had put my finger on a piece of the truth, and I had to stop and think about the implications of this discovery. I never did come to test the hypotheses that I had sought out originally to test. Instead, I followed a totally new path, based on the discovery of cardiac sympathetic denervation in PD.

 

 

Beyond a brain disease: Seeing PD as a heart-brain disorder

More than 50 neuroimaging studies since our original report have agreed remarkably consistently on the association between PD and loss of sympathetic nerves in the heart; moreover, postmortem pathology studies have amply confirmed that a profound loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves is characteristic of PD.16 I have yet to come across a single patient with PD and orthostatic hypotension who has not had cardiac sympathetic denervation, and virtually all patients with PD who do not have orthostatic hypotension seem to have at least partial loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves.

Considering that the source of those nerves is the ganglia, which lie outside the central nervous system, PD must be more than a brain disease and more than a movement disorder. It must also be a disease of the sympathetic nerves in the heart, a form of a dysautonomia, and a heart-brain disorder.

The role of catecholamines: Another discovery born of unbiased ignorance

Figure 2. The chemical structure of each of the catecholamines —dopamine, norepinephrine, and adrenaline (epinephrine)—resembles a cat. The head of the cat is the catechol nucleus, with the two pointy ears corresponding to the adjacent hydroxyl groups on the benzene ring. At the other end of the cat is a hydrocarbon tail, ending in a “uriniferous” amine group. Adapted from Goldstein.17
To appreciate fully the significance of this finding, I must mention my favorite chemical family, the catecholamines, whose chemical structures resemble cats (Figure 2).17 PD results from a loss of a particular chemical, dopamine, in a particular pathway in the brain; dopa mine is a catecholamine. The other catecholamines in humans are norepinephrine and adrenaline. As noted above, norepinephrine is the chemical messenger of the sympathetic nerves, and adrenaline is the well-known hormone that produces many of the signs of emotional distress.

Almost a half century ago, Hornykiewicz and colleagues made the pivotal discovery that PD features loss of dopamine in the nigrostriatal system in the brain.18 Given the cardiac sympathetic denervation, PD might be a disease of catecholamine systems both inside and outside the central nervous system—dopamine in the nigrostriatal system, and norepinephrine in the sympathetic nerves of the heart.

Then what of the third catecholamine, adrenaline, in PD? Plasma levels of adrenaline and of its metabolite, metanephrine, are normal in PD, even in patients who have PD and orthostatic hypotension, which involves loss of norepinephrine-producing nerves not only in the heart but in other organs.19 What is different about the adrenaline-producing cells in the medulla (from the Latin for “marrow”) of the adrenal glands atop each kidney? Why aren’t these catecholamine-producing cells also lost in PD?

I have some ideas in mind but won’t go into them here. The point is that the discovery of normal adrenaline-producing cells in PD, despite loss of cells producing the other catecholamines, was not based on my testing a hypothesis. It was a discovery born of ignorance, and because ignorance isn’t biased, that discovery points to the truth. Whatever the eventual explanation for the specific pattern of catecholamine cell loss in PD, it cannot refute the discovery itself.

HOW DISCOVERIES ARISE: AN APPLIED EXERCISE FOR READERS

Figure 3. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the level of the basal ganglia, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in a control subject (left) and a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopa-derived radioactivity in the striatum—epecially the putamen—in the PD patient.
Now let’s have you, the reader, make a discovery and induce its significance based on what I have tried to teach so far, that discoveries arise from the application of relevant technology and from insights of the prepared mind. Take a look at the scans in the left panels of Figures 3 and 4. The large red structures in Figure 3, which look like a sad clown’s eyes, correspond to the striatum. The striatum is made up of the putamen, which is like the mascara on the side of the sad clown’s eyes, and the caudate, which is like the beady eyes themselves. In the left panel of Figure 4, the small spots in the midbrain correspond to the substantia nigra, a major site of dopamine-producing neurons in the human brain.

Figure 4. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the level of the midbrain, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in a control subject (left) and a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopa-derived radioactivity bilaterally in the region corresponding to the substantia nigra in the PD patient.
We can see in the right panel of Figure 3 that in PD there is a loss of the ability to store dopamine in the striatum—especially in the putamen, the mascara of the sad clown’s eyes. In the right panel of Figure 4 we see that in the brainstem there is a loss of the dopamine-containing nerve cells in the substantia nigra. These scans therefore demonstrate graphically the nigrostriatal lesion characteristic of PD. There is a loss of the nerve cells in the substantia nigra in the midbrain and a loss of the dopamine-containing terminals in the striatum.

Figure 5. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the levels of the basal ganglia and midbrain, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in four subjects: a normal volunteer (upper left) a control patient without parkinsonism or autonomic failure (upper right) a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (lower left) a patient with pure autonomic failure (PAF) (lower right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F] fluorodopa-derived radioactivity bilaterally in the region corresponding to the substantia nigra in both PD and PAF. Adapted from Goldstein et al.20
Now take a look at the scans of these areas in a patient with PAF in Figure 5. Remember that PAF involves a loss of sympathetic nerves in the heart, just like in PD, but that PAF does not involve parkinsonism. Look at the sad clown’s eyes. The mascara is there, of course, because the patient does not have parkinsonism. But now look for the spots in the substantia nigra—they are missing, just as in PD.

PAF is a rare disease, and I have only studied several cases with high-resolution PET scanning of the brain, but so far they have all had this unexpected, unpredicted finding of loss of dopaminergic neurons in the substantia nigra.20

What does this pattern mean? If PAF patients have just as much loss of nigral neurons as PD patients do, and if PAF patients do not have parkinsonism, then the movement disorder in PD cannot result from loss of the dopamine neurons in the substantia nigra per se. Instead, the movement disorder in PD seems to come from loss of the dopaminergic terminals in the striatum.

How can PAF patients have normal dopamine terminals in the putamen when the number of dopaminergic cell bodies is severely reduced? Somehow, PAF patients must be able to sprout new terminals, even as they lose the cell bodies. Maybe if we knew how PAF patients do this, we would have a way to treat or even prevent PD.

How do PAF patients maintain normal dopamine terminals as the cell bodies die off? No one knows. Until now, no one thought of asking such a question. No one hypothesized that this discovery would be made, but it was. And because ignorance isn’t biased, we have put our finger on the truth. By keeping in mind what isn’t known, we could see what wasn’t there. Now we can begin to think of what to look for next.

 

 

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

Because ignorance isn’t biased, if you have the tools to make relevant measurements, if you have sufficient mastery of the subject to know what isn’t known, and if you have access to patients with rare but informative disorders, you can make important discoveries based on inductions from observations.

The discoveries that cardiac sympathetic denervation characterizes PD and that parkinsonism does not result from loss of dopamine neurons per se depended crucially on studying patients with a rare disease, PAF. In 1657, William Harvey—the same William Harvey who first described the circulation of the blood and who first pointed out the effects of emotions on the heart—wrote eloquently about the extraordinary power of studying patients with rare diseases:Nature is nowhere accustomed more openly to display her secret mysteries than in cases where she shows traces of her workings apart from the beaten path; nor is there any better way to advance the proper practice of medicine than to give our minds to the discovery of the usual law of nature, by the careful investigation of cases of rarer forms of disease. For it has been found in almost all things, that what they contain of use or of application, is hardly perceived unless we are deprived of them, or they become deranged in some way.21

I hope I have convinced you of the importance of seeing what isn’t there. My thanks go out again to the Earl and Doris Bakken Heart-Brain Institute for this prestigious award, to my family, to my colleagues and friends, and to my patients. As I have written in Adrenaline and the Inner World: An Introduction to Scientific Integrative Medicine,17 patients serve as a unique scientific resource. They report what is wrong; they tell us the truth. We have to make sense of what they teach.

References
  1. Goldstein DS, Feuerstein G, Izzo JL, Kopin IJ, Keiser HR. Validity and reliability of liquid chromatography with electrochemical detection for measuring plasma levels of norepinephrine and epinephrine in man. Life Sci 1981; 28:467475.
  2. Goldstein DS. Plasma norepinephrine during stress in essential hypertension. Hypertension 1981; 3:551556.
  3. Goldstein DS. Plasma norepinephrine in essential hypertension: a study of the studies. Hypertension 1981; 3:4852.
  4. Goldstein D, Horwitz D, Keiser HR, Polinsky RJ, Kopin IJ. Plasma l-[3H]norepinephrine, d-[14C]norepinephrine, and d,l-[3H] isoproterenol kinetics in essential hypertension. J Clin Invest 1983; 72:17481758.
  5. Goldstein DS. Arterial baroreflex sensitivity, plasma catecholamines, and pressor responsiveness in essential hypertension. Circulation 1983; 68:234240.
  6. Goldstein DS. Plasma catecholamines and essential hypertension: an analytical review. Hypertension 1983; 5:8699.
  7. Goldstein DS, Lake CR, Chernow B, et al. Age-dependence of hypertensive-normotensive differences in plasma norepinephrine. Hypertension 1983; 5:100104.
  8. Goldstein DS, McCarty R, Polinsky RJ, Kopin IJ. Relationship between plasma norepinephrine and sympathetic neural activity. Hypertension 1983; 5:552559.
  9. Goldstein DS, Lake CR. Plasma norepinephrine and epinephrine levels in essential hypertension. Fed Proc 1984; 43:5761.
  10. Eisenhofer G, Hovevey-Sion D, Kopin IJ, et al. Neuronal uptake and metabolism of 2- and 6-fluorodopamine: false neurotransmitters for positron emission tomographic imaging of sympathetically innervated tissues. J Pharmacol Exp Ther 1989; 248:419427.
  11. Chang PC, Szemeredi K, Grossman E, Kopin IJ, Goldstein DS. Fate of tritiated 6-fluorodopamine in rats: a false neurotransmitter for positron emission tomographic imaging of sympathetic innervation and function. J Pharmacol Exp Ther 1990; 255:809817.
  12. Goldstein DS, Holmes C. Metabolic fate of the sympathoneural imaging agent 6-[18F]fluorodopamine in humans. Clin Exp Hypertens 1997; 19:155161.
  13. Goldstein DS, Eisenhofer G, Dunn BB, et al. Positron emission tomographic imaging of cardiac sympathetic innervation using 6-[18F] fluorodopamine: initial findings in humans. J Am Coll Cardiol 1993; 22:19611971.
  14. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Cannon RO, Eisenhofer G, Kopin IJ. Sympathetic cardioneuropathy in dysautonomias. N Engl J Med 1997; 336:696702.
  15. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Li ST, Bruce S, Metman LV, Cannon RO. Cardiac sympathetic denervation in Parkinson disease. Ann Intern Med 2000; 133:338347.
  16. Amino T, Orimo S, Takahashi A, Uchihara T, Mizusawa H. Profound cardiac sympathetic denervation occurs in Parkinson disease. Brain Pathol 2005; 15:2934.
  17. Goldstein DS. Adrenaline and the Inner World: An Introduction to Scientific Integrative Medicine. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press; 2006.
  18. Ehringer H, Hornykiewicz O. Distribution of noradrenaline and dopamine (3-hydroxytyramine) in the human brain and their behavior in diseases of the extrapyramidal system [in German]. Wien Klin Wochenschr 1960; 38:12361239.
  19. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sharabi Y, Brentzel S, Eisenhofer G. Plasma levels of catechols and metanephrines in neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. Neurology 2003; 60:13271332.
  20. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sato T, et al. Central dopamine deficiency in pure autonomic failure. Clin Auton Res 2008; 18:5865.
  21. Hervey Wyatt RB William Harvey 1578 to 1657 Whitefish, MT Kessinger Publishing 2005:161162.
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Correspondence: David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD, Building 10, Room 6N252, 10 Center Drive, MSC-1620, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620; [email protected]

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Correspondence: David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD, Building 10, Room 6N252, 10 Center Drive, MSC-1620, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620; [email protected]

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Dr. Goldstein reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

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This is a momentous occasion for me, for the extraordinary people in the Clinical Neurocardiology Section at the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and for my family—my wife Minka and son Joey drove all the way from Maryland late last night and early this morning to be here. I thank them publicly here.

THE ‘SPARKLE OF INSIGHT’ FROM ENLIGHTENED INDUCTION

In these brief comments, as I look back on the road I have taken over the past 40 years carrying out patient-oriented research in heart-brain medicine, I would like to convey a viewpoint instead of dwelling on the presentation of research data.

The idea I wish to convey is that ignorance isn’t biased. If you have a hypothesis you want to test, you are inherently biased to find something positive—and, if you are in academic medicine, publishable—in the data you obtain. But if you have the technical capability to measure something no one else can measure, and you have sufficient mastery of the topic to know what is not yet known, then if you make an observation that you did not predict and if you recognize its significance, you have made a discovery. You have revealed a bit of the truth. You experience the highest joy and thrill a scientist can feel—a “sparkle of insight.” When this happens, if you have sense, you stop what you have been doing to pursue that discovery.

Hardly anyone has received a Nobel Prize for testing a theory, but many Nobel Prizes have been awarded for technological advances and for discoveries based on those advances. In my view, discoverers use an enlightened inductive approach at least as much as deduction. They develop new technology that enables key novel measurements, and they keep in mind gaps in knowledge, so that they are ready to appreciate the significance of their observations.

A PERSONAL EXAMPLE

‘You have to measure something’

Let me share an example of this process by relating a sparkle of insight I had several years ago. When I began working at the NIH, I met with the chief of the Hypertension-Endocrine Branch of the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute about the research program I would pursue. After listening patiently to me for many minutes as I spouted about how I was going to test hypotheses derived from the concepts that people with hypertension are “hyper-tense,” and that stress causes heart disease, the chief responded, “Well, these ideas are all well and good. But what are you going to measure? You can measure whatever you want, but you have to measure something.”

Measure something. I wanted to see if there was hyperactivity of the sympathetic nervous system or excessive sympathetic innervation in hypertension, and I started working on ways to measure sympathetic activity.

The sympathetic nervous system at a glance

First I should introduce you to the sympathetic nervous system, which is one of the main effectors by which the brain regulates the heart and blood vessels. It is a key link between the brain and heart. The sympathetic nerves to the heart and other organs do not come directly from the brain but from ganglia, which are clumps of nerve cell bodies strung like pearls on a necklace on each side of the spinal column. This origin outside the central nervous system will be an important fact to keep in mind.

In the heart, the sympathetic nerves travel with the coronary arteries and then dive into the heart muscle from the outside. Sympathetic nerves also enmesh the walls of arteries and arterioles. The arterioles constitute the main determinant of total peripheral resistance to blood flow in the body and therefore figure prominently in the control of blood pressure. The architectural association between sympathetic nerves and the muscle in the heart and arteriolar walls has enticed hypertension researchers for many decades.

A false start with plasma norepinephrine measurement

I developed novel methods for measuring plasma levels of norepinephrine, which is the chemical messenger that the sympathetic nervous system uses in regulation of the circulation, and of adrenaline (epinephrine), which is the well-known and potent “fight-or-flight” hormone.1 Applying this technology to patients with high blood pressure led to several publications2–9 but actually shed more heat than light on the hypothesis of sympathetic hyperactivity as a cause of or contributor to hypertension. In the face of negative data, the theory was qualified—sympathetic hyperactivity might be apparent only in the young, or the thin, or the Caucasian, or the male—but not abandoned.

Insights from visualizing sympathetic nerves in the heart

Then I embarked on a project to visualize sympathetic nerves in the heart, by a new technology called positron emission tomographic (PET) scanning. With several colleagues—including Irwin J. Kopin, Graeme Eisenhofer, Peter Chang, David Hovevey-Zion, Ehud Grossman, and Courtney Holmes—to whom I will always be grateful, I developed a PET imaging agent called 6-[18F]fluorodopamine.10–13

Figure 1. Thoracic positron emission tomographic scans in a healthy control subject and in patients with pure autonomic failure, multiple system atrophy, and Parkinson disease. The top row shows 13N-labeled ammonia perfusion scans and the bottom row shows 6-[18F]fluoro dopamine sympathoneural scans in each subject. Note the absence of cardiac 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the subjects with pure autonomic failure and Parkinson disease in contrast with the normal radioactivity in the patient with multiple system atrophy; the decrease in radioactivity is particularly severe in the patient with Parkinson disease (red border). Adapted from Goldstein et al.14
After injection of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine into a person’s vein, PET scan slices of the chest reveal the sympathetic nerves in the heart (Figure 1). The top row of Figure 1 shows where the blood is going—perfusion—in four people, and the bottom row shows the 6-[18F]fluorodopamine scans in the same people. The horseshoe-shaped structure is the main pumping muscle of the heart, the left ventricular myocardium. The “blob” on the patient’s right is the liver.

Normally, PET scans using 6-[18F]fluorodopamine look remarkably similar to scans using 13N-labeled ammonia, a perfusion imaging agent. The first patient I studied with this new technology was a patient with a rare disease called pure autonomic failure (PAF). In PAF, there was already good evidence for a loss of sympathetic nerves throughout the body. Myocardial perfusion in this patient was normal, but there was much less than normal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the heart muscle. In another uncommon disease, multiple system atrophy (MSA), the perfusion was also normal, and the cardiac sympathetic nerves seemed intact, in line with what was already known about this progressive neurodegenerative disease.

Then I tested a patient who had been thought to have MSA but actually had Parkinson disease (PD) with orthostatic hypotension (a fall in blood pressure each time the person stands up). PD with orthostatic hypotension can be very difficult to distinguish from the parkinsonian form of MSA. To my complete surprise, the patient with PD had a remarkable decrease in 6-[18F]fluorodopa mine-derived radioactivity in the heart muscle. There was normal blood flow to the heart muscle, so the 6-[18F]fluorodopamine was being delivered, but there was no evidence of sympathetic nerves in the heart. The scans resembled those in the PAF patient, not the MSA patient.

This finding did not arise from a prediction to test a hypothesis. It wasn’t long before I tested additional PD patients and found the same unexpected results.14,15 Because I was ignorant, I wasn’t biased. I felt I had put my finger on a piece of the truth, and I had to stop and think about the implications of this discovery. I never did come to test the hypotheses that I had sought out originally to test. Instead, I followed a totally new path, based on the discovery of cardiac sympathetic denervation in PD.

 

 

Beyond a brain disease: Seeing PD as a heart-brain disorder

More than 50 neuroimaging studies since our original report have agreed remarkably consistently on the association between PD and loss of sympathetic nerves in the heart; moreover, postmortem pathology studies have amply confirmed that a profound loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves is characteristic of PD.16 I have yet to come across a single patient with PD and orthostatic hypotension who has not had cardiac sympathetic denervation, and virtually all patients with PD who do not have orthostatic hypotension seem to have at least partial loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves.

Considering that the source of those nerves is the ganglia, which lie outside the central nervous system, PD must be more than a brain disease and more than a movement disorder. It must also be a disease of the sympathetic nerves in the heart, a form of a dysautonomia, and a heart-brain disorder.

The role of catecholamines: Another discovery born of unbiased ignorance

Figure 2. The chemical structure of each of the catecholamines —dopamine, norepinephrine, and adrenaline (epinephrine)—resembles a cat. The head of the cat is the catechol nucleus, with the two pointy ears corresponding to the adjacent hydroxyl groups on the benzene ring. At the other end of the cat is a hydrocarbon tail, ending in a “uriniferous” amine group. Adapted from Goldstein.17
To appreciate fully the significance of this finding, I must mention my favorite chemical family, the catecholamines, whose chemical structures resemble cats (Figure 2).17 PD results from a loss of a particular chemical, dopamine, in a particular pathway in the brain; dopa mine is a catecholamine. The other catecholamines in humans are norepinephrine and adrenaline. As noted above, norepinephrine is the chemical messenger of the sympathetic nerves, and adrenaline is the well-known hormone that produces many of the signs of emotional distress.

Almost a half century ago, Hornykiewicz and colleagues made the pivotal discovery that PD features loss of dopamine in the nigrostriatal system in the brain.18 Given the cardiac sympathetic denervation, PD might be a disease of catecholamine systems both inside and outside the central nervous system—dopamine in the nigrostriatal system, and norepinephrine in the sympathetic nerves of the heart.

Then what of the third catecholamine, adrenaline, in PD? Plasma levels of adrenaline and of its metabolite, metanephrine, are normal in PD, even in patients who have PD and orthostatic hypotension, which involves loss of norepinephrine-producing nerves not only in the heart but in other organs.19 What is different about the adrenaline-producing cells in the medulla (from the Latin for “marrow”) of the adrenal glands atop each kidney? Why aren’t these catecholamine-producing cells also lost in PD?

I have some ideas in mind but won’t go into them here. The point is that the discovery of normal adrenaline-producing cells in PD, despite loss of cells producing the other catecholamines, was not based on my testing a hypothesis. It was a discovery born of ignorance, and because ignorance isn’t biased, that discovery points to the truth. Whatever the eventual explanation for the specific pattern of catecholamine cell loss in PD, it cannot refute the discovery itself.

HOW DISCOVERIES ARISE: AN APPLIED EXERCISE FOR READERS

Figure 3. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the level of the basal ganglia, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in a control subject (left) and a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopa-derived radioactivity in the striatum—epecially the putamen—in the PD patient.
Now let’s have you, the reader, make a discovery and induce its significance based on what I have tried to teach so far, that discoveries arise from the application of relevant technology and from insights of the prepared mind. Take a look at the scans in the left panels of Figures 3 and 4. The large red structures in Figure 3, which look like a sad clown’s eyes, correspond to the striatum. The striatum is made up of the putamen, which is like the mascara on the side of the sad clown’s eyes, and the caudate, which is like the beady eyes themselves. In the left panel of Figure 4, the small spots in the midbrain correspond to the substantia nigra, a major site of dopamine-producing neurons in the human brain.

Figure 4. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the level of the midbrain, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in a control subject (left) and a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopa-derived radioactivity bilaterally in the region corresponding to the substantia nigra in the PD patient.
We can see in the right panel of Figure 3 that in PD there is a loss of the ability to store dopamine in the striatum—especially in the putamen, the mascara of the sad clown’s eyes. In the right panel of Figure 4 we see that in the brainstem there is a loss of the dopamine-containing nerve cells in the substantia nigra. These scans therefore demonstrate graphically the nigrostriatal lesion characteristic of PD. There is a loss of the nerve cells in the substantia nigra in the midbrain and a loss of the dopamine-containing terminals in the striatum.

Figure 5. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the levels of the basal ganglia and midbrain, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in four subjects: a normal volunteer (upper left) a control patient without parkinsonism or autonomic failure (upper right) a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (lower left) a patient with pure autonomic failure (PAF) (lower right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F] fluorodopa-derived radioactivity bilaterally in the region corresponding to the substantia nigra in both PD and PAF. Adapted from Goldstein et al.20
Now take a look at the scans of these areas in a patient with PAF in Figure 5. Remember that PAF involves a loss of sympathetic nerves in the heart, just like in PD, but that PAF does not involve parkinsonism. Look at the sad clown’s eyes. The mascara is there, of course, because the patient does not have parkinsonism. But now look for the spots in the substantia nigra—they are missing, just as in PD.

PAF is a rare disease, and I have only studied several cases with high-resolution PET scanning of the brain, but so far they have all had this unexpected, unpredicted finding of loss of dopaminergic neurons in the substantia nigra.20

What does this pattern mean? If PAF patients have just as much loss of nigral neurons as PD patients do, and if PAF patients do not have parkinsonism, then the movement disorder in PD cannot result from loss of the dopamine neurons in the substantia nigra per se. Instead, the movement disorder in PD seems to come from loss of the dopaminergic terminals in the striatum.

How can PAF patients have normal dopamine terminals in the putamen when the number of dopaminergic cell bodies is severely reduced? Somehow, PAF patients must be able to sprout new terminals, even as they lose the cell bodies. Maybe if we knew how PAF patients do this, we would have a way to treat or even prevent PD.

How do PAF patients maintain normal dopamine terminals as the cell bodies die off? No one knows. Until now, no one thought of asking such a question. No one hypothesized that this discovery would be made, but it was. And because ignorance isn’t biased, we have put our finger on the truth. By keeping in mind what isn’t known, we could see what wasn’t there. Now we can begin to think of what to look for next.

 

 

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

Because ignorance isn’t biased, if you have the tools to make relevant measurements, if you have sufficient mastery of the subject to know what isn’t known, and if you have access to patients with rare but informative disorders, you can make important discoveries based on inductions from observations.

The discoveries that cardiac sympathetic denervation characterizes PD and that parkinsonism does not result from loss of dopamine neurons per se depended crucially on studying patients with a rare disease, PAF. In 1657, William Harvey—the same William Harvey who first described the circulation of the blood and who first pointed out the effects of emotions on the heart—wrote eloquently about the extraordinary power of studying patients with rare diseases:Nature is nowhere accustomed more openly to display her secret mysteries than in cases where she shows traces of her workings apart from the beaten path; nor is there any better way to advance the proper practice of medicine than to give our minds to the discovery of the usual law of nature, by the careful investigation of cases of rarer forms of disease. For it has been found in almost all things, that what they contain of use or of application, is hardly perceived unless we are deprived of them, or they become deranged in some way.21

I hope I have convinced you of the importance of seeing what isn’t there. My thanks go out again to the Earl and Doris Bakken Heart-Brain Institute for this prestigious award, to my family, to my colleagues and friends, and to my patients. As I have written in Adrenaline and the Inner World: An Introduction to Scientific Integrative Medicine,17 patients serve as a unique scientific resource. They report what is wrong; they tell us the truth. We have to make sense of what they teach.

This is a momentous occasion for me, for the extraordinary people in the Clinical Neurocardiology Section at the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and for my family—my wife Minka and son Joey drove all the way from Maryland late last night and early this morning to be here. I thank them publicly here.

THE ‘SPARKLE OF INSIGHT’ FROM ENLIGHTENED INDUCTION

In these brief comments, as I look back on the road I have taken over the past 40 years carrying out patient-oriented research in heart-brain medicine, I would like to convey a viewpoint instead of dwelling on the presentation of research data.

The idea I wish to convey is that ignorance isn’t biased. If you have a hypothesis you want to test, you are inherently biased to find something positive—and, if you are in academic medicine, publishable—in the data you obtain. But if you have the technical capability to measure something no one else can measure, and you have sufficient mastery of the topic to know what is not yet known, then if you make an observation that you did not predict and if you recognize its significance, you have made a discovery. You have revealed a bit of the truth. You experience the highest joy and thrill a scientist can feel—a “sparkle of insight.” When this happens, if you have sense, you stop what you have been doing to pursue that discovery.

Hardly anyone has received a Nobel Prize for testing a theory, but many Nobel Prizes have been awarded for technological advances and for discoveries based on those advances. In my view, discoverers use an enlightened inductive approach at least as much as deduction. They develop new technology that enables key novel measurements, and they keep in mind gaps in knowledge, so that they are ready to appreciate the significance of their observations.

A PERSONAL EXAMPLE

‘You have to measure something’

Let me share an example of this process by relating a sparkle of insight I had several years ago. When I began working at the NIH, I met with the chief of the Hypertension-Endocrine Branch of the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute about the research program I would pursue. After listening patiently to me for many minutes as I spouted about how I was going to test hypotheses derived from the concepts that people with hypertension are “hyper-tense,” and that stress causes heart disease, the chief responded, “Well, these ideas are all well and good. But what are you going to measure? You can measure whatever you want, but you have to measure something.”

Measure something. I wanted to see if there was hyperactivity of the sympathetic nervous system or excessive sympathetic innervation in hypertension, and I started working on ways to measure sympathetic activity.

The sympathetic nervous system at a glance

First I should introduce you to the sympathetic nervous system, which is one of the main effectors by which the brain regulates the heart and blood vessels. It is a key link between the brain and heart. The sympathetic nerves to the heart and other organs do not come directly from the brain but from ganglia, which are clumps of nerve cell bodies strung like pearls on a necklace on each side of the spinal column. This origin outside the central nervous system will be an important fact to keep in mind.

In the heart, the sympathetic nerves travel with the coronary arteries and then dive into the heart muscle from the outside. Sympathetic nerves also enmesh the walls of arteries and arterioles. The arterioles constitute the main determinant of total peripheral resistance to blood flow in the body and therefore figure prominently in the control of blood pressure. The architectural association between sympathetic nerves and the muscle in the heart and arteriolar walls has enticed hypertension researchers for many decades.

A false start with plasma norepinephrine measurement

I developed novel methods for measuring plasma levels of norepinephrine, which is the chemical messenger that the sympathetic nervous system uses in regulation of the circulation, and of adrenaline (epinephrine), which is the well-known and potent “fight-or-flight” hormone.1 Applying this technology to patients with high blood pressure led to several publications2–9 but actually shed more heat than light on the hypothesis of sympathetic hyperactivity as a cause of or contributor to hypertension. In the face of negative data, the theory was qualified—sympathetic hyperactivity might be apparent only in the young, or the thin, or the Caucasian, or the male—but not abandoned.

Insights from visualizing sympathetic nerves in the heart

Then I embarked on a project to visualize sympathetic nerves in the heart, by a new technology called positron emission tomographic (PET) scanning. With several colleagues—including Irwin J. Kopin, Graeme Eisenhofer, Peter Chang, David Hovevey-Zion, Ehud Grossman, and Courtney Holmes—to whom I will always be grateful, I developed a PET imaging agent called 6-[18F]fluorodopamine.10–13

Figure 1. Thoracic positron emission tomographic scans in a healthy control subject and in patients with pure autonomic failure, multiple system atrophy, and Parkinson disease. The top row shows 13N-labeled ammonia perfusion scans and the bottom row shows 6-[18F]fluoro dopamine sympathoneural scans in each subject. Note the absence of cardiac 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the subjects with pure autonomic failure and Parkinson disease in contrast with the normal radioactivity in the patient with multiple system atrophy; the decrease in radioactivity is particularly severe in the patient with Parkinson disease (red border). Adapted from Goldstein et al.14
After injection of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine into a person’s vein, PET scan slices of the chest reveal the sympathetic nerves in the heart (Figure 1). The top row of Figure 1 shows where the blood is going—perfusion—in four people, and the bottom row shows the 6-[18F]fluorodopamine scans in the same people. The horseshoe-shaped structure is the main pumping muscle of the heart, the left ventricular myocardium. The “blob” on the patient’s right is the liver.

Normally, PET scans using 6-[18F]fluorodopamine look remarkably similar to scans using 13N-labeled ammonia, a perfusion imaging agent. The first patient I studied with this new technology was a patient with a rare disease called pure autonomic failure (PAF). In PAF, there was already good evidence for a loss of sympathetic nerves throughout the body. Myocardial perfusion in this patient was normal, but there was much less than normal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the heart muscle. In another uncommon disease, multiple system atrophy (MSA), the perfusion was also normal, and the cardiac sympathetic nerves seemed intact, in line with what was already known about this progressive neurodegenerative disease.

Then I tested a patient who had been thought to have MSA but actually had Parkinson disease (PD) with orthostatic hypotension (a fall in blood pressure each time the person stands up). PD with orthostatic hypotension can be very difficult to distinguish from the parkinsonian form of MSA. To my complete surprise, the patient with PD had a remarkable decrease in 6-[18F]fluorodopa mine-derived radioactivity in the heart muscle. There was normal blood flow to the heart muscle, so the 6-[18F]fluorodopamine was being delivered, but there was no evidence of sympathetic nerves in the heart. The scans resembled those in the PAF patient, not the MSA patient.

This finding did not arise from a prediction to test a hypothesis. It wasn’t long before I tested additional PD patients and found the same unexpected results.14,15 Because I was ignorant, I wasn’t biased. I felt I had put my finger on a piece of the truth, and I had to stop and think about the implications of this discovery. I never did come to test the hypotheses that I had sought out originally to test. Instead, I followed a totally new path, based on the discovery of cardiac sympathetic denervation in PD.

 

 

Beyond a brain disease: Seeing PD as a heart-brain disorder

More than 50 neuroimaging studies since our original report have agreed remarkably consistently on the association between PD and loss of sympathetic nerves in the heart; moreover, postmortem pathology studies have amply confirmed that a profound loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves is characteristic of PD.16 I have yet to come across a single patient with PD and orthostatic hypotension who has not had cardiac sympathetic denervation, and virtually all patients with PD who do not have orthostatic hypotension seem to have at least partial loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves.

Considering that the source of those nerves is the ganglia, which lie outside the central nervous system, PD must be more than a brain disease and more than a movement disorder. It must also be a disease of the sympathetic nerves in the heart, a form of a dysautonomia, and a heart-brain disorder.

The role of catecholamines: Another discovery born of unbiased ignorance

Figure 2. The chemical structure of each of the catecholamines —dopamine, norepinephrine, and adrenaline (epinephrine)—resembles a cat. The head of the cat is the catechol nucleus, with the two pointy ears corresponding to the adjacent hydroxyl groups on the benzene ring. At the other end of the cat is a hydrocarbon tail, ending in a “uriniferous” amine group. Adapted from Goldstein.17
To appreciate fully the significance of this finding, I must mention my favorite chemical family, the catecholamines, whose chemical structures resemble cats (Figure 2).17 PD results from a loss of a particular chemical, dopamine, in a particular pathway in the brain; dopa mine is a catecholamine. The other catecholamines in humans are norepinephrine and adrenaline. As noted above, norepinephrine is the chemical messenger of the sympathetic nerves, and adrenaline is the well-known hormone that produces many of the signs of emotional distress.

Almost a half century ago, Hornykiewicz and colleagues made the pivotal discovery that PD features loss of dopamine in the nigrostriatal system in the brain.18 Given the cardiac sympathetic denervation, PD might be a disease of catecholamine systems both inside and outside the central nervous system—dopamine in the nigrostriatal system, and norepinephrine in the sympathetic nerves of the heart.

Then what of the third catecholamine, adrenaline, in PD? Plasma levels of adrenaline and of its metabolite, metanephrine, are normal in PD, even in patients who have PD and orthostatic hypotension, which involves loss of norepinephrine-producing nerves not only in the heart but in other organs.19 What is different about the adrenaline-producing cells in the medulla (from the Latin for “marrow”) of the adrenal glands atop each kidney? Why aren’t these catecholamine-producing cells also lost in PD?

I have some ideas in mind but won’t go into them here. The point is that the discovery of normal adrenaline-producing cells in PD, despite loss of cells producing the other catecholamines, was not based on my testing a hypothesis. It was a discovery born of ignorance, and because ignorance isn’t biased, that discovery points to the truth. Whatever the eventual explanation for the specific pattern of catecholamine cell loss in PD, it cannot refute the discovery itself.

HOW DISCOVERIES ARISE: AN APPLIED EXERCISE FOR READERS

Figure 3. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the level of the basal ganglia, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in a control subject (left) and a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopa-derived radioactivity in the striatum—epecially the putamen—in the PD patient.
Now let’s have you, the reader, make a discovery and induce its significance based on what I have tried to teach so far, that discoveries arise from the application of relevant technology and from insights of the prepared mind. Take a look at the scans in the left panels of Figures 3 and 4. The large red structures in Figure 3, which look like a sad clown’s eyes, correspond to the striatum. The striatum is made up of the putamen, which is like the mascara on the side of the sad clown’s eyes, and the caudate, which is like the beady eyes themselves. In the left panel of Figure 4, the small spots in the midbrain correspond to the substantia nigra, a major site of dopamine-producing neurons in the human brain.

Figure 4. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the level of the midbrain, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in a control subject (left) and a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopa-derived radioactivity bilaterally in the region corresponding to the substantia nigra in the PD patient.
We can see in the right panel of Figure 3 that in PD there is a loss of the ability to store dopamine in the striatum—especially in the putamen, the mascara of the sad clown’s eyes. In the right panel of Figure 4 we see that in the brainstem there is a loss of the dopamine-containing nerve cells in the substantia nigra. These scans therefore demonstrate graphically the nigrostriatal lesion characteristic of PD. There is a loss of the nerve cells in the substantia nigra in the midbrain and a loss of the dopamine-containing terminals in the striatum.

Figure 5. High-resolution positron emission tomographic scans, superimposed over magnetic resonance images, at the levels of the basal ganglia and midbrain, after intravenous administration of 6-[18F]fluorodopa in four subjects: a normal volunteer (upper left) a control patient without parkinsonism or autonomic failure (upper right) a patient with Parkinson disease (PD) (lower left) a patient with pure autonomic failure (PAF) (lower right). Red indicates the maximum amount of radioactivity. Note the severely decreased 6-[18F] fluorodopa-derived radioactivity bilaterally in the region corresponding to the substantia nigra in both PD and PAF. Adapted from Goldstein et al.20
Now take a look at the scans of these areas in a patient with PAF in Figure 5. Remember that PAF involves a loss of sympathetic nerves in the heart, just like in PD, but that PAF does not involve parkinsonism. Look at the sad clown’s eyes. The mascara is there, of course, because the patient does not have parkinsonism. But now look for the spots in the substantia nigra—they are missing, just as in PD.

PAF is a rare disease, and I have only studied several cases with high-resolution PET scanning of the brain, but so far they have all had this unexpected, unpredicted finding of loss of dopaminergic neurons in the substantia nigra.20

What does this pattern mean? If PAF patients have just as much loss of nigral neurons as PD patients do, and if PAF patients do not have parkinsonism, then the movement disorder in PD cannot result from loss of the dopamine neurons in the substantia nigra per se. Instead, the movement disorder in PD seems to come from loss of the dopaminergic terminals in the striatum.

How can PAF patients have normal dopamine terminals in the putamen when the number of dopaminergic cell bodies is severely reduced? Somehow, PAF patients must be able to sprout new terminals, even as they lose the cell bodies. Maybe if we knew how PAF patients do this, we would have a way to treat or even prevent PD.

How do PAF patients maintain normal dopamine terminals as the cell bodies die off? No one knows. Until now, no one thought of asking such a question. No one hypothesized that this discovery would be made, but it was. And because ignorance isn’t biased, we have put our finger on the truth. By keeping in mind what isn’t known, we could see what wasn’t there. Now we can begin to think of what to look for next.

 

 

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

Because ignorance isn’t biased, if you have the tools to make relevant measurements, if you have sufficient mastery of the subject to know what isn’t known, and if you have access to patients with rare but informative disorders, you can make important discoveries based on inductions from observations.

The discoveries that cardiac sympathetic denervation characterizes PD and that parkinsonism does not result from loss of dopamine neurons per se depended crucially on studying patients with a rare disease, PAF. In 1657, William Harvey—the same William Harvey who first described the circulation of the blood and who first pointed out the effects of emotions on the heart—wrote eloquently about the extraordinary power of studying patients with rare diseases:Nature is nowhere accustomed more openly to display her secret mysteries than in cases where she shows traces of her workings apart from the beaten path; nor is there any better way to advance the proper practice of medicine than to give our minds to the discovery of the usual law of nature, by the careful investigation of cases of rarer forms of disease. For it has been found in almost all things, that what they contain of use or of application, is hardly perceived unless we are deprived of them, or they become deranged in some way.21

I hope I have convinced you of the importance of seeing what isn’t there. My thanks go out again to the Earl and Doris Bakken Heart-Brain Institute for this prestigious award, to my family, to my colleagues and friends, and to my patients. As I have written in Adrenaline and the Inner World: An Introduction to Scientific Integrative Medicine,17 patients serve as a unique scientific resource. They report what is wrong; they tell us the truth. We have to make sense of what they teach.

References
  1. Goldstein DS, Feuerstein G, Izzo JL, Kopin IJ, Keiser HR. Validity and reliability of liquid chromatography with electrochemical detection for measuring plasma levels of norepinephrine and epinephrine in man. Life Sci 1981; 28:467475.
  2. Goldstein DS. Plasma norepinephrine during stress in essential hypertension. Hypertension 1981; 3:551556.
  3. Goldstein DS. Plasma norepinephrine in essential hypertension: a study of the studies. Hypertension 1981; 3:4852.
  4. Goldstein D, Horwitz D, Keiser HR, Polinsky RJ, Kopin IJ. Plasma l-[3H]norepinephrine, d-[14C]norepinephrine, and d,l-[3H] isoproterenol kinetics in essential hypertension. J Clin Invest 1983; 72:17481758.
  5. Goldstein DS. Arterial baroreflex sensitivity, plasma catecholamines, and pressor responsiveness in essential hypertension. Circulation 1983; 68:234240.
  6. Goldstein DS. Plasma catecholamines and essential hypertension: an analytical review. Hypertension 1983; 5:8699.
  7. Goldstein DS, Lake CR, Chernow B, et al. Age-dependence of hypertensive-normotensive differences in plasma norepinephrine. Hypertension 1983; 5:100104.
  8. Goldstein DS, McCarty R, Polinsky RJ, Kopin IJ. Relationship between plasma norepinephrine and sympathetic neural activity. Hypertension 1983; 5:552559.
  9. Goldstein DS, Lake CR. Plasma norepinephrine and epinephrine levels in essential hypertension. Fed Proc 1984; 43:5761.
  10. Eisenhofer G, Hovevey-Sion D, Kopin IJ, et al. Neuronal uptake and metabolism of 2- and 6-fluorodopamine: false neurotransmitters for positron emission tomographic imaging of sympathetically innervated tissues. J Pharmacol Exp Ther 1989; 248:419427.
  11. Chang PC, Szemeredi K, Grossman E, Kopin IJ, Goldstein DS. Fate of tritiated 6-fluorodopamine in rats: a false neurotransmitter for positron emission tomographic imaging of sympathetic innervation and function. J Pharmacol Exp Ther 1990; 255:809817.
  12. Goldstein DS, Holmes C. Metabolic fate of the sympathoneural imaging agent 6-[18F]fluorodopamine in humans. Clin Exp Hypertens 1997; 19:155161.
  13. Goldstein DS, Eisenhofer G, Dunn BB, et al. Positron emission tomographic imaging of cardiac sympathetic innervation using 6-[18F] fluorodopamine: initial findings in humans. J Am Coll Cardiol 1993; 22:19611971.
  14. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Cannon RO, Eisenhofer G, Kopin IJ. Sympathetic cardioneuropathy in dysautonomias. N Engl J Med 1997; 336:696702.
  15. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Li ST, Bruce S, Metman LV, Cannon RO. Cardiac sympathetic denervation in Parkinson disease. Ann Intern Med 2000; 133:338347.
  16. Amino T, Orimo S, Takahashi A, Uchihara T, Mizusawa H. Profound cardiac sympathetic denervation occurs in Parkinson disease. Brain Pathol 2005; 15:2934.
  17. Goldstein DS. Adrenaline and the Inner World: An Introduction to Scientific Integrative Medicine. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press; 2006.
  18. Ehringer H, Hornykiewicz O. Distribution of noradrenaline and dopamine (3-hydroxytyramine) in the human brain and their behavior in diseases of the extrapyramidal system [in German]. Wien Klin Wochenschr 1960; 38:12361239.
  19. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sharabi Y, Brentzel S, Eisenhofer G. Plasma levels of catechols and metanephrines in neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. Neurology 2003; 60:13271332.
  20. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sato T, et al. Central dopamine deficiency in pure autonomic failure. Clin Auton Res 2008; 18:5865.
  21. Hervey Wyatt RB William Harvey 1578 to 1657 Whitefish, MT Kessinger Publishing 2005:161162.
References
  1. Goldstein DS, Feuerstein G, Izzo JL, Kopin IJ, Keiser HR. Validity and reliability of liquid chromatography with electrochemical detection for measuring plasma levels of norepinephrine and epinephrine in man. Life Sci 1981; 28:467475.
  2. Goldstein DS. Plasma norepinephrine during stress in essential hypertension. Hypertension 1981; 3:551556.
  3. Goldstein DS. Plasma norepinephrine in essential hypertension: a study of the studies. Hypertension 1981; 3:4852.
  4. Goldstein D, Horwitz D, Keiser HR, Polinsky RJ, Kopin IJ. Plasma l-[3H]norepinephrine, d-[14C]norepinephrine, and d,l-[3H] isoproterenol kinetics in essential hypertension. J Clin Invest 1983; 72:17481758.
  5. Goldstein DS. Arterial baroreflex sensitivity, plasma catecholamines, and pressor responsiveness in essential hypertension. Circulation 1983; 68:234240.
  6. Goldstein DS. Plasma catecholamines and essential hypertension: an analytical review. Hypertension 1983; 5:8699.
  7. Goldstein DS, Lake CR, Chernow B, et al. Age-dependence of hypertensive-normotensive differences in plasma norepinephrine. Hypertension 1983; 5:100104.
  8. Goldstein DS, McCarty R, Polinsky RJ, Kopin IJ. Relationship between plasma norepinephrine and sympathetic neural activity. Hypertension 1983; 5:552559.
  9. Goldstein DS, Lake CR. Plasma norepinephrine and epinephrine levels in essential hypertension. Fed Proc 1984; 43:5761.
  10. Eisenhofer G, Hovevey-Sion D, Kopin IJ, et al. Neuronal uptake and metabolism of 2- and 6-fluorodopamine: false neurotransmitters for positron emission tomographic imaging of sympathetically innervated tissues. J Pharmacol Exp Ther 1989; 248:419427.
  11. Chang PC, Szemeredi K, Grossman E, Kopin IJ, Goldstein DS. Fate of tritiated 6-fluorodopamine in rats: a false neurotransmitter for positron emission tomographic imaging of sympathetic innervation and function. J Pharmacol Exp Ther 1990; 255:809817.
  12. Goldstein DS, Holmes C. Metabolic fate of the sympathoneural imaging agent 6-[18F]fluorodopamine in humans. Clin Exp Hypertens 1997; 19:155161.
  13. Goldstein DS, Eisenhofer G, Dunn BB, et al. Positron emission tomographic imaging of cardiac sympathetic innervation using 6-[18F] fluorodopamine: initial findings in humans. J Am Coll Cardiol 1993; 22:19611971.
  14. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Cannon RO, Eisenhofer G, Kopin IJ. Sympathetic cardioneuropathy in dysautonomias. N Engl J Med 1997; 336:696702.
  15. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Li ST, Bruce S, Metman LV, Cannon RO. Cardiac sympathetic denervation in Parkinson disease. Ann Intern Med 2000; 133:338347.
  16. Amino T, Orimo S, Takahashi A, Uchihara T, Mizusawa H. Profound cardiac sympathetic denervation occurs in Parkinson disease. Brain Pathol 2005; 15:2934.
  17. Goldstein DS. Adrenaline and the Inner World: An Introduction to Scientific Integrative Medicine. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press; 2006.
  18. Ehringer H, Hornykiewicz O. Distribution of noradrenaline and dopamine (3-hydroxytyramine) in the human brain and their behavior in diseases of the extrapyramidal system [in German]. Wien Klin Wochenschr 1960; 38:12361239.
  19. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sharabi Y, Brentzel S, Eisenhofer G. Plasma levels of catechols and metanephrines in neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. Neurology 2003; 60:13271332.
  20. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sato T, et al. Central dopamine deficiency in pure autonomic failure. Clin Auton Res 2008; 18:5865.
  21. Hervey Wyatt RB William Harvey 1578 to 1657 Whitefish, MT Kessinger Publishing 2005:161162.
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Heart rate variability with deep breathing as a clinical test of cardiovagal function

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Heart rate variability with deep breathing as a clinical test of cardiovagal function

Heart rate variability (HRV) has been a focus of interest in cardiovascular physiology for more than 150 years. This review will briefly survey the history of research linking HRV to respiration and then explore the clinical significance of this linkage, with a focus on HRV with deep breathing.

HRV AND RESPIRATION: THE EARLY RESEARCH

The first report linking HRV to respiration has been credited to Karl Ludwig, who in 1847 noted that heart rate increased with inspiration and decreased with expiration.1,2 The precise origin of this variability has been studied extensively, but a single unifying mechanism defining the determinants of HRV with respiration has not been established. However, several mechanisms have been identified that may be contributing to HRV. Hering in 1871 noted in dog experiments that inflation of the lungs was associated with a tachycardia and that additional higher-pressure insufflation resulted in a bradycardia. He concluded that HRV was determined by pulmonary reflexes.2,3 Bainbridge observed in dog experiments in 1915 that the heart rate increased during the diastolic filling of the heart that occurred during inspiration.4 In a subsequent article, published in 1920, Bainbridge attributed HRV to this reflex, which now carries his name.5

There is also evidence that HRV may be caused by central nervous system mechanisms. Canine experiments have revealed that rhythmic variations in the heart rate and ventricular pressure waves may coincide with rib cage movements in innervated, isovolumetric, left ventricular preparations.6 These data are consistent with radiation of respiratory center activity to the cardiovascular autonomic centers in the medulla resulting in HRV. There is also evidence that stretch of the right atrium and sinus node region may produce HRV via cardiac reflexes.7 It is likely that all of these mechanisms are contributing at some level to the HRV that is observed with respiration.

INSIGHTS INTO CLINICAL IMPLICATIONS

Reprinted from British Medical Journal (Wheeler T, Watkins PJ. Cardiac denervation in diabetes. Br Med J 1973;4:584–586) with permission from the BMJ Publishing Group.
Figure 1. Heart rate variability with deep breathing in a healthy 30-year-old man under normal conditions (top panel) and after administration of intravenous propranolol (middle panel) and atropine (bottom panel).8 Note how atropine abolishes the heart rate variability. Arrows indicate periods of deep breathing.
Clinical interest in HRV was sparked by the 1973 report of Wheeler and Watkins, who first drew attention to cardiac vagal innervation as the mediator of HRV and its potential value as a clinical test of cardiovagal function.8 These investigators studied HRV with deep breathing (HRVdb) in normal subjects and diabetic subjects, some with and some without evidence of autonomic neuropathy. They noted that HRVdb was abolished by atropine, implying that the efferent component of the reflex is vagally mediated (Figure 1). They also noted that HRVdb was reduced or abolished in diabetic subjects with autonomic neuropathy. They concluded that HRVdb was a clinically useful test for autonomic neuropathy in diabetic patients.

Reprinted, with permission, from Journal of Applied Physiology (Katona PG, Jih F. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia: noninvasive measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. J Appl Physiol 1975;39:801–805).
Figure 2. There is a linear relationship (correlation coefficient = 0.986) between respiratory variations in heart period and parasympathetic control, defined as the difference in the heart period before and after parasympathetic block. Data are from a series of experimental states in the canine: control (cross), propranolol block (triangle), propranolol block with phenylephrine HCl (square), and atropine (diamond).9
Reprinted, with permission, from Journal of Applied Physiology (Fouad et al. Assessment of parasympathetic control of heart rate by a noninvasive method. Am J Physiol 1984; 246:H838–H842).
Figure 3. Consistent with the animal findings in Figure 2, there is a linear relationship between variations in heart period and parasympathetic control (defined as the difference in the heart period before and after atropine block) in humans as well, as demonstrated by Fouad et al.10
The relationship between vagal tone of the heart and HRV was further explored by Katona and Jih, who in 1975 reported on their experiments in a canine model.9 They found a linear relationship between HRV as assessed by variations in heart period and parasympathetic control of the heart, defined as the difference in the average heart rate before and after complete abolishment of vagal innervation (Figure 2). They concluded that the magnitude of the respiratory HRV is a measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. Fouad and colleagues duplicated this experiment in humans and found a similar linear relationship between HRVdb and parasympathetic cardiac control, leading them to conclude that HRVdb is an accurate index of cardiac vagal tone (Figure 3).10

METHODS OF MEASURING HRV

A wide variety of methods have been developed to measure HRV.11,12 Some of the methods employ statistical analysis, typically of prolonged recordings of 24 hours or longer. These methods include simple statistics such as the standard deviation of the heart rate or the R-R interval as well as more complex statistical measures such as the mean squared successive difference of the R-R intervals. These methods have been applied mostly to the analysis of prognosis following acute myocardial infarction. Reduced HRV has been established as a powerful predictor of mortality and arrhythmic complications following acute myocardial infarction.11 The methods developed for clinical tests of cardiovagal function typically involve measuring HRVdb over short intervals (< 90 sec). Deep breathing magnifies HRV with respiration, allowing for methods to assess HRV with respiratory cycles.

Figure 4. Heart rate response to deep breathing in (A) a normal control and (B) a patient with autonomic neuropathy. (Respiratory pattern is illustrated as a sine wave of 6 cycles per minute.) Note how heart rate variability is severely depressed in the patient with autonomic neuropathy.
The two most widely used methods are the mean heart rate range (MHRR) and the expiratory-to-inspiratory ratio (E:I). The MHRR method is typically measured from a series of successive deep breaths, usually at least 6 breaths at a rate of 5 or 6 breaths per minute. The MHRR is calculated by subtracting the maximum heart rate during inspiration from the minimum heart rate during expiration for each cycle of breathing, and then determining the mean of these differences (Figure 4).12 The MHRR can also be measured from a single breath.13 The E:I ratio assesses the ratio of the longest R-R interval during expiration to the shortest R-R interval during inspiration.12 The E:I ratio may also be assessed from a single breath or the mean of successive breaths.14

Figure 5. Power spectrum of (A) the normal resting heart rate and (B) the resting heart rate of a diabetic patient with severe autonomic dysfunction.16 Note the severe loss of power at all frequencies for the patient with severe autonomic dysfunction (note the lower y-axis scale of the power spectrum for this patient).
Analysis of HRV has also been studied in the frequency domain by using Fourier transformation and converting heart rate to a power spectrum.15,16 The peak power at the highest frequencies (> 0.15 Hz) reflects respiratory sinus arrhythmia, while the lower frequencies reflect both sympathetic and parasympathetic influences. In a comparison of low-frequency power, high-frequency power, and total power to standard methods of measuring HRVdb, all of these spectral measures were proven to be strong predictors of the results from the standard methods.16 Marked reduction in the power spectrum was noted in patients with diabetic autonomic neuropathy (Figure 5).16

FACTORS THAT AFFECT HRV WITH DEEP BREATHING

Many variables may affect HRVdb.12 HRVdb is influenced by age, as the variability decreases with advancing age, so it is essential to use methods with well-defined age-stratified normal values. HRVdb is maximal when the patient is lying supine and breathing at a rate of 5 to 6 breaths per minute. The depth of breathing for a maximum result requires a tidal volume of approximately 1.2 L for an average adult. Protocols that involve breathing for more than 90 seconds may induce hypocapnea, which can reduce HRVdb. Most importantly, numerous medications can affect HRVdb. Medications with anticholinergic activity, including over-the-counter cold medications, tricylic antidepressants, and antispasmodics, should be discontinued at least 48 hours prior to testing, if possible. Patients are also instructed to not drink caffeinated beverages, use nicotine, or drink alcohol 3 hours prior to testing.

CLINICAL APPLICATIONS

HRVdb represents a very sensitive measure of cardiovagal or parasympathetic cardiac function and thus is an important component of the battery of cardiovascular autonomic function tests used in clinical autonomic laboratories. In most autonomic disorders, parasympathetic function is affected before sympathetic function, so HRVdb provides a sensitive screening measure for parasympathetic dysfunction in many autonomic disorders. HRVdb has proven to be a sensitive and reliable clinical test for the early detection of cardiovagal dysfunction in a wide spectrum of autonomic disorders, including diabetic autonomic neuropathy,14 uremic neuropathy,17 familial autonomic neuropathies,18 and various small fiber neuropathies.19,20 HRVdb has also been valuable in assessing patients with pure autonomic failure,21 multisystem atrophy,22 and other central neurodegenerative disorders.23

References
  1. Heymans C, Neil E. Reflexogenic Areas of the Cardiovascular System. London: JA Churchill; 1958.
  2. Melcher A. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia in man: a study in heart rate regulating mechanisms. Acta Physiol Scand Suppl 1976; 435:131.
  3. Hering E. Uber eine reflectorische Beziehung zwischen Lunge und Herz. Sitzber Akad Wiss Wien 1871; 64:333353.
  4. Bainbridge FA. The influence of venous filling upon the rate of the heart. J Physiol 1915; 50:6584.
  5. Bainbridge FA. The relation between respiration and the pulserate. J Physiol 1920; 54:192202.
  6. Levy MN, DeGeest H, Zieske H. Effects of respiratory center activity on the heart. Circ Res 1966; 18:6778.
  7. Koizumi K, Ishikawa T, Nishino H, Brooks CM. Cardiac and autonomic system reactions to stretch of the atria. Brain Res 1975; 87:247261.
  8. Wheeler T, Watkins PJ. Cardiac denervation in diabetes. Br Med J 1973; 4:584586.
  9. Katona PG, Jih F. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia: noninvasive measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. J Appl Physiol 1975; 39:801805.
  10. Fouad FM, Tarazi RC, Ferrario CM, Fighaly S, Alicandri C. Assessment of parasympathetic control of heart rate by a noninvasive method. Am J Physiol 1984; 246:H838H842.
  11. Task Force of the European Society of Cardiology and the North American Society of Pacing and Electrophysiology. Heart rate variability. Standards of measurement, physiological interpretation, and clinical use. Eur Heart J 1996; 17:354381.
  12. Low PA. Laboratory evaluation of autonomic function. In:Low PA, ed. Clinical Autonomic Disorders. Philadelphia, PA: Lippincott-Raven; 1977:179208.
  13. Bennett T, Farquhar IK, Hosking DJ, Hampton JR. Assessment of methods for estimating autonomic nervous control of the heart in patients with diabetes mellitus. Diabetes 1978; 27:11671174.
  14. Smith SA. Reduced sinus arrhythmia in diabetic autonomic neuropathy: diagnostic value of an age-related normal range. Br Med J (Clin Res Ed) 1982; 285:15991601.
  15. Akselrod S, Gordon D, Ubel FA, Shannon DC, Berger AC, Cohen RJ. Power spectrum analysis of heart rate fluctuation: a quantitative probe of beat-to-beat cardiovascular control. Science 1981; 213:220222.
  16. Freeman R, Saul JP, Roberts MS, Berger RD, Broadbridge C, Cohen RJ. Spectral analysis of heart rate in diabetic autonomic neuropathy. A comparison with standard tests of autonomic function. Arch Neurol 1991; 48:185190.
  17. Wang SJ, Liao KK, Liou HH, et al. Sympathetic skin response and R-R interval variation in chronic uremic patients. Muscle Nerve 1994; 17:411418.
  18. Bird TD, Reenan AM, Pfeifer M. Autonomic nervous system function in genetic neuromuscular disorders. Hereditary motor-sensory neuropathy and myotonic dystrophy. Arch Neurol 1984; 41:4346.
  19. Stewart JD, Low PA, Fealey RD. Distal small fiber neuropathy: results of tests of sweating and autonomic cardiovascular reflexes. Muscle Nerve 1992; 15:661665.
  20. Suarez GA, Fealey RD, Camilleri M, Low PA. Idiopathic autonomic neuropathy: clinical, neurophysiologic, and follow-up studies on 27 patients. Neurology 1994; 44:16751682.
  21. Ravits J, Hallett M, Nilsson J, Polinsky R, Dambrosia J. Electrophysiological tests of autonomic function in patients with idiopathic autonomic failure syndromes. Muscle Nerve 1996; 19:758763.
  22. Cohen J, Low P, Fealey R, Sheps S, Jiang NS. Somatic and autonomic function in progressive autonomic failure and multiple system atrophy. Ann Neurol 1987; 22:692699.
  23. Sandroni P, Ahlskog JE, Fealey RD, Low PA. Autonomic involvement in extrapyramidal and cerebellar disorders. Clin Auton Res 1991; 1:147155.
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Correspondence: Robert W. Shields, Jr, MD, Neuromuscular Center, Cleveland Clinic, 9500 Euclid Avenue, S90, Cleveland, OH 44195; [email protected]

Dr. Shields reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

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Correspondence: Robert W. Shields, Jr, MD, Neuromuscular Center, Cleveland Clinic, 9500 Euclid Avenue, S90, Cleveland, OH 44195; [email protected]

Dr. Shields reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

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Neuromuscular Center, Neurological Institute, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, OH

Correspondence: Robert W. Shields, Jr, MD, Neuromuscular Center, Cleveland Clinic, 9500 Euclid Avenue, S90, Cleveland, OH 44195; [email protected]

Dr. Shields reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

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Heart rate variability (HRV) has been a focus of interest in cardiovascular physiology for more than 150 years. This review will briefly survey the history of research linking HRV to respiration and then explore the clinical significance of this linkage, with a focus on HRV with deep breathing.

HRV AND RESPIRATION: THE EARLY RESEARCH

The first report linking HRV to respiration has been credited to Karl Ludwig, who in 1847 noted that heart rate increased with inspiration and decreased with expiration.1,2 The precise origin of this variability has been studied extensively, but a single unifying mechanism defining the determinants of HRV with respiration has not been established. However, several mechanisms have been identified that may be contributing to HRV. Hering in 1871 noted in dog experiments that inflation of the lungs was associated with a tachycardia and that additional higher-pressure insufflation resulted in a bradycardia. He concluded that HRV was determined by pulmonary reflexes.2,3 Bainbridge observed in dog experiments in 1915 that the heart rate increased during the diastolic filling of the heart that occurred during inspiration.4 In a subsequent article, published in 1920, Bainbridge attributed HRV to this reflex, which now carries his name.5

There is also evidence that HRV may be caused by central nervous system mechanisms. Canine experiments have revealed that rhythmic variations in the heart rate and ventricular pressure waves may coincide with rib cage movements in innervated, isovolumetric, left ventricular preparations.6 These data are consistent with radiation of respiratory center activity to the cardiovascular autonomic centers in the medulla resulting in HRV. There is also evidence that stretch of the right atrium and sinus node region may produce HRV via cardiac reflexes.7 It is likely that all of these mechanisms are contributing at some level to the HRV that is observed with respiration.

INSIGHTS INTO CLINICAL IMPLICATIONS

Reprinted from British Medical Journal (Wheeler T, Watkins PJ. Cardiac denervation in diabetes. Br Med J 1973;4:584–586) with permission from the BMJ Publishing Group.
Figure 1. Heart rate variability with deep breathing in a healthy 30-year-old man under normal conditions (top panel) and after administration of intravenous propranolol (middle panel) and atropine (bottom panel).8 Note how atropine abolishes the heart rate variability. Arrows indicate periods of deep breathing.
Clinical interest in HRV was sparked by the 1973 report of Wheeler and Watkins, who first drew attention to cardiac vagal innervation as the mediator of HRV and its potential value as a clinical test of cardiovagal function.8 These investigators studied HRV with deep breathing (HRVdb) in normal subjects and diabetic subjects, some with and some without evidence of autonomic neuropathy. They noted that HRVdb was abolished by atropine, implying that the efferent component of the reflex is vagally mediated (Figure 1). They also noted that HRVdb was reduced or abolished in diabetic subjects with autonomic neuropathy. They concluded that HRVdb was a clinically useful test for autonomic neuropathy in diabetic patients.

Reprinted, with permission, from Journal of Applied Physiology (Katona PG, Jih F. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia: noninvasive measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. J Appl Physiol 1975;39:801–805).
Figure 2. There is a linear relationship (correlation coefficient = 0.986) between respiratory variations in heart period and parasympathetic control, defined as the difference in the heart period before and after parasympathetic block. Data are from a series of experimental states in the canine: control (cross), propranolol block (triangle), propranolol block with phenylephrine HCl (square), and atropine (diamond).9
Reprinted, with permission, from Journal of Applied Physiology (Fouad et al. Assessment of parasympathetic control of heart rate by a noninvasive method. Am J Physiol 1984; 246:H838–H842).
Figure 3. Consistent with the animal findings in Figure 2, there is a linear relationship between variations in heart period and parasympathetic control (defined as the difference in the heart period before and after atropine block) in humans as well, as demonstrated by Fouad et al.10
The relationship between vagal tone of the heart and HRV was further explored by Katona and Jih, who in 1975 reported on their experiments in a canine model.9 They found a linear relationship between HRV as assessed by variations in heart period and parasympathetic control of the heart, defined as the difference in the average heart rate before and after complete abolishment of vagal innervation (Figure 2). They concluded that the magnitude of the respiratory HRV is a measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. Fouad and colleagues duplicated this experiment in humans and found a similar linear relationship between HRVdb and parasympathetic cardiac control, leading them to conclude that HRVdb is an accurate index of cardiac vagal tone (Figure 3).10

METHODS OF MEASURING HRV

A wide variety of methods have been developed to measure HRV.11,12 Some of the methods employ statistical analysis, typically of prolonged recordings of 24 hours or longer. These methods include simple statistics such as the standard deviation of the heart rate or the R-R interval as well as more complex statistical measures such as the mean squared successive difference of the R-R intervals. These methods have been applied mostly to the analysis of prognosis following acute myocardial infarction. Reduced HRV has been established as a powerful predictor of mortality and arrhythmic complications following acute myocardial infarction.11 The methods developed for clinical tests of cardiovagal function typically involve measuring HRVdb over short intervals (< 90 sec). Deep breathing magnifies HRV with respiration, allowing for methods to assess HRV with respiratory cycles.

Figure 4. Heart rate response to deep breathing in (A) a normal control and (B) a patient with autonomic neuropathy. (Respiratory pattern is illustrated as a sine wave of 6 cycles per minute.) Note how heart rate variability is severely depressed in the patient with autonomic neuropathy.
The two most widely used methods are the mean heart rate range (MHRR) and the expiratory-to-inspiratory ratio (E:I). The MHRR method is typically measured from a series of successive deep breaths, usually at least 6 breaths at a rate of 5 or 6 breaths per minute. The MHRR is calculated by subtracting the maximum heart rate during inspiration from the minimum heart rate during expiration for each cycle of breathing, and then determining the mean of these differences (Figure 4).12 The MHRR can also be measured from a single breath.13 The E:I ratio assesses the ratio of the longest R-R interval during expiration to the shortest R-R interval during inspiration.12 The E:I ratio may also be assessed from a single breath or the mean of successive breaths.14

Figure 5. Power spectrum of (A) the normal resting heart rate and (B) the resting heart rate of a diabetic patient with severe autonomic dysfunction.16 Note the severe loss of power at all frequencies for the patient with severe autonomic dysfunction (note the lower y-axis scale of the power spectrum for this patient).
Analysis of HRV has also been studied in the frequency domain by using Fourier transformation and converting heart rate to a power spectrum.15,16 The peak power at the highest frequencies (> 0.15 Hz) reflects respiratory sinus arrhythmia, while the lower frequencies reflect both sympathetic and parasympathetic influences. In a comparison of low-frequency power, high-frequency power, and total power to standard methods of measuring HRVdb, all of these spectral measures were proven to be strong predictors of the results from the standard methods.16 Marked reduction in the power spectrum was noted in patients with diabetic autonomic neuropathy (Figure 5).16

FACTORS THAT AFFECT HRV WITH DEEP BREATHING

Many variables may affect HRVdb.12 HRVdb is influenced by age, as the variability decreases with advancing age, so it is essential to use methods with well-defined age-stratified normal values. HRVdb is maximal when the patient is lying supine and breathing at a rate of 5 to 6 breaths per minute. The depth of breathing for a maximum result requires a tidal volume of approximately 1.2 L for an average adult. Protocols that involve breathing for more than 90 seconds may induce hypocapnea, which can reduce HRVdb. Most importantly, numerous medications can affect HRVdb. Medications with anticholinergic activity, including over-the-counter cold medications, tricylic antidepressants, and antispasmodics, should be discontinued at least 48 hours prior to testing, if possible. Patients are also instructed to not drink caffeinated beverages, use nicotine, or drink alcohol 3 hours prior to testing.

CLINICAL APPLICATIONS

HRVdb represents a very sensitive measure of cardiovagal or parasympathetic cardiac function and thus is an important component of the battery of cardiovascular autonomic function tests used in clinical autonomic laboratories. In most autonomic disorders, parasympathetic function is affected before sympathetic function, so HRVdb provides a sensitive screening measure for parasympathetic dysfunction in many autonomic disorders. HRVdb has proven to be a sensitive and reliable clinical test for the early detection of cardiovagal dysfunction in a wide spectrum of autonomic disorders, including diabetic autonomic neuropathy,14 uremic neuropathy,17 familial autonomic neuropathies,18 and various small fiber neuropathies.19,20 HRVdb has also been valuable in assessing patients with pure autonomic failure,21 multisystem atrophy,22 and other central neurodegenerative disorders.23

Heart rate variability (HRV) has been a focus of interest in cardiovascular physiology for more than 150 years. This review will briefly survey the history of research linking HRV to respiration and then explore the clinical significance of this linkage, with a focus on HRV with deep breathing.

HRV AND RESPIRATION: THE EARLY RESEARCH

The first report linking HRV to respiration has been credited to Karl Ludwig, who in 1847 noted that heart rate increased with inspiration and decreased with expiration.1,2 The precise origin of this variability has been studied extensively, but a single unifying mechanism defining the determinants of HRV with respiration has not been established. However, several mechanisms have been identified that may be contributing to HRV. Hering in 1871 noted in dog experiments that inflation of the lungs was associated with a tachycardia and that additional higher-pressure insufflation resulted in a bradycardia. He concluded that HRV was determined by pulmonary reflexes.2,3 Bainbridge observed in dog experiments in 1915 that the heart rate increased during the diastolic filling of the heart that occurred during inspiration.4 In a subsequent article, published in 1920, Bainbridge attributed HRV to this reflex, which now carries his name.5

There is also evidence that HRV may be caused by central nervous system mechanisms. Canine experiments have revealed that rhythmic variations in the heart rate and ventricular pressure waves may coincide with rib cage movements in innervated, isovolumetric, left ventricular preparations.6 These data are consistent with radiation of respiratory center activity to the cardiovascular autonomic centers in the medulla resulting in HRV. There is also evidence that stretch of the right atrium and sinus node region may produce HRV via cardiac reflexes.7 It is likely that all of these mechanisms are contributing at some level to the HRV that is observed with respiration.

INSIGHTS INTO CLINICAL IMPLICATIONS

Reprinted from British Medical Journal (Wheeler T, Watkins PJ. Cardiac denervation in diabetes. Br Med J 1973;4:584–586) with permission from the BMJ Publishing Group.
Figure 1. Heart rate variability with deep breathing in a healthy 30-year-old man under normal conditions (top panel) and after administration of intravenous propranolol (middle panel) and atropine (bottom panel).8 Note how atropine abolishes the heart rate variability. Arrows indicate periods of deep breathing.
Clinical interest in HRV was sparked by the 1973 report of Wheeler and Watkins, who first drew attention to cardiac vagal innervation as the mediator of HRV and its potential value as a clinical test of cardiovagal function.8 These investigators studied HRV with deep breathing (HRVdb) in normal subjects and diabetic subjects, some with and some without evidence of autonomic neuropathy. They noted that HRVdb was abolished by atropine, implying that the efferent component of the reflex is vagally mediated (Figure 1). They also noted that HRVdb was reduced or abolished in diabetic subjects with autonomic neuropathy. They concluded that HRVdb was a clinically useful test for autonomic neuropathy in diabetic patients.

Reprinted, with permission, from Journal of Applied Physiology (Katona PG, Jih F. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia: noninvasive measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. J Appl Physiol 1975;39:801–805).
Figure 2. There is a linear relationship (correlation coefficient = 0.986) between respiratory variations in heart period and parasympathetic control, defined as the difference in the heart period before and after parasympathetic block. Data are from a series of experimental states in the canine: control (cross), propranolol block (triangle), propranolol block with phenylephrine HCl (square), and atropine (diamond).9
Reprinted, with permission, from Journal of Applied Physiology (Fouad et al. Assessment of parasympathetic control of heart rate by a noninvasive method. Am J Physiol 1984; 246:H838–H842).
Figure 3. Consistent with the animal findings in Figure 2, there is a linear relationship between variations in heart period and parasympathetic control (defined as the difference in the heart period before and after atropine block) in humans as well, as demonstrated by Fouad et al.10
The relationship between vagal tone of the heart and HRV was further explored by Katona and Jih, who in 1975 reported on their experiments in a canine model.9 They found a linear relationship between HRV as assessed by variations in heart period and parasympathetic control of the heart, defined as the difference in the average heart rate before and after complete abolishment of vagal innervation (Figure 2). They concluded that the magnitude of the respiratory HRV is a measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. Fouad and colleagues duplicated this experiment in humans and found a similar linear relationship between HRVdb and parasympathetic cardiac control, leading them to conclude that HRVdb is an accurate index of cardiac vagal tone (Figure 3).10

METHODS OF MEASURING HRV

A wide variety of methods have been developed to measure HRV.11,12 Some of the methods employ statistical analysis, typically of prolonged recordings of 24 hours or longer. These methods include simple statistics such as the standard deviation of the heart rate or the R-R interval as well as more complex statistical measures such as the mean squared successive difference of the R-R intervals. These methods have been applied mostly to the analysis of prognosis following acute myocardial infarction. Reduced HRV has been established as a powerful predictor of mortality and arrhythmic complications following acute myocardial infarction.11 The methods developed for clinical tests of cardiovagal function typically involve measuring HRVdb over short intervals (< 90 sec). Deep breathing magnifies HRV with respiration, allowing for methods to assess HRV with respiratory cycles.

Figure 4. Heart rate response to deep breathing in (A) a normal control and (B) a patient with autonomic neuropathy. (Respiratory pattern is illustrated as a sine wave of 6 cycles per minute.) Note how heart rate variability is severely depressed in the patient with autonomic neuropathy.
The two most widely used methods are the mean heart rate range (MHRR) and the expiratory-to-inspiratory ratio (E:I). The MHRR method is typically measured from a series of successive deep breaths, usually at least 6 breaths at a rate of 5 or 6 breaths per minute. The MHRR is calculated by subtracting the maximum heart rate during inspiration from the minimum heart rate during expiration for each cycle of breathing, and then determining the mean of these differences (Figure 4).12 The MHRR can also be measured from a single breath.13 The E:I ratio assesses the ratio of the longest R-R interval during expiration to the shortest R-R interval during inspiration.12 The E:I ratio may also be assessed from a single breath or the mean of successive breaths.14

Figure 5. Power spectrum of (A) the normal resting heart rate and (B) the resting heart rate of a diabetic patient with severe autonomic dysfunction.16 Note the severe loss of power at all frequencies for the patient with severe autonomic dysfunction (note the lower y-axis scale of the power spectrum for this patient).
Analysis of HRV has also been studied in the frequency domain by using Fourier transformation and converting heart rate to a power spectrum.15,16 The peak power at the highest frequencies (> 0.15 Hz) reflects respiratory sinus arrhythmia, while the lower frequencies reflect both sympathetic and parasympathetic influences. In a comparison of low-frequency power, high-frequency power, and total power to standard methods of measuring HRVdb, all of these spectral measures were proven to be strong predictors of the results from the standard methods.16 Marked reduction in the power spectrum was noted in patients with diabetic autonomic neuropathy (Figure 5).16

FACTORS THAT AFFECT HRV WITH DEEP BREATHING

Many variables may affect HRVdb.12 HRVdb is influenced by age, as the variability decreases with advancing age, so it is essential to use methods with well-defined age-stratified normal values. HRVdb is maximal when the patient is lying supine and breathing at a rate of 5 to 6 breaths per minute. The depth of breathing for a maximum result requires a tidal volume of approximately 1.2 L for an average adult. Protocols that involve breathing for more than 90 seconds may induce hypocapnea, which can reduce HRVdb. Most importantly, numerous medications can affect HRVdb. Medications with anticholinergic activity, including over-the-counter cold medications, tricylic antidepressants, and antispasmodics, should be discontinued at least 48 hours prior to testing, if possible. Patients are also instructed to not drink caffeinated beverages, use nicotine, or drink alcohol 3 hours prior to testing.

CLINICAL APPLICATIONS

HRVdb represents a very sensitive measure of cardiovagal or parasympathetic cardiac function and thus is an important component of the battery of cardiovascular autonomic function tests used in clinical autonomic laboratories. In most autonomic disorders, parasympathetic function is affected before sympathetic function, so HRVdb provides a sensitive screening measure for parasympathetic dysfunction in many autonomic disorders. HRVdb has proven to be a sensitive and reliable clinical test for the early detection of cardiovagal dysfunction in a wide spectrum of autonomic disorders, including diabetic autonomic neuropathy,14 uremic neuropathy,17 familial autonomic neuropathies,18 and various small fiber neuropathies.19,20 HRVdb has also been valuable in assessing patients with pure autonomic failure,21 multisystem atrophy,22 and other central neurodegenerative disorders.23

References
  1. Heymans C, Neil E. Reflexogenic Areas of the Cardiovascular System. London: JA Churchill; 1958.
  2. Melcher A. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia in man: a study in heart rate regulating mechanisms. Acta Physiol Scand Suppl 1976; 435:131.
  3. Hering E. Uber eine reflectorische Beziehung zwischen Lunge und Herz. Sitzber Akad Wiss Wien 1871; 64:333353.
  4. Bainbridge FA. The influence of venous filling upon the rate of the heart. J Physiol 1915; 50:6584.
  5. Bainbridge FA. The relation between respiration and the pulserate. J Physiol 1920; 54:192202.
  6. Levy MN, DeGeest H, Zieske H. Effects of respiratory center activity on the heart. Circ Res 1966; 18:6778.
  7. Koizumi K, Ishikawa T, Nishino H, Brooks CM. Cardiac and autonomic system reactions to stretch of the atria. Brain Res 1975; 87:247261.
  8. Wheeler T, Watkins PJ. Cardiac denervation in diabetes. Br Med J 1973; 4:584586.
  9. Katona PG, Jih F. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia: noninvasive measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. J Appl Physiol 1975; 39:801805.
  10. Fouad FM, Tarazi RC, Ferrario CM, Fighaly S, Alicandri C. Assessment of parasympathetic control of heart rate by a noninvasive method. Am J Physiol 1984; 246:H838H842.
  11. Task Force of the European Society of Cardiology and the North American Society of Pacing and Electrophysiology. Heart rate variability. Standards of measurement, physiological interpretation, and clinical use. Eur Heart J 1996; 17:354381.
  12. Low PA. Laboratory evaluation of autonomic function. In:Low PA, ed. Clinical Autonomic Disorders. Philadelphia, PA: Lippincott-Raven; 1977:179208.
  13. Bennett T, Farquhar IK, Hosking DJ, Hampton JR. Assessment of methods for estimating autonomic nervous control of the heart in patients with diabetes mellitus. Diabetes 1978; 27:11671174.
  14. Smith SA. Reduced sinus arrhythmia in diabetic autonomic neuropathy: diagnostic value of an age-related normal range. Br Med J (Clin Res Ed) 1982; 285:15991601.
  15. Akselrod S, Gordon D, Ubel FA, Shannon DC, Berger AC, Cohen RJ. Power spectrum analysis of heart rate fluctuation: a quantitative probe of beat-to-beat cardiovascular control. Science 1981; 213:220222.
  16. Freeman R, Saul JP, Roberts MS, Berger RD, Broadbridge C, Cohen RJ. Spectral analysis of heart rate in diabetic autonomic neuropathy. A comparison with standard tests of autonomic function. Arch Neurol 1991; 48:185190.
  17. Wang SJ, Liao KK, Liou HH, et al. Sympathetic skin response and R-R interval variation in chronic uremic patients. Muscle Nerve 1994; 17:411418.
  18. Bird TD, Reenan AM, Pfeifer M. Autonomic nervous system function in genetic neuromuscular disorders. Hereditary motor-sensory neuropathy and myotonic dystrophy. Arch Neurol 1984; 41:4346.
  19. Stewart JD, Low PA, Fealey RD. Distal small fiber neuropathy: results of tests of sweating and autonomic cardiovascular reflexes. Muscle Nerve 1992; 15:661665.
  20. Suarez GA, Fealey RD, Camilleri M, Low PA. Idiopathic autonomic neuropathy: clinical, neurophysiologic, and follow-up studies on 27 patients. Neurology 1994; 44:16751682.
  21. Ravits J, Hallett M, Nilsson J, Polinsky R, Dambrosia J. Electrophysiological tests of autonomic function in patients with idiopathic autonomic failure syndromes. Muscle Nerve 1996; 19:758763.
  22. Cohen J, Low P, Fealey R, Sheps S, Jiang NS. Somatic and autonomic function in progressive autonomic failure and multiple system atrophy. Ann Neurol 1987; 22:692699.
  23. Sandroni P, Ahlskog JE, Fealey RD, Low PA. Autonomic involvement in extrapyramidal and cerebellar disorders. Clin Auton Res 1991; 1:147155.
References
  1. Heymans C, Neil E. Reflexogenic Areas of the Cardiovascular System. London: JA Churchill; 1958.
  2. Melcher A. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia in man: a study in heart rate regulating mechanisms. Acta Physiol Scand Suppl 1976; 435:131.
  3. Hering E. Uber eine reflectorische Beziehung zwischen Lunge und Herz. Sitzber Akad Wiss Wien 1871; 64:333353.
  4. Bainbridge FA. The influence of venous filling upon the rate of the heart. J Physiol 1915; 50:6584.
  5. Bainbridge FA. The relation between respiration and the pulserate. J Physiol 1920; 54:192202.
  6. Levy MN, DeGeest H, Zieske H. Effects of respiratory center activity on the heart. Circ Res 1966; 18:6778.
  7. Koizumi K, Ishikawa T, Nishino H, Brooks CM. Cardiac and autonomic system reactions to stretch of the atria. Brain Res 1975; 87:247261.
  8. Wheeler T, Watkins PJ. Cardiac denervation in diabetes. Br Med J 1973; 4:584586.
  9. Katona PG, Jih F. Respiratory sinus arrhythmia: noninvasive measure of parasympathetic cardiac control. J Appl Physiol 1975; 39:801805.
  10. Fouad FM, Tarazi RC, Ferrario CM, Fighaly S, Alicandri C. Assessment of parasympathetic control of heart rate by a noninvasive method. Am J Physiol 1984; 246:H838H842.
  11. Task Force of the European Society of Cardiology and the North American Society of Pacing and Electrophysiology. Heart rate variability. Standards of measurement, physiological interpretation, and clinical use. Eur Heart J 1996; 17:354381.
  12. Low PA. Laboratory evaluation of autonomic function. In:Low PA, ed. Clinical Autonomic Disorders. Philadelphia, PA: Lippincott-Raven; 1977:179208.
  13. Bennett T, Farquhar IK, Hosking DJ, Hampton JR. Assessment of methods for estimating autonomic nervous control of the heart in patients with diabetes mellitus. Diabetes 1978; 27:11671174.
  14. Smith SA. Reduced sinus arrhythmia in diabetic autonomic neuropathy: diagnostic value of an age-related normal range. Br Med J (Clin Res Ed) 1982; 285:15991601.
  15. Akselrod S, Gordon D, Ubel FA, Shannon DC, Berger AC, Cohen RJ. Power spectrum analysis of heart rate fluctuation: a quantitative probe of beat-to-beat cardiovascular control. Science 1981; 213:220222.
  16. Freeman R, Saul JP, Roberts MS, Berger RD, Broadbridge C, Cohen RJ. Spectral analysis of heart rate in diabetic autonomic neuropathy. A comparison with standard tests of autonomic function. Arch Neurol 1991; 48:185190.
  17. Wang SJ, Liao KK, Liou HH, et al. Sympathetic skin response and R-R interval variation in chronic uremic patients. Muscle Nerve 1994; 17:411418.
  18. Bird TD, Reenan AM, Pfeifer M. Autonomic nervous system function in genetic neuromuscular disorders. Hereditary motor-sensory neuropathy and myotonic dystrophy. Arch Neurol 1984; 41:4346.
  19. Stewart JD, Low PA, Fealey RD. Distal small fiber neuropathy: results of tests of sweating and autonomic cardiovascular reflexes. Muscle Nerve 1992; 15:661665.
  20. Suarez GA, Fealey RD, Camilleri M, Low PA. Idiopathic autonomic neuropathy: clinical, neurophysiologic, and follow-up studies on 27 patients. Neurology 1994; 44:16751682.
  21. Ravits J, Hallett M, Nilsson J, Polinsky R, Dambrosia J. Electrophysiological tests of autonomic function in patients with idiopathic autonomic failure syndromes. Muscle Nerve 1996; 19:758763.
  22. Cohen J, Low P, Fealey R, Sheps S, Jiang NS. Somatic and autonomic function in progressive autonomic failure and multiple system atrophy. Ann Neurol 1987; 22:692699.
  23. Sandroni P, Ahlskog JE, Fealey RD, Low PA. Autonomic involvement in extrapyramidal and cerebellar disorders. Clin Auton Res 1991; 1:147155.
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Basic research models for the study of underlying mechanisms of electrical neuromodulation and ischemic heart-brain interactions

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Basic research models for the study of underlying mechanisms of electrical neuromodulation and ischemic heart-brain interactions

RATIONALE

In the industrialized world, average life expectancy has nearly doubled since the 19th century. One of the consequences of this increase in life span is that the sequelae of diseases also have increased. For coronary artery disease (CAD), one of the most prevalent diseases in the western world, this has resulted in an amplification of the number of patients suffering from heart failure, arrhythmias, and refractory angina. Much progress has recently been made in nonpharmacologic therapies for these deleterious consequences of CAD, such as cardiac resynchronization for heart failure, implantable defibrillators for ventricular arrhythmias, and electrical neuromodulation by means of spinal cord stimulation for chronic angina that is refractory to conventional strategies.

For patients suffering from severe angina secondary to end-stage CAD who have no other options to alleviate their complaints, electrical neuromodulation may be the preferred adjunctive treatment.1 Although spinal cord stimulation is still not approved by the US Food and Drug Administration for treatment of refractory angina, it is is accepted in the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association guidelines for chronic stable angina, with a class II indication, and is frequently used for this indication in Europe.2

However, to understand underlying mechanisms of therapies such as electrical neuromodulation—executed through either transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation or spinal cord stimulation—for angina pectoris and to improve the effect and safety of these therapies, clinical questions concerning neuromodulation must be evaluated in experimental models. The outcomes of these preclinical experimental studies subsequently need to be assessed in humans.

Although therapeutic improvements from implantable devices would not have been possible without experimental work, any experimentation must be avoided if it is not approved by the relevant ethics committee(s) or is not conducted in keeping with standard guidelines. For this reason it is sometimes more feasible, when appropriate, to make use of simulation models—for instance, to study regularization of atrial fibrillation by means of a device.3,4

Figure 1. Our preclinical neurocardiology research program. Several experimental approaches, ranging from neuroanatomy to molecular biological studies of cardiac nociceptor mRNA expression, have been employed to unravel mechanisms of heart-brain interaction and electrical neuromodulation. For explanations of project numbers, see the text.
So, on the one hand it is challenging to use electrical neuromodulation as a tool to study heart-brain interactions in general; on the other hand, electrical neuromodulation may be used to study its own underlying mechanisms of action, more specifically on characteristics of angina and myocardial ischemia. To investigate these mechanisms of action of electrical neuromodulation, we initiated a neurocardiology program in the 1990s (Figure 1). This article will discuss the experimental models we have studied to unravel the heart-brain interactions involved. We studied electrical neuromodulation both in patients and in experimental animals. However, the lack of knowledge about fundamental aspects of cardiovascular regulating circuitry and cardiac pain, as well as the lack of an animal model for angina pectoris, is the background for the various projects we have conducted concerning heart-brain interactions.

PROJECT 1: EMOTIONS AND MYOCARDIAL ISCHEMIA

In 1772, Heberden described to physicians in England the clinical symptoms of exercise-induced chest discomfort, with its emotional component and vaguely distributed projection on the chest, as follows: “The seat of it, and sense of strangling and anxiety with which it is attended, may make it not improperly be called angina pectoris.”5 Since then, it has been demonstrated repeatedly that strong emotional distress frequently precedes or is associated with complaints of pain in the chest. Further, emotional suffering has been associated with increased mortality in patients with CAD. We and others, unfortunately, were confronted with very limited knowledge of the precise locations of the origin of emotions in the limbic structures of the forebrain. Even less was known about the relationship of these brain structures and the heart, owing to technical limitations in the field of neuroanatomical tract tracing, among other reasons. As a result, the nervous pathways from the heart, through which signals are propagated to the brain in order to activate emotional components, were not accurately identified. We therefore initiated Project 1 to study, in a rat model, neuroanatomical characterization of the neuronal circuitry controlling cardiac activity, specifically during cardiac distress.

In the area of identifying efferent neural pathways from the heart, we were the first to publish an experimental setup making use of a neurotropic herpesvirus from the Bartha strain of the pseudorabies virus (PRV).6 Following injections of PRV into the left and right myocardium or into atrial tissue, PRV infects the neurons that innervate the injection site and is then transported in the neural network, where the virus may cross at least four synapses. This transneuronal retrograde viral pathway labeling method with PRV provided us the opportunity to study cardiovascular controlling networks. The distribution of the PRV-infected cells was studied immunocytochemically after survival times of 3 to 6 days. Right ventricular infection showed labeling in the same nuclei as left ventricular labeling, but the number of PRV-positive cells was always higher and the localization of PRV within the nuclei differed. These obvious signs for differentiation within the nuclei suggest differential neuronal pathways to various parts of the heart.

Following injection of PRV at different cardiac sites, differences in density and localization of PRV-positive cells were found predominantly in higher-order neurons that are known to be involved in cardiac control. Transection of the spinal cord at Th1, performed to reveal selectively the parasympathetic neuronal networks, reduced the number of labeled cells, specifically in the periaqueductal gray matter. Virus-labeled sympathetic preganglionic cells were found in the Th1–Th7 thoracic intermediolateral cell groups, with some additional infections at Th8–Th11 after inoculations of the ventricular myocardium. The rostral parts of the insular cortex appeared to be linked selectively to sympathetic innervation of the heart.6

From the experiments we hypothesized that, according to the type of lesion, the pattern of cardiac innervation may account for a specific malfunctioning. Subsequently, the subendocardial clustered parasympathetic nerves make these nerves more vulnerable for myocardial damage than the superficial spread of sympathetic nerves. In this respect, the identification of three preganglionic parasympathetic nuclei in cardiac control—ie, the dorsal motor nucleus of the vagus (20% labeling), the nucleus ambiguus, and the periambiguus—constituted the most striking findings.

 

 

PROJECTS 2 AND 3: CARDIAC NOCICEPTOR ACTIVATION

The cortical structures and their related output pathways also serve as effector systems for initiation of autonomic and behavioral responses by forebrain neuronal networks that make us aware of cardiac pain. However, these cortical and subcortical structures involved in cardiac pain perception were more or less terra incognita. In addition, we studied fundamental aspects of cardiac nociceptor activation (Project 2) and transduction of cardiac pain (Project 3). Unfortunately, there was no experimental animal model for angina pectoris. The aim of these projects was to obtain, both in patients and in animals, knowledge about cardiac nociceptor activation mechanisms, the transmission and perception of cardiac pain, and behavioral and autonomic responses.

To enable the study of mechanisms of neurostimulation during episodes of acute cardiac pain, we worked out an animal model for angina pectoris. For that reason we experimented with models in which we created an acute myocardial infarction. We had to reject this model since surgery and, more importantly, anesthesia interfered with the patterns of cerebral expression of immediate early genes (c-fos, c-jun) triggered by cardiac pain and/or neurostimulation. However, a spinoff from this project was the observation that cardiac tissue damage causes a reproducible and selective cerebral endothelial leakage of immunoglobulin G (IgG) molecules. Follow-up experiments showed that proinflammatory cytokines, which are released into the circulation after cardiac tissue damage, can generate the same pattern of blood-brain barrier dysfunction7 (see Project 4).

We then experimented with infusions of capsaicin into the pericardial space of unrestrained and unanesthetized rats to induce acute cardiac pain. This model appeared to be very promising and allows visualization of the behavioral and autonomic responses to cardiac pain. Cerebral c-fos expression patterns, a marker for structures involved in cardiac pain transmission and perception, were studied and validated with positron emission tomography (PET) imaging in patients.8

Project 2: Nociception of cardiac pain in patients

To study relationships between neurotransmitters and other molecules that contribute to pain and psychological variables, we studied cardiac tissues obtained from 22 patients with angina during coronary artery bypass graft surgery (CABG). Cardiac nociceptor activation mechanisms were investigated in heart biopsies from these 22 CABG patients; reverse transcriptase polymerase chain reaction analysis (RT-PCR) was conducted for adenosine and bradykinin receptor mRNA.9,10

An age-related decrease was observed in the adenosine A1 mRNA density but not in the bradykinin receptor mRNA levels. The adenosine A1 receptor density also correlated with pain characteristics reported in a questionnaire. Making use of semiquantitative RT-PCR, cardiac tissue substrates were assessed to determine the expression of adenosine A1 and bradykinin B1/2 receptor mRNA densities. The outcomes were associated with the quality of pain, age, gender, medication, and duration of disease.9,10

For evaluation of pain characteristics, we used questionnaires and objective pain scores. We found that qualitative age-related alterations in angina perception correlated with the development of the more “strangling” component of angina at older age. This observation may be explained, in part, by a reduction in adenosine A1 receptor mRNA expression in the heart, since bradykinin B1/2 receptor densities remain the same.9,10

Project 3: Nociception of cardiac pain in unrestrained rats

Having identified neural pathways, we studied neurons that were activated during electrical neuromodulation. 11 In search of a putative mechanism of action of electrical neuromodulation, we hypothesized that neuromodulation affects processing of nociceptive information within the central nervous system (CNS). To characterize neural activity we used expression of both the immediate early gene c-fos and the “late gene” or stress protein known as heat shock protein 72 (HSP72). c-fos was used to identify structures in the CNS affected by spinal cord stimulation. HSP72 was applied to ascertain whether spinal cord stimulation might operate as a stressor.12

Animal experiments were conducted on unrestrained unanesthetized rats implanted with a permanent catheter in the pericardial space; acute cardiac pain was triggered in this space using capsaicin as the algogenic substance.13 The autonomic cardiovascular responses were recorded with implantable telemetric devices. Behavioral responses were recorded on videotapes taken from the same animals in which the involved cerebral structures were characterized by analyzing cerebral immediate early gene expression. Quantification of data makes it possible to study the effects of electrical neuromodulation and analgesic drugs on perception of cardiac pain. To apply electrical neuromodulation, two electrodes were positioned and sutured epidurally at the spinal cord of the rats. One electrode was fixated at spinal nerve C7 and the other at T2. Furthermore, we studied the effect of spinal cord stimulation on behavior. Three hours after stimulation, the rats were sacrificed and their brains and spinal cords were removed.

The treated group showed regional increased c-fos expression in a select group of regions of the limbic system—periaqueductal gray, paraventricular hypothalamic nucleus, paraventricular thalamic nucleus, central amygdala, agranular and dysgranular insular cortex, (peri)ambiguus, nucleus tractus solitarius, and spinal cord—involved in the processing of pain and cardiovascular regulation, among other functions. Moreover, in both treated rats and controls, HSP72 expression was found in the endothelium of the enthorhinal cortex, the amygdala, and the ventral hypothalamus, but not in the neurons. The treated animals were significantly more alert and active than were the controls.

Thus, the rat model we developed appears to be suitable for studying potential mechanisms through which neuromodulation may act. Moreover, neuromodulation affects c-fos expression in specific parts of the brain known to be involved in regulation of pain and emotions. HSP72 expression is limited to the endothelium of certain parts of the CNS, and thus physical stress effects were excluded as a potential mechanism of neuromodulation. Finally, our experimental model identified regions corresponding with regional cerebral blood flow changes during neurostimulation in patients.8

 

 

PROJECT 4: BIDIRECTIONAL HUMORAL AND NERVOUS HEART-BRAIN INTERACTIONS

With respect to the emotional component of angina, we thought to study alternative pathways of communication between the heart and the brain. This idea occurred as a consequence of observations that many patients who suffer serious cardiac events, such as CABG or myocardial infarction, are confronted with a period of emotional problems following these events. So, from our experimental projects, the question became relevant as to whether emotional alterations in behavior following a cardiac life event may be executed by a humoral pathway from the heart to the brain, since, vice versa, the brain controls the heart through both nervous and humoral pathways. In other words, is it feasible that both humoral and neural pathways are involved, bidirectionally, in interactions between the brain and the heart?

Cardiac disease, proinflammatory cytokines, and blood-brain barrier damage

Cardiac ischemia, the underlying cause of cardiac pain in angina pectoris, triggers a cascade of events that release numerous substances in the myocardium and circulation, all of which are potential candidates for nociceptor activation and initiation of behavioral and autonomic responses to cardiac pain. Some of the substances that are released into the circulation may play a role in the humoral communication between heart and brain, but when released chronically, these substances may induce neuropathological modifications. Anxiety disorders and depression are cerebral disorders that are frequently comorbid with ischemic heart diseases. The latter are attributed to noncoping behavior, but our own experiments (as part of the program) showed that immune activation after tissue damage in the heart generates regional blood-brain barrier damage (Project 4) that could be an underlying organic basis for comorbid neuropsychiatric disorders. The incentive for this project in general was the observation that myocardial infarction is accompanied by behavioral and neuronal abnormalities.

In this project we established whether release of proinflammatory cytokines after tissue damage in the heart is a possible inducer of comorbid neuropsychiatric diseases.

As a model for immune activation, we studied the effects of intravenous injections of the proinflammatory recombinant tumor necrosis factor–alpha (TNF-α) on cerebral endothelial leakage, induction of neuronal damage, and motor and cognitive function in rats. Determinants of selectivity of blood-brain barrier damage were assessed with a molecular biological approach in which we studied regional differences of TNF-α–induced expression in the cerebral endothelial cells of the immediate early gene c-fos and proteins involved in leukocyte docking (intercellular adhesion molecules [ICAMs]) and TNF-α receptors.

To examine the mechanisms by which this interaction occurs, we induced myocardial infarction in a group of rats and then performed immunohistochemistry of the brain. This experiment revealed regional serum protein extravasation, pointing to leakage of the blood-brain barrier. This process occurred in certain cortical, subcortical, and hindbrain areas in discrete patches. The leakage was colocalized with expression of the immune activation marker ICAM-1. To assess the involvement of the immune system in the effects shown, a second group of rats was injected with TNF-α, as the major proinflammatory cytokine. This procedure rendered the same results. It was concluded that myocardial infarction may interfere with the integrity of the blood-brain barrier and possibly with brain functioning through activation of the immune system. The relevance for pathophysiological processes may provide a substrate for further research in unraveling the emotional consequences of serious cardiac events.

In the state of immune activation that follows myocardial ischemic events, various cytokines are released from the myocardium into the plasma. These cyto kines potentiate the cytotoxicity of TNF-α. In the next experiment we were able to demonstrate that intravenous injection of TNF-α induces a selective and regional neural IgG and endothelial ICAM-1 immunoreactivity. The expression of TNF-α–induced changes in the brain suggests that TNF-α is capable of inducing blood-brain barrier dysfunction. It is hypothesized that through dysfunction of the blood-brain barrier, the released cytokines bind to specific cognitive centers in the brain and thus may lead to emotional disturbances following cardiac events.14

Having identified some specific centers involved in cardiovascular control, we further studied the effects of electrical and chemical stimulation of a specific brain center on the heart.

PROJECT 5: EFFECT OF BRAIN STIMULATION ON CORONARY FLOW

From a clinical PET study performed in patients with end-stage CAD during active spinal cord stimulation therapy, as well as from our PRV experiments and the literature, we concluded that the periaqueductal gray plays a central role in the regulation of different cardiovascular responses and in the integration of motor output from the limbic system.6,7 Subsequently, the peri aqueductal gray has been thought to be one of the pivotal cerebral centers involved in executing electrical neuromodulation effects.

We investigated the function of the periaqueductal gray in regulation of the coronary flow of the heart. Depending on the stimulation site, electrical stimulation in the periaqueductal gray resulted in increases and decreases in coronary flow and conductance. These effects were organized topographically. The sites producing increases in coronary flow and conductance were found in both the dorsolateral and the ventrolateral periaqueductal gray. The sites producing decreases were restricted mainly to the ventrolateral portion. Similar topographic distributions were observed for the sites producing changes in carotid conductance and heart rate, but not for those producing changes in blood pressure and carotid flow. It is hypothesized that the topographic distribution of coronary vasoconstrictive and vasodilatory responses from the periaqueductal gray may enable optimal adjustments of the coronary perfusion. These optimal adjustments can then accommodate variations in myocardial oxygen demands accompanying different behavioral modes.

CONCLUSION

From all our experiments, mainly performed in rats (but sometimes also in a cat model due to the existence of a stereotactic brain atlas for the cat), we have learned about heart-brain communication through the use of electrical neuromodulation. In the last decade we have further studied heart-brain interactions in the International Working Group on Neurocardiology (IWGN), making use of canine and rabbit models. The main focus of the IWGN is on neural hierarchy in cardiac control. These projects are discussed by one of us (R.D.F.) elsewhere in these proceedings. In brief, the importance for the heart of the intracardiac neuron system and controlling centers at the C1 spinal level,15–17 in conjunction with the induction of myocardial ischemia, will be highlighted. For a more extensive overview of recent work performed by the IWGN, see the reviews by Foreman et al18 and Wu et al.19

References
  1. Mannheimer C, Camici P, Chester MR, et al. The problem of chronic refractory angina: report from the ESC Joint Study Group on the Treatment of Refractory Angina. Eur Heart J 2002; 23:355370.
  2. Fraker TD, Fihn SD. 2007 chronic angina focused update of the ACC/AHA 2002 guidelines for the management of patients with chronic stable angina: a report of the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association Task Force on Practice Guidelines Writing Group to develop the focused update of the 2002 guidelines for the management of patients with chronic stable angina. J Am Coll Cardiol 2007; 50:22642274.
  3. Wittkampf FHM, DeJongste MJL, Meijler FL. Atrioventricular nodal response to retrograde activation in atrial fibrillation. J Cardiovasc Electrophysiol 1990; 1:437447.
  4. Wittkampf FHM, DeJongste MJL, Meijler FL. Competitive anterograde and retrograde atrioventricular junctional activation in atrial fibrillation. J Cardiovasc Electrophysiol 1990; 1:448456.
  5. Heberden W. Some account of a disorder of the breast. Med Trans 1772; 2:5967.
  6. Ter Horst GJ, Hautvast RW, DeJongste MJ, Korf J. Neuroanatomy of cardiac activity-regulating circuitry: a transneuronal retrograde viral labelling study in the rat. Eur J Neurosci 1996; 8:20292041.
  7. Ter Horst GJ, VanderWerf YD, DeJongste MJL Acute myocardial infarction and cytokine-mediated selective blood-brain barrier leakage in the rat. J Neurochem 1996; 66( suppl 2):S54A. Abstract.
  8. Hautvast RW, Ter Horst GJ, DeJong BM, et al. Relative changes in regional cerebral blood flow during spinal cord stimulation in patients with refractory angina pectoris. Eur J Neurosci 1997; 9:11781183.
  9. DeJongste MJL, Ter Horst GJ. Mediators of inflammation in patients with coronary artery disease. In:Ter Horst GJ, ed. The Nervous System and the Heart. Totowa, NJ: Humana Press; 2000:467487.
  10. Van Der Werf YD, TerHorst GJ, DeJongste MJL. Receptor mRNA densities and psychometric measures of determinants of anginal pain. Eur J Neurosci 1996; 8:S77. Abstract 32.35.
  11. Albutaihi IA, DeJongste MJ, Ter Horst GJ. An integrated study of heart pain and behavior in freely moving rats (using fos as a marker for neuronal activation). Neurosignals 2004; 13:207226.
  12. DeJongste MJL, Hautvast RWM, Ruiters MHJ, Ter Horst GJ. Spinal cord stimulation and the induction of c-fos and heat shock protein 72 in the central nervous system of rats. Neuromodulation 1998; 1:7384.
  13. Albutaihi IA, Hautvast RW, DeJongste MJ, Ter Horst GJ, Staal MJ. Cardiac nociception in rats: neuronal pathways and the influence of dermal neurostimulation on conveyance to the central nervous system. J Mol Neurosci 2003; 20:4352.
  14. Ter Horst GJ, Nagel JG, DeJongste MJL, Van Der Werf YD. Selective blood brain barrier dysfunction after intravenous injections of rTNFα in the rat. In:Teelken A, Korf J, eds. Neurochemistry and Neuroimmunology of EAE: Implications for Therapy of MS. New York, NY: Plenum Press; 1997; Section 5:141146.
  15. Foreman RD. Integration of viscerosomatic sensory input at the spinal level. Prog Brain Res 2000; 122:209221.
  16. Ding X, Ardell JL, Hua F, et al. Modulation of cardiac ischemiasensitive afferent neuron signaling by preemptive C2 spinal cord stimulation: effect on substance P release from rat spinal cord. Am J Physiol Regul Integr Comp Physiol 2008; 294:R93R101.
  17. Qin C, Faber JP, Linderoth B, Shahid A, Foreman RD. Neuromodulation of thoracic intraspinal visceroreceptive transmission by electrical stimulation of spinal dorsal column and somatic afferents in rats. J Pain 2008; 9:7178.
  18. Foreman RD, DeJongste MJ, Linderoth B. Integrative control of cardiac function by cervical and thoracic spinal neurons. In:Armour JA, Ardell JL, eds. Basic and Clinical Neurocardiology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press; 2004:153186.
  19. Wu M, Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Putative mechanisms behind effects of spinal cord stimulation on vascular diseases: a review of experimental studies. Auton Neurosci 2008; 138:923.
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Author and Disclosure Information

Mike J.L. DeJongste, MD, PhD, FESC
Department of Cardiology, Thoraxcenter, University Medical Center Groningen, Netherlands

Gert J. Terhorst, PhD
Department of Anatomy, University Medical Center Groningen and University of Groningen, Netherlands

Robert D. Foreman, PhD
Department of Physiology, Oklahoma University Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Correspondence: Mike J.L. DeJongste, MD, PhD, Department of Cardiology, Thoraxcenter, University Medical Center Groningen, PO Box 30.001, 9700 RB Groningen, The Netherlands; [email protected]

Drs. DeJongste and TerHorst reported that they have no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article. Dr. Foreman reported that he is a consultant to Advanced Neuromodulation Systems.

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Author and Disclosure Information

Mike J.L. DeJongste, MD, PhD, FESC
Department of Cardiology, Thoraxcenter, University Medical Center Groningen, Netherlands

Gert J. Terhorst, PhD
Department of Anatomy, University Medical Center Groningen and University of Groningen, Netherlands

Robert D. Foreman, PhD
Department of Physiology, Oklahoma University Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Correspondence: Mike J.L. DeJongste, MD, PhD, Department of Cardiology, Thoraxcenter, University Medical Center Groningen, PO Box 30.001, 9700 RB Groningen, The Netherlands; [email protected]

Drs. DeJongste and TerHorst reported that they have no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article. Dr. Foreman reported that he is a consultant to Advanced Neuromodulation Systems.

Author and Disclosure Information

Mike J.L. DeJongste, MD, PhD, FESC
Department of Cardiology, Thoraxcenter, University Medical Center Groningen, Netherlands

Gert J. Terhorst, PhD
Department of Anatomy, University Medical Center Groningen and University of Groningen, Netherlands

Robert D. Foreman, PhD
Department of Physiology, Oklahoma University Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Correspondence: Mike J.L. DeJongste, MD, PhD, Department of Cardiology, Thoraxcenter, University Medical Center Groningen, PO Box 30.001, 9700 RB Groningen, The Netherlands; [email protected]

Drs. DeJongste and TerHorst reported that they have no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article. Dr. Foreman reported that he is a consultant to Advanced Neuromodulation Systems.

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RATIONALE

In the industrialized world, average life expectancy has nearly doubled since the 19th century. One of the consequences of this increase in life span is that the sequelae of diseases also have increased. For coronary artery disease (CAD), one of the most prevalent diseases in the western world, this has resulted in an amplification of the number of patients suffering from heart failure, arrhythmias, and refractory angina. Much progress has recently been made in nonpharmacologic therapies for these deleterious consequences of CAD, such as cardiac resynchronization for heart failure, implantable defibrillators for ventricular arrhythmias, and electrical neuromodulation by means of spinal cord stimulation for chronic angina that is refractory to conventional strategies.

For patients suffering from severe angina secondary to end-stage CAD who have no other options to alleviate their complaints, electrical neuromodulation may be the preferred adjunctive treatment.1 Although spinal cord stimulation is still not approved by the US Food and Drug Administration for treatment of refractory angina, it is is accepted in the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association guidelines for chronic stable angina, with a class II indication, and is frequently used for this indication in Europe.2

However, to understand underlying mechanisms of therapies such as electrical neuromodulation—executed through either transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation or spinal cord stimulation—for angina pectoris and to improve the effect and safety of these therapies, clinical questions concerning neuromodulation must be evaluated in experimental models. The outcomes of these preclinical experimental studies subsequently need to be assessed in humans.

Although therapeutic improvements from implantable devices would not have been possible without experimental work, any experimentation must be avoided if it is not approved by the relevant ethics committee(s) or is not conducted in keeping with standard guidelines. For this reason it is sometimes more feasible, when appropriate, to make use of simulation models—for instance, to study regularization of atrial fibrillation by means of a device.3,4

Figure 1. Our preclinical neurocardiology research program. Several experimental approaches, ranging from neuroanatomy to molecular biological studies of cardiac nociceptor mRNA expression, have been employed to unravel mechanisms of heart-brain interaction and electrical neuromodulation. For explanations of project numbers, see the text.
So, on the one hand it is challenging to use electrical neuromodulation as a tool to study heart-brain interactions in general; on the other hand, electrical neuromodulation may be used to study its own underlying mechanisms of action, more specifically on characteristics of angina and myocardial ischemia. To investigate these mechanisms of action of electrical neuromodulation, we initiated a neurocardiology program in the 1990s (Figure 1). This article will discuss the experimental models we have studied to unravel the heart-brain interactions involved. We studied electrical neuromodulation both in patients and in experimental animals. However, the lack of knowledge about fundamental aspects of cardiovascular regulating circuitry and cardiac pain, as well as the lack of an animal model for angina pectoris, is the background for the various projects we have conducted concerning heart-brain interactions.

PROJECT 1: EMOTIONS AND MYOCARDIAL ISCHEMIA

In 1772, Heberden described to physicians in England the clinical symptoms of exercise-induced chest discomfort, with its emotional component and vaguely distributed projection on the chest, as follows: “The seat of it, and sense of strangling and anxiety with which it is attended, may make it not improperly be called angina pectoris.”5 Since then, it has been demonstrated repeatedly that strong emotional distress frequently precedes or is associated with complaints of pain in the chest. Further, emotional suffering has been associated with increased mortality in patients with CAD. We and others, unfortunately, were confronted with very limited knowledge of the precise locations of the origin of emotions in the limbic structures of the forebrain. Even less was known about the relationship of these brain structures and the heart, owing to technical limitations in the field of neuroanatomical tract tracing, among other reasons. As a result, the nervous pathways from the heart, through which signals are propagated to the brain in order to activate emotional components, were not accurately identified. We therefore initiated Project 1 to study, in a rat model, neuroanatomical characterization of the neuronal circuitry controlling cardiac activity, specifically during cardiac distress.

In the area of identifying efferent neural pathways from the heart, we were the first to publish an experimental setup making use of a neurotropic herpesvirus from the Bartha strain of the pseudorabies virus (PRV).6 Following injections of PRV into the left and right myocardium or into atrial tissue, PRV infects the neurons that innervate the injection site and is then transported in the neural network, where the virus may cross at least four synapses. This transneuronal retrograde viral pathway labeling method with PRV provided us the opportunity to study cardiovascular controlling networks. The distribution of the PRV-infected cells was studied immunocytochemically after survival times of 3 to 6 days. Right ventricular infection showed labeling in the same nuclei as left ventricular labeling, but the number of PRV-positive cells was always higher and the localization of PRV within the nuclei differed. These obvious signs for differentiation within the nuclei suggest differential neuronal pathways to various parts of the heart.

Following injection of PRV at different cardiac sites, differences in density and localization of PRV-positive cells were found predominantly in higher-order neurons that are known to be involved in cardiac control. Transection of the spinal cord at Th1, performed to reveal selectively the parasympathetic neuronal networks, reduced the number of labeled cells, specifically in the periaqueductal gray matter. Virus-labeled sympathetic preganglionic cells were found in the Th1–Th7 thoracic intermediolateral cell groups, with some additional infections at Th8–Th11 after inoculations of the ventricular myocardium. The rostral parts of the insular cortex appeared to be linked selectively to sympathetic innervation of the heart.6

From the experiments we hypothesized that, according to the type of lesion, the pattern of cardiac innervation may account for a specific malfunctioning. Subsequently, the subendocardial clustered parasympathetic nerves make these nerves more vulnerable for myocardial damage than the superficial spread of sympathetic nerves. In this respect, the identification of three preganglionic parasympathetic nuclei in cardiac control—ie, the dorsal motor nucleus of the vagus (20% labeling), the nucleus ambiguus, and the periambiguus—constituted the most striking findings.

 

 

PROJECTS 2 AND 3: CARDIAC NOCICEPTOR ACTIVATION

The cortical structures and their related output pathways also serve as effector systems for initiation of autonomic and behavioral responses by forebrain neuronal networks that make us aware of cardiac pain. However, these cortical and subcortical structures involved in cardiac pain perception were more or less terra incognita. In addition, we studied fundamental aspects of cardiac nociceptor activation (Project 2) and transduction of cardiac pain (Project 3). Unfortunately, there was no experimental animal model for angina pectoris. The aim of these projects was to obtain, both in patients and in animals, knowledge about cardiac nociceptor activation mechanisms, the transmission and perception of cardiac pain, and behavioral and autonomic responses.

To enable the study of mechanisms of neurostimulation during episodes of acute cardiac pain, we worked out an animal model for angina pectoris. For that reason we experimented with models in which we created an acute myocardial infarction. We had to reject this model since surgery and, more importantly, anesthesia interfered with the patterns of cerebral expression of immediate early genes (c-fos, c-jun) triggered by cardiac pain and/or neurostimulation. However, a spinoff from this project was the observation that cardiac tissue damage causes a reproducible and selective cerebral endothelial leakage of immunoglobulin G (IgG) molecules. Follow-up experiments showed that proinflammatory cytokines, which are released into the circulation after cardiac tissue damage, can generate the same pattern of blood-brain barrier dysfunction7 (see Project 4).

We then experimented with infusions of capsaicin into the pericardial space of unrestrained and unanesthetized rats to induce acute cardiac pain. This model appeared to be very promising and allows visualization of the behavioral and autonomic responses to cardiac pain. Cerebral c-fos expression patterns, a marker for structures involved in cardiac pain transmission and perception, were studied and validated with positron emission tomography (PET) imaging in patients.8

Project 2: Nociception of cardiac pain in patients

To study relationships between neurotransmitters and other molecules that contribute to pain and psychological variables, we studied cardiac tissues obtained from 22 patients with angina during coronary artery bypass graft surgery (CABG). Cardiac nociceptor activation mechanisms were investigated in heart biopsies from these 22 CABG patients; reverse transcriptase polymerase chain reaction analysis (RT-PCR) was conducted for adenosine and bradykinin receptor mRNA.9,10

An age-related decrease was observed in the adenosine A1 mRNA density but not in the bradykinin receptor mRNA levels. The adenosine A1 receptor density also correlated with pain characteristics reported in a questionnaire. Making use of semiquantitative RT-PCR, cardiac tissue substrates were assessed to determine the expression of adenosine A1 and bradykinin B1/2 receptor mRNA densities. The outcomes were associated with the quality of pain, age, gender, medication, and duration of disease.9,10

For evaluation of pain characteristics, we used questionnaires and objective pain scores. We found that qualitative age-related alterations in angina perception correlated with the development of the more “strangling” component of angina at older age. This observation may be explained, in part, by a reduction in adenosine A1 receptor mRNA expression in the heart, since bradykinin B1/2 receptor densities remain the same.9,10

Project 3: Nociception of cardiac pain in unrestrained rats

Having identified neural pathways, we studied neurons that were activated during electrical neuromodulation. 11 In search of a putative mechanism of action of electrical neuromodulation, we hypothesized that neuromodulation affects processing of nociceptive information within the central nervous system (CNS). To characterize neural activity we used expression of both the immediate early gene c-fos and the “late gene” or stress protein known as heat shock protein 72 (HSP72). c-fos was used to identify structures in the CNS affected by spinal cord stimulation. HSP72 was applied to ascertain whether spinal cord stimulation might operate as a stressor.12

Animal experiments were conducted on unrestrained unanesthetized rats implanted with a permanent catheter in the pericardial space; acute cardiac pain was triggered in this space using capsaicin as the algogenic substance.13 The autonomic cardiovascular responses were recorded with implantable telemetric devices. Behavioral responses were recorded on videotapes taken from the same animals in which the involved cerebral structures were characterized by analyzing cerebral immediate early gene expression. Quantification of data makes it possible to study the effects of electrical neuromodulation and analgesic drugs on perception of cardiac pain. To apply electrical neuromodulation, two electrodes were positioned and sutured epidurally at the spinal cord of the rats. One electrode was fixated at spinal nerve C7 and the other at T2. Furthermore, we studied the effect of spinal cord stimulation on behavior. Three hours after stimulation, the rats were sacrificed and their brains and spinal cords were removed.

The treated group showed regional increased c-fos expression in a select group of regions of the limbic system—periaqueductal gray, paraventricular hypothalamic nucleus, paraventricular thalamic nucleus, central amygdala, agranular and dysgranular insular cortex, (peri)ambiguus, nucleus tractus solitarius, and spinal cord—involved in the processing of pain and cardiovascular regulation, among other functions. Moreover, in both treated rats and controls, HSP72 expression was found in the endothelium of the enthorhinal cortex, the amygdala, and the ventral hypothalamus, but not in the neurons. The treated animals were significantly more alert and active than were the controls.

Thus, the rat model we developed appears to be suitable for studying potential mechanisms through which neuromodulation may act. Moreover, neuromodulation affects c-fos expression in specific parts of the brain known to be involved in regulation of pain and emotions. HSP72 expression is limited to the endothelium of certain parts of the CNS, and thus physical stress effects were excluded as a potential mechanism of neuromodulation. Finally, our experimental model identified regions corresponding with regional cerebral blood flow changes during neurostimulation in patients.8

 

 

PROJECT 4: BIDIRECTIONAL HUMORAL AND NERVOUS HEART-BRAIN INTERACTIONS

With respect to the emotional component of angina, we thought to study alternative pathways of communication between the heart and the brain. This idea occurred as a consequence of observations that many patients who suffer serious cardiac events, such as CABG or myocardial infarction, are confronted with a period of emotional problems following these events. So, from our experimental projects, the question became relevant as to whether emotional alterations in behavior following a cardiac life event may be executed by a humoral pathway from the heart to the brain, since, vice versa, the brain controls the heart through both nervous and humoral pathways. In other words, is it feasible that both humoral and neural pathways are involved, bidirectionally, in interactions between the brain and the heart?

Cardiac disease, proinflammatory cytokines, and blood-brain barrier damage

Cardiac ischemia, the underlying cause of cardiac pain in angina pectoris, triggers a cascade of events that release numerous substances in the myocardium and circulation, all of which are potential candidates for nociceptor activation and initiation of behavioral and autonomic responses to cardiac pain. Some of the substances that are released into the circulation may play a role in the humoral communication between heart and brain, but when released chronically, these substances may induce neuropathological modifications. Anxiety disorders and depression are cerebral disorders that are frequently comorbid with ischemic heart diseases. The latter are attributed to noncoping behavior, but our own experiments (as part of the program) showed that immune activation after tissue damage in the heart generates regional blood-brain barrier damage (Project 4) that could be an underlying organic basis for comorbid neuropsychiatric disorders. The incentive for this project in general was the observation that myocardial infarction is accompanied by behavioral and neuronal abnormalities.

In this project we established whether release of proinflammatory cytokines after tissue damage in the heart is a possible inducer of comorbid neuropsychiatric diseases.

As a model for immune activation, we studied the effects of intravenous injections of the proinflammatory recombinant tumor necrosis factor–alpha (TNF-α) on cerebral endothelial leakage, induction of neuronal damage, and motor and cognitive function in rats. Determinants of selectivity of blood-brain barrier damage were assessed with a molecular biological approach in which we studied regional differences of TNF-α–induced expression in the cerebral endothelial cells of the immediate early gene c-fos and proteins involved in leukocyte docking (intercellular adhesion molecules [ICAMs]) and TNF-α receptors.

To examine the mechanisms by which this interaction occurs, we induced myocardial infarction in a group of rats and then performed immunohistochemistry of the brain. This experiment revealed regional serum protein extravasation, pointing to leakage of the blood-brain barrier. This process occurred in certain cortical, subcortical, and hindbrain areas in discrete patches. The leakage was colocalized with expression of the immune activation marker ICAM-1. To assess the involvement of the immune system in the effects shown, a second group of rats was injected with TNF-α, as the major proinflammatory cytokine. This procedure rendered the same results. It was concluded that myocardial infarction may interfere with the integrity of the blood-brain barrier and possibly with brain functioning through activation of the immune system. The relevance for pathophysiological processes may provide a substrate for further research in unraveling the emotional consequences of serious cardiac events.

In the state of immune activation that follows myocardial ischemic events, various cytokines are released from the myocardium into the plasma. These cyto kines potentiate the cytotoxicity of TNF-α. In the next experiment we were able to demonstrate that intravenous injection of TNF-α induces a selective and regional neural IgG and endothelial ICAM-1 immunoreactivity. The expression of TNF-α–induced changes in the brain suggests that TNF-α is capable of inducing blood-brain barrier dysfunction. It is hypothesized that through dysfunction of the blood-brain barrier, the released cytokines bind to specific cognitive centers in the brain and thus may lead to emotional disturbances following cardiac events.14

Having identified some specific centers involved in cardiovascular control, we further studied the effects of electrical and chemical stimulation of a specific brain center on the heart.

PROJECT 5: EFFECT OF BRAIN STIMULATION ON CORONARY FLOW

From a clinical PET study performed in patients with end-stage CAD during active spinal cord stimulation therapy, as well as from our PRV experiments and the literature, we concluded that the periaqueductal gray plays a central role in the regulation of different cardiovascular responses and in the integration of motor output from the limbic system.6,7 Subsequently, the peri aqueductal gray has been thought to be one of the pivotal cerebral centers involved in executing electrical neuromodulation effects.

We investigated the function of the periaqueductal gray in regulation of the coronary flow of the heart. Depending on the stimulation site, electrical stimulation in the periaqueductal gray resulted in increases and decreases in coronary flow and conductance. These effects were organized topographically. The sites producing increases in coronary flow and conductance were found in both the dorsolateral and the ventrolateral periaqueductal gray. The sites producing decreases were restricted mainly to the ventrolateral portion. Similar topographic distributions were observed for the sites producing changes in carotid conductance and heart rate, but not for those producing changes in blood pressure and carotid flow. It is hypothesized that the topographic distribution of coronary vasoconstrictive and vasodilatory responses from the periaqueductal gray may enable optimal adjustments of the coronary perfusion. These optimal adjustments can then accommodate variations in myocardial oxygen demands accompanying different behavioral modes.

CONCLUSION

From all our experiments, mainly performed in rats (but sometimes also in a cat model due to the existence of a stereotactic brain atlas for the cat), we have learned about heart-brain communication through the use of electrical neuromodulation. In the last decade we have further studied heart-brain interactions in the International Working Group on Neurocardiology (IWGN), making use of canine and rabbit models. The main focus of the IWGN is on neural hierarchy in cardiac control. These projects are discussed by one of us (R.D.F.) elsewhere in these proceedings. In brief, the importance for the heart of the intracardiac neuron system and controlling centers at the C1 spinal level,15–17 in conjunction with the induction of myocardial ischemia, will be highlighted. For a more extensive overview of recent work performed by the IWGN, see the reviews by Foreman et al18 and Wu et al.19

RATIONALE

In the industrialized world, average life expectancy has nearly doubled since the 19th century. One of the consequences of this increase in life span is that the sequelae of diseases also have increased. For coronary artery disease (CAD), one of the most prevalent diseases in the western world, this has resulted in an amplification of the number of patients suffering from heart failure, arrhythmias, and refractory angina. Much progress has recently been made in nonpharmacologic therapies for these deleterious consequences of CAD, such as cardiac resynchronization for heart failure, implantable defibrillators for ventricular arrhythmias, and electrical neuromodulation by means of spinal cord stimulation for chronic angina that is refractory to conventional strategies.

For patients suffering from severe angina secondary to end-stage CAD who have no other options to alleviate their complaints, electrical neuromodulation may be the preferred adjunctive treatment.1 Although spinal cord stimulation is still not approved by the US Food and Drug Administration for treatment of refractory angina, it is is accepted in the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association guidelines for chronic stable angina, with a class II indication, and is frequently used for this indication in Europe.2

However, to understand underlying mechanisms of therapies such as electrical neuromodulation—executed through either transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation or spinal cord stimulation—for angina pectoris and to improve the effect and safety of these therapies, clinical questions concerning neuromodulation must be evaluated in experimental models. The outcomes of these preclinical experimental studies subsequently need to be assessed in humans.

Although therapeutic improvements from implantable devices would not have been possible without experimental work, any experimentation must be avoided if it is not approved by the relevant ethics committee(s) or is not conducted in keeping with standard guidelines. For this reason it is sometimes more feasible, when appropriate, to make use of simulation models—for instance, to study regularization of atrial fibrillation by means of a device.3,4

Figure 1. Our preclinical neurocardiology research program. Several experimental approaches, ranging from neuroanatomy to molecular biological studies of cardiac nociceptor mRNA expression, have been employed to unravel mechanisms of heart-brain interaction and electrical neuromodulation. For explanations of project numbers, see the text.
So, on the one hand it is challenging to use electrical neuromodulation as a tool to study heart-brain interactions in general; on the other hand, electrical neuromodulation may be used to study its own underlying mechanisms of action, more specifically on characteristics of angina and myocardial ischemia. To investigate these mechanisms of action of electrical neuromodulation, we initiated a neurocardiology program in the 1990s (Figure 1). This article will discuss the experimental models we have studied to unravel the heart-brain interactions involved. We studied electrical neuromodulation both in patients and in experimental animals. However, the lack of knowledge about fundamental aspects of cardiovascular regulating circuitry and cardiac pain, as well as the lack of an animal model for angina pectoris, is the background for the various projects we have conducted concerning heart-brain interactions.

PROJECT 1: EMOTIONS AND MYOCARDIAL ISCHEMIA

In 1772, Heberden described to physicians in England the clinical symptoms of exercise-induced chest discomfort, with its emotional component and vaguely distributed projection on the chest, as follows: “The seat of it, and sense of strangling and anxiety with which it is attended, may make it not improperly be called angina pectoris.”5 Since then, it has been demonstrated repeatedly that strong emotional distress frequently precedes or is associated with complaints of pain in the chest. Further, emotional suffering has been associated with increased mortality in patients with CAD. We and others, unfortunately, were confronted with very limited knowledge of the precise locations of the origin of emotions in the limbic structures of the forebrain. Even less was known about the relationship of these brain structures and the heart, owing to technical limitations in the field of neuroanatomical tract tracing, among other reasons. As a result, the nervous pathways from the heart, through which signals are propagated to the brain in order to activate emotional components, were not accurately identified. We therefore initiated Project 1 to study, in a rat model, neuroanatomical characterization of the neuronal circuitry controlling cardiac activity, specifically during cardiac distress.

In the area of identifying efferent neural pathways from the heart, we were the first to publish an experimental setup making use of a neurotropic herpesvirus from the Bartha strain of the pseudorabies virus (PRV).6 Following injections of PRV into the left and right myocardium or into atrial tissue, PRV infects the neurons that innervate the injection site and is then transported in the neural network, where the virus may cross at least four synapses. This transneuronal retrograde viral pathway labeling method with PRV provided us the opportunity to study cardiovascular controlling networks. The distribution of the PRV-infected cells was studied immunocytochemically after survival times of 3 to 6 days. Right ventricular infection showed labeling in the same nuclei as left ventricular labeling, but the number of PRV-positive cells was always higher and the localization of PRV within the nuclei differed. These obvious signs for differentiation within the nuclei suggest differential neuronal pathways to various parts of the heart.

Following injection of PRV at different cardiac sites, differences in density and localization of PRV-positive cells were found predominantly in higher-order neurons that are known to be involved in cardiac control. Transection of the spinal cord at Th1, performed to reveal selectively the parasympathetic neuronal networks, reduced the number of labeled cells, specifically in the periaqueductal gray matter. Virus-labeled sympathetic preganglionic cells were found in the Th1–Th7 thoracic intermediolateral cell groups, with some additional infections at Th8–Th11 after inoculations of the ventricular myocardium. The rostral parts of the insular cortex appeared to be linked selectively to sympathetic innervation of the heart.6

From the experiments we hypothesized that, according to the type of lesion, the pattern of cardiac innervation may account for a specific malfunctioning. Subsequently, the subendocardial clustered parasympathetic nerves make these nerves more vulnerable for myocardial damage than the superficial spread of sympathetic nerves. In this respect, the identification of three preganglionic parasympathetic nuclei in cardiac control—ie, the dorsal motor nucleus of the vagus (20% labeling), the nucleus ambiguus, and the periambiguus—constituted the most striking findings.

 

 

PROJECTS 2 AND 3: CARDIAC NOCICEPTOR ACTIVATION

The cortical structures and their related output pathways also serve as effector systems for initiation of autonomic and behavioral responses by forebrain neuronal networks that make us aware of cardiac pain. However, these cortical and subcortical structures involved in cardiac pain perception were more or less terra incognita. In addition, we studied fundamental aspects of cardiac nociceptor activation (Project 2) and transduction of cardiac pain (Project 3). Unfortunately, there was no experimental animal model for angina pectoris. The aim of these projects was to obtain, both in patients and in animals, knowledge about cardiac nociceptor activation mechanisms, the transmission and perception of cardiac pain, and behavioral and autonomic responses.

To enable the study of mechanisms of neurostimulation during episodes of acute cardiac pain, we worked out an animal model for angina pectoris. For that reason we experimented with models in which we created an acute myocardial infarction. We had to reject this model since surgery and, more importantly, anesthesia interfered with the patterns of cerebral expression of immediate early genes (c-fos, c-jun) triggered by cardiac pain and/or neurostimulation. However, a spinoff from this project was the observation that cardiac tissue damage causes a reproducible and selective cerebral endothelial leakage of immunoglobulin G (IgG) molecules. Follow-up experiments showed that proinflammatory cytokines, which are released into the circulation after cardiac tissue damage, can generate the same pattern of blood-brain barrier dysfunction7 (see Project 4).

We then experimented with infusions of capsaicin into the pericardial space of unrestrained and unanesthetized rats to induce acute cardiac pain. This model appeared to be very promising and allows visualization of the behavioral and autonomic responses to cardiac pain. Cerebral c-fos expression patterns, a marker for structures involved in cardiac pain transmission and perception, were studied and validated with positron emission tomography (PET) imaging in patients.8

Project 2: Nociception of cardiac pain in patients

To study relationships between neurotransmitters and other molecules that contribute to pain and psychological variables, we studied cardiac tissues obtained from 22 patients with angina during coronary artery bypass graft surgery (CABG). Cardiac nociceptor activation mechanisms were investigated in heart biopsies from these 22 CABG patients; reverse transcriptase polymerase chain reaction analysis (RT-PCR) was conducted for adenosine and bradykinin receptor mRNA.9,10

An age-related decrease was observed in the adenosine A1 mRNA density but not in the bradykinin receptor mRNA levels. The adenosine A1 receptor density also correlated with pain characteristics reported in a questionnaire. Making use of semiquantitative RT-PCR, cardiac tissue substrates were assessed to determine the expression of adenosine A1 and bradykinin B1/2 receptor mRNA densities. The outcomes were associated with the quality of pain, age, gender, medication, and duration of disease.9,10

For evaluation of pain characteristics, we used questionnaires and objective pain scores. We found that qualitative age-related alterations in angina perception correlated with the development of the more “strangling” component of angina at older age. This observation may be explained, in part, by a reduction in adenosine A1 receptor mRNA expression in the heart, since bradykinin B1/2 receptor densities remain the same.9,10

Project 3: Nociception of cardiac pain in unrestrained rats

Having identified neural pathways, we studied neurons that were activated during electrical neuromodulation. 11 In search of a putative mechanism of action of electrical neuromodulation, we hypothesized that neuromodulation affects processing of nociceptive information within the central nervous system (CNS). To characterize neural activity we used expression of both the immediate early gene c-fos and the “late gene” or stress protein known as heat shock protein 72 (HSP72). c-fos was used to identify structures in the CNS affected by spinal cord stimulation. HSP72 was applied to ascertain whether spinal cord stimulation might operate as a stressor.12

Animal experiments were conducted on unrestrained unanesthetized rats implanted with a permanent catheter in the pericardial space; acute cardiac pain was triggered in this space using capsaicin as the algogenic substance.13 The autonomic cardiovascular responses were recorded with implantable telemetric devices. Behavioral responses were recorded on videotapes taken from the same animals in which the involved cerebral structures were characterized by analyzing cerebral immediate early gene expression. Quantification of data makes it possible to study the effects of electrical neuromodulation and analgesic drugs on perception of cardiac pain. To apply electrical neuromodulation, two electrodes were positioned and sutured epidurally at the spinal cord of the rats. One electrode was fixated at spinal nerve C7 and the other at T2. Furthermore, we studied the effect of spinal cord stimulation on behavior. Three hours after stimulation, the rats were sacrificed and their brains and spinal cords were removed.

The treated group showed regional increased c-fos expression in a select group of regions of the limbic system—periaqueductal gray, paraventricular hypothalamic nucleus, paraventricular thalamic nucleus, central amygdala, agranular and dysgranular insular cortex, (peri)ambiguus, nucleus tractus solitarius, and spinal cord—involved in the processing of pain and cardiovascular regulation, among other functions. Moreover, in both treated rats and controls, HSP72 expression was found in the endothelium of the enthorhinal cortex, the amygdala, and the ventral hypothalamus, but not in the neurons. The treated animals were significantly more alert and active than were the controls.

Thus, the rat model we developed appears to be suitable for studying potential mechanisms through which neuromodulation may act. Moreover, neuromodulation affects c-fos expression in specific parts of the brain known to be involved in regulation of pain and emotions. HSP72 expression is limited to the endothelium of certain parts of the CNS, and thus physical stress effects were excluded as a potential mechanism of neuromodulation. Finally, our experimental model identified regions corresponding with regional cerebral blood flow changes during neurostimulation in patients.8

 

 

PROJECT 4: BIDIRECTIONAL HUMORAL AND NERVOUS HEART-BRAIN INTERACTIONS

With respect to the emotional component of angina, we thought to study alternative pathways of communication between the heart and the brain. This idea occurred as a consequence of observations that many patients who suffer serious cardiac events, such as CABG or myocardial infarction, are confronted with a period of emotional problems following these events. So, from our experimental projects, the question became relevant as to whether emotional alterations in behavior following a cardiac life event may be executed by a humoral pathway from the heart to the brain, since, vice versa, the brain controls the heart through both nervous and humoral pathways. In other words, is it feasible that both humoral and neural pathways are involved, bidirectionally, in interactions between the brain and the heart?

Cardiac disease, proinflammatory cytokines, and blood-brain barrier damage

Cardiac ischemia, the underlying cause of cardiac pain in angina pectoris, triggers a cascade of events that release numerous substances in the myocardium and circulation, all of which are potential candidates for nociceptor activation and initiation of behavioral and autonomic responses to cardiac pain. Some of the substances that are released into the circulation may play a role in the humoral communication between heart and brain, but when released chronically, these substances may induce neuropathological modifications. Anxiety disorders and depression are cerebral disorders that are frequently comorbid with ischemic heart diseases. The latter are attributed to noncoping behavior, but our own experiments (as part of the program) showed that immune activation after tissue damage in the heart generates regional blood-brain barrier damage (Project 4) that could be an underlying organic basis for comorbid neuropsychiatric disorders. The incentive for this project in general was the observation that myocardial infarction is accompanied by behavioral and neuronal abnormalities.

In this project we established whether release of proinflammatory cytokines after tissue damage in the heart is a possible inducer of comorbid neuropsychiatric diseases.

As a model for immune activation, we studied the effects of intravenous injections of the proinflammatory recombinant tumor necrosis factor–alpha (TNF-α) on cerebral endothelial leakage, induction of neuronal damage, and motor and cognitive function in rats. Determinants of selectivity of blood-brain barrier damage were assessed with a molecular biological approach in which we studied regional differences of TNF-α–induced expression in the cerebral endothelial cells of the immediate early gene c-fos and proteins involved in leukocyte docking (intercellular adhesion molecules [ICAMs]) and TNF-α receptors.

To examine the mechanisms by which this interaction occurs, we induced myocardial infarction in a group of rats and then performed immunohistochemistry of the brain. This experiment revealed regional serum protein extravasation, pointing to leakage of the blood-brain barrier. This process occurred in certain cortical, subcortical, and hindbrain areas in discrete patches. The leakage was colocalized with expression of the immune activation marker ICAM-1. To assess the involvement of the immune system in the effects shown, a second group of rats was injected with TNF-α, as the major proinflammatory cytokine. This procedure rendered the same results. It was concluded that myocardial infarction may interfere with the integrity of the blood-brain barrier and possibly with brain functioning through activation of the immune system. The relevance for pathophysiological processes may provide a substrate for further research in unraveling the emotional consequences of serious cardiac events.

In the state of immune activation that follows myocardial ischemic events, various cytokines are released from the myocardium into the plasma. These cyto kines potentiate the cytotoxicity of TNF-α. In the next experiment we were able to demonstrate that intravenous injection of TNF-α induces a selective and regional neural IgG and endothelial ICAM-1 immunoreactivity. The expression of TNF-α–induced changes in the brain suggests that TNF-α is capable of inducing blood-brain barrier dysfunction. It is hypothesized that through dysfunction of the blood-brain barrier, the released cytokines bind to specific cognitive centers in the brain and thus may lead to emotional disturbances following cardiac events.14

Having identified some specific centers involved in cardiovascular control, we further studied the effects of electrical and chemical stimulation of a specific brain center on the heart.

PROJECT 5: EFFECT OF BRAIN STIMULATION ON CORONARY FLOW

From a clinical PET study performed in patients with end-stage CAD during active spinal cord stimulation therapy, as well as from our PRV experiments and the literature, we concluded that the periaqueductal gray plays a central role in the regulation of different cardiovascular responses and in the integration of motor output from the limbic system.6,7 Subsequently, the peri aqueductal gray has been thought to be one of the pivotal cerebral centers involved in executing electrical neuromodulation effects.

We investigated the function of the periaqueductal gray in regulation of the coronary flow of the heart. Depending on the stimulation site, electrical stimulation in the periaqueductal gray resulted in increases and decreases in coronary flow and conductance. These effects were organized topographically. The sites producing increases in coronary flow and conductance were found in both the dorsolateral and the ventrolateral periaqueductal gray. The sites producing decreases were restricted mainly to the ventrolateral portion. Similar topographic distributions were observed for the sites producing changes in carotid conductance and heart rate, but not for those producing changes in blood pressure and carotid flow. It is hypothesized that the topographic distribution of coronary vasoconstrictive and vasodilatory responses from the periaqueductal gray may enable optimal adjustments of the coronary perfusion. These optimal adjustments can then accommodate variations in myocardial oxygen demands accompanying different behavioral modes.

CONCLUSION

From all our experiments, mainly performed in rats (but sometimes also in a cat model due to the existence of a stereotactic brain atlas for the cat), we have learned about heart-brain communication through the use of electrical neuromodulation. In the last decade we have further studied heart-brain interactions in the International Working Group on Neurocardiology (IWGN), making use of canine and rabbit models. The main focus of the IWGN is on neural hierarchy in cardiac control. These projects are discussed by one of us (R.D.F.) elsewhere in these proceedings. In brief, the importance for the heart of the intracardiac neuron system and controlling centers at the C1 spinal level,15–17 in conjunction with the induction of myocardial ischemia, will be highlighted. For a more extensive overview of recent work performed by the IWGN, see the reviews by Foreman et al18 and Wu et al.19

References
  1. Mannheimer C, Camici P, Chester MR, et al. The problem of chronic refractory angina: report from the ESC Joint Study Group on the Treatment of Refractory Angina. Eur Heart J 2002; 23:355370.
  2. Fraker TD, Fihn SD. 2007 chronic angina focused update of the ACC/AHA 2002 guidelines for the management of patients with chronic stable angina: a report of the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association Task Force on Practice Guidelines Writing Group to develop the focused update of the 2002 guidelines for the management of patients with chronic stable angina. J Am Coll Cardiol 2007; 50:22642274.
  3. Wittkampf FHM, DeJongste MJL, Meijler FL. Atrioventricular nodal response to retrograde activation in atrial fibrillation. J Cardiovasc Electrophysiol 1990; 1:437447.
  4. Wittkampf FHM, DeJongste MJL, Meijler FL. Competitive anterograde and retrograde atrioventricular junctional activation in atrial fibrillation. J Cardiovasc Electrophysiol 1990; 1:448456.
  5. Heberden W. Some account of a disorder of the breast. Med Trans 1772; 2:5967.
  6. Ter Horst GJ, Hautvast RW, DeJongste MJ, Korf J. Neuroanatomy of cardiac activity-regulating circuitry: a transneuronal retrograde viral labelling study in the rat. Eur J Neurosci 1996; 8:20292041.
  7. Ter Horst GJ, VanderWerf YD, DeJongste MJL Acute myocardial infarction and cytokine-mediated selective blood-brain barrier leakage in the rat. J Neurochem 1996; 66( suppl 2):S54A. Abstract.
  8. Hautvast RW, Ter Horst GJ, DeJong BM, et al. Relative changes in regional cerebral blood flow during spinal cord stimulation in patients with refractory angina pectoris. Eur J Neurosci 1997; 9:11781183.
  9. DeJongste MJL, Ter Horst GJ. Mediators of inflammation in patients with coronary artery disease. In:Ter Horst GJ, ed. The Nervous System and the Heart. Totowa, NJ: Humana Press; 2000:467487.
  10. Van Der Werf YD, TerHorst GJ, DeJongste MJL. Receptor mRNA densities and psychometric measures of determinants of anginal pain. Eur J Neurosci 1996; 8:S77. Abstract 32.35.
  11. Albutaihi IA, DeJongste MJ, Ter Horst GJ. An integrated study of heart pain and behavior in freely moving rats (using fos as a marker for neuronal activation). Neurosignals 2004; 13:207226.
  12. DeJongste MJL, Hautvast RWM, Ruiters MHJ, Ter Horst GJ. Spinal cord stimulation and the induction of c-fos and heat shock protein 72 in the central nervous system of rats. Neuromodulation 1998; 1:7384.
  13. Albutaihi IA, Hautvast RW, DeJongste MJ, Ter Horst GJ, Staal MJ. Cardiac nociception in rats: neuronal pathways and the influence of dermal neurostimulation on conveyance to the central nervous system. J Mol Neurosci 2003; 20:4352.
  14. Ter Horst GJ, Nagel JG, DeJongste MJL, Van Der Werf YD. Selective blood brain barrier dysfunction after intravenous injections of rTNFα in the rat. In:Teelken A, Korf J, eds. Neurochemistry and Neuroimmunology of EAE: Implications for Therapy of MS. New York, NY: Plenum Press; 1997; Section 5:141146.
  15. Foreman RD. Integration of viscerosomatic sensory input at the spinal level. Prog Brain Res 2000; 122:209221.
  16. Ding X, Ardell JL, Hua F, et al. Modulation of cardiac ischemiasensitive afferent neuron signaling by preemptive C2 spinal cord stimulation: effect on substance P release from rat spinal cord. Am J Physiol Regul Integr Comp Physiol 2008; 294:R93R101.
  17. Qin C, Faber JP, Linderoth B, Shahid A, Foreman RD. Neuromodulation of thoracic intraspinal visceroreceptive transmission by electrical stimulation of spinal dorsal column and somatic afferents in rats. J Pain 2008; 9:7178.
  18. Foreman RD, DeJongste MJ, Linderoth B. Integrative control of cardiac function by cervical and thoracic spinal neurons. In:Armour JA, Ardell JL, eds. Basic and Clinical Neurocardiology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press; 2004:153186.
  19. Wu M, Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Putative mechanisms behind effects of spinal cord stimulation on vascular diseases: a review of experimental studies. Auton Neurosci 2008; 138:923.
References
  1. Mannheimer C, Camici P, Chester MR, et al. The problem of chronic refractory angina: report from the ESC Joint Study Group on the Treatment of Refractory Angina. Eur Heart J 2002; 23:355370.
  2. Fraker TD, Fihn SD. 2007 chronic angina focused update of the ACC/AHA 2002 guidelines for the management of patients with chronic stable angina: a report of the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association Task Force on Practice Guidelines Writing Group to develop the focused update of the 2002 guidelines for the management of patients with chronic stable angina. J Am Coll Cardiol 2007; 50:22642274.
  3. Wittkampf FHM, DeJongste MJL, Meijler FL. Atrioventricular nodal response to retrograde activation in atrial fibrillation. J Cardiovasc Electrophysiol 1990; 1:437447.
  4. Wittkampf FHM, DeJongste MJL, Meijler FL. Competitive anterograde and retrograde atrioventricular junctional activation in atrial fibrillation. J Cardiovasc Electrophysiol 1990; 1:448456.
  5. Heberden W. Some account of a disorder of the breast. Med Trans 1772; 2:5967.
  6. Ter Horst GJ, Hautvast RW, DeJongste MJ, Korf J. Neuroanatomy of cardiac activity-regulating circuitry: a transneuronal retrograde viral labelling study in the rat. Eur J Neurosci 1996; 8:20292041.
  7. Ter Horst GJ, VanderWerf YD, DeJongste MJL Acute myocardial infarction and cytokine-mediated selective blood-brain barrier leakage in the rat. J Neurochem 1996; 66( suppl 2):S54A. Abstract.
  8. Hautvast RW, Ter Horst GJ, DeJong BM, et al. Relative changes in regional cerebral blood flow during spinal cord stimulation in patients with refractory angina pectoris. Eur J Neurosci 1997; 9:11781183.
  9. DeJongste MJL, Ter Horst GJ. Mediators of inflammation in patients with coronary artery disease. In:Ter Horst GJ, ed. The Nervous System and the Heart. Totowa, NJ: Humana Press; 2000:467487.
  10. Van Der Werf YD, TerHorst GJ, DeJongste MJL. Receptor mRNA densities and psychometric measures of determinants of anginal pain. Eur J Neurosci 1996; 8:S77. Abstract 32.35.
  11. Albutaihi IA, DeJongste MJ, Ter Horst GJ. An integrated study of heart pain and behavior in freely moving rats (using fos as a marker for neuronal activation). Neurosignals 2004; 13:207226.
  12. DeJongste MJL, Hautvast RWM, Ruiters MHJ, Ter Horst GJ. Spinal cord stimulation and the induction of c-fos and heat shock protein 72 in the central nervous system of rats. Neuromodulation 1998; 1:7384.
  13. Albutaihi IA, Hautvast RW, DeJongste MJ, Ter Horst GJ, Staal MJ. Cardiac nociception in rats: neuronal pathways and the influence of dermal neurostimulation on conveyance to the central nervous system. J Mol Neurosci 2003; 20:4352.
  14. Ter Horst GJ, Nagel JG, DeJongste MJL, Van Der Werf YD. Selective blood brain barrier dysfunction after intravenous injections of rTNFα in the rat. In:Teelken A, Korf J, eds. Neurochemistry and Neuroimmunology of EAE: Implications for Therapy of MS. New York, NY: Plenum Press; 1997; Section 5:141146.
  15. Foreman RD. Integration of viscerosomatic sensory input at the spinal level. Prog Brain Res 2000; 122:209221.
  16. Ding X, Ardell JL, Hua F, et al. Modulation of cardiac ischemiasensitive afferent neuron signaling by preemptive C2 spinal cord stimulation: effect on substance P release from rat spinal cord. Am J Physiol Regul Integr Comp Physiol 2008; 294:R93R101.
  17. Qin C, Faber JP, Linderoth B, Shahid A, Foreman RD. Neuromodulation of thoracic intraspinal visceroreceptive transmission by electrical stimulation of spinal dorsal column and somatic afferents in rats. J Pain 2008; 9:7178.
  18. Foreman RD, DeJongste MJ, Linderoth B. Integrative control of cardiac function by cervical and thoracic spinal neurons. In:Armour JA, Ardell JL, eds. Basic and Clinical Neurocardiology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press; 2004:153186.
  19. Wu M, Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Putative mechanisms behind effects of spinal cord stimulation on vascular diseases: a review of experimental studies. Auton Neurosci 2008; 138:923.
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Cardiac sympathetic denervation preceding motor signs in Parkinson disease*

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Cardiac sympathetic denervation preceding motor signs in Parkinson disease*

In Parkinson disease (PD), by the time the movement disorder develops, most of the nigrostriatal dopamine terminals have been lost. Identification of biomarkers of PD should improve early diagnosis and spur development of effective treatments.

Braak has proposed a pathogenetic sequence beginning outside the brain, with invasion of peripheral, vulnerable autonomic neurons, followed by alpha-synucleinopathy in lower brainstem nuclei and then by alpha-synucleinopathy in the midbrain substantia nigra and then finally in the cerebral cortex.3,4 Consistent with early involvement of peripheral autonomic or lower brainstem centers, several studies of de novo PD have reported evidence of cardiac noradrenergic denervation5,8,14,22 or of decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal function.1,2,6,14,18

Whether these abnormalities can actually precede symptomatic PD has been unknown. Here we report the case of a patient who had cardiac noradrenergic denervation, detected by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomography, and decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal gain, detected by abnormal beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate responses to the Valsalva maneuver, 4 years before the clinical onset of PD.

CASE REPORT

A 56-year-old man was referred for possible pheochromocytoma, based on episodic hypertensive episodes and symptoms suggesting excessive catecholamine effects.

He had no serious health problems until about 1998, when he began to experience malaise and exercise intolerance and episodes of hypertension or hypotension, palpitations, and chest tightness. He also had a long history of constipation and dyspepsia, a tendency to urinary retention, and complained of a sense of fullness in the left neck. The patient’s career was in marketing and business development, until he quit work due to his symptoms. His mother had died of PD. Cardiac catheterization showed normal coronary arteries. Gastrointestinal endoscopy was unrevealing. Biochemical testing showed elevated plasma levels and urinary excretion of epinephrine. Thyroid function was normal.

Figure 1. Thoracic 6-[18F]fluorodopamine (18FDA) and 13N-ammonia (13NH3) images in July 2001 and November 2005. Note absence of left ventricular myocardial 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity at both times, indicating cardiac sympathetic denervation. Myocardial perfusion, as indicated by 13NH3-derived radioactivity, was normal.
Because of the hypertensive paroxysms, pheochromocytoma was suspected. In April 2000, the patient had a plasma epinephrine level about twice the upper limit of normal and a plasma metanephrine level about 50% above normal. In July 2001, he was evaluated at the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Normal follow-up plasma metanephrine, and failure of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET to detect an adrenal or extra-adrenal focus of radioactivity, excluded pheochromocytoma.17 At that time the concentration of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity was found to be markedly decreased in the left ventricular myocardium (Figure 1).

Figure 2. Beat-to-beat heart rate and blood pressure responses to the Valsalva maneuver (12-second duration, 30 mm Hg) in July 2001 and November 2005. In the latter recording, note progressive decline in blood pressure during Phase II, smaller pressure overshoot, and delayed return of pressure toward baseline in Phase IV, consistent with worsening baroreflex-sympathoneural function. Heart rate responses during and after the maneuver were also smaller in 2005 than in 2001, despite larger changes in blood pressure, consistent with worsening baroreflex-cardiovagal function.
Autonomic function testing included measurements of beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate during and after performance of the Valsalva maneuver. Blood pressure decreased early in Phase II and then leveled off, and there was an overshoot in pressure during Phase IV (dashed line in Figure 2), which are normal findings. Baroreflex-cardiovagal gain, calculated from the slope of the relationship between cardiac interbeat interval (with one beat delay) and systolic blood pressure during Phase II of the maneuver, was decreased at 3.2 msec/mm Hg; baroreflex-cardiovagal gain calculated from the data in Phase IV after release of the maneuver was also decreased at 3.1 msec/mm Hg).11,14,15

Over several months in 2005 the patient noted progressive slowing of movement and inability to relax the arms, small handwriting, decreased facial expression, and decreased voice volume. The patient returned to the NIH in November 2005, to participate in a protocol on pseudopheochromocytoma, the evaluation again including 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic scanning and beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate associated with the Valsalva maneuver. 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET again revealed severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity throughout the left ventricular myocardium (Figure 1). In the interventricular septum, radioactivity at the midpoint of the scanning frame between 5 and 10 minutes after initiation of injection of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine was 1,286 nCi-kg/cc-mCi, more than 2 standard deviations below the normal mean and one of the lowest values we have recorded so far (Figure 3). Blood pressure decreased progressively in Phase II of the Valsalva maneuver, to a greater extent than in 2001, there was no overshoot of pressure after release of the maneuver, and the return of pressure toward baseline was prolonged, findings pointing to failure of sympathetically mediated reflexive vasoconstriction.12,23 Baroreflex-cardiovagal gain was also lower than in 2001 (1.2 msec/mm Hg from the results in Phase II, 2.6 msec/mm Hg from those in Phase IV), both because the range of heart was smaller and the extent of change in systolic pressure larger in 2005 than in 2001.

Figure 3. Individual values for septal myocardial 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, in normal control subjects (white circles), patients with Parkinson disease without sympathetic neurocirculatory failure (PD no SNF, green circles), patients with Parkinson disease and sympathetic neurocirculatory failure (PD SNF, blue circles), and the case reported here (large green circle). Dashed line shows the normal mean value and light green shaded area 2 standard deviations from the normal mean. Note markedly decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the current case.
As a test of the status of the adrenomedullary hormonal system, blood was obtained via an indwelling arm catheter during supine rest and after bolus i.v. injection of 1 mg of glucagon and assayed for plasma catecholamines in our laboratory. Both in July 2001 and November 2005, the ratio of plasma epinephrine (in pg/mL) to norepinephrine (in pg/mL) was relatively high during supine rest (76:99 and 101:234), and the patient had large increases of plasma epinephrine levels in response to glucagon (peak values more than 250 pg/mL, more than six times the normal peak value).

Neurological consultation in November 2005 noted stooped posture and axial instability, cogwheel rigidity in all four extremities, paucity of spontaneous movements, masked face with infrequent blinking, and monotone voice, but with normal speed of gait and no resting tremor. The patient was diagnosed with mild PD.

 

 

DISCUSSION

In this patient, results of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET scanning indicated cardiac sympathetic denervation 4 years before the clinical onset of PD. Considering that in PD loss of cardiac noradrenergic innervation progresses slowly over years,13 and that the patient already had evidence for markedly decreased cardiac noradrenergic innervation at the time of initial evaluation, loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves probably preceded the movement disorder by many more than the 4 years between initial testing and the onset of PD.

The findings in this case fit with previous reports of cardiac noradrenergic denervation in de novo PD and with the concept of a peripheral-to-central and caudal-to-rostral pathogenetic sequence. Orimo and co-workers have noted loss of noradrenergic terminal innervation of the myocardium before loss of cell bodies in sympathetic ganglia in PD.16

Our patient also had evidence for decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal function 4 years before the movement disorder. The baroreflex is a homeostatic arc, and abnormalities of afferent neurotransmission, central integration by brainstem centers, or vagal efferent pre-ganglionic or post-ganglionic fibers could result in the same clinical laboratory finding of low baroreflex-cardiovagal gain. In particular, the extent to which baroreflex-cardiovagal failure in PD reflects a brainstem lesion, as opposed to an afferent lesion or loss of parasympathetic cholinergic efferents, remains unknown. The results in our patient are consistent with the view that baroreflex-cardiovagal function worsens over years before the onset of PD.

Chronic constipation, which also preceded parkinsonism in our case, would be consistent with early dysregulation of gastrointestinal autonomic function. Accumulations of alpha-synuclein in enteric neurons and in the dorsal motor nucleus of the vagus nerve, the central neural site of origin of parasympathetic innervation of much of the gastrointestinal tract, has been reported to be an early pathological finding.3 As noted above, however, the occurrence of central neural pathology would not exclude a concurrent afferent or efferent lesion, and studies have found Lewy bodies in the myenteric plexus of both the esophagus and colon,9 as well as loss of enteric dopaminergic neurons in PD with chronic constipation.19

Evidence for abnormalities of the sympathetic norad renergic and parasympathetic cholinergic components of the autonomic nervous system in our patient occurred without evidence for compromised adrenomedullary function. On the contrary, the patient had augmented plasma epinephrine responses to glucagon injection, both upon initial evaluation and at follow-up. The patient therefore did not appear to have diffuse loss of catecholaminergic cells. Although studies have noted decreased adrenomedullary catecholamine concentrations in patients with severe PD,7,20,21 plasma levels of epinephrine and its O-methylated metabolite, metanephrine, have been reported to be normal.10

Combined cardiac sympathetic denervation (with attendant denervation supersensitivity), baroreflex-cardiovagal hypofunction, and adrenomedullary hyper-responsiveness might explain the symptoms and signs of cardiovascular instability, such as episodic hypertensive paroxysms, tachycardia, palpitations, and chest pain despite normal coronary arteries, that led to clinical suspicion of pheochromocytoma in this patient.

The results in this case lead us to propose that cardiac sympathetic denervation and decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal gain may be biomarkers of early autonomic involvement in PD. Studies in progress about autonomic function in relatives of patients with familial PD should help test this hypothesis.

References
  1. Bonuccelli U, Lucetti C, Del Dotto P, et al. Orthostatic hypotension in de novo Parkinson disease. Arch Neurol 2003; 60:14001404.
  2. Bouhaddi M, Vuillier F, Fortrat JO, et al. Impaired cardiovascular autonomic control in newly and long-term-treated patients with Parkinson’s disease: involvement of L-dopa therapy. Auton Neurosci 2004; 116:3038.
  3. Braak H, de Vos RA, Bohl J, Del Tredici K. Gastric alpha-synuclein immunoreactive inclusions in Meissner’s and Auerbach’s plexuses in cases staged for Parkinson’s disease-related brain pathology. Neurosci Lett 2006; 396:6772.
  4. Braak H, Rub U, Gai WP, Del Tredici K. Idiopathic Parkinson’s disease: possible routes by which vulnerable neuronal types may be subject to neuroinvasion by an unknown pathogen. J Neural Transm 2003; 110:517536.
  5. Braune S. The role of cardiac metaiodobenzylguanidine uptake in the differential diagnosis of parkinsonian syndromes. Clin Auton Res 2001; 11:351355.
  6. Camerlingo M, Aillon C, Bottacchi E, et al. Parasympathetic assessment in Parkinson’s disease. Adv Neurol 1987; 45:267269.
  7. Carmichael SW, Wilson RJ, Brimijoin WS, et al. Decreased catecholamines in the adrenal medulla of patients with parkinsonism. N Engl J Med 1988; 318:254.
  8. Druschky A, Hilz MJ, Platsch G, et al. Differentiation of Parkinson’s disease and multiple system atrophy in early disease stages by means of I-123-MIBG-SPECT. J Neurol Sci 2000; 175:312.
  9. Edwards LL, Quigley EM, Pfeiffer RF. Gastrointestinal dysfunction in Parkinson’s disease: frequency and pathophysiology. Neurology 1992; 42:726732.
  10. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sharabi Y, Brentzel S, Eisenhofer G. Plasma levels of catechols and metanephrines in neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. Neurology 2003; 60:13271332.
  11. Goldstein DS, Horwitz D, Keiser HR. Comparison of techniques for measuring baroreflex sensitivity in man. Circulation 1982; 66:432439.
  12. Goldstein DS, Tack C. Noninvasive detection of sympathetic neurocirculatory failure. Clin Auton Res 2000; 10:285291.
  13. Li ST, Dendi R, Holmes C, Goldstein DS. Progressive loss of cardiac sympathetic innervation in Parkinson’s disease. Ann Neurol 2002; 52:220223.
  14. Oka H, Mochio S, Onouchi K, Morita M, Yoshioka M, Inoue K. Cardiovascular dysautonomia in de novo Parkinson’s disease. J Neurol Sci 2006; 241:5965.
  15. Oka H, Mochio S, Yoshioka M, Morita M, Onouchi K, Inoue K. Cardiovascular dysautonomia in Parkinson’s disease and multiple system atrophy. Acta Neurol Scand 2006; 113:221227.
  16. Orimo S, Amino T, Itoh Y, et al. Cardiac sympathetic denervation precedes neuronal loss in the sympathetic ganglia in Lewy body disease. Acta Neuropathol (Berl) 2005; 109:583588.
  17. Pacak K, Eisenhofer G, Carrasquillo JA, Chen CC, Li ST, Goldstein DS. 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic (PET) scanning for diagnostic localization of pheochromocytoma. Hypertension 2001; 38:68.
  18. Quadri R, Comino I, Scarzella L, et al. Autonomic nervous function in de novo parkinsonian patients in basal condition and after acute levodopa administration. Funct Neurol 2000; 15:8186.
  19. Singaram C, Ashraf W, Gaumnitz EA, et al. Dopaminergic defect of enteric nervous system in Parkinson’s disease patients with chronic constipation. Lancet 1995; 346:861864.
  20. Stoddard SL, Ahlskog JE, Kelly PJ, et al. Decreased adrenal medullary catecholamines in adrenal transplanted parkinsonian patients compared to nephrectomy patients. Exp Neurol 1989; 104:218222.
  21. Stoddard SL, Tyce GM, Ahlskog JE, Zinsmeister AR, Carmichael SW. Decreased catecholamine content in parkinsonian adrenal medullae. Exp Neurol 1989; 104:2227.
  22. Takatsu H, Nishida H, Matsuo H, et al. Cardiac sympathetic denervation from the early stage of Parkinson’s disease: clinical and experimental studies with radiolabeled MIBG. J Nucl Med 2000; 41:7177.
  23. Vogel ER, Sandroni P, Low PA. Blood pressure recovery from Valsalva maneuver in patients with autonomic failure. Neurology 2005; 65:15331537.
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David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS), National Institutes of Health (NIH), Bethesda, MD

Yehonatan Sharabi, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Barbara I. Karp, MD
Clinical Neurosciences Program, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Oladi Bentho
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Ahmed Saleem, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Karel Pacak, MD, PhD
Reproductive Biology and Medicine Branch, National Institute of Child Health and Development, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Graeme Eisenhofer, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Correspondence: David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD, Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, 10 Center Drive MSC-1620, Building 10, Room 6N252, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620;[email protected]

*This article is reprinted, with permission, from Clinical Autonomic Research (Goldstein DS, et al. Clin Auton Res 2007; 17:118–121). The original publication is available at www.springerlink.com.

No author conflicts of interest were reported in the original publication of this article.

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David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS), National Institutes of Health (NIH), Bethesda, MD

Yehonatan Sharabi, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Barbara I. Karp, MD
Clinical Neurosciences Program, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Oladi Bentho
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Ahmed Saleem, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Karel Pacak, MD, PhD
Reproductive Biology and Medicine Branch, National Institute of Child Health and Development, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Graeme Eisenhofer, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Correspondence: David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD, Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, 10 Center Drive MSC-1620, Building 10, Room 6N252, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620;[email protected]

*This article is reprinted, with permission, from Clinical Autonomic Research (Goldstein DS, et al. Clin Auton Res 2007; 17:118–121). The original publication is available at www.springerlink.com.

No author conflicts of interest were reported in the original publication of this article.

Author and Disclosure Information

David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS), National Institutes of Health (NIH), Bethesda, MD

Yehonatan Sharabi, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Barbara I. Karp, MD
Clinical Neurosciences Program, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Oladi Bentho
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Ahmed Saleem, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Karel Pacak, MD, PhD
Reproductive Biology and Medicine Branch, National Institute of Child Health and Development, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Graeme Eisenhofer, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Correspondence: David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD, Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, 10 Center Drive MSC-1620, Building 10, Room 6N252, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620;[email protected]

*This article is reprinted, with permission, from Clinical Autonomic Research (Goldstein DS, et al. Clin Auton Res 2007; 17:118–121). The original publication is available at www.springerlink.com.

No author conflicts of interest were reported in the original publication of this article.

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In Parkinson disease (PD), by the time the movement disorder develops, most of the nigrostriatal dopamine terminals have been lost. Identification of biomarkers of PD should improve early diagnosis and spur development of effective treatments.

Braak has proposed a pathogenetic sequence beginning outside the brain, with invasion of peripheral, vulnerable autonomic neurons, followed by alpha-synucleinopathy in lower brainstem nuclei and then by alpha-synucleinopathy in the midbrain substantia nigra and then finally in the cerebral cortex.3,4 Consistent with early involvement of peripheral autonomic or lower brainstem centers, several studies of de novo PD have reported evidence of cardiac noradrenergic denervation5,8,14,22 or of decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal function.1,2,6,14,18

Whether these abnormalities can actually precede symptomatic PD has been unknown. Here we report the case of a patient who had cardiac noradrenergic denervation, detected by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomography, and decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal gain, detected by abnormal beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate responses to the Valsalva maneuver, 4 years before the clinical onset of PD.

CASE REPORT

A 56-year-old man was referred for possible pheochromocytoma, based on episodic hypertensive episodes and symptoms suggesting excessive catecholamine effects.

He had no serious health problems until about 1998, when he began to experience malaise and exercise intolerance and episodes of hypertension or hypotension, palpitations, and chest tightness. He also had a long history of constipation and dyspepsia, a tendency to urinary retention, and complained of a sense of fullness in the left neck. The patient’s career was in marketing and business development, until he quit work due to his symptoms. His mother had died of PD. Cardiac catheterization showed normal coronary arteries. Gastrointestinal endoscopy was unrevealing. Biochemical testing showed elevated plasma levels and urinary excretion of epinephrine. Thyroid function was normal.

Figure 1. Thoracic 6-[18F]fluorodopamine (18FDA) and 13N-ammonia (13NH3) images in July 2001 and November 2005. Note absence of left ventricular myocardial 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity at both times, indicating cardiac sympathetic denervation. Myocardial perfusion, as indicated by 13NH3-derived radioactivity, was normal.
Because of the hypertensive paroxysms, pheochromocytoma was suspected. In April 2000, the patient had a plasma epinephrine level about twice the upper limit of normal and a plasma metanephrine level about 50% above normal. In July 2001, he was evaluated at the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Normal follow-up plasma metanephrine, and failure of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET to detect an adrenal or extra-adrenal focus of radioactivity, excluded pheochromocytoma.17 At that time the concentration of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity was found to be markedly decreased in the left ventricular myocardium (Figure 1).

Figure 2. Beat-to-beat heart rate and blood pressure responses to the Valsalva maneuver (12-second duration, 30 mm Hg) in July 2001 and November 2005. In the latter recording, note progressive decline in blood pressure during Phase II, smaller pressure overshoot, and delayed return of pressure toward baseline in Phase IV, consistent with worsening baroreflex-sympathoneural function. Heart rate responses during and after the maneuver were also smaller in 2005 than in 2001, despite larger changes in blood pressure, consistent with worsening baroreflex-cardiovagal function.
Autonomic function testing included measurements of beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate during and after performance of the Valsalva maneuver. Blood pressure decreased early in Phase II and then leveled off, and there was an overshoot in pressure during Phase IV (dashed line in Figure 2), which are normal findings. Baroreflex-cardiovagal gain, calculated from the slope of the relationship between cardiac interbeat interval (with one beat delay) and systolic blood pressure during Phase II of the maneuver, was decreased at 3.2 msec/mm Hg; baroreflex-cardiovagal gain calculated from the data in Phase IV after release of the maneuver was also decreased at 3.1 msec/mm Hg).11,14,15

Over several months in 2005 the patient noted progressive slowing of movement and inability to relax the arms, small handwriting, decreased facial expression, and decreased voice volume. The patient returned to the NIH in November 2005, to participate in a protocol on pseudopheochromocytoma, the evaluation again including 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic scanning and beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate associated with the Valsalva maneuver. 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET again revealed severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity throughout the left ventricular myocardium (Figure 1). In the interventricular septum, radioactivity at the midpoint of the scanning frame between 5 and 10 minutes after initiation of injection of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine was 1,286 nCi-kg/cc-mCi, more than 2 standard deviations below the normal mean and one of the lowest values we have recorded so far (Figure 3). Blood pressure decreased progressively in Phase II of the Valsalva maneuver, to a greater extent than in 2001, there was no overshoot of pressure after release of the maneuver, and the return of pressure toward baseline was prolonged, findings pointing to failure of sympathetically mediated reflexive vasoconstriction.12,23 Baroreflex-cardiovagal gain was also lower than in 2001 (1.2 msec/mm Hg from the results in Phase II, 2.6 msec/mm Hg from those in Phase IV), both because the range of heart was smaller and the extent of change in systolic pressure larger in 2005 than in 2001.

Figure 3. Individual values for septal myocardial 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, in normal control subjects (white circles), patients with Parkinson disease without sympathetic neurocirculatory failure (PD no SNF, green circles), patients with Parkinson disease and sympathetic neurocirculatory failure (PD SNF, blue circles), and the case reported here (large green circle). Dashed line shows the normal mean value and light green shaded area 2 standard deviations from the normal mean. Note markedly decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the current case.
As a test of the status of the adrenomedullary hormonal system, blood was obtained via an indwelling arm catheter during supine rest and after bolus i.v. injection of 1 mg of glucagon and assayed for plasma catecholamines in our laboratory. Both in July 2001 and November 2005, the ratio of plasma epinephrine (in pg/mL) to norepinephrine (in pg/mL) was relatively high during supine rest (76:99 and 101:234), and the patient had large increases of plasma epinephrine levels in response to glucagon (peak values more than 250 pg/mL, more than six times the normal peak value).

Neurological consultation in November 2005 noted stooped posture and axial instability, cogwheel rigidity in all four extremities, paucity of spontaneous movements, masked face with infrequent blinking, and monotone voice, but with normal speed of gait and no resting tremor. The patient was diagnosed with mild PD.

 

 

DISCUSSION

In this patient, results of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET scanning indicated cardiac sympathetic denervation 4 years before the clinical onset of PD. Considering that in PD loss of cardiac noradrenergic innervation progresses slowly over years,13 and that the patient already had evidence for markedly decreased cardiac noradrenergic innervation at the time of initial evaluation, loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves probably preceded the movement disorder by many more than the 4 years between initial testing and the onset of PD.

The findings in this case fit with previous reports of cardiac noradrenergic denervation in de novo PD and with the concept of a peripheral-to-central and caudal-to-rostral pathogenetic sequence. Orimo and co-workers have noted loss of noradrenergic terminal innervation of the myocardium before loss of cell bodies in sympathetic ganglia in PD.16

Our patient also had evidence for decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal function 4 years before the movement disorder. The baroreflex is a homeostatic arc, and abnormalities of afferent neurotransmission, central integration by brainstem centers, or vagal efferent pre-ganglionic or post-ganglionic fibers could result in the same clinical laboratory finding of low baroreflex-cardiovagal gain. In particular, the extent to which baroreflex-cardiovagal failure in PD reflects a brainstem lesion, as opposed to an afferent lesion or loss of parasympathetic cholinergic efferents, remains unknown. The results in our patient are consistent with the view that baroreflex-cardiovagal function worsens over years before the onset of PD.

Chronic constipation, which also preceded parkinsonism in our case, would be consistent with early dysregulation of gastrointestinal autonomic function. Accumulations of alpha-synuclein in enteric neurons and in the dorsal motor nucleus of the vagus nerve, the central neural site of origin of parasympathetic innervation of much of the gastrointestinal tract, has been reported to be an early pathological finding.3 As noted above, however, the occurrence of central neural pathology would not exclude a concurrent afferent or efferent lesion, and studies have found Lewy bodies in the myenteric plexus of both the esophagus and colon,9 as well as loss of enteric dopaminergic neurons in PD with chronic constipation.19

Evidence for abnormalities of the sympathetic norad renergic and parasympathetic cholinergic components of the autonomic nervous system in our patient occurred without evidence for compromised adrenomedullary function. On the contrary, the patient had augmented plasma epinephrine responses to glucagon injection, both upon initial evaluation and at follow-up. The patient therefore did not appear to have diffuse loss of catecholaminergic cells. Although studies have noted decreased adrenomedullary catecholamine concentrations in patients with severe PD,7,20,21 plasma levels of epinephrine and its O-methylated metabolite, metanephrine, have been reported to be normal.10

Combined cardiac sympathetic denervation (with attendant denervation supersensitivity), baroreflex-cardiovagal hypofunction, and adrenomedullary hyper-responsiveness might explain the symptoms and signs of cardiovascular instability, such as episodic hypertensive paroxysms, tachycardia, palpitations, and chest pain despite normal coronary arteries, that led to clinical suspicion of pheochromocytoma in this patient.

The results in this case lead us to propose that cardiac sympathetic denervation and decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal gain may be biomarkers of early autonomic involvement in PD. Studies in progress about autonomic function in relatives of patients with familial PD should help test this hypothesis.

In Parkinson disease (PD), by the time the movement disorder develops, most of the nigrostriatal dopamine terminals have been lost. Identification of biomarkers of PD should improve early diagnosis and spur development of effective treatments.

Braak has proposed a pathogenetic sequence beginning outside the brain, with invasion of peripheral, vulnerable autonomic neurons, followed by alpha-synucleinopathy in lower brainstem nuclei and then by alpha-synucleinopathy in the midbrain substantia nigra and then finally in the cerebral cortex.3,4 Consistent with early involvement of peripheral autonomic or lower brainstem centers, several studies of de novo PD have reported evidence of cardiac noradrenergic denervation5,8,14,22 or of decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal function.1,2,6,14,18

Whether these abnormalities can actually precede symptomatic PD has been unknown. Here we report the case of a patient who had cardiac noradrenergic denervation, detected by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomography, and decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal gain, detected by abnormal beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate responses to the Valsalva maneuver, 4 years before the clinical onset of PD.

CASE REPORT

A 56-year-old man was referred for possible pheochromocytoma, based on episodic hypertensive episodes and symptoms suggesting excessive catecholamine effects.

He had no serious health problems until about 1998, when he began to experience malaise and exercise intolerance and episodes of hypertension or hypotension, palpitations, and chest tightness. He also had a long history of constipation and dyspepsia, a tendency to urinary retention, and complained of a sense of fullness in the left neck. The patient’s career was in marketing and business development, until he quit work due to his symptoms. His mother had died of PD. Cardiac catheterization showed normal coronary arteries. Gastrointestinal endoscopy was unrevealing. Biochemical testing showed elevated plasma levels and urinary excretion of epinephrine. Thyroid function was normal.

Figure 1. Thoracic 6-[18F]fluorodopamine (18FDA) and 13N-ammonia (13NH3) images in July 2001 and November 2005. Note absence of left ventricular myocardial 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity at both times, indicating cardiac sympathetic denervation. Myocardial perfusion, as indicated by 13NH3-derived radioactivity, was normal.
Because of the hypertensive paroxysms, pheochromocytoma was suspected. In April 2000, the patient had a plasma epinephrine level about twice the upper limit of normal and a plasma metanephrine level about 50% above normal. In July 2001, he was evaluated at the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Normal follow-up plasma metanephrine, and failure of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET to detect an adrenal or extra-adrenal focus of radioactivity, excluded pheochromocytoma.17 At that time the concentration of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity was found to be markedly decreased in the left ventricular myocardium (Figure 1).

Figure 2. Beat-to-beat heart rate and blood pressure responses to the Valsalva maneuver (12-second duration, 30 mm Hg) in July 2001 and November 2005. In the latter recording, note progressive decline in blood pressure during Phase II, smaller pressure overshoot, and delayed return of pressure toward baseline in Phase IV, consistent with worsening baroreflex-sympathoneural function. Heart rate responses during and after the maneuver were also smaller in 2005 than in 2001, despite larger changes in blood pressure, consistent with worsening baroreflex-cardiovagal function.
Autonomic function testing included measurements of beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate during and after performance of the Valsalva maneuver. Blood pressure decreased early in Phase II and then leveled off, and there was an overshoot in pressure during Phase IV (dashed line in Figure 2), which are normal findings. Baroreflex-cardiovagal gain, calculated from the slope of the relationship between cardiac interbeat interval (with one beat delay) and systolic blood pressure during Phase II of the maneuver, was decreased at 3.2 msec/mm Hg; baroreflex-cardiovagal gain calculated from the data in Phase IV after release of the maneuver was also decreased at 3.1 msec/mm Hg).11,14,15

Over several months in 2005 the patient noted progressive slowing of movement and inability to relax the arms, small handwriting, decreased facial expression, and decreased voice volume. The patient returned to the NIH in November 2005, to participate in a protocol on pseudopheochromocytoma, the evaluation again including 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic scanning and beat-to-beat blood pressure and heart rate associated with the Valsalva maneuver. 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET again revealed severely decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity throughout the left ventricular myocardium (Figure 1). In the interventricular septum, radioactivity at the midpoint of the scanning frame between 5 and 10 minutes after initiation of injection of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine was 1,286 nCi-kg/cc-mCi, more than 2 standard deviations below the normal mean and one of the lowest values we have recorded so far (Figure 3). Blood pressure decreased progressively in Phase II of the Valsalva maneuver, to a greater extent than in 2001, there was no overshoot of pressure after release of the maneuver, and the return of pressure toward baseline was prolonged, findings pointing to failure of sympathetically mediated reflexive vasoconstriction.12,23 Baroreflex-cardiovagal gain was also lower than in 2001 (1.2 msec/mm Hg from the results in Phase II, 2.6 msec/mm Hg from those in Phase IV), both because the range of heart was smaller and the extent of change in systolic pressure larger in 2005 than in 2001.

Figure 3. Individual values for septal myocardial 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, in normal control subjects (white circles), patients with Parkinson disease without sympathetic neurocirculatory failure (PD no SNF, green circles), patients with Parkinson disease and sympathetic neurocirculatory failure (PD SNF, blue circles), and the case reported here (large green circle). Dashed line shows the normal mean value and light green shaded area 2 standard deviations from the normal mean. Note markedly decreased 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the current case.
As a test of the status of the adrenomedullary hormonal system, blood was obtained via an indwelling arm catheter during supine rest and after bolus i.v. injection of 1 mg of glucagon and assayed for plasma catecholamines in our laboratory. Both in July 2001 and November 2005, the ratio of plasma epinephrine (in pg/mL) to norepinephrine (in pg/mL) was relatively high during supine rest (76:99 and 101:234), and the patient had large increases of plasma epinephrine levels in response to glucagon (peak values more than 250 pg/mL, more than six times the normal peak value).

Neurological consultation in November 2005 noted stooped posture and axial instability, cogwheel rigidity in all four extremities, paucity of spontaneous movements, masked face with infrequent blinking, and monotone voice, but with normal speed of gait and no resting tremor. The patient was diagnosed with mild PD.

 

 

DISCUSSION

In this patient, results of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine PET scanning indicated cardiac sympathetic denervation 4 years before the clinical onset of PD. Considering that in PD loss of cardiac noradrenergic innervation progresses slowly over years,13 and that the patient already had evidence for markedly decreased cardiac noradrenergic innervation at the time of initial evaluation, loss of cardiac sympathetic nerves probably preceded the movement disorder by many more than the 4 years between initial testing and the onset of PD.

The findings in this case fit with previous reports of cardiac noradrenergic denervation in de novo PD and with the concept of a peripheral-to-central and caudal-to-rostral pathogenetic sequence. Orimo and co-workers have noted loss of noradrenergic terminal innervation of the myocardium before loss of cell bodies in sympathetic ganglia in PD.16

Our patient also had evidence for decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal function 4 years before the movement disorder. The baroreflex is a homeostatic arc, and abnormalities of afferent neurotransmission, central integration by brainstem centers, or vagal efferent pre-ganglionic or post-ganglionic fibers could result in the same clinical laboratory finding of low baroreflex-cardiovagal gain. In particular, the extent to which baroreflex-cardiovagal failure in PD reflects a brainstem lesion, as opposed to an afferent lesion or loss of parasympathetic cholinergic efferents, remains unknown. The results in our patient are consistent with the view that baroreflex-cardiovagal function worsens over years before the onset of PD.

Chronic constipation, which also preceded parkinsonism in our case, would be consistent with early dysregulation of gastrointestinal autonomic function. Accumulations of alpha-synuclein in enteric neurons and in the dorsal motor nucleus of the vagus nerve, the central neural site of origin of parasympathetic innervation of much of the gastrointestinal tract, has been reported to be an early pathological finding.3 As noted above, however, the occurrence of central neural pathology would not exclude a concurrent afferent or efferent lesion, and studies have found Lewy bodies in the myenteric plexus of both the esophagus and colon,9 as well as loss of enteric dopaminergic neurons in PD with chronic constipation.19

Evidence for abnormalities of the sympathetic norad renergic and parasympathetic cholinergic components of the autonomic nervous system in our patient occurred without evidence for compromised adrenomedullary function. On the contrary, the patient had augmented plasma epinephrine responses to glucagon injection, both upon initial evaluation and at follow-up. The patient therefore did not appear to have diffuse loss of catecholaminergic cells. Although studies have noted decreased adrenomedullary catecholamine concentrations in patients with severe PD,7,20,21 plasma levels of epinephrine and its O-methylated metabolite, metanephrine, have been reported to be normal.10

Combined cardiac sympathetic denervation (with attendant denervation supersensitivity), baroreflex-cardiovagal hypofunction, and adrenomedullary hyper-responsiveness might explain the symptoms and signs of cardiovascular instability, such as episodic hypertensive paroxysms, tachycardia, palpitations, and chest pain despite normal coronary arteries, that led to clinical suspicion of pheochromocytoma in this patient.

The results in this case lead us to propose that cardiac sympathetic denervation and decreased baroreflex-cardiovagal gain may be biomarkers of early autonomic involvement in PD. Studies in progress about autonomic function in relatives of patients with familial PD should help test this hypothesis.

References
  1. Bonuccelli U, Lucetti C, Del Dotto P, et al. Orthostatic hypotension in de novo Parkinson disease. Arch Neurol 2003; 60:14001404.
  2. Bouhaddi M, Vuillier F, Fortrat JO, et al. Impaired cardiovascular autonomic control in newly and long-term-treated patients with Parkinson’s disease: involvement of L-dopa therapy. Auton Neurosci 2004; 116:3038.
  3. Braak H, de Vos RA, Bohl J, Del Tredici K. Gastric alpha-synuclein immunoreactive inclusions in Meissner’s and Auerbach’s plexuses in cases staged for Parkinson’s disease-related brain pathology. Neurosci Lett 2006; 396:6772.
  4. Braak H, Rub U, Gai WP, Del Tredici K. Idiopathic Parkinson’s disease: possible routes by which vulnerable neuronal types may be subject to neuroinvasion by an unknown pathogen. J Neural Transm 2003; 110:517536.
  5. Braune S. The role of cardiac metaiodobenzylguanidine uptake in the differential diagnosis of parkinsonian syndromes. Clin Auton Res 2001; 11:351355.
  6. Camerlingo M, Aillon C, Bottacchi E, et al. Parasympathetic assessment in Parkinson’s disease. Adv Neurol 1987; 45:267269.
  7. Carmichael SW, Wilson RJ, Brimijoin WS, et al. Decreased catecholamines in the adrenal medulla of patients with parkinsonism. N Engl J Med 1988; 318:254.
  8. Druschky A, Hilz MJ, Platsch G, et al. Differentiation of Parkinson’s disease and multiple system atrophy in early disease stages by means of I-123-MIBG-SPECT. J Neurol Sci 2000; 175:312.
  9. Edwards LL, Quigley EM, Pfeiffer RF. Gastrointestinal dysfunction in Parkinson’s disease: frequency and pathophysiology. Neurology 1992; 42:726732.
  10. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sharabi Y, Brentzel S, Eisenhofer G. Plasma levels of catechols and metanephrines in neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. Neurology 2003; 60:13271332.
  11. Goldstein DS, Horwitz D, Keiser HR. Comparison of techniques for measuring baroreflex sensitivity in man. Circulation 1982; 66:432439.
  12. Goldstein DS, Tack C. Noninvasive detection of sympathetic neurocirculatory failure. Clin Auton Res 2000; 10:285291.
  13. Li ST, Dendi R, Holmes C, Goldstein DS. Progressive loss of cardiac sympathetic innervation in Parkinson’s disease. Ann Neurol 2002; 52:220223.
  14. Oka H, Mochio S, Onouchi K, Morita M, Yoshioka M, Inoue K. Cardiovascular dysautonomia in de novo Parkinson’s disease. J Neurol Sci 2006; 241:5965.
  15. Oka H, Mochio S, Yoshioka M, Morita M, Onouchi K, Inoue K. Cardiovascular dysautonomia in Parkinson’s disease and multiple system atrophy. Acta Neurol Scand 2006; 113:221227.
  16. Orimo S, Amino T, Itoh Y, et al. Cardiac sympathetic denervation precedes neuronal loss in the sympathetic ganglia in Lewy body disease. Acta Neuropathol (Berl) 2005; 109:583588.
  17. Pacak K, Eisenhofer G, Carrasquillo JA, Chen CC, Li ST, Goldstein DS. 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic (PET) scanning for diagnostic localization of pheochromocytoma. Hypertension 2001; 38:68.
  18. Quadri R, Comino I, Scarzella L, et al. Autonomic nervous function in de novo parkinsonian patients in basal condition and after acute levodopa administration. Funct Neurol 2000; 15:8186.
  19. Singaram C, Ashraf W, Gaumnitz EA, et al. Dopaminergic defect of enteric nervous system in Parkinson’s disease patients with chronic constipation. Lancet 1995; 346:861864.
  20. Stoddard SL, Ahlskog JE, Kelly PJ, et al. Decreased adrenal medullary catecholamines in adrenal transplanted parkinsonian patients compared to nephrectomy patients. Exp Neurol 1989; 104:218222.
  21. Stoddard SL, Tyce GM, Ahlskog JE, Zinsmeister AR, Carmichael SW. Decreased catecholamine content in parkinsonian adrenal medullae. Exp Neurol 1989; 104:2227.
  22. Takatsu H, Nishida H, Matsuo H, et al. Cardiac sympathetic denervation from the early stage of Parkinson’s disease: clinical and experimental studies with radiolabeled MIBG. J Nucl Med 2000; 41:7177.
  23. Vogel ER, Sandroni P, Low PA. Blood pressure recovery from Valsalva maneuver in patients with autonomic failure. Neurology 2005; 65:15331537.
References
  1. Bonuccelli U, Lucetti C, Del Dotto P, et al. Orthostatic hypotension in de novo Parkinson disease. Arch Neurol 2003; 60:14001404.
  2. Bouhaddi M, Vuillier F, Fortrat JO, et al. Impaired cardiovascular autonomic control in newly and long-term-treated patients with Parkinson’s disease: involvement of L-dopa therapy. Auton Neurosci 2004; 116:3038.
  3. Braak H, de Vos RA, Bohl J, Del Tredici K. Gastric alpha-synuclein immunoreactive inclusions in Meissner’s and Auerbach’s plexuses in cases staged for Parkinson’s disease-related brain pathology. Neurosci Lett 2006; 396:6772.
  4. Braak H, Rub U, Gai WP, Del Tredici K. Idiopathic Parkinson’s disease: possible routes by which vulnerable neuronal types may be subject to neuroinvasion by an unknown pathogen. J Neural Transm 2003; 110:517536.
  5. Braune S. The role of cardiac metaiodobenzylguanidine uptake in the differential diagnosis of parkinsonian syndromes. Clin Auton Res 2001; 11:351355.
  6. Camerlingo M, Aillon C, Bottacchi E, et al. Parasympathetic assessment in Parkinson’s disease. Adv Neurol 1987; 45:267269.
  7. Carmichael SW, Wilson RJ, Brimijoin WS, et al. Decreased catecholamines in the adrenal medulla of patients with parkinsonism. N Engl J Med 1988; 318:254.
  8. Druschky A, Hilz MJ, Platsch G, et al. Differentiation of Parkinson’s disease and multiple system atrophy in early disease stages by means of I-123-MIBG-SPECT. J Neurol Sci 2000; 175:312.
  9. Edwards LL, Quigley EM, Pfeiffer RF. Gastrointestinal dysfunction in Parkinson’s disease: frequency and pathophysiology. Neurology 1992; 42:726732.
  10. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Sharabi Y, Brentzel S, Eisenhofer G. Plasma levels of catechols and metanephrines in neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. Neurology 2003; 60:13271332.
  11. Goldstein DS, Horwitz D, Keiser HR. Comparison of techniques for measuring baroreflex sensitivity in man. Circulation 1982; 66:432439.
  12. Goldstein DS, Tack C. Noninvasive detection of sympathetic neurocirculatory failure. Clin Auton Res 2000; 10:285291.
  13. Li ST, Dendi R, Holmes C, Goldstein DS. Progressive loss of cardiac sympathetic innervation in Parkinson’s disease. Ann Neurol 2002; 52:220223.
  14. Oka H, Mochio S, Onouchi K, Morita M, Yoshioka M, Inoue K. Cardiovascular dysautonomia in de novo Parkinson’s disease. J Neurol Sci 2006; 241:5965.
  15. Oka H, Mochio S, Yoshioka M, Morita M, Onouchi K, Inoue K. Cardiovascular dysautonomia in Parkinson’s disease and multiple system atrophy. Acta Neurol Scand 2006; 113:221227.
  16. Orimo S, Amino T, Itoh Y, et al. Cardiac sympathetic denervation precedes neuronal loss in the sympathetic ganglia in Lewy body disease. Acta Neuropathol (Berl) 2005; 109:583588.
  17. Pacak K, Eisenhofer G, Carrasquillo JA, Chen CC, Li ST, Goldstein DS. 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic (PET) scanning for diagnostic localization of pheochromocytoma. Hypertension 2001; 38:68.
  18. Quadri R, Comino I, Scarzella L, et al. Autonomic nervous function in de novo parkinsonian patients in basal condition and after acute levodopa administration. Funct Neurol 2000; 15:8186.
  19. Singaram C, Ashraf W, Gaumnitz EA, et al. Dopaminergic defect of enteric nervous system in Parkinson’s disease patients with chronic constipation. Lancet 1995; 346:861864.
  20. Stoddard SL, Ahlskog JE, Kelly PJ, et al. Decreased adrenal medullary catecholamines in adrenal transplanted parkinsonian patients compared to nephrectomy patients. Exp Neurol 1989; 104:218222.
  21. Stoddard SL, Tyce GM, Ahlskog JE, Zinsmeister AR, Carmichael SW. Decreased catecholamine content in parkinsonian adrenal medullae. Exp Neurol 1989; 104:2227.
  22. Takatsu H, Nishida H, Matsuo H, et al. Cardiac sympathetic denervation from the early stage of Parkinson’s disease: clinical and experimental studies with radiolabeled MIBG. J Nucl Med 2000; 41:7177.
  23. Vogel ER, Sandroni P, Low PA. Blood pressure recovery from Valsalva maneuver in patients with autonomic failure. Neurology 2005; 65:15331537.
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Supine low-frequency power of heart rate variability reflects baroreflex function, not cardiac sympathetic innervation*

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Supine low-frequency power of heart rate variability reflects baroreflex function, not cardiac sympathetic innervation*

Spectral analysis of heart rate variability (HRV) has been used widely as a noninvasive technique for examining sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous outflows to the heart. Low-frequency (LF) and high-frequency (HF) power have been used most commonly. Human and animal experiments have repeatedly confirmed the dependence of HF power on respiration-related alterations in parasympathetic cardiovagal outflow–respiratory sinus arrhythmia; however, whether LF power provides an indirect measure of cardiac sympathetic activity has been contentious. Pagani et al1 reported that LF power (normalized to total spectral power) increased during states associated with sympathetic noradrenergic activation and that bilateral stellectomy in dogs reduced LF power. Alvarenga et al,2 however, reported that LF power was unrelated to all measures of norepinephrine kinetics in the heart; and in congestive heart failure, which is associated with a high rate of entry of norepinephrine into coronary sinus plasma (cardiac norepinephrine spillover),3 LF power is decreased, not increased as might be expected if LF power reflected sympathetic activity.4–7

Sleight et al8 proposed an alternative explanation for the origin of LF power. In a small group of human subjects, power spectral analysis of HRV showed that the amplitude of LF power was related to baroreflex gain and not to the level of sympathetic activity. Carotid sinus stimulation increased LF power only in individuals with normal baroreflex sensitivity and did not do so in those with depressed baroreflex gain. Therefore, results of power spectral analysis of LF power might reflect baroreflex-cardiovagal function.9

Studies of patients with dysautonomias provide an unusual opportunity to examine neurocirculatory correlates of LF power. Some chronic autonomic failure syndromes feature cardiac sympathetic denervation, whereas others do not. Parkinson disease with neurogenic orthostatic hypotension and pure autonomic failure feature cardiac sympathetic denervation, whereas multiple system atrophy does not.10 All 3 diseases involve baroreflex-cardiovagal and baro-reflex-sympathoneural failure.11 Chronic orthostatic intolerance syndromes (postural tachycardia syndrome, neurocardiogenic syncope) do not entail either cardiac sympathetic denervation or baroreflex failure.12

For this article, we carried out power spectral analyses of HRV on digitized electrocardiographic recordings from dysautonomia patients and normal volunteers during supine rest, measurement of cardiac norepinephrine spillover, and intravenous infusion of yohimbine and tyramine, 2 drugs that are known to release norepinephrine from cardiac sympathetic nerves.13,14 Cardiac sympathetic innervation was assessed by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic scanning.15

We hypothesized that if LF power indicated cardiac sympathetic innervation and function, then patients with neuroimaging or neurochemical evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation would have low LF power and attenuated increments in LF power in response to yohimbine and tyramine. Alternatively, if LF power was reflective of baroreflex function, alterations of LF power would be independent of cardiac sympathetic innervation status and correlate with changes in baroreflex gain.

METHODS

The study protocols were approved by the Intramural Research Board of the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke. All subjects were studied at the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center after giving informed, written consent.

Subjects

The study population consisted of a total of 98 subjects who participated in research protocols studying chronic orthostatic intolerance and chronic autonomic failure (Table 1). The subjects underwent autonomic function testing and had reviewable, digitized electrocardiographic data enabling retrospective power spectral analysis of HRV. ECG and blood pressure data were sampled at 1 kHz.

The study subjects were separated into 4 groups, depending on their state of cardiac sympathetic innervation and baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS; see below). There were 40 subjects with intact sympathetic innervation and normal BRS (Innervated-Normal BRS), 24 with intact sympathetic innervation and low BRS (Innervated-Low BRS), 4 with sympathetic denervation and normal BRS (Denervated-Normal BRS), and 30 with sympathetic denervation and low BRS (Denervated-Low BRS).

Autonomic function testing

Each subject was studied while supine with head on pillow after an overnight fast. Each patient had monitoring of the electrocardiogram and beat-tobeat blood pressure using either noninvasive devices (Finometer, Finapres Medical Systems, Amsterdam, the Netherlands; Portapres, Finapres Medical Systems; or Colin tonometer, Colin Medical Instruments, San Antonio, TX) or a brachial intra-arterial catheter. We previously studied formally and reported excellent agreement between intra-arterial and these noninvasively obtained measures of beat-to-beat blood pressure.16 Continuous vital signs data were digitized and recorded using a PowerLab (AD Instruments Pty Ltd, Castle Hill, Australia) data acquisition system and stored for later analysis on an Apple PowerBook G4 computer (Apple, Cupertino, CA).

After about a 10-min baseline period, each subject performed a Valsalva maneuver (30 mm Hg for 12 sec) at least 3 times.

Baroreflex function

As an index of baroreflex function, we used the slope of the relationship between cardiac interbeat interval and systolic blood pressure during phase II of the Valsalva maneuver.17 BRS, in units of msec/mm Hg, was calculated from the linear regression equation for the relationship between interbeat interval (with 1-beat delay) and systolic pressure. A BRS value of ≤3 msec/mm Hg was considered low.11

Pharmacologic testing

Pharmacologic testing was performed on completion of the autonomic evaluation, using either tyramine or yohimbine. If a subject received both drugs, each drug administration was on a separate day. The durations of drug infusion were sufficient for heart rate and blood pressure to reach plateau values.

In a total of 22 subjects (Table 1), yohimbine was infused intravenously at 62.5 μg/kg over 3 min and then at 0.5 μg/kg/min for 12 min. In a total of 50 subjects, tyramine was infused at a rate of 1 mg/min for 10 min. In patients with severe supine hypertension (systolic pressure more than 200 mm Hg) and orthostatic hypotension, the test drugs were infused during head-up tilting (15° to 30°), to decrease baseline pressure, or else the drugs were not given.

HRV analysis

LF power (0.04 to 0.15 Hz), HF power (0.16 to 0.4 Hz), and total power (TP, 0.0 to 0.4 Hz) were calculated using Chart 5.4.2 and the HRV module version 1.03 (PowerLab, AD Instruments Pty Ltd, Castle Hill, Australia). Stable heart rate epochs 3 to 5 min in duration were chosen for analysis. One epoch was sampled immediately before initiation of drug testing; the second followed attainment of steady-state hemodynamic effects. Interbeat interval data were reviewed carefully to eliminate artifacts from noise and T waves, using segments with little to no premature beats. LF power and HF power were calculated as absolute power (msec2), with or without normalization for total power (0.04 to 0.4 Hz). Reported LF or HF power was integrated within their defined frequency bands.

 

 

Cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging

For cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging the subject was positioned supine, feet-first in a GE Advance scanner (General Electric, Milwaukee, WI), with the thorax in the gantry. After positioning the patient with the thorax in the scanner and transmission scanning for attenuation correction, 6-[18F]fluorodopamine (usual dose 1 mCi, specific activity 1.0 to 4.0 Ci/mmole, in about 10 mL normal saline) was infused intravenously at a constant rate for 3 min, and dynamic scanning data were obtained for thoracic radioactivity, with the midpoint of the scanning interval at 7.5 min after injection of the tracer (data collection interval between 5 and 10 min). Cardiac sympathetic denervation was defined by low concentrations of 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the interventricular septum (< 5,000 nCi-kg/cc-mCi) or left ventricular free wall (< 4,000 nCi-kg/cc-mCi) corresponding to about 2 SD below the normal means.

Cardiac norepinephrine spillover

Subgroups of subjects (3 PD + NOH, 3 MSA, 3 PAF, 5 normal volunteers) underwent right heart catheterization for measurement of cardiac norepinephrine spillover. 3H-Norepinephrine was infused intravenously, and arterial and coronary sinus blood was sampled and coronary sinus blood flow was measured by thermodilution for measurements of cardiac norepinephrine spillover as described previously.18 In some subjects, yohimbine was infused during cardiac catheterization. Patients with chronic autonomic failure received the doses described above; normal volunteers and patients with chronic orthostatic intolerance received twice the doses described above.

Data analysis

Statistical analyses were performed using StatView version 5.0.1. (SAS Institute, Cary, NC). Mean values in the baseline condition for the several subject groups were compared using single-factor ANOVA. Responses to drugs were analyzed by dependent-means t tests. Differences in response to pharmacologic tests among subject groups were compared using repeated measures analyses of variance. Relationships between individual hemodynamic values were assessed by linear regression and calculation of Pearson correlation coefficients. Post-hoc testing consisted of the Fisher PLSD test. Multiple regression analysis was done on the individual data, with the log of LF power as the dependent measure and the log of baroreflex slope and septal 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity as independent measures. Mean values were expressed ± SEM.

RESULTS

Baseline

Across the 7 subject groups (N = 98), LF power was unrelated to subject group (F = 1.2). When individual subjects were stratified in terms of cardiac sympathetic denervation or innervation, based on concentrations of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity more than 2 SD below the normal mean, then LF power was lower in the Denervated group (mean 221 ± 55 msec2/Hz, N = 34) than in the Innervated group (516 ± 93 msec2/Hz, N = 64, F = 4.8, P = 0.03). LF power normalized for total power, HF normalized for total power, and the ratio of LF:HF were not related to 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity.

When subjects were stratified in terms of BRS, then LF power was lower in the Low BRS group (223 ± 105 msec2/Hz, N = 46) than in the Normal BRS group (617 ± 97 msec2/Hz, N = 25, F = 6.1, P = 0.02). The Low BRS group did not differ from the Normal BRS group in normalized LF power (F = 0.8).

Figure 1. Mean (± SEM) values for the log of low-frequency power of heart rate variability in subject groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. ***Significant difference, P < 0.001.
When individual subjects were stratified into 4 groups, based on both cardiac 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity (Innervated or Denervated) and on baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (Normal BRS or Low BRS), then both LF power and the log of LF power varied highly significantly as a function of subject group (F = 9.5, P < 0.0001; F = 4.6, P = 0.0004). The Denervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Denervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.05), and the Innervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P < 0.0001). When level of baroreflex function was taken into account, the Innervated and Denervated groups did not differ in LF power (Figure 1).

Values for HF power also varied with subject group when individual subjects were stratified in terms of both cardiac sympathetic innervation and BRS (F = 4.9, P = 0.004; Table 2). The Innervated-Low BRS group had lower HF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.003); however, the Denervated-Low BRS group did not differ from the Denervated-Normal BRS group in HF power. Normalization of LF and HF power for total power, and the ratio of low-to-high frequency did not reveal additional group differences (Table 2). In particular, the LF:HF ratio did not vary with the subject group (F = 0.6).

Figure 2. Mean (± SEM) values for (A) low-frequency power of heart rate variability and (B) cardiac norepinephrine spillover during right heart catheterization in subject groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. *Significant difference, P < 0.05. **Significant difference, P < 0.01.
Analysis of data from subjects during cardiac catheterization showed that LF power varied as a function of subject group (F = 5.3, P = 0.03, Figure 2). The Innervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.04), whereas the Denervated-Low BRS and Innervated-Low BRS groups did not differ in LF power. As expected, the Denervated-Low BRS group had lower cardiac norepinephrine spillover than the Innervated-Low BRS group.

Figure 3. Individual values for the log of low-frequency (LF) power as a function of (A) septal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity and (B) the log of baroreflex-cardiovagal slope.
Individual values for LF power were positively correlated with BRS. When values for both variables were log-transformed, the log of LF power correlated positively with the log of BRS slope (r = 0.72, P  < 0.0001, Figure 3). Individual values for the log of LF power were also correlated with the magnitude of decrease in systolic pressure during performance of the Valsalva maneuver (r = −0.60, P  < 0.0001) and with the orthostatic change in systolic pressure (r = 0.58, P < 0.0001). In contrast, the log of LF power was unrelated to the septal myocardial concentration of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, the plasma norepinephrine concentration, or cardiac norepinephrine spillover.

From multiple regression analysis for the log of LF power as the dependent measure and the log of baroreflex slope and septal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity as independent measures, the regression coefficient for the log of baroreflex slope was 0.92 (P < 0.0001), whereas the regression coefficient for 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity was 3 ×10−6.

At baseline, the log of HF power correlated positively with the log of LF power (r = 0.77, P < 0.0001). HF power varied with the subject group (F = 4.9, P = 0.004). As with LF power, HF power was greater in the Innervated-Normal BRS than in the Innervated-Low BRS (P = 0.001, Table 2). As expected, the log of HF power correlated positively with the log of BRS (r = 0.60, P < 0.0001). The log of HF power also correlated negatively with the magnitude of decrease in systolic pressure during the Valsalva maneuver (r = −0.24, P = 0.02) and positively with the orthostatic change in systolic pressure (r = 0.40, P = 0.004).

 

 

Yohimbine

Figure 4. Mean (± SEM) values for the change in low-frequency power (ΔLF power) of heart rate variability during (A) intravenous infusion of yohimbine or (B) tyramine in groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. *Significant difference, P < 0.05. ***Significant difference, P < 0.001.
Yohimbine infusion increased LF power (t = 2.9, P = 0.007). The group with cardiac sympathetic denervation did not differ from the group with intact cardiac innervation in terms of the change in LF power during yohimbine infusion (F = 0.7). Yohimbine infusion increased LF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group (t = 2.8, P = 0.01), but not in the innervated or denervated groups with low BRS (Figure 4). The Innervated-Normal BRS group had a larger increase in LF power during yohimbine infusion than did the Innervated-Low BRS group (P = 0.02). Too few patients with cardiac denervation and normal BRS were studied to include in the ANOVA. The log of the change in LF power during yohimbine administration was positively correlated with the log of BRS at baseline (Figure 5).

Figure 5. Individual values for the log of change in low-frequency power (log ΔLF power) as a function of baroreflex-cardiovagal slope at baseline. Left: yohimbine infusion. Right: tyramine infusion.
Yohimbine increased HF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group (t = 2.1, P = 0.05) but not in the innervated or denervated groups with low BRS.

The change in LF power in response to yohimbine during cardiac catheterization was unrelated to the change in cardiac norepinephrine spillover (r = −0.09, N = 12).

Tyramine

Overall, tyramine infusion increased LF power (t = 2.9, P = 0.008). The group with cardiac sympathetic denervation did not differ from the group with intact cardiac innervation in terms of the change in LF power during tyramine infusion (F = 1.7). Tyramine increased LF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group but not in the Innervated-Low BRS or Denervated-Low BRS groups (Figure 4; data for 2 outliers excluded). The log of the change in LF power during tyramine administration was positively correlated with the log of BRS at baseline (Figure 5; data for 2 outliers excluded).

DISCUSSION

In this study, patients with neuroimaging evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation had low LF power of heart rate variability. At first glance, this finding would seem to support the view that LF power can provide an index of cardiac sympathetic outflow. As explained below, several lines of evidence from the present study led us to infer that the association between low LF power and cardiac sympathetic innervation is determined mainly by concurrent baroreflex function.

Patients with low BRS had low LF power, and patients with normal BRS had normal LF power, regardless of the status of cardiac sympathetic innervation as assessed by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine scanning. Neither normalization of LF and HF power for total power nor use of the LF:HF ratio improved the association with indices of cardiac sympathetic innervation.

Neurochemical findings during cardiac catheterization supported the above results based on cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging. Among patients with innervated hearts who had normal cardiac norepinephrine spillover, LF power was decreased only in the group with low BRS and was normal in the group with normal BRS. As expected, cardiac norepinephrine spillover was decreased in patients with neuroimaging evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation.

Effects of pharmacological manipulations that increase norepinephrine release from sympathetic nerves provided further support for an association between baroreflex failure and low LF power, independent of cardiac sympathetic function. Both tyramine and yohimbine increased LF power only in the subjects with normal BRS. In subjects with low BRS, neither drug increased LF power, even in the group with intact cardiac sympathetic innervation. Moreover, individual values for responses of the log of LF power to both drugs were correlated positively with the log of BRS at baseline.

The fact that HF power was positively correlated with LF power could also fit with the notion of baroreflex function acting as a common determinant of values of both variables. We cannot exclude concurrent parasympathetic cardiovagal and sympathetic denervation as an explanation for the association between HF and LF power. Inhibition of the effects of parasympathetic activity after atropine administration results in the almost complete absence of both LF and HF HRV, further suggesting a common determinant.19

Several previous investigations have cast doubt on the validity of LF power as a measure of sympathetic activity because of dissociations between LF power and cardiac norepinephrine spillover, directly recorded sympathetic nerve traffic, and plasma norepinephrine levels.4,6,20 Such dissociations are especially glaring in patients with congestive heart failure, which is characterized by decreased LF power9 despite marked cardiac sympathetic activation.3

Other pathophysiologic states do result in both decreased sympathetic nervous system activity and decreased LF power. In these pathophysiologic states, the possibility remains that low LF power might reflect failure of baroreflexive modulation of sympathetic neuronal outflows, rather than sympathoinhibition itself. For instance, Wiklund et al21 noted low LF power in patients with palmar hyperhidrosis undergoing bilateral transthoracic sympathectomy; however, baroreflex-cardiovagal sensitivity also declines after thoracic sympathectomy.22

Sleight et al8 suggested dependence of LF power on baroreflex function, based on effects of carotid baroreceptor stimulation in 3 patients: 1 with normal BRS; 1 with ischemic heart disease, congestive heart failure, and normal BRS; and 1 with ischemic heart disease, congestive heart failure, and initially low BRS who subsequently had an improved clinical state and BRS. In the baseline state, both congestive heart failure patients had low LF power, despite a presumably hypernoradrenergic state. Direct baroreceptor stimulation at 0.1 Hz increased LF power in the normal subject and in the patient with congestive heart failure and normal BRS. The congestive heart failure patient with low BRS did not have an increase in LF power until BRS normalized. These data revealed an initial dissociation between cardiac noradrenergic state in the patients with congestive heart failure and LF power. During carotid sinus stimulation, LF power increased only when BRS was normal. Low BRS obviated this effect.

Because congestive heart failure is well known to be associated with baroreflex-cardiovagal inhibition,23–25 the finding of low LF power in heart failure also supports an association between LF power and BRS, independently of increased tonic release of norepinephrine from sympathetic nerves in the heart. Cevese et al26 inhibited noradrenergic vasomotor tone using an alpha-adrenoceptor blocker in human subjects while maintaining mean blood pressure at control levels using angiotensin II. This drug combination, which would be expected to attenuate sympathetically mediated vasomotor tone and thereby decrease arterial baroreceptor input, markedly decreased or abolished LF power of HRV, suggesting that, at least under resting supine conditions, a baroreflex mechanism accounts almost entirely for LF power of HRV.

deBoer et al27 developed a beat-to-beat model of the human circulation using a set of differential equations and the following principles of operation: (1) the baroreflex regulates heart rate and peripheral vascular resistance; (2) Windkessel properties characterize the systemic arterial tree; (3) contractile properties of the ventricular myocardium follow the Starling law; and (4) respiration exerts mechanical effects on blood pressure. The model attributes LF power to a resonance in the circulatory control system, produced by a slow time constant for reflexive sympathetically mediated responses to beat-tobeat blood pressure changes. The resonance can be upregulated or downregulated by the state of baroreflex activity. The model of deBoer et al predicts that changes in blood pressure would lead heart rate changes at 0.1 Hz through a delayed sympathetic response. Changes in HR would depend on summed effects of sympathetic and vagal effects, with the sympathetic response delaying the overall response. At the respiratory frequency (0.2 to 0.3 Hz), blood pressure and HR changes would occur with little delay because of fast parasympathetic control. In essence, the response of the sympathetic nervous system behaves as a low band pass filter, with a peak response at 0.1 Hz and little response at frequencies above 0.2 Hz. Systolic blood pressure would lead to changes in heart rate via the baroreflex. In general the results of this study fit with the deBoer model.

In conclusion, LF power derived from the interbeat interval spectrogram predominantly reflects baroreflex-mediated, phasic changes in cardiovagal and sympathetic noradrenergic outflows. In the setting of baroreflex failure, baseline LF power is reduced, regardless of the status of cardiac sympathetic innervation.

LIMITATIONS

The combination of cardiac sympathetic denervation and normal baroreflex function seems quite rare. One must exercise caution in drawing inferences from the findings in the Denervated-Normal BRS group, which contained only 4 subjects, even though the difference in mean log-transformed LF power from the Denervated-Low BRS group was highly statistically significant.

All of the testing in our study was done with the subjects supine. LF power measured in other positions might have different sources and meaning.

References
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  6. Kingwell BA, Thompson JM, Kaye DM, McPherson GA, Jennings GL, Esler MD. Heart rate spectral analysis, cardiac norepinephrine spillover, and muscle sympathetic nerve activity during human sympathetic nervous activation and failure. Circulation 1994; 90:234240.
  7. van de Borne P, Montano N, Pagani M, Oren R, Somers VK. Absence of low-frequency variability of sympathetic nerve activity in severe heart failure. Circulation 1997; 95:14491454.
  8. Sleight P, La Rovere MT, Mortara A, et al. Physiology and pathophysiology of heart rate and blood pressure variability in humans: is power spectral analysis largely an index of baroreflex gain? Clin Sci (Lond) 1995; 88:103109.
  9. Saul JP, Arai Y, Berger RD, Lilly LS, Colucci WS, Cohen RJ. Assessment of autonomic regulation in chronic congestive heart failure by heart rate spectral analysis. Am J Cardiol 1988; 61:12921299.
  10. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Li ST, Bruce S, Metman LV, Cannon RO. Cardiac sympathetic denervation in Parkinson disease. Ann Intern Med 2000; 133:338347.
  11. Goldstein DS, Eldadah BA, Holmes C, et al. Neurocirculatory abnormalities in Parkinson disease with orthostatic hypotension. Independence from levodopa treatment. Hypertension 2005; 46:13331339.
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  13. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Frank SM, et al. Cardiac sympathetic dysautonomia in chronic orthostatic intolerance syndromes. Circulation 2002; 106:23582365.
  14. Lord SW, Clayton RH, Mitchell L, Dark JH, Murray A, McComb JM. Sympathetic reinnervation and heart rate variability after cardiac transplantation. Heart 1997; 77:532538.
  15. Goldstein DS, Eisenhofer G, Dunn BB, et al. Positron emission tomographic imaging of cardiac sympathetic innervation using 6-[18F]fluorodopamine: initial findings in humans. J Am Coll Cardiol 1993; 22:19611971.
  16. Goldstein DS, Tack C. Non-invasive detection of sympathetic neurocirculatory failure. Clin Auton Res 2000; 10:285291.
  17. Goldstein DS, Horwitz D, Keiser HR. Comparison of techniques for measuring baroreflex sensitivity in man. Circulation 1982; 66:432439.
  18. Goldstein DS, Brush JE, Eisenhofer G, Stull R, Esler M. In vivo measurement of neuronal uptake of norepinephrine in the human heart. Circulation 1988; 78:4148.
  19. Koh J, Brown TE, Beightol LA, Ha CY, Eckberg DL. Human autonomic rhythms: vagal cardiac mechanisms in tetraplegic subjects. J Physiol 1994; 474:483495.
  20. Saul JP, Rea RF, Eckberg DL, Berger RD, Cohen RJ. Heart rate and muscle sympathetic nerve variability during reflex changes of autonomic activity. Am J Physiol 1990; 258:H713H721.
  21. Wiklund U, Koskinen LO, Niklasson U, Bjerle P, Elfversson J. Endoscopic transthoracic sympathectomy affects the autonomic modulation of heart rate in patients with palmar hyperhidrosis. Acta Neurochir (Wien) 2000; 142:691696.
  22. Kawamata YT, Kawamata T, Omote K, et al. Endoscopic thoracic sympathectomy suppresses baroreflex control of heart rate in patients with essential hyperhidrosis. Anesth Analg 2004; 98:3739.
  23. Goldstein RE, Beiser GD, Stampfer M, Epstein SE. Impairment of autonomically mediated heart rate control in patients with cardiac dysfunction. Circ Res 1975; 36:571578.
  24. Cody RJ, Franklin KW, Kluger J, Laragh JH. Mechanisms governing the postural response and baroreceptor abnormalities in chronic congestive heart failure: effects of acute and long-term convertingenzyme inhibition. Circulation 1982; 66:135142.
  25. Creager MA. Baroreceptor reflex function in congestive heart failure. Am J Cardiol 1992; 69:10G15G; discussion 15G–16G.
  26. Cevese A, Gulli G, Polati E, Gottin L, Grasso R. Baroreflex and oscillation of heart period at 0.1 Hz studied by alpha-blockade and crossspectral analysis in healthy humans. J Physiol 2001; 531:235244.
  27. deBoer RW, Karemaker JM, Strackee J. Hemodynamic fluctuations and baroreflex sensitivity in humans: a beat-to-beat model. Am J Physiol 1987; 253:H680689.
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Jeffrey P. Moak, MD
Children’s National Medical Center, Washington, DC

David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS), National Institutes of Health (NIH), Bethesda, MD

Basil A. Eldadah, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Ahmed Saleem, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Courtney Holmes, CMT
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Sandra Pechnik, RN
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Yehonatan Sharabi, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Correspondence: Jeffrey P. Moak, MD, Building 10, Room 6N252, 10 Center Drive, MSC-1620, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620;[email protected]

Supported by Intramural Research Funds, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD.

*This article is reprinted, with permission, from Heart Rhythm (Moak JP, et al. Heart Rhythm 2007; 4:1523–1529). Copyright © 2007 Heart Rhythm Society. The original publication is available at http://www.heartrhythmjournal.com/.

No author conflicts of interest were reported in the original publication of this article.

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Author and Disclosure Information

Jeffrey P. Moak, MD
Children’s National Medical Center, Washington, DC

David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS), National Institutes of Health (NIH), Bethesda, MD

Basil A. Eldadah, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Ahmed Saleem, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Courtney Holmes, CMT
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Sandra Pechnik, RN
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Yehonatan Sharabi, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Correspondence: Jeffrey P. Moak, MD, Building 10, Room 6N252, 10 Center Drive, MSC-1620, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620;[email protected]

Supported by Intramural Research Funds, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD.

*This article is reprinted, with permission, from Heart Rhythm (Moak JP, et al. Heart Rhythm 2007; 4:1523–1529). Copyright © 2007 Heart Rhythm Society. The original publication is available at http://www.heartrhythmjournal.com/.

No author conflicts of interest were reported in the original publication of this article.

Author and Disclosure Information

Jeffrey P. Moak, MD
Children’s National Medical Center, Washington, DC

David S. Goldstein, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS), National Institutes of Health (NIH), Bethesda, MD

Basil A. Eldadah, MD, PhD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Ahmed Saleem, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Courtney Holmes, CMT
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Sandra Pechnik, RN
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Yehonatan Sharabi, MD
Clinical Neurocardiology Section, NINDS, NIH, Bethesda, MD

Correspondence: Jeffrey P. Moak, MD, Building 10, Room 6N252, 10 Center Drive, MSC-1620, Bethesda, MD 20892-1620;[email protected]

Supported by Intramural Research Funds, National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD.

*This article is reprinted, with permission, from Heart Rhythm (Moak JP, et al. Heart Rhythm 2007; 4:1523–1529). Copyright © 2007 Heart Rhythm Society. The original publication is available at http://www.heartrhythmjournal.com/.

No author conflicts of interest were reported in the original publication of this article.

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Spectral analysis of heart rate variability (HRV) has been used widely as a noninvasive technique for examining sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous outflows to the heart. Low-frequency (LF) and high-frequency (HF) power have been used most commonly. Human and animal experiments have repeatedly confirmed the dependence of HF power on respiration-related alterations in parasympathetic cardiovagal outflow–respiratory sinus arrhythmia; however, whether LF power provides an indirect measure of cardiac sympathetic activity has been contentious. Pagani et al1 reported that LF power (normalized to total spectral power) increased during states associated with sympathetic noradrenergic activation and that bilateral stellectomy in dogs reduced LF power. Alvarenga et al,2 however, reported that LF power was unrelated to all measures of norepinephrine kinetics in the heart; and in congestive heart failure, which is associated with a high rate of entry of norepinephrine into coronary sinus plasma (cardiac norepinephrine spillover),3 LF power is decreased, not increased as might be expected if LF power reflected sympathetic activity.4–7

Sleight et al8 proposed an alternative explanation for the origin of LF power. In a small group of human subjects, power spectral analysis of HRV showed that the amplitude of LF power was related to baroreflex gain and not to the level of sympathetic activity. Carotid sinus stimulation increased LF power only in individuals with normal baroreflex sensitivity and did not do so in those with depressed baroreflex gain. Therefore, results of power spectral analysis of LF power might reflect baroreflex-cardiovagal function.9

Studies of patients with dysautonomias provide an unusual opportunity to examine neurocirculatory correlates of LF power. Some chronic autonomic failure syndromes feature cardiac sympathetic denervation, whereas others do not. Parkinson disease with neurogenic orthostatic hypotension and pure autonomic failure feature cardiac sympathetic denervation, whereas multiple system atrophy does not.10 All 3 diseases involve baroreflex-cardiovagal and baro-reflex-sympathoneural failure.11 Chronic orthostatic intolerance syndromes (postural tachycardia syndrome, neurocardiogenic syncope) do not entail either cardiac sympathetic denervation or baroreflex failure.12

For this article, we carried out power spectral analyses of HRV on digitized electrocardiographic recordings from dysautonomia patients and normal volunteers during supine rest, measurement of cardiac norepinephrine spillover, and intravenous infusion of yohimbine and tyramine, 2 drugs that are known to release norepinephrine from cardiac sympathetic nerves.13,14 Cardiac sympathetic innervation was assessed by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic scanning.15

We hypothesized that if LF power indicated cardiac sympathetic innervation and function, then patients with neuroimaging or neurochemical evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation would have low LF power and attenuated increments in LF power in response to yohimbine and tyramine. Alternatively, if LF power was reflective of baroreflex function, alterations of LF power would be independent of cardiac sympathetic innervation status and correlate with changes in baroreflex gain.

METHODS

The study protocols were approved by the Intramural Research Board of the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke. All subjects were studied at the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center after giving informed, written consent.

Subjects

The study population consisted of a total of 98 subjects who participated in research protocols studying chronic orthostatic intolerance and chronic autonomic failure (Table 1). The subjects underwent autonomic function testing and had reviewable, digitized electrocardiographic data enabling retrospective power spectral analysis of HRV. ECG and blood pressure data were sampled at 1 kHz.

The study subjects were separated into 4 groups, depending on their state of cardiac sympathetic innervation and baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS; see below). There were 40 subjects with intact sympathetic innervation and normal BRS (Innervated-Normal BRS), 24 with intact sympathetic innervation and low BRS (Innervated-Low BRS), 4 with sympathetic denervation and normal BRS (Denervated-Normal BRS), and 30 with sympathetic denervation and low BRS (Denervated-Low BRS).

Autonomic function testing

Each subject was studied while supine with head on pillow after an overnight fast. Each patient had monitoring of the electrocardiogram and beat-tobeat blood pressure using either noninvasive devices (Finometer, Finapres Medical Systems, Amsterdam, the Netherlands; Portapres, Finapres Medical Systems; or Colin tonometer, Colin Medical Instruments, San Antonio, TX) or a brachial intra-arterial catheter. We previously studied formally and reported excellent agreement between intra-arterial and these noninvasively obtained measures of beat-to-beat blood pressure.16 Continuous vital signs data were digitized and recorded using a PowerLab (AD Instruments Pty Ltd, Castle Hill, Australia) data acquisition system and stored for later analysis on an Apple PowerBook G4 computer (Apple, Cupertino, CA).

After about a 10-min baseline period, each subject performed a Valsalva maneuver (30 mm Hg for 12 sec) at least 3 times.

Baroreflex function

As an index of baroreflex function, we used the slope of the relationship between cardiac interbeat interval and systolic blood pressure during phase II of the Valsalva maneuver.17 BRS, in units of msec/mm Hg, was calculated from the linear regression equation for the relationship between interbeat interval (with 1-beat delay) and systolic pressure. A BRS value of ≤3 msec/mm Hg was considered low.11

Pharmacologic testing

Pharmacologic testing was performed on completion of the autonomic evaluation, using either tyramine or yohimbine. If a subject received both drugs, each drug administration was on a separate day. The durations of drug infusion were sufficient for heart rate and blood pressure to reach plateau values.

In a total of 22 subjects (Table 1), yohimbine was infused intravenously at 62.5 μg/kg over 3 min and then at 0.5 μg/kg/min for 12 min. In a total of 50 subjects, tyramine was infused at a rate of 1 mg/min for 10 min. In patients with severe supine hypertension (systolic pressure more than 200 mm Hg) and orthostatic hypotension, the test drugs were infused during head-up tilting (15° to 30°), to decrease baseline pressure, or else the drugs were not given.

HRV analysis

LF power (0.04 to 0.15 Hz), HF power (0.16 to 0.4 Hz), and total power (TP, 0.0 to 0.4 Hz) were calculated using Chart 5.4.2 and the HRV module version 1.03 (PowerLab, AD Instruments Pty Ltd, Castle Hill, Australia). Stable heart rate epochs 3 to 5 min in duration were chosen for analysis. One epoch was sampled immediately before initiation of drug testing; the second followed attainment of steady-state hemodynamic effects. Interbeat interval data were reviewed carefully to eliminate artifacts from noise and T waves, using segments with little to no premature beats. LF power and HF power were calculated as absolute power (msec2), with or without normalization for total power (0.04 to 0.4 Hz). Reported LF or HF power was integrated within their defined frequency bands.

 

 

Cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging

For cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging the subject was positioned supine, feet-first in a GE Advance scanner (General Electric, Milwaukee, WI), with the thorax in the gantry. After positioning the patient with the thorax in the scanner and transmission scanning for attenuation correction, 6-[18F]fluorodopamine (usual dose 1 mCi, specific activity 1.0 to 4.0 Ci/mmole, in about 10 mL normal saline) was infused intravenously at a constant rate for 3 min, and dynamic scanning data were obtained for thoracic radioactivity, with the midpoint of the scanning interval at 7.5 min after injection of the tracer (data collection interval between 5 and 10 min). Cardiac sympathetic denervation was defined by low concentrations of 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the interventricular septum (< 5,000 nCi-kg/cc-mCi) or left ventricular free wall (< 4,000 nCi-kg/cc-mCi) corresponding to about 2 SD below the normal means.

Cardiac norepinephrine spillover

Subgroups of subjects (3 PD + NOH, 3 MSA, 3 PAF, 5 normal volunteers) underwent right heart catheterization for measurement of cardiac norepinephrine spillover. 3H-Norepinephrine was infused intravenously, and arterial and coronary sinus blood was sampled and coronary sinus blood flow was measured by thermodilution for measurements of cardiac norepinephrine spillover as described previously.18 In some subjects, yohimbine was infused during cardiac catheterization. Patients with chronic autonomic failure received the doses described above; normal volunteers and patients with chronic orthostatic intolerance received twice the doses described above.

Data analysis

Statistical analyses were performed using StatView version 5.0.1. (SAS Institute, Cary, NC). Mean values in the baseline condition for the several subject groups were compared using single-factor ANOVA. Responses to drugs were analyzed by dependent-means t tests. Differences in response to pharmacologic tests among subject groups were compared using repeated measures analyses of variance. Relationships between individual hemodynamic values were assessed by linear regression and calculation of Pearson correlation coefficients. Post-hoc testing consisted of the Fisher PLSD test. Multiple regression analysis was done on the individual data, with the log of LF power as the dependent measure and the log of baroreflex slope and septal 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity as independent measures. Mean values were expressed ± SEM.

RESULTS

Baseline

Across the 7 subject groups (N = 98), LF power was unrelated to subject group (F = 1.2). When individual subjects were stratified in terms of cardiac sympathetic denervation or innervation, based on concentrations of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity more than 2 SD below the normal mean, then LF power was lower in the Denervated group (mean 221 ± 55 msec2/Hz, N = 34) than in the Innervated group (516 ± 93 msec2/Hz, N = 64, F = 4.8, P = 0.03). LF power normalized for total power, HF normalized for total power, and the ratio of LF:HF were not related to 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity.

When subjects were stratified in terms of BRS, then LF power was lower in the Low BRS group (223 ± 105 msec2/Hz, N = 46) than in the Normal BRS group (617 ± 97 msec2/Hz, N = 25, F = 6.1, P = 0.02). The Low BRS group did not differ from the Normal BRS group in normalized LF power (F = 0.8).

Figure 1. Mean (± SEM) values for the log of low-frequency power of heart rate variability in subject groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. ***Significant difference, P < 0.001.
When individual subjects were stratified into 4 groups, based on both cardiac 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity (Innervated or Denervated) and on baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (Normal BRS or Low BRS), then both LF power and the log of LF power varied highly significantly as a function of subject group (F = 9.5, P < 0.0001; F = 4.6, P = 0.0004). The Denervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Denervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.05), and the Innervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P < 0.0001). When level of baroreflex function was taken into account, the Innervated and Denervated groups did not differ in LF power (Figure 1).

Values for HF power also varied with subject group when individual subjects were stratified in terms of both cardiac sympathetic innervation and BRS (F = 4.9, P = 0.004; Table 2). The Innervated-Low BRS group had lower HF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.003); however, the Denervated-Low BRS group did not differ from the Denervated-Normal BRS group in HF power. Normalization of LF and HF power for total power, and the ratio of low-to-high frequency did not reveal additional group differences (Table 2). In particular, the LF:HF ratio did not vary with the subject group (F = 0.6).

Figure 2. Mean (± SEM) values for (A) low-frequency power of heart rate variability and (B) cardiac norepinephrine spillover during right heart catheterization in subject groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. *Significant difference, P < 0.05. **Significant difference, P < 0.01.
Analysis of data from subjects during cardiac catheterization showed that LF power varied as a function of subject group (F = 5.3, P = 0.03, Figure 2). The Innervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.04), whereas the Denervated-Low BRS and Innervated-Low BRS groups did not differ in LF power. As expected, the Denervated-Low BRS group had lower cardiac norepinephrine spillover than the Innervated-Low BRS group.

Figure 3. Individual values for the log of low-frequency (LF) power as a function of (A) septal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity and (B) the log of baroreflex-cardiovagal slope.
Individual values for LF power were positively correlated with BRS. When values for both variables were log-transformed, the log of LF power correlated positively with the log of BRS slope (r = 0.72, P  < 0.0001, Figure 3). Individual values for the log of LF power were also correlated with the magnitude of decrease in systolic pressure during performance of the Valsalva maneuver (r = −0.60, P  < 0.0001) and with the orthostatic change in systolic pressure (r = 0.58, P < 0.0001). In contrast, the log of LF power was unrelated to the septal myocardial concentration of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, the plasma norepinephrine concentration, or cardiac norepinephrine spillover.

From multiple regression analysis for the log of LF power as the dependent measure and the log of baroreflex slope and septal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity as independent measures, the regression coefficient for the log of baroreflex slope was 0.92 (P < 0.0001), whereas the regression coefficient for 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity was 3 ×10−6.

At baseline, the log of HF power correlated positively with the log of LF power (r = 0.77, P < 0.0001). HF power varied with the subject group (F = 4.9, P = 0.004). As with LF power, HF power was greater in the Innervated-Normal BRS than in the Innervated-Low BRS (P = 0.001, Table 2). As expected, the log of HF power correlated positively with the log of BRS (r = 0.60, P < 0.0001). The log of HF power also correlated negatively with the magnitude of decrease in systolic pressure during the Valsalva maneuver (r = −0.24, P = 0.02) and positively with the orthostatic change in systolic pressure (r = 0.40, P = 0.004).

 

 

Yohimbine

Figure 4. Mean (± SEM) values for the change in low-frequency power (ΔLF power) of heart rate variability during (A) intravenous infusion of yohimbine or (B) tyramine in groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. *Significant difference, P < 0.05. ***Significant difference, P < 0.001.
Yohimbine infusion increased LF power (t = 2.9, P = 0.007). The group with cardiac sympathetic denervation did not differ from the group with intact cardiac innervation in terms of the change in LF power during yohimbine infusion (F = 0.7). Yohimbine infusion increased LF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group (t = 2.8, P = 0.01), but not in the innervated or denervated groups with low BRS (Figure 4). The Innervated-Normal BRS group had a larger increase in LF power during yohimbine infusion than did the Innervated-Low BRS group (P = 0.02). Too few patients with cardiac denervation and normal BRS were studied to include in the ANOVA. The log of the change in LF power during yohimbine administration was positively correlated with the log of BRS at baseline (Figure 5).

Figure 5. Individual values for the log of change in low-frequency power (log ΔLF power) as a function of baroreflex-cardiovagal slope at baseline. Left: yohimbine infusion. Right: tyramine infusion.
Yohimbine increased HF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group (t = 2.1, P = 0.05) but not in the innervated or denervated groups with low BRS.

The change in LF power in response to yohimbine during cardiac catheterization was unrelated to the change in cardiac norepinephrine spillover (r = −0.09, N = 12).

Tyramine

Overall, tyramine infusion increased LF power (t = 2.9, P = 0.008). The group with cardiac sympathetic denervation did not differ from the group with intact cardiac innervation in terms of the change in LF power during tyramine infusion (F = 1.7). Tyramine increased LF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group but not in the Innervated-Low BRS or Denervated-Low BRS groups (Figure 4; data for 2 outliers excluded). The log of the change in LF power during tyramine administration was positively correlated with the log of BRS at baseline (Figure 5; data for 2 outliers excluded).

DISCUSSION

In this study, patients with neuroimaging evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation had low LF power of heart rate variability. At first glance, this finding would seem to support the view that LF power can provide an index of cardiac sympathetic outflow. As explained below, several lines of evidence from the present study led us to infer that the association between low LF power and cardiac sympathetic innervation is determined mainly by concurrent baroreflex function.

Patients with low BRS had low LF power, and patients with normal BRS had normal LF power, regardless of the status of cardiac sympathetic innervation as assessed by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine scanning. Neither normalization of LF and HF power for total power nor use of the LF:HF ratio improved the association with indices of cardiac sympathetic innervation.

Neurochemical findings during cardiac catheterization supported the above results based on cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging. Among patients with innervated hearts who had normal cardiac norepinephrine spillover, LF power was decreased only in the group with low BRS and was normal in the group with normal BRS. As expected, cardiac norepinephrine spillover was decreased in patients with neuroimaging evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation.

Effects of pharmacological manipulations that increase norepinephrine release from sympathetic nerves provided further support for an association between baroreflex failure and low LF power, independent of cardiac sympathetic function. Both tyramine and yohimbine increased LF power only in the subjects with normal BRS. In subjects with low BRS, neither drug increased LF power, even in the group with intact cardiac sympathetic innervation. Moreover, individual values for responses of the log of LF power to both drugs were correlated positively with the log of BRS at baseline.

The fact that HF power was positively correlated with LF power could also fit with the notion of baroreflex function acting as a common determinant of values of both variables. We cannot exclude concurrent parasympathetic cardiovagal and sympathetic denervation as an explanation for the association between HF and LF power. Inhibition of the effects of parasympathetic activity after atropine administration results in the almost complete absence of both LF and HF HRV, further suggesting a common determinant.19

Several previous investigations have cast doubt on the validity of LF power as a measure of sympathetic activity because of dissociations between LF power and cardiac norepinephrine spillover, directly recorded sympathetic nerve traffic, and plasma norepinephrine levels.4,6,20 Such dissociations are especially glaring in patients with congestive heart failure, which is characterized by decreased LF power9 despite marked cardiac sympathetic activation.3

Other pathophysiologic states do result in both decreased sympathetic nervous system activity and decreased LF power. In these pathophysiologic states, the possibility remains that low LF power might reflect failure of baroreflexive modulation of sympathetic neuronal outflows, rather than sympathoinhibition itself. For instance, Wiklund et al21 noted low LF power in patients with palmar hyperhidrosis undergoing bilateral transthoracic sympathectomy; however, baroreflex-cardiovagal sensitivity also declines after thoracic sympathectomy.22

Sleight et al8 suggested dependence of LF power on baroreflex function, based on effects of carotid baroreceptor stimulation in 3 patients: 1 with normal BRS; 1 with ischemic heart disease, congestive heart failure, and normal BRS; and 1 with ischemic heart disease, congestive heart failure, and initially low BRS who subsequently had an improved clinical state and BRS. In the baseline state, both congestive heart failure patients had low LF power, despite a presumably hypernoradrenergic state. Direct baroreceptor stimulation at 0.1 Hz increased LF power in the normal subject and in the patient with congestive heart failure and normal BRS. The congestive heart failure patient with low BRS did not have an increase in LF power until BRS normalized. These data revealed an initial dissociation between cardiac noradrenergic state in the patients with congestive heart failure and LF power. During carotid sinus stimulation, LF power increased only when BRS was normal. Low BRS obviated this effect.

Because congestive heart failure is well known to be associated with baroreflex-cardiovagal inhibition,23–25 the finding of low LF power in heart failure also supports an association between LF power and BRS, independently of increased tonic release of norepinephrine from sympathetic nerves in the heart. Cevese et al26 inhibited noradrenergic vasomotor tone using an alpha-adrenoceptor blocker in human subjects while maintaining mean blood pressure at control levels using angiotensin II. This drug combination, which would be expected to attenuate sympathetically mediated vasomotor tone and thereby decrease arterial baroreceptor input, markedly decreased or abolished LF power of HRV, suggesting that, at least under resting supine conditions, a baroreflex mechanism accounts almost entirely for LF power of HRV.

deBoer et al27 developed a beat-to-beat model of the human circulation using a set of differential equations and the following principles of operation: (1) the baroreflex regulates heart rate and peripheral vascular resistance; (2) Windkessel properties characterize the systemic arterial tree; (3) contractile properties of the ventricular myocardium follow the Starling law; and (4) respiration exerts mechanical effects on blood pressure. The model attributes LF power to a resonance in the circulatory control system, produced by a slow time constant for reflexive sympathetically mediated responses to beat-tobeat blood pressure changes. The resonance can be upregulated or downregulated by the state of baroreflex activity. The model of deBoer et al predicts that changes in blood pressure would lead heart rate changes at 0.1 Hz through a delayed sympathetic response. Changes in HR would depend on summed effects of sympathetic and vagal effects, with the sympathetic response delaying the overall response. At the respiratory frequency (0.2 to 0.3 Hz), blood pressure and HR changes would occur with little delay because of fast parasympathetic control. In essence, the response of the sympathetic nervous system behaves as a low band pass filter, with a peak response at 0.1 Hz and little response at frequencies above 0.2 Hz. Systolic blood pressure would lead to changes in heart rate via the baroreflex. In general the results of this study fit with the deBoer model.

In conclusion, LF power derived from the interbeat interval spectrogram predominantly reflects baroreflex-mediated, phasic changes in cardiovagal and sympathetic noradrenergic outflows. In the setting of baroreflex failure, baseline LF power is reduced, regardless of the status of cardiac sympathetic innervation.

LIMITATIONS

The combination of cardiac sympathetic denervation and normal baroreflex function seems quite rare. One must exercise caution in drawing inferences from the findings in the Denervated-Normal BRS group, which contained only 4 subjects, even though the difference in mean log-transformed LF power from the Denervated-Low BRS group was highly statistically significant.

All of the testing in our study was done with the subjects supine. LF power measured in other positions might have different sources and meaning.

Spectral analysis of heart rate variability (HRV) has been used widely as a noninvasive technique for examining sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous outflows to the heart. Low-frequency (LF) and high-frequency (HF) power have been used most commonly. Human and animal experiments have repeatedly confirmed the dependence of HF power on respiration-related alterations in parasympathetic cardiovagal outflow–respiratory sinus arrhythmia; however, whether LF power provides an indirect measure of cardiac sympathetic activity has been contentious. Pagani et al1 reported that LF power (normalized to total spectral power) increased during states associated with sympathetic noradrenergic activation and that bilateral stellectomy in dogs reduced LF power. Alvarenga et al,2 however, reported that LF power was unrelated to all measures of norepinephrine kinetics in the heart; and in congestive heart failure, which is associated with a high rate of entry of norepinephrine into coronary sinus plasma (cardiac norepinephrine spillover),3 LF power is decreased, not increased as might be expected if LF power reflected sympathetic activity.4–7

Sleight et al8 proposed an alternative explanation for the origin of LF power. In a small group of human subjects, power spectral analysis of HRV showed that the amplitude of LF power was related to baroreflex gain and not to the level of sympathetic activity. Carotid sinus stimulation increased LF power only in individuals with normal baroreflex sensitivity and did not do so in those with depressed baroreflex gain. Therefore, results of power spectral analysis of LF power might reflect baroreflex-cardiovagal function.9

Studies of patients with dysautonomias provide an unusual opportunity to examine neurocirculatory correlates of LF power. Some chronic autonomic failure syndromes feature cardiac sympathetic denervation, whereas others do not. Parkinson disease with neurogenic orthostatic hypotension and pure autonomic failure feature cardiac sympathetic denervation, whereas multiple system atrophy does not.10 All 3 diseases involve baroreflex-cardiovagal and baro-reflex-sympathoneural failure.11 Chronic orthostatic intolerance syndromes (postural tachycardia syndrome, neurocardiogenic syncope) do not entail either cardiac sympathetic denervation or baroreflex failure.12

For this article, we carried out power spectral analyses of HRV on digitized electrocardiographic recordings from dysautonomia patients and normal volunteers during supine rest, measurement of cardiac norepinephrine spillover, and intravenous infusion of yohimbine and tyramine, 2 drugs that are known to release norepinephrine from cardiac sympathetic nerves.13,14 Cardiac sympathetic innervation was assessed by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine positron emission tomographic scanning.15

We hypothesized that if LF power indicated cardiac sympathetic innervation and function, then patients with neuroimaging or neurochemical evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation would have low LF power and attenuated increments in LF power in response to yohimbine and tyramine. Alternatively, if LF power was reflective of baroreflex function, alterations of LF power would be independent of cardiac sympathetic innervation status and correlate with changes in baroreflex gain.

METHODS

The study protocols were approved by the Intramural Research Board of the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke. All subjects were studied at the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center after giving informed, written consent.

Subjects

The study population consisted of a total of 98 subjects who participated in research protocols studying chronic orthostatic intolerance and chronic autonomic failure (Table 1). The subjects underwent autonomic function testing and had reviewable, digitized electrocardiographic data enabling retrospective power spectral analysis of HRV. ECG and blood pressure data were sampled at 1 kHz.

The study subjects were separated into 4 groups, depending on their state of cardiac sympathetic innervation and baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS; see below). There were 40 subjects with intact sympathetic innervation and normal BRS (Innervated-Normal BRS), 24 with intact sympathetic innervation and low BRS (Innervated-Low BRS), 4 with sympathetic denervation and normal BRS (Denervated-Normal BRS), and 30 with sympathetic denervation and low BRS (Denervated-Low BRS).

Autonomic function testing

Each subject was studied while supine with head on pillow after an overnight fast. Each patient had monitoring of the electrocardiogram and beat-tobeat blood pressure using either noninvasive devices (Finometer, Finapres Medical Systems, Amsterdam, the Netherlands; Portapres, Finapres Medical Systems; or Colin tonometer, Colin Medical Instruments, San Antonio, TX) or a brachial intra-arterial catheter. We previously studied formally and reported excellent agreement between intra-arterial and these noninvasively obtained measures of beat-to-beat blood pressure.16 Continuous vital signs data were digitized and recorded using a PowerLab (AD Instruments Pty Ltd, Castle Hill, Australia) data acquisition system and stored for later analysis on an Apple PowerBook G4 computer (Apple, Cupertino, CA).

After about a 10-min baseline period, each subject performed a Valsalva maneuver (30 mm Hg for 12 sec) at least 3 times.

Baroreflex function

As an index of baroreflex function, we used the slope of the relationship between cardiac interbeat interval and systolic blood pressure during phase II of the Valsalva maneuver.17 BRS, in units of msec/mm Hg, was calculated from the linear regression equation for the relationship between interbeat interval (with 1-beat delay) and systolic pressure. A BRS value of ≤3 msec/mm Hg was considered low.11

Pharmacologic testing

Pharmacologic testing was performed on completion of the autonomic evaluation, using either tyramine or yohimbine. If a subject received both drugs, each drug administration was on a separate day. The durations of drug infusion were sufficient for heart rate and blood pressure to reach plateau values.

In a total of 22 subjects (Table 1), yohimbine was infused intravenously at 62.5 μg/kg over 3 min and then at 0.5 μg/kg/min for 12 min. In a total of 50 subjects, tyramine was infused at a rate of 1 mg/min for 10 min. In patients with severe supine hypertension (systolic pressure more than 200 mm Hg) and orthostatic hypotension, the test drugs were infused during head-up tilting (15° to 30°), to decrease baseline pressure, or else the drugs were not given.

HRV analysis

LF power (0.04 to 0.15 Hz), HF power (0.16 to 0.4 Hz), and total power (TP, 0.0 to 0.4 Hz) were calculated using Chart 5.4.2 and the HRV module version 1.03 (PowerLab, AD Instruments Pty Ltd, Castle Hill, Australia). Stable heart rate epochs 3 to 5 min in duration were chosen for analysis. One epoch was sampled immediately before initiation of drug testing; the second followed attainment of steady-state hemodynamic effects. Interbeat interval data were reviewed carefully to eliminate artifacts from noise and T waves, using segments with little to no premature beats. LF power and HF power were calculated as absolute power (msec2), with or without normalization for total power (0.04 to 0.4 Hz). Reported LF or HF power was integrated within their defined frequency bands.

 

 

Cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging

For cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging the subject was positioned supine, feet-first in a GE Advance scanner (General Electric, Milwaukee, WI), with the thorax in the gantry. After positioning the patient with the thorax in the scanner and transmission scanning for attenuation correction, 6-[18F]fluorodopamine (usual dose 1 mCi, specific activity 1.0 to 4.0 Ci/mmole, in about 10 mL normal saline) was infused intravenously at a constant rate for 3 min, and dynamic scanning data were obtained for thoracic radioactivity, with the midpoint of the scanning interval at 7.5 min after injection of the tracer (data collection interval between 5 and 10 min). Cardiac sympathetic denervation was defined by low concentrations of 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity in the interventricular septum (< 5,000 nCi-kg/cc-mCi) or left ventricular free wall (< 4,000 nCi-kg/cc-mCi) corresponding to about 2 SD below the normal means.

Cardiac norepinephrine spillover

Subgroups of subjects (3 PD + NOH, 3 MSA, 3 PAF, 5 normal volunteers) underwent right heart catheterization for measurement of cardiac norepinephrine spillover. 3H-Norepinephrine was infused intravenously, and arterial and coronary sinus blood was sampled and coronary sinus blood flow was measured by thermodilution for measurements of cardiac norepinephrine spillover as described previously.18 In some subjects, yohimbine was infused during cardiac catheterization. Patients with chronic autonomic failure received the doses described above; normal volunteers and patients with chronic orthostatic intolerance received twice the doses described above.

Data analysis

Statistical analyses were performed using StatView version 5.0.1. (SAS Institute, Cary, NC). Mean values in the baseline condition for the several subject groups were compared using single-factor ANOVA. Responses to drugs were analyzed by dependent-means t tests. Differences in response to pharmacologic tests among subject groups were compared using repeated measures analyses of variance. Relationships between individual hemodynamic values were assessed by linear regression and calculation of Pearson correlation coefficients. Post-hoc testing consisted of the Fisher PLSD test. Multiple regression analysis was done on the individual data, with the log of LF power as the dependent measure and the log of baroreflex slope and septal 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity as independent measures. Mean values were expressed ± SEM.

RESULTS

Baseline

Across the 7 subject groups (N = 98), LF power was unrelated to subject group (F = 1.2). When individual subjects were stratified in terms of cardiac sympathetic denervation or innervation, based on concentrations of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity more than 2 SD below the normal mean, then LF power was lower in the Denervated group (mean 221 ± 55 msec2/Hz, N = 34) than in the Innervated group (516 ± 93 msec2/Hz, N = 64, F = 4.8, P = 0.03). LF power normalized for total power, HF normalized for total power, and the ratio of LF:HF were not related to 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity.

When subjects were stratified in terms of BRS, then LF power was lower in the Low BRS group (223 ± 105 msec2/Hz, N = 46) than in the Normal BRS group (617 ± 97 msec2/Hz, N = 25, F = 6.1, P = 0.02). The Low BRS group did not differ from the Normal BRS group in normalized LF power (F = 0.8).

Figure 1. Mean (± SEM) values for the log of low-frequency power of heart rate variability in subject groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. ***Significant difference, P < 0.001.
When individual subjects were stratified into 4 groups, based on both cardiac 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity (Innervated or Denervated) and on baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (Normal BRS or Low BRS), then both LF power and the log of LF power varied highly significantly as a function of subject group (F = 9.5, P < 0.0001; F = 4.6, P = 0.0004). The Denervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Denervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.05), and the Innervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P < 0.0001). When level of baroreflex function was taken into account, the Innervated and Denervated groups did not differ in LF power (Figure 1).

Values for HF power also varied with subject group when individual subjects were stratified in terms of both cardiac sympathetic innervation and BRS (F = 4.9, P = 0.004; Table 2). The Innervated-Low BRS group had lower HF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.003); however, the Denervated-Low BRS group did not differ from the Denervated-Normal BRS group in HF power. Normalization of LF and HF power for total power, and the ratio of low-to-high frequency did not reveal additional group differences (Table 2). In particular, the LF:HF ratio did not vary with the subject group (F = 0.6).

Figure 2. Mean (± SEM) values for (A) low-frequency power of heart rate variability and (B) cardiac norepinephrine spillover during right heart catheterization in subject groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. *Significant difference, P < 0.05. **Significant difference, P < 0.01.
Analysis of data from subjects during cardiac catheterization showed that LF power varied as a function of subject group (F = 5.3, P = 0.03, Figure 2). The Innervated-Low BRS group had lower LF power than did the Innervated-Normal BRS group (P = 0.04), whereas the Denervated-Low BRS and Innervated-Low BRS groups did not differ in LF power. As expected, the Denervated-Low BRS group had lower cardiac norepinephrine spillover than the Innervated-Low BRS group.

Figure 3. Individual values for the log of low-frequency (LF) power as a function of (A) septal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity and (B) the log of baroreflex-cardiovagal slope.
Individual values for LF power were positively correlated with BRS. When values for both variables were log-transformed, the log of LF power correlated positively with the log of BRS slope (r = 0.72, P  < 0.0001, Figure 3). Individual values for the log of LF power were also correlated with the magnitude of decrease in systolic pressure during performance of the Valsalva maneuver (r = −0.60, P  < 0.0001) and with the orthostatic change in systolic pressure (r = 0.58, P < 0.0001). In contrast, the log of LF power was unrelated to the septal myocardial concentration of 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity, the plasma norepinephrine concentration, or cardiac norepinephrine spillover.

From multiple regression analysis for the log of LF power as the dependent measure and the log of baroreflex slope and septal 6-[18F]fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity as independent measures, the regression coefficient for the log of baroreflex slope was 0.92 (P < 0.0001), whereas the regression coefficient for 6-[18F] fluorodopamine-derived radioactivity was 3 ×10−6.

At baseline, the log of HF power correlated positively with the log of LF power (r = 0.77, P < 0.0001). HF power varied with the subject group (F = 4.9, P = 0.004). As with LF power, HF power was greater in the Innervated-Normal BRS than in the Innervated-Low BRS (P = 0.001, Table 2). As expected, the log of HF power correlated positively with the log of BRS (r = 0.60, P < 0.0001). The log of HF power also correlated negatively with the magnitude of decrease in systolic pressure during the Valsalva maneuver (r = −0.24, P = 0.02) and positively with the orthostatic change in systolic pressure (r = 0.40, P = 0.004).

 

 

Yohimbine

Figure 4. Mean (± SEM) values for the change in low-frequency power (ΔLF power) of heart rate variability during (A) intravenous infusion of yohimbine or (B) tyramine in groups with innervated (Innerv) or denervated (Denerv) hearts, as indicated by low 6-[18F]fluorodopaminederived radioactivity, and normal (Nl) or low baroreflex-cardiovagal slope (BRS), as indicated by slope ≤3 msec/mm Hg during the Valsalva maneuver. *Significant difference, P < 0.05. ***Significant difference, P < 0.001.
Yohimbine infusion increased LF power (t = 2.9, P = 0.007). The group with cardiac sympathetic denervation did not differ from the group with intact cardiac innervation in terms of the change in LF power during yohimbine infusion (F = 0.7). Yohimbine infusion increased LF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group (t = 2.8, P = 0.01), but not in the innervated or denervated groups with low BRS (Figure 4). The Innervated-Normal BRS group had a larger increase in LF power during yohimbine infusion than did the Innervated-Low BRS group (P = 0.02). Too few patients with cardiac denervation and normal BRS were studied to include in the ANOVA. The log of the change in LF power during yohimbine administration was positively correlated with the log of BRS at baseline (Figure 5).

Figure 5. Individual values for the log of change in low-frequency power (log ΔLF power) as a function of baroreflex-cardiovagal slope at baseline. Left: yohimbine infusion. Right: tyramine infusion.
Yohimbine increased HF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group (t = 2.1, P = 0.05) but not in the innervated or denervated groups with low BRS.

The change in LF power in response to yohimbine during cardiac catheterization was unrelated to the change in cardiac norepinephrine spillover (r = −0.09, N = 12).

Tyramine

Overall, tyramine infusion increased LF power (t = 2.9, P = 0.008). The group with cardiac sympathetic denervation did not differ from the group with intact cardiac innervation in terms of the change in LF power during tyramine infusion (F = 1.7). Tyramine increased LF power in the Innervated-Normal BRS group but not in the Innervated-Low BRS or Denervated-Low BRS groups (Figure 4; data for 2 outliers excluded). The log of the change in LF power during tyramine administration was positively correlated with the log of BRS at baseline (Figure 5; data for 2 outliers excluded).

DISCUSSION

In this study, patients with neuroimaging evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation had low LF power of heart rate variability. At first glance, this finding would seem to support the view that LF power can provide an index of cardiac sympathetic outflow. As explained below, several lines of evidence from the present study led us to infer that the association between low LF power and cardiac sympathetic innervation is determined mainly by concurrent baroreflex function.

Patients with low BRS had low LF power, and patients with normal BRS had normal LF power, regardless of the status of cardiac sympathetic innervation as assessed by 6-[18F]fluorodopamine scanning. Neither normalization of LF and HF power for total power nor use of the LF:HF ratio improved the association with indices of cardiac sympathetic innervation.

Neurochemical findings during cardiac catheterization supported the above results based on cardiac sympathetic neuroimaging. Among patients with innervated hearts who had normal cardiac norepinephrine spillover, LF power was decreased only in the group with low BRS and was normal in the group with normal BRS. As expected, cardiac norepinephrine spillover was decreased in patients with neuroimaging evidence of cardiac sympathetic denervation.

Effects of pharmacological manipulations that increase norepinephrine release from sympathetic nerves provided further support for an association between baroreflex failure and low LF power, independent of cardiac sympathetic function. Both tyramine and yohimbine increased LF power only in the subjects with normal BRS. In subjects with low BRS, neither drug increased LF power, even in the group with intact cardiac sympathetic innervation. Moreover, individual values for responses of the log of LF power to both drugs were correlated positively with the log of BRS at baseline.

The fact that HF power was positively correlated with LF power could also fit with the notion of baroreflex function acting as a common determinant of values of both variables. We cannot exclude concurrent parasympathetic cardiovagal and sympathetic denervation as an explanation for the association between HF and LF power. Inhibition of the effects of parasympathetic activity after atropine administration results in the almost complete absence of both LF and HF HRV, further suggesting a common determinant.19

Several previous investigations have cast doubt on the validity of LF power as a measure of sympathetic activity because of dissociations between LF power and cardiac norepinephrine spillover, directly recorded sympathetic nerve traffic, and plasma norepinephrine levels.4,6,20 Such dissociations are especially glaring in patients with congestive heart failure, which is characterized by decreased LF power9 despite marked cardiac sympathetic activation.3

Other pathophysiologic states do result in both decreased sympathetic nervous system activity and decreased LF power. In these pathophysiologic states, the possibility remains that low LF power might reflect failure of baroreflexive modulation of sympathetic neuronal outflows, rather than sympathoinhibition itself. For instance, Wiklund et al21 noted low LF power in patients with palmar hyperhidrosis undergoing bilateral transthoracic sympathectomy; however, baroreflex-cardiovagal sensitivity also declines after thoracic sympathectomy.22

Sleight et al8 suggested dependence of LF power on baroreflex function, based on effects of carotid baroreceptor stimulation in 3 patients: 1 with normal BRS; 1 with ischemic heart disease, congestive heart failure, and normal BRS; and 1 with ischemic heart disease, congestive heart failure, and initially low BRS who subsequently had an improved clinical state and BRS. In the baseline state, both congestive heart failure patients had low LF power, despite a presumably hypernoradrenergic state. Direct baroreceptor stimulation at 0.1 Hz increased LF power in the normal subject and in the patient with congestive heart failure and normal BRS. The congestive heart failure patient with low BRS did not have an increase in LF power until BRS normalized. These data revealed an initial dissociation between cardiac noradrenergic state in the patients with congestive heart failure and LF power. During carotid sinus stimulation, LF power increased only when BRS was normal. Low BRS obviated this effect.

Because congestive heart failure is well known to be associated with baroreflex-cardiovagal inhibition,23–25 the finding of low LF power in heart failure also supports an association between LF power and BRS, independently of increased tonic release of norepinephrine from sympathetic nerves in the heart. Cevese et al26 inhibited noradrenergic vasomotor tone using an alpha-adrenoceptor blocker in human subjects while maintaining mean blood pressure at control levels using angiotensin II. This drug combination, which would be expected to attenuate sympathetically mediated vasomotor tone and thereby decrease arterial baroreceptor input, markedly decreased or abolished LF power of HRV, suggesting that, at least under resting supine conditions, a baroreflex mechanism accounts almost entirely for LF power of HRV.

deBoer et al27 developed a beat-to-beat model of the human circulation using a set of differential equations and the following principles of operation: (1) the baroreflex regulates heart rate and peripheral vascular resistance; (2) Windkessel properties characterize the systemic arterial tree; (3) contractile properties of the ventricular myocardium follow the Starling law; and (4) respiration exerts mechanical effects on blood pressure. The model attributes LF power to a resonance in the circulatory control system, produced by a slow time constant for reflexive sympathetically mediated responses to beat-tobeat blood pressure changes. The resonance can be upregulated or downregulated by the state of baroreflex activity. The model of deBoer et al predicts that changes in blood pressure would lead heart rate changes at 0.1 Hz through a delayed sympathetic response. Changes in HR would depend on summed effects of sympathetic and vagal effects, with the sympathetic response delaying the overall response. At the respiratory frequency (0.2 to 0.3 Hz), blood pressure and HR changes would occur with little delay because of fast parasympathetic control. In essence, the response of the sympathetic nervous system behaves as a low band pass filter, with a peak response at 0.1 Hz and little response at frequencies above 0.2 Hz. Systolic blood pressure would lead to changes in heart rate via the baroreflex. In general the results of this study fit with the deBoer model.

In conclusion, LF power derived from the interbeat interval spectrogram predominantly reflects baroreflex-mediated, phasic changes in cardiovagal and sympathetic noradrenergic outflows. In the setting of baroreflex failure, baseline LF power is reduced, regardless of the status of cardiac sympathetic innervation.

LIMITATIONS

The combination of cardiac sympathetic denervation and normal baroreflex function seems quite rare. One must exercise caution in drawing inferences from the findings in the Denervated-Normal BRS group, which contained only 4 subjects, even though the difference in mean log-transformed LF power from the Denervated-Low BRS group was highly statistically significant.

All of the testing in our study was done with the subjects supine. LF power measured in other positions might have different sources and meaning.

References
  1. Pagani M, Lombardi F, Guzzetti S, et al. Power spectral analysis of heart rate and arterial pressure variabilities as a marker of sympatho-vagal interaction in man and conscious dog. Circ Res 1986; 59:178193.
  2. Alvarenga ME, Richards JC, Lambert G, Esler MD. Psychophysiological mechanisms in panic disorder: a correlative analysis of noradrenaline spillover, neuronal noradrenaline reuptake, power spectral analysis of heart rate variability, and psychological variables. Psychosom Med 2006; 68:816.
  3. Eisenhofer G, Friberg P, Rundqvist B, et al. Cardiac sympathetic nerve function in congestive heart failure. Circulation 1996; 93:16671676.
  4. Notarius CF, Butler GC, Ando S, Pollard MJ, Senn BL, Floras JS. Dissociation between microneurographic and heart rate variability estimates of sympathetic tone in normal subjects and patients with heart failure. Clin Sci (Lond) 1999; 96:557565.
  5. Scalvini S, Volterrani M, Zanelli E, et al. Is heart rate variability a reliable method to assess autonomic modulation in left ventricular dysfunction and heart failure? Assessment of autonomic modulation with heart rate variability. Int J Cardiol 1998; 67:917.
  6. Kingwell BA, Thompson JM, Kaye DM, McPherson GA, Jennings GL, Esler MD. Heart rate spectral analysis, cardiac norepinephrine spillover, and muscle sympathetic nerve activity during human sympathetic nervous activation and failure. Circulation 1994; 90:234240.
  7. van de Borne P, Montano N, Pagani M, Oren R, Somers VK. Absence of low-frequency variability of sympathetic nerve activity in severe heart failure. Circulation 1997; 95:14491454.
  8. Sleight P, La Rovere MT, Mortara A, et al. Physiology and pathophysiology of heart rate and blood pressure variability in humans: is power spectral analysis largely an index of baroreflex gain? Clin Sci (Lond) 1995; 88:103109.
  9. Saul JP, Arai Y, Berger RD, Lilly LS, Colucci WS, Cohen RJ. Assessment of autonomic regulation in chronic congestive heart failure by heart rate spectral analysis. Am J Cardiol 1988; 61:12921299.
  10. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Li ST, Bruce S, Metman LV, Cannon RO. Cardiac sympathetic denervation in Parkinson disease. Ann Intern Med 2000; 133:338347.
  11. Goldstein DS, Eldadah BA, Holmes C, et al. Neurocirculatory abnormalities in Parkinson disease with orthostatic hypotension. Independence from levodopa treatment. Hypertension 2005; 46:13331339.
  12. Goldstein DS, Eldadah B, Holmes C, Pechnik S, Moak J, Sharabi Y. Neurocirculatory abnormalities in chronic orthostatic intolerance. Circulation 2005; 111:839845.
  13. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Frank SM, et al. Cardiac sympathetic dysautonomia in chronic orthostatic intolerance syndromes. Circulation 2002; 106:23582365.
  14. Lord SW, Clayton RH, Mitchell L, Dark JH, Murray A, McComb JM. Sympathetic reinnervation and heart rate variability after cardiac transplantation. Heart 1997; 77:532538.
  15. Goldstein DS, Eisenhofer G, Dunn BB, et al. Positron emission tomographic imaging of cardiac sympathetic innervation using 6-[18F]fluorodopamine: initial findings in humans. J Am Coll Cardiol 1993; 22:19611971.
  16. Goldstein DS, Tack C. Non-invasive detection of sympathetic neurocirculatory failure. Clin Auton Res 2000; 10:285291.
  17. Goldstein DS, Horwitz D, Keiser HR. Comparison of techniques for measuring baroreflex sensitivity in man. Circulation 1982; 66:432439.
  18. Goldstein DS, Brush JE, Eisenhofer G, Stull R, Esler M. In vivo measurement of neuronal uptake of norepinephrine in the human heart. Circulation 1988; 78:4148.
  19. Koh J, Brown TE, Beightol LA, Ha CY, Eckberg DL. Human autonomic rhythms: vagal cardiac mechanisms in tetraplegic subjects. J Physiol 1994; 474:483495.
  20. Saul JP, Rea RF, Eckberg DL, Berger RD, Cohen RJ. Heart rate and muscle sympathetic nerve variability during reflex changes of autonomic activity. Am J Physiol 1990; 258:H713H721.
  21. Wiklund U, Koskinen LO, Niklasson U, Bjerle P, Elfversson J. Endoscopic transthoracic sympathectomy affects the autonomic modulation of heart rate in patients with palmar hyperhidrosis. Acta Neurochir (Wien) 2000; 142:691696.
  22. Kawamata YT, Kawamata T, Omote K, et al. Endoscopic thoracic sympathectomy suppresses baroreflex control of heart rate in patients with essential hyperhidrosis. Anesth Analg 2004; 98:3739.
  23. Goldstein RE, Beiser GD, Stampfer M, Epstein SE. Impairment of autonomically mediated heart rate control in patients with cardiac dysfunction. Circ Res 1975; 36:571578.
  24. Cody RJ, Franklin KW, Kluger J, Laragh JH. Mechanisms governing the postural response and baroreceptor abnormalities in chronic congestive heart failure: effects of acute and long-term convertingenzyme inhibition. Circulation 1982; 66:135142.
  25. Creager MA. Baroreceptor reflex function in congestive heart failure. Am J Cardiol 1992; 69:10G15G; discussion 15G–16G.
  26. Cevese A, Gulli G, Polati E, Gottin L, Grasso R. Baroreflex and oscillation of heart period at 0.1 Hz studied by alpha-blockade and crossspectral analysis in healthy humans. J Physiol 2001; 531:235244.
  27. deBoer RW, Karemaker JM, Strackee J. Hemodynamic fluctuations and baroreflex sensitivity in humans: a beat-to-beat model. Am J Physiol 1987; 253:H680689.
References
  1. Pagani M, Lombardi F, Guzzetti S, et al. Power spectral analysis of heart rate and arterial pressure variabilities as a marker of sympatho-vagal interaction in man and conscious dog. Circ Res 1986; 59:178193.
  2. Alvarenga ME, Richards JC, Lambert G, Esler MD. Psychophysiological mechanisms in panic disorder: a correlative analysis of noradrenaline spillover, neuronal noradrenaline reuptake, power spectral analysis of heart rate variability, and psychological variables. Psychosom Med 2006; 68:816.
  3. Eisenhofer G, Friberg P, Rundqvist B, et al. Cardiac sympathetic nerve function in congestive heart failure. Circulation 1996; 93:16671676.
  4. Notarius CF, Butler GC, Ando S, Pollard MJ, Senn BL, Floras JS. Dissociation between microneurographic and heart rate variability estimates of sympathetic tone in normal subjects and patients with heart failure. Clin Sci (Lond) 1999; 96:557565.
  5. Scalvini S, Volterrani M, Zanelli E, et al. Is heart rate variability a reliable method to assess autonomic modulation in left ventricular dysfunction and heart failure? Assessment of autonomic modulation with heart rate variability. Int J Cardiol 1998; 67:917.
  6. Kingwell BA, Thompson JM, Kaye DM, McPherson GA, Jennings GL, Esler MD. Heart rate spectral analysis, cardiac norepinephrine spillover, and muscle sympathetic nerve activity during human sympathetic nervous activation and failure. Circulation 1994; 90:234240.
  7. van de Borne P, Montano N, Pagani M, Oren R, Somers VK. Absence of low-frequency variability of sympathetic nerve activity in severe heart failure. Circulation 1997; 95:14491454.
  8. Sleight P, La Rovere MT, Mortara A, et al. Physiology and pathophysiology of heart rate and blood pressure variability in humans: is power spectral analysis largely an index of baroreflex gain? Clin Sci (Lond) 1995; 88:103109.
  9. Saul JP, Arai Y, Berger RD, Lilly LS, Colucci WS, Cohen RJ. Assessment of autonomic regulation in chronic congestive heart failure by heart rate spectral analysis. Am J Cardiol 1988; 61:12921299.
  10. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Li ST, Bruce S, Metman LV, Cannon RO. Cardiac sympathetic denervation in Parkinson disease. Ann Intern Med 2000; 133:338347.
  11. Goldstein DS, Eldadah BA, Holmes C, et al. Neurocirculatory abnormalities in Parkinson disease with orthostatic hypotension. Independence from levodopa treatment. Hypertension 2005; 46:13331339.
  12. Goldstein DS, Eldadah B, Holmes C, Pechnik S, Moak J, Sharabi Y. Neurocirculatory abnormalities in chronic orthostatic intolerance. Circulation 2005; 111:839845.
  13. Goldstein DS, Holmes C, Frank SM, et al. Cardiac sympathetic dysautonomia in chronic orthostatic intolerance syndromes. Circulation 2002; 106:23582365.
  14. Lord SW, Clayton RH, Mitchell L, Dark JH, Murray A, McComb JM. Sympathetic reinnervation and heart rate variability after cardiac transplantation. Heart 1997; 77:532538.
  15. Goldstein DS, Eisenhofer G, Dunn BB, et al. Positron emission tomographic imaging of cardiac sympathetic innervation using 6-[18F]fluorodopamine: initial findings in humans. J Am Coll Cardiol 1993; 22:19611971.
  16. Goldstein DS, Tack C. Non-invasive detection of sympathetic neurocirculatory failure. Clin Auton Res 2000; 10:285291.
  17. Goldstein DS, Horwitz D, Keiser HR. Comparison of techniques for measuring baroreflex sensitivity in man. Circulation 1982; 66:432439.
  18. Goldstein DS, Brush JE, Eisenhofer G, Stull R, Esler M. In vivo measurement of neuronal uptake of norepinephrine in the human heart. Circulation 1988; 78:4148.
  19. Koh J, Brown TE, Beightol LA, Ha CY, Eckberg DL. Human autonomic rhythms: vagal cardiac mechanisms in tetraplegic subjects. J Physiol 1994; 474:483495.
  20. Saul JP, Rea RF, Eckberg DL, Berger RD, Cohen RJ. Heart rate and muscle sympathetic nerve variability during reflex changes of autonomic activity. Am J Physiol 1990; 258:H713H721.
  21. Wiklund U, Koskinen LO, Niklasson U, Bjerle P, Elfversson J. Endoscopic transthoracic sympathectomy affects the autonomic modulation of heart rate in patients with palmar hyperhidrosis. Acta Neurochir (Wien) 2000; 142:691696.
  22. Kawamata YT, Kawamata T, Omote K, et al. Endoscopic thoracic sympathectomy suppresses baroreflex control of heart rate in patients with essential hyperhidrosis. Anesth Analg 2004; 98:3739.
  23. Goldstein RE, Beiser GD, Stampfer M, Epstein SE. Impairment of autonomically mediated heart rate control in patients with cardiac dysfunction. Circ Res 1975; 36:571578.
  24. Cody RJ, Franklin KW, Kluger J, Laragh JH. Mechanisms governing the postural response and baroreceptor abnormalities in chronic congestive heart failure: effects of acute and long-term convertingenzyme inhibition. Circulation 1982; 66:135142.
  25. Creager MA. Baroreceptor reflex function in congestive heart failure. Am J Cardiol 1992; 69:10G15G; discussion 15G–16G.
  26. Cevese A, Gulli G, Polati E, Gottin L, Grasso R. Baroreflex and oscillation of heart period at 0.1 Hz studied by alpha-blockade and crossspectral analysis in healthy humans. J Physiol 2001; 531:235244.
  27. deBoer RW, Karemaker JM, Strackee J. Hemodynamic fluctuations and baroreflex sensitivity in humans: a beat-to-beat model. Am J Physiol 1987; 253:H680689.
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Is posttraumatic stress disorder related to development of heart disease? An update*

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Is posttraumatic stress disorder related to development of heart disease? An update*

We recently published the first prospective test of the hypothesis that individuals with higher levels of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms are at higher risk of developing coronary heart disease (CHD). With colleagues from the Normative Aging Study, we used a questionnaire-based measure to assess PTSD in a sample of men who had served in the military and did not have CHD at the start of the study. All CHD end points were confirmed by a board-certified cardiologist. Over an average of 10 years of followup, for each standard deviation increase in symptom level, men had age-adjusted relative risks of 1.26 (95% confidence interval [CI], 1.05–1.51) for nonfatal myocardial infarction (MI) and fatal CHD combined. Results were maintained after controlling for all known coronary risk factors and replicated when considering an alternative measure of PTSD.1

Several aspects of the findings were particularly interesting. Cardiotoxic effects of PTSD symptoms were evident even though PTSD symptom levels were low to moderate in this group. In fact, few of the men would have met criteria for a PTSD diagnosis. There was also a dose-response relation between levels of symptoms and CHD risk, suggesting individuals with significantly higher levels of distress would be at considerably greater risk. Moreover, effects of PTSD symptoms on angina were significantly weaker than effects on MI and fatal CHD, each an objectively verified outcome. These results suggest that individuals with PTSD do not merely appear to be ill because they report more pain. Effects were also maintained even after accounting for potentially damaging health behaviors that have often been linked with PTSD. Finally, because PTSD and depression often occur together and since depression has been identified as a risk factor for CHD, an ongoing debate has considered whether PTSD per se may have cardiotoxic effects, or if effects can be explained by its association with depression. Findings from this study indicated that PTSD symptoms were associated with CHD, independent of depression.

NATURE OF PTSD

PTSD has been identified as a marker of extreme distress in response to a potentially traumatic event and may also be indicative of a chronic stress reaction. Diagnosis of PTSD is often difficult because PTSD symptoms overlap with those of anxiety and affective disorders, both of which are generally more recognized. However, unlike depressive and anxiety disorders, PTSD is defined by the combination of exposure to a potentially traumatic event (eg, combat, sexual assault, or serious natural disaster) and the occurrence of three types of symptoms: reexperiencing the traumatic event, avoidance of traumatic reminders and emotional numbing, and hyperarousal.2 The time course of PTS can follow one of several patterns, where high levels of symptoms after traumatic exposure are followed by recovery, chronic symptoms persist over time, or symptoms relapse and remit.3 Since the disorder reflects dysregulation of the stress-response system, which is associated with potentially atherogenic processes, a link between PTSD and CHD has long been speculated.4

PATHWAYS BETWEEN PTSD AND CHD

Numerous studies have found that cardiovascular disease and its risk factors are more prevalent among individuals with PTSD.5–7 PTSD is hypothesized to contribute to the development of CHD, but because these studies have examined concurrent PTSD and cardiovascular disease or risk, they cannot determine the direction of causality. The causal relationship between PTSD and CHD has been hypothesized based on a model of prolonged stress reaction that posits that stress leads to impaired adaptation and increased wear and tear on the body. These processes may ultimately lead to atherosclerosis and cardiovascular system damage.8 Adults with PTSD exhibit neuroendocrinologic alterations characterized by enhanced negative feedback sensitivity of glucocorticoid receptors in the stress-response system and lower than normal urinary and plasma cortisol levels. Exaggerated catecholamine responses to trauma-related stimuli have also been found in adults diagnosed with PTSD.4 Higher concentrations of circulating catecholamines and increased total body sympathetic activity may eventually lead to autonomic nervous system dysfunction, including diminished heart rate variability, baroreflex dysfunction, and increased QT variability.9 Chronic stress and emotional arousal may also lead to or exacerbate endothelial damage and promote the development of atherosclerosis.

Another hypothesized pathway by which PTSD may influence CHD is through behavior. Studies have consistently demonstrated that individuals with PTSD are more likely to engage in adverse behaviors, which are themselves risk factors for CHD. For example, individuals with PTSD are more likely to smoke and to abuse alcohol.10,11 Interestingly, although these behaviors are generally believed to be on the causal pathway between PTSD and CHD, epidemiologic studies generally control for them. As a result, the magnitude of the association between PTSD and CHD may well be underestimated.

COULD THE ASSOCIATION BETWEEN PTSD AND CHD BE SPURIOUS?

At the heart of the endeavor to understand the relationship between PTSD and CHD is the question of whether PTSD actually leads to CHD through behavioral or biological alterations or if PTSD and CHD simply share common pathways. Another possibility is that the development of CHD (which itself can be a traumatic event) may cause PTSD.7 Biomedicine has generally been somewhat skeptical of the notion that feelings or psychological stress may lead to physical health outcomes, with three primary objections typically identified:

  • A third underlying factor (eg, one or more genes or toxic environmental exposures) may cause both PTSD and CHD
  • Most studies to date have been cross-sectional, leaving the question of causality unresolved

  • Even with prospective studies, findings may be explained by either unmeasured potential confounds (ie, physical activity) or residual confounding by inadequately measured factors.

Moreover, since PTSD can develop in response to physical trauma, it may be difficult to distinguish whether effects on CHD are due to physical harm or psychological stress reactions.

CONCLUSION

Support for the theory that PTSD is causally related to CHD is provided by the recent prospective findings and the fact that they are highly consistent with findings from work in related areas. Several studies have reported that exposure to trauma and adverse events increases the risk of CHD.12,13 Other research has suggested that trauma increases the risk of adverse health outcomes only when PTSD develops in response to the trauma.14,15 Moreover, there is a growing body of evidence that chronic stress in various forms (eg, work stress), as well as high levels of emotional distress, may increase risk of CHD.9 Findings from this body of work are less susceptible to the concern that physical trauma rather than psychological stress reaction is driving the effects. Other work has also linked PTSD with reduced vagal tone16 and hypercoagulability. 17 Taken together, research to date suggests that prolonged or chronic stress does play a role in the development of CHD.

 

 

FUTURE PERSPECTIVE

PTSD is common in the general population. Approximately 7% of Americans will meet diagnostic criteria for PTSD in their lifetime.18 Prevalence rates are much higher among war veterans; in a recent study, 13% of US military personnel who served in Iraq screened positive for PTSD.19 If PTSD is demonstrated to have significant cardiotoxic effects, there are numerous implications for both prevention and treatment.

More conclusive evidence of the association may be obtained using a variety of approaches. A first step will be to obtain longitudinal data in more diverse samples. This will include considering other groups (ie, women), individuals with clinically significant PTSD, and individuals with non-combat-related PTSD. Additional work will further examine exactly the duration or chronicity of PTSD necessary to initiate pathophysiological processes. Moreover, it is unknown whether the cardiotoxic effects of PTSD can be reversed if PTSD is successfully treated. Future work may compare long-term cardiac outcomes between individuals with PTSD who were successfully treated and those whose PTSD was refractory to treatment. A more careful examination of biological mechanisms is also required. Numerous studies have linked other types of chronic emotional distress with altered vagal tone, increased rate of atherosclerosis, and inflammation, suggesting these as likely pathways. 9 However, the possibility of acute effects of PTSD should also be considered in light of recent work that found evidence of myocardial stunning in response to extreme emotional distress.20

More conclusive evidence and a better understanding of the mechanisms will increase our ability to identify effective forms of prevention and intervention. Currently, individuals who are at high risk of trauma exposure by virtue of their occupations (eg, police or firefighters) are often screened for PTSD. Work on PTSD and CHD may suggest that these individuals should also be monitored or screened for development of adverse cardiovascular outcomes. Pertinently, this adds to the evidence suggesting that cardiologists may be more effective if they can recognize and manage emotional distress in practice. Emotional distress may increase the risk of developing disease (and sometimes actually presents as cardiac disease). It can also adversely impact on a patient’s prognosis by affecting treatment adherence and shaping the course of the disease.9 With improved prevention and more effective treatment strategies, we have the potential to significantly improve patient outcomes.

Addendum

Since the original publication of this review, several new studies have been published that uniformly provide additional empirical support for the hypothesis that individuals with higher levels of PTSD symptoms are at increased risk of developing CHD.

ADDITIONAL PROSPECTIVE STUDIES

Population-based study of military veterans

A second prospective study was conducted using a random sample of men less than 65 years of age at follow-up who served in the US Army during the Vietnam War.21 Two measures of PTSD were obtained, one based on criteria from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3rd edition (DSM-III), and a second one using the Keane PTSD scale. After excluding any men with a history of heart disease at baseline and controlling for known coronary risk factors, the researchers found that a diagnosis of PTSD (using the DSM-III measure) more than doubled the risk for early-age heart disease mortality (hazard ratio = 2.25; 95% CI, 1.02–4.95). These results were maintained after controlling for depression and whether or not men actually served in Vietnam or elsewhere, and results were similar when the Keane PTSD measure was used. Compared with the men participating in the Normative Aging Study, this study’s population had generally higher PTSD symptom levels and had a significantly younger average age. Thus, findings from this population-based study of US veterans are highly consistent with earlier findings from a more limited sample within the Normative Aging Study.

Community-based study of civilian women

To address the question of whether effects are constrained to men with military experience (and likely combat exposure) or to older individuals, we recently examined the association between PTSD and CHD in civilian women, again using a prospective study design.22 Past-year trauma and associated PTSD symptoms were assessed using the National Institute of Mental Health Diagnostic Interview Schedule and considered in relation to incident CHD during the 14-year follow-up. After excluding individuals with heart disease at baseline and controlling for known coronary risk factors as well as depression and trait anxiety, we found that women with 5 or more PTSD symptoms had a threefold increase in the risk of incident CHD (odds ratio = 3.21; 95% CI, 1.29–7.98) compared with women with no PTSD symptoms. These findings were unchanged after women with angina were excluded and after known coronary risk factors were controlled for. Women in this study were even younger than the men in the prior prospective studies, with a mean age at baseline of 44.4 years. This study provides evidence that that damaging effects of PTSD symptoms are not limited to military men but are also evident among initially healthy community-dwelling civilian women exposed to non-combat-related trauma.

Together, these studies suggest that PTSD may be involved in the etiology of CHD, as all were meticulous in excluding individuals who might have already had heart disease at baseline.

 

 

MORE STUDIES FOCUSING ON POTENTIAL MECHANISMS

As empirical evidence emerges that consistently suggests that PTSD is involved in the etiology of CHD, more studies are focusing on potential mechanisms and biological alterations related to PTSD that may help to explain its association with CHD. It has long been observed that individuals with PTSD often exhibit hypocortisolism and corresponding alterations in hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis regulation that seem to be linked with reduced responsiveness to glucocorticoids.23 Moreover, several studies have suggested an association of PTSD with inflammatory and autoimmune diseases, leading investigators to speculate that PTSD causes chronic low-level inflammation.21,24

As a result, studies focusing directly on the relationship between PTSD and inflammation or consequences of inflammation are beginning to appear. For example, one recent study compared levels of both proinflammatory and anti-inflammatory activity across patients with PTSD and age- and gender-matched controls without PTSD.25 Findings indicated the presence of a low-grade systemic proinflammatory state among patients with PTSD, and levels of proinflammatory activity were associated in a dose-response fashion with PTSD symptom levels. In another study, patients with PTSD were found to have more endothelial dysfunction, as measured by plasma concentrations of soluble tissue factor, compared with age- and gendermatched controls without PTSD.26

Another line of research has considered whether links between PTSD and CHD may be explained in part by alterations in vagal function.27 Various studies in small samples have found reduced heart rate vari ability and increased sympathetic activity at rest,28–30 with parasympathetic activity blunted in response to challenge or trauma reminder among PTSD patients compared with healthy individuals without PTSD.16,29,31 A similar line of work has considered the effect of PTSD on parasympathetic nervous system functioning by examining effects on baroreflex sensitivity. Arterial baroreflex responses contribute to parasympathetic tone and have been linked with psychosocial stress, carotid atherosclerosis, and increased risk of cardiovascular disease.32–34 Two studies have considered whether baroreflex sensitivity is reduced among individuals with PTSD relative to those without PTSD.35,36 One study, conducted among smokers, found reduced baroreceptor sensitivity among women but not men after controlling for demographics, medications, diagnostic characteristics, and smoking variables. 36 A second study, conducted among women only, found baroreceptor sensitivity to again be reduced among women with PTSD after controlling for a range of potential confounders, including comorbid psychiatric disorders.35 These women also appeared to have attenuated parasympathetic withdrawal response during a stressful challenge condition, similar to findings from studies of heart rate variability. Results from this small number of studies are somewhat preliminary, but given the consistency across these initial findings and other work linking related disorders (such as depression and anxiety) with reduced heart rate variability, ongoing work in this area is recommended.27

CAN IT BE SHOWN THAN PTSD PRECEDES CHD DEVELOPMENT?

One of the challenges for studying potential mechanisms and biological alterations that explain how PTSD might influence the development of CHD is establishing that PTSD actually precedes the biological change under study. Much of the research to date compares individuals with PTSD or high levels of PTSD symptoms to individuals without PTSD or its symptoms. As a result, these studies cannot definitively determine whether PTSD caused the biological alteration or if presence of the biological alteration preceded PTSD and in fact increased susceptibility to the disorder.23 Convincing evidence that PTSD is involved in the etiology of CHD will include demonstrating that PTSD precedes the biological changes posited to contribute to the development of CHD.

Suggestive evidence from an animal model

One recent study in animals provides some reassurance that the posited direction of effects for the research reviewed above is plausible. Using an animal model of PTSD, rats were randomly assigned to exposure to a severe stress (a predator) for 10 minutes or to a control group.37 Behavioral reactions were tested 7 days after the stress exposure, and measures of ACTH, prolactin, and heart rate variability were obtained. Rats exposed to extreme stress demonstrated behavioral and biological changes commensurate with disruptions expected with PTSD. For example, stressed rats exhibited increased plasma ACTH, higher heart rate, lower heart rate variability, and many more maladaptive behaviors when compared with control rats. Since the animals were randomly assigned to exposure to severe stress, it is unlikely that these effects could be attributed to biological differences between the groups at baseline. Moreover, clear biological changes were evident as a result of exposure to severe stress. Taken together, these findings provide some reassurance that PTSD may have biological sequelae that in turn influence the risk of CHD, although prospective studies of PTSD and biological alterations in human populations clearly are needed.

AS PTSD PREVALENCE RISES, URGENCY FOR INSIGHTS INCREASES

PTSD occurs commonly in the general population but is of particular concern for individuals working in high-risk service occupations and in the military. With ongoing conflicts we may expect to see significant increases in the population prevalence of PTSD. Giving due consideration to the burden of illness associated with PTSD has added urgency, as recent studies have highlighted problems with access to and quality of mental health care.19,38 Thus, understanding the relationship between PTSD and CHD remains critical. Insights obtained from this work may increase our understanding of how biological susceptibility to heart disease develops and may aid in identifying strategies for disease prevention and intervention.

References

Papers of special note have been highlighted as either of interest (•) or of considerable interest (••) to readers.

  1. Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC, Spiro A, Vokonas PS, Sparrow D. Prospective study of post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms and coronary heart disease in the Normative Aging Study. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2007; 64:109116.
    •• Describes the first prospective test of the hypothesis that posttraumatic stress disorder increases the incident risk of coronary heart disease.
  2. The American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 4th ed, text revision. Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association; 2000:463.
  3. Koenen KC, Stellman JM, Stellman SD, Sommer JF. Risk factors for course of posttraumatic stress disorder among Vietnam veter ans: a 14-year follow-up of American Legionnaires. J Consult Clin Psychol 2003; 71:980986.
    • Detailed examination of factors that increase risk and affect course of posttraumatic stress disorder and its recovery.
  4. Vanitallie TB. Stress: a risk factor for serious illness. Metabolism 2002; 51( suppl 1):4045.
  5. Solter V, Thaller V, Karlović D, Crnković D. Elevated serum lipids in veterans with combat-related chronic posttraumatic stress disorder. Croat Med J 2002; 43:685699.
  6. Boscarino JA, Chang J. Electrocardiogram abnormalities among men with stress-related psychiatric disorders: implications for coronary heart disease and clinical research. Ann Behav Med 1999; 21:227234.
  7. Bankier B, Januzzi JL, Littman AB. The high prevalence of multiple psychiatric disorders in stable outpatients with coronary heart disease. Psychosom Med 2004; 66:645650.
  8. McEwen BS. Mood disorders and allostatic load. Biol Psychiatry 2003; 54:200207.
  9. Rozanski A, Blumenthal JA, Davidson KW, Saab P, Kubzansky LD. The epidemiology, pathophysiology, and management of psychosocial risk factors in cardiac practice: the emerging field of behavioral cardiology. J Am Coll Cardiol 2005; 45:637651.
    •• In-depth examination of how psychosocial factors may contribute to the development and progression of coronary heart disease, as well as consideration of managing psychosocial risk in cardiac practice.
  10. Breslau N, Davis GC, Schultz LR. Posttraumatic stress disorder and the incidence of nicotine, alcohol, and other drug disorders in persons who have experienced trauma. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2003; 60:289294.
  11. Koenen KC, Hitsman B, Lyons MJ, et al. Posttraumatic stress disorder and late-onset smoking in the Vietnam era twin registry. J Consult Clin Psychol 2006; 74:186190.
  12. Page WF, Brass LM. Long-term heart disease and stroke mortality among former American prisoners of World War II and the Korean conflict. Mil Med 2001; 166:803808.
  13. Dong M, Giles WH, Felitti VG, et al. Insights into causal pathways for ischemic heart disease: adverse childhood experiences study. Circulation 2004; 110:17611766.
  14. Kang HK, Bullman TA, Taylor JW. Risk of selected cardiovascular diseases and posttraumatic stress disorder among former World War II prisoners of war. Ann Epidemiol 2006; 16:381386.
  15. Schnurr PP, Spiro A. Combat exposure, post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms, and health behaviors as predictors of self-reported physical health in older veterans. J Nerv Ment Dis 1999; 187:353359.
  16. Sack M, Hopper JW, Lamprecht F. Low respiratory sinus arrhythmia and prolonged psychophysiological arousal in posttraumatic stress disorder: heart rate dynamics and individual differences in arousal regulation. Biol Psychiatry 2004; 55:284290.
  17. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Buddeberg C, et al. Altered blood coagulation in patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. Psychosom Med 2006; 68:598604.
  18. Kessler RC, Berglund P, Demler O, Jin R, Merikangas KR, Walters EE. Lifetime prevalence and age-of-onset distributions of DSMIV disorders in the National Comorbidity Survey Replication. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2005; 62:593602.
  19. Hoge CW, Castro CA, Messer SC, McGurk D, Cotting DI, Koffman RL. Combat duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, mental health problems, and barriers to care. N Engl J Med 2004; 351:1322.
  20. Wittstein IS, Thiemann DR, Lima JA, et al. Neurohumoral features of myocardial stunning due to sudden emotional stress. N Engl J Med 2005; 352:539548.
  21. Boscarino JA. A prospective study of PTSD and early-age heart disease mortality among Vietnam veterans: implications for surveillance and prevention. Psychosom Med 2008; 70:668676.
  22. Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC, Jones C, Eaton WW. Post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms and coronary heart disease in women. Health Psychol. In press.
  23. Yehuda R. Advances in understanding neuroendocrine alterations in PTSD and their therapeutic implications. Ann N Y Acad Sci 2006; 1071:137166.
  24. O’Toole BI, Catts SV. Trauma, PTSD, and physical health: an epidemiological study of Australian Vietnam veterans. J Psychosom Res 2008; 64:3340.
  25. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Kraemer B, et al. Evidence for low-grade systemic proinflammatory activity in patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. J Psychiatr Res 2006; 41:744752.
  26. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Traber R, et al. Measures of endothelial dysfunction in plasma of patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. Psychiatry Res 2008; 158:363373.
  27. Thayer JF, Lane RD. The role of vagal function in the risk for cardiovascular disease and mortality. Biol Psychol 2007; 74:224242.
  28. Blechert J, Michael T, Grossman P, Lajtman M, Wilhelm FH. Autonomic and respiratory characteristics of posttraumatic stress disorder and panic disorder. Psychosom Med 2007; 69:935943.
  29. Cohen H, Benjamin J, Geva AB, Matar MA, Kaplan Z, Kotler M. Autonomic dysregulation in panic disorder and in post-traumatic stress disorder: application of power spectrum analysis of heart rate variability at rest and in response to recollection of trauma or panic attacks. Psychiatry Res 2000; 96:113.
  30. Cohen H, Kotler M, Matar MA, Kaplan Z, Miodownik H, Cassuto Y. Power spectral analysis of heart rate variability in posttraumatic stress disorder patients. Biol Psychiatry 1997; 41:627629.
  31. Sahar T, Shalev AY, Porges SW. Vagal modulation of responses to mental challenge in posttraumatic stress disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2001; 49:637643.
  32. La Rovere MT, Pinna GD, Raczak G. Baroreflex sensitivity: measurement and clinical implications. Ann Noninvasive Electrocardiol 2008; 13:191207.
  33. Lucini D, Di Fede G, Parati G, Pagani M. Impact of chronic psychosocial stress on autonomic cardiovascular regulation in otherwise healthy subjects. Hypertension 2005; 46:12011206.
  34. Nasr N, Pavy-Le Traon A, Larrue V. Baroreflex sensitivity is impaired in bilateral carotid atherosclerosis. Stroke 2005; 36:18911895.
  35. Hughes JW, Dennis MF, Beckham JC. Baroreceptor sensitivity at rest and during stress in women with posttraumatic stress disorder or major depressive disorder. J Trauma Stress 2007; 20:667676.
  36. Hughes JW, Feldman ME, Beckham JC. Posttraumatic stress disorder is associated with attenuated baroreceptor sensitivity among female, but not male, smokers. Biol Psychol 2006; 71:296302.
  37. Cohen H, Zohar J, Matar M. The relevance of differential response to trauma in an animal model of posttraumatic stress disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2003; 53:463473.
  38. Tanielian T, Jaycox LH. Invisible Wounds of War: Psychological and Cognitive Injuries, Their Consequences, and Services to Assist Recovery. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp; 2008.
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Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD
Department of Society, Human Development & Health, Harvard School of Public Health, Boston, MA

Karestan C. Koenen, PhD
Department of Society, Human Development & Health, Harvard School of Public Health, Boston, MA

Correspondence: Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD, Department of Soci ety, Human Development and Health, Harvard School of Public Health, 677 Huntington Avenue, Boston, MA 02115;[email protected]

*This article, except for the text following “Addendum” (and the first cited therein), is reprinted from Future Cardiology (Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC. Is post-traumatic stress disorder related to development of heart disease? Future Cardiol 2007; 3:153–156) with permission of the original publisher.

Both authors reported that they have no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

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Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD
Department of Society, Human Development & Health, Harvard School of Public Health, Boston, MA

Karestan C. Koenen, PhD
Department of Society, Human Development & Health, Harvard School of Public Health, Boston, MA

Correspondence: Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD, Department of Soci ety, Human Development and Health, Harvard School of Public Health, 677 Huntington Avenue, Boston, MA 02115;[email protected]

*This article, except for the text following “Addendum” (and the first cited therein), is reprinted from Future Cardiology (Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC. Is post-traumatic stress disorder related to development of heart disease? Future Cardiol 2007; 3:153–156) with permission of the original publisher.

Both authors reported that they have no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

Author and Disclosure Information

Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD
Department of Society, Human Development & Health, Harvard School of Public Health, Boston, MA

Karestan C. Koenen, PhD
Department of Society, Human Development & Health, Harvard School of Public Health, Boston, MA

Correspondence: Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD, Department of Soci ety, Human Development and Health, Harvard School of Public Health, 677 Huntington Avenue, Boston, MA 02115;[email protected]

*This article, except for the text following “Addendum” (and the first cited therein), is reprinted from Future Cardiology (Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC. Is post-traumatic stress disorder related to development of heart disease? Future Cardiol 2007; 3:153–156) with permission of the original publisher.

Both authors reported that they have no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

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We recently published the first prospective test of the hypothesis that individuals with higher levels of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms are at higher risk of developing coronary heart disease (CHD). With colleagues from the Normative Aging Study, we used a questionnaire-based measure to assess PTSD in a sample of men who had served in the military and did not have CHD at the start of the study. All CHD end points were confirmed by a board-certified cardiologist. Over an average of 10 years of followup, for each standard deviation increase in symptom level, men had age-adjusted relative risks of 1.26 (95% confidence interval [CI], 1.05–1.51) for nonfatal myocardial infarction (MI) and fatal CHD combined. Results were maintained after controlling for all known coronary risk factors and replicated when considering an alternative measure of PTSD.1

Several aspects of the findings were particularly interesting. Cardiotoxic effects of PTSD symptoms were evident even though PTSD symptom levels were low to moderate in this group. In fact, few of the men would have met criteria for a PTSD diagnosis. There was also a dose-response relation between levels of symptoms and CHD risk, suggesting individuals with significantly higher levels of distress would be at considerably greater risk. Moreover, effects of PTSD symptoms on angina were significantly weaker than effects on MI and fatal CHD, each an objectively verified outcome. These results suggest that individuals with PTSD do not merely appear to be ill because they report more pain. Effects were also maintained even after accounting for potentially damaging health behaviors that have often been linked with PTSD. Finally, because PTSD and depression often occur together and since depression has been identified as a risk factor for CHD, an ongoing debate has considered whether PTSD per se may have cardiotoxic effects, or if effects can be explained by its association with depression. Findings from this study indicated that PTSD symptoms were associated with CHD, independent of depression.

NATURE OF PTSD

PTSD has been identified as a marker of extreme distress in response to a potentially traumatic event and may also be indicative of a chronic stress reaction. Diagnosis of PTSD is often difficult because PTSD symptoms overlap with those of anxiety and affective disorders, both of which are generally more recognized. However, unlike depressive and anxiety disorders, PTSD is defined by the combination of exposure to a potentially traumatic event (eg, combat, sexual assault, or serious natural disaster) and the occurrence of three types of symptoms: reexperiencing the traumatic event, avoidance of traumatic reminders and emotional numbing, and hyperarousal.2 The time course of PTS can follow one of several patterns, where high levels of symptoms after traumatic exposure are followed by recovery, chronic symptoms persist over time, or symptoms relapse and remit.3 Since the disorder reflects dysregulation of the stress-response system, which is associated with potentially atherogenic processes, a link between PTSD and CHD has long been speculated.4

PATHWAYS BETWEEN PTSD AND CHD

Numerous studies have found that cardiovascular disease and its risk factors are more prevalent among individuals with PTSD.5–7 PTSD is hypothesized to contribute to the development of CHD, but because these studies have examined concurrent PTSD and cardiovascular disease or risk, they cannot determine the direction of causality. The causal relationship between PTSD and CHD has been hypothesized based on a model of prolonged stress reaction that posits that stress leads to impaired adaptation and increased wear and tear on the body. These processes may ultimately lead to atherosclerosis and cardiovascular system damage.8 Adults with PTSD exhibit neuroendocrinologic alterations characterized by enhanced negative feedback sensitivity of glucocorticoid receptors in the stress-response system and lower than normal urinary and plasma cortisol levels. Exaggerated catecholamine responses to trauma-related stimuli have also been found in adults diagnosed with PTSD.4 Higher concentrations of circulating catecholamines and increased total body sympathetic activity may eventually lead to autonomic nervous system dysfunction, including diminished heart rate variability, baroreflex dysfunction, and increased QT variability.9 Chronic stress and emotional arousal may also lead to or exacerbate endothelial damage and promote the development of atherosclerosis.

Another hypothesized pathway by which PTSD may influence CHD is through behavior. Studies have consistently demonstrated that individuals with PTSD are more likely to engage in adverse behaviors, which are themselves risk factors for CHD. For example, individuals with PTSD are more likely to smoke and to abuse alcohol.10,11 Interestingly, although these behaviors are generally believed to be on the causal pathway between PTSD and CHD, epidemiologic studies generally control for them. As a result, the magnitude of the association between PTSD and CHD may well be underestimated.

COULD THE ASSOCIATION BETWEEN PTSD AND CHD BE SPURIOUS?

At the heart of the endeavor to understand the relationship between PTSD and CHD is the question of whether PTSD actually leads to CHD through behavioral or biological alterations or if PTSD and CHD simply share common pathways. Another possibility is that the development of CHD (which itself can be a traumatic event) may cause PTSD.7 Biomedicine has generally been somewhat skeptical of the notion that feelings or psychological stress may lead to physical health outcomes, with three primary objections typically identified:

  • A third underlying factor (eg, one or more genes or toxic environmental exposures) may cause both PTSD and CHD
  • Most studies to date have been cross-sectional, leaving the question of causality unresolved

  • Even with prospective studies, findings may be explained by either unmeasured potential confounds (ie, physical activity) or residual confounding by inadequately measured factors.

Moreover, since PTSD can develop in response to physical trauma, it may be difficult to distinguish whether effects on CHD are due to physical harm or psychological stress reactions.

CONCLUSION

Support for the theory that PTSD is causally related to CHD is provided by the recent prospective findings and the fact that they are highly consistent with findings from work in related areas. Several studies have reported that exposure to trauma and adverse events increases the risk of CHD.12,13 Other research has suggested that trauma increases the risk of adverse health outcomes only when PTSD develops in response to the trauma.14,15 Moreover, there is a growing body of evidence that chronic stress in various forms (eg, work stress), as well as high levels of emotional distress, may increase risk of CHD.9 Findings from this body of work are less susceptible to the concern that physical trauma rather than psychological stress reaction is driving the effects. Other work has also linked PTSD with reduced vagal tone16 and hypercoagulability. 17 Taken together, research to date suggests that prolonged or chronic stress does play a role in the development of CHD.

 

 

FUTURE PERSPECTIVE

PTSD is common in the general population. Approximately 7% of Americans will meet diagnostic criteria for PTSD in their lifetime.18 Prevalence rates are much higher among war veterans; in a recent study, 13% of US military personnel who served in Iraq screened positive for PTSD.19 If PTSD is demonstrated to have significant cardiotoxic effects, there are numerous implications for both prevention and treatment.

More conclusive evidence of the association may be obtained using a variety of approaches. A first step will be to obtain longitudinal data in more diverse samples. This will include considering other groups (ie, women), individuals with clinically significant PTSD, and individuals with non-combat-related PTSD. Additional work will further examine exactly the duration or chronicity of PTSD necessary to initiate pathophysiological processes. Moreover, it is unknown whether the cardiotoxic effects of PTSD can be reversed if PTSD is successfully treated. Future work may compare long-term cardiac outcomes between individuals with PTSD who were successfully treated and those whose PTSD was refractory to treatment. A more careful examination of biological mechanisms is also required. Numerous studies have linked other types of chronic emotional distress with altered vagal tone, increased rate of atherosclerosis, and inflammation, suggesting these as likely pathways. 9 However, the possibility of acute effects of PTSD should also be considered in light of recent work that found evidence of myocardial stunning in response to extreme emotional distress.20

More conclusive evidence and a better understanding of the mechanisms will increase our ability to identify effective forms of prevention and intervention. Currently, individuals who are at high risk of trauma exposure by virtue of their occupations (eg, police or firefighters) are often screened for PTSD. Work on PTSD and CHD may suggest that these individuals should also be monitored or screened for development of adverse cardiovascular outcomes. Pertinently, this adds to the evidence suggesting that cardiologists may be more effective if they can recognize and manage emotional distress in practice. Emotional distress may increase the risk of developing disease (and sometimes actually presents as cardiac disease). It can also adversely impact on a patient’s prognosis by affecting treatment adherence and shaping the course of the disease.9 With improved prevention and more effective treatment strategies, we have the potential to significantly improve patient outcomes.

Addendum

Since the original publication of this review, several new studies have been published that uniformly provide additional empirical support for the hypothesis that individuals with higher levels of PTSD symptoms are at increased risk of developing CHD.

ADDITIONAL PROSPECTIVE STUDIES

Population-based study of military veterans

A second prospective study was conducted using a random sample of men less than 65 years of age at follow-up who served in the US Army during the Vietnam War.21 Two measures of PTSD were obtained, one based on criteria from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3rd edition (DSM-III), and a second one using the Keane PTSD scale. After excluding any men with a history of heart disease at baseline and controlling for known coronary risk factors, the researchers found that a diagnosis of PTSD (using the DSM-III measure) more than doubled the risk for early-age heart disease mortality (hazard ratio = 2.25; 95% CI, 1.02–4.95). These results were maintained after controlling for depression and whether or not men actually served in Vietnam or elsewhere, and results were similar when the Keane PTSD measure was used. Compared with the men participating in the Normative Aging Study, this study’s population had generally higher PTSD symptom levels and had a significantly younger average age. Thus, findings from this population-based study of US veterans are highly consistent with earlier findings from a more limited sample within the Normative Aging Study.

Community-based study of civilian women

To address the question of whether effects are constrained to men with military experience (and likely combat exposure) or to older individuals, we recently examined the association between PTSD and CHD in civilian women, again using a prospective study design.22 Past-year trauma and associated PTSD symptoms were assessed using the National Institute of Mental Health Diagnostic Interview Schedule and considered in relation to incident CHD during the 14-year follow-up. After excluding individuals with heart disease at baseline and controlling for known coronary risk factors as well as depression and trait anxiety, we found that women with 5 or more PTSD symptoms had a threefold increase in the risk of incident CHD (odds ratio = 3.21; 95% CI, 1.29–7.98) compared with women with no PTSD symptoms. These findings were unchanged after women with angina were excluded and after known coronary risk factors were controlled for. Women in this study were even younger than the men in the prior prospective studies, with a mean age at baseline of 44.4 years. This study provides evidence that that damaging effects of PTSD symptoms are not limited to military men but are also evident among initially healthy community-dwelling civilian women exposed to non-combat-related trauma.

Together, these studies suggest that PTSD may be involved in the etiology of CHD, as all were meticulous in excluding individuals who might have already had heart disease at baseline.

 

 

MORE STUDIES FOCUSING ON POTENTIAL MECHANISMS

As empirical evidence emerges that consistently suggests that PTSD is involved in the etiology of CHD, more studies are focusing on potential mechanisms and biological alterations related to PTSD that may help to explain its association with CHD. It has long been observed that individuals with PTSD often exhibit hypocortisolism and corresponding alterations in hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis regulation that seem to be linked with reduced responsiveness to glucocorticoids.23 Moreover, several studies have suggested an association of PTSD with inflammatory and autoimmune diseases, leading investigators to speculate that PTSD causes chronic low-level inflammation.21,24

As a result, studies focusing directly on the relationship between PTSD and inflammation or consequences of inflammation are beginning to appear. For example, one recent study compared levels of both proinflammatory and anti-inflammatory activity across patients with PTSD and age- and gender-matched controls without PTSD.25 Findings indicated the presence of a low-grade systemic proinflammatory state among patients with PTSD, and levels of proinflammatory activity were associated in a dose-response fashion with PTSD symptom levels. In another study, patients with PTSD were found to have more endothelial dysfunction, as measured by plasma concentrations of soluble tissue factor, compared with age- and gendermatched controls without PTSD.26

Another line of research has considered whether links between PTSD and CHD may be explained in part by alterations in vagal function.27 Various studies in small samples have found reduced heart rate vari ability and increased sympathetic activity at rest,28–30 with parasympathetic activity blunted in response to challenge or trauma reminder among PTSD patients compared with healthy individuals without PTSD.16,29,31 A similar line of work has considered the effect of PTSD on parasympathetic nervous system functioning by examining effects on baroreflex sensitivity. Arterial baroreflex responses contribute to parasympathetic tone and have been linked with psychosocial stress, carotid atherosclerosis, and increased risk of cardiovascular disease.32–34 Two studies have considered whether baroreflex sensitivity is reduced among individuals with PTSD relative to those without PTSD.35,36 One study, conducted among smokers, found reduced baroreceptor sensitivity among women but not men after controlling for demographics, medications, diagnostic characteristics, and smoking variables. 36 A second study, conducted among women only, found baroreceptor sensitivity to again be reduced among women with PTSD after controlling for a range of potential confounders, including comorbid psychiatric disorders.35 These women also appeared to have attenuated parasympathetic withdrawal response during a stressful challenge condition, similar to findings from studies of heart rate variability. Results from this small number of studies are somewhat preliminary, but given the consistency across these initial findings and other work linking related disorders (such as depression and anxiety) with reduced heart rate variability, ongoing work in this area is recommended.27

CAN IT BE SHOWN THAN PTSD PRECEDES CHD DEVELOPMENT?

One of the challenges for studying potential mechanisms and biological alterations that explain how PTSD might influence the development of CHD is establishing that PTSD actually precedes the biological change under study. Much of the research to date compares individuals with PTSD or high levels of PTSD symptoms to individuals without PTSD or its symptoms. As a result, these studies cannot definitively determine whether PTSD caused the biological alteration or if presence of the biological alteration preceded PTSD and in fact increased susceptibility to the disorder.23 Convincing evidence that PTSD is involved in the etiology of CHD will include demonstrating that PTSD precedes the biological changes posited to contribute to the development of CHD.

Suggestive evidence from an animal model

One recent study in animals provides some reassurance that the posited direction of effects for the research reviewed above is plausible. Using an animal model of PTSD, rats were randomly assigned to exposure to a severe stress (a predator) for 10 minutes or to a control group.37 Behavioral reactions were tested 7 days after the stress exposure, and measures of ACTH, prolactin, and heart rate variability were obtained. Rats exposed to extreme stress demonstrated behavioral and biological changes commensurate with disruptions expected with PTSD. For example, stressed rats exhibited increased plasma ACTH, higher heart rate, lower heart rate variability, and many more maladaptive behaviors when compared with control rats. Since the animals were randomly assigned to exposure to severe stress, it is unlikely that these effects could be attributed to biological differences between the groups at baseline. Moreover, clear biological changes were evident as a result of exposure to severe stress. Taken together, these findings provide some reassurance that PTSD may have biological sequelae that in turn influence the risk of CHD, although prospective studies of PTSD and biological alterations in human populations clearly are needed.

AS PTSD PREVALENCE RISES, URGENCY FOR INSIGHTS INCREASES

PTSD occurs commonly in the general population but is of particular concern for individuals working in high-risk service occupations and in the military. With ongoing conflicts we may expect to see significant increases in the population prevalence of PTSD. Giving due consideration to the burden of illness associated with PTSD has added urgency, as recent studies have highlighted problems with access to and quality of mental health care.19,38 Thus, understanding the relationship between PTSD and CHD remains critical. Insights obtained from this work may increase our understanding of how biological susceptibility to heart disease develops and may aid in identifying strategies for disease prevention and intervention.

We recently published the first prospective test of the hypothesis that individuals with higher levels of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms are at higher risk of developing coronary heart disease (CHD). With colleagues from the Normative Aging Study, we used a questionnaire-based measure to assess PTSD in a sample of men who had served in the military and did not have CHD at the start of the study. All CHD end points were confirmed by a board-certified cardiologist. Over an average of 10 years of followup, for each standard deviation increase in symptom level, men had age-adjusted relative risks of 1.26 (95% confidence interval [CI], 1.05–1.51) for nonfatal myocardial infarction (MI) and fatal CHD combined. Results were maintained after controlling for all known coronary risk factors and replicated when considering an alternative measure of PTSD.1

Several aspects of the findings were particularly interesting. Cardiotoxic effects of PTSD symptoms were evident even though PTSD symptom levels were low to moderate in this group. In fact, few of the men would have met criteria for a PTSD diagnosis. There was also a dose-response relation between levels of symptoms and CHD risk, suggesting individuals with significantly higher levels of distress would be at considerably greater risk. Moreover, effects of PTSD symptoms on angina were significantly weaker than effects on MI and fatal CHD, each an objectively verified outcome. These results suggest that individuals with PTSD do not merely appear to be ill because they report more pain. Effects were also maintained even after accounting for potentially damaging health behaviors that have often been linked with PTSD. Finally, because PTSD and depression often occur together and since depression has been identified as a risk factor for CHD, an ongoing debate has considered whether PTSD per se may have cardiotoxic effects, or if effects can be explained by its association with depression. Findings from this study indicated that PTSD symptoms were associated with CHD, independent of depression.

NATURE OF PTSD

PTSD has been identified as a marker of extreme distress in response to a potentially traumatic event and may also be indicative of a chronic stress reaction. Diagnosis of PTSD is often difficult because PTSD symptoms overlap with those of anxiety and affective disorders, both of which are generally more recognized. However, unlike depressive and anxiety disorders, PTSD is defined by the combination of exposure to a potentially traumatic event (eg, combat, sexual assault, or serious natural disaster) and the occurrence of three types of symptoms: reexperiencing the traumatic event, avoidance of traumatic reminders and emotional numbing, and hyperarousal.2 The time course of PTS can follow one of several patterns, where high levels of symptoms after traumatic exposure are followed by recovery, chronic symptoms persist over time, or symptoms relapse and remit.3 Since the disorder reflects dysregulation of the stress-response system, which is associated with potentially atherogenic processes, a link between PTSD and CHD has long been speculated.4

PATHWAYS BETWEEN PTSD AND CHD

Numerous studies have found that cardiovascular disease and its risk factors are more prevalent among individuals with PTSD.5–7 PTSD is hypothesized to contribute to the development of CHD, but because these studies have examined concurrent PTSD and cardiovascular disease or risk, they cannot determine the direction of causality. The causal relationship between PTSD and CHD has been hypothesized based on a model of prolonged stress reaction that posits that stress leads to impaired adaptation and increased wear and tear on the body. These processes may ultimately lead to atherosclerosis and cardiovascular system damage.8 Adults with PTSD exhibit neuroendocrinologic alterations characterized by enhanced negative feedback sensitivity of glucocorticoid receptors in the stress-response system and lower than normal urinary and plasma cortisol levels. Exaggerated catecholamine responses to trauma-related stimuli have also been found in adults diagnosed with PTSD.4 Higher concentrations of circulating catecholamines and increased total body sympathetic activity may eventually lead to autonomic nervous system dysfunction, including diminished heart rate variability, baroreflex dysfunction, and increased QT variability.9 Chronic stress and emotional arousal may also lead to or exacerbate endothelial damage and promote the development of atherosclerosis.

Another hypothesized pathway by which PTSD may influence CHD is through behavior. Studies have consistently demonstrated that individuals with PTSD are more likely to engage in adverse behaviors, which are themselves risk factors for CHD. For example, individuals with PTSD are more likely to smoke and to abuse alcohol.10,11 Interestingly, although these behaviors are generally believed to be on the causal pathway between PTSD and CHD, epidemiologic studies generally control for them. As a result, the magnitude of the association between PTSD and CHD may well be underestimated.

COULD THE ASSOCIATION BETWEEN PTSD AND CHD BE SPURIOUS?

At the heart of the endeavor to understand the relationship between PTSD and CHD is the question of whether PTSD actually leads to CHD through behavioral or biological alterations or if PTSD and CHD simply share common pathways. Another possibility is that the development of CHD (which itself can be a traumatic event) may cause PTSD.7 Biomedicine has generally been somewhat skeptical of the notion that feelings or psychological stress may lead to physical health outcomes, with three primary objections typically identified:

  • A third underlying factor (eg, one or more genes or toxic environmental exposures) may cause both PTSD and CHD
  • Most studies to date have been cross-sectional, leaving the question of causality unresolved

  • Even with prospective studies, findings may be explained by either unmeasured potential confounds (ie, physical activity) or residual confounding by inadequately measured factors.

Moreover, since PTSD can develop in response to physical trauma, it may be difficult to distinguish whether effects on CHD are due to physical harm or psychological stress reactions.

CONCLUSION

Support for the theory that PTSD is causally related to CHD is provided by the recent prospective findings and the fact that they are highly consistent with findings from work in related areas. Several studies have reported that exposure to trauma and adverse events increases the risk of CHD.12,13 Other research has suggested that trauma increases the risk of adverse health outcomes only when PTSD develops in response to the trauma.14,15 Moreover, there is a growing body of evidence that chronic stress in various forms (eg, work stress), as well as high levels of emotional distress, may increase risk of CHD.9 Findings from this body of work are less susceptible to the concern that physical trauma rather than psychological stress reaction is driving the effects. Other work has also linked PTSD with reduced vagal tone16 and hypercoagulability. 17 Taken together, research to date suggests that prolonged or chronic stress does play a role in the development of CHD.

 

 

FUTURE PERSPECTIVE

PTSD is common in the general population. Approximately 7% of Americans will meet diagnostic criteria for PTSD in their lifetime.18 Prevalence rates are much higher among war veterans; in a recent study, 13% of US military personnel who served in Iraq screened positive for PTSD.19 If PTSD is demonstrated to have significant cardiotoxic effects, there are numerous implications for both prevention and treatment.

More conclusive evidence of the association may be obtained using a variety of approaches. A first step will be to obtain longitudinal data in more diverse samples. This will include considering other groups (ie, women), individuals with clinically significant PTSD, and individuals with non-combat-related PTSD. Additional work will further examine exactly the duration or chronicity of PTSD necessary to initiate pathophysiological processes. Moreover, it is unknown whether the cardiotoxic effects of PTSD can be reversed if PTSD is successfully treated. Future work may compare long-term cardiac outcomes between individuals with PTSD who were successfully treated and those whose PTSD was refractory to treatment. A more careful examination of biological mechanisms is also required. Numerous studies have linked other types of chronic emotional distress with altered vagal tone, increased rate of atherosclerosis, and inflammation, suggesting these as likely pathways. 9 However, the possibility of acute effects of PTSD should also be considered in light of recent work that found evidence of myocardial stunning in response to extreme emotional distress.20

More conclusive evidence and a better understanding of the mechanisms will increase our ability to identify effective forms of prevention and intervention. Currently, individuals who are at high risk of trauma exposure by virtue of their occupations (eg, police or firefighters) are often screened for PTSD. Work on PTSD and CHD may suggest that these individuals should also be monitored or screened for development of adverse cardiovascular outcomes. Pertinently, this adds to the evidence suggesting that cardiologists may be more effective if they can recognize and manage emotional distress in practice. Emotional distress may increase the risk of developing disease (and sometimes actually presents as cardiac disease). It can also adversely impact on a patient’s prognosis by affecting treatment adherence and shaping the course of the disease.9 With improved prevention and more effective treatment strategies, we have the potential to significantly improve patient outcomes.

Addendum

Since the original publication of this review, several new studies have been published that uniformly provide additional empirical support for the hypothesis that individuals with higher levels of PTSD symptoms are at increased risk of developing CHD.

ADDITIONAL PROSPECTIVE STUDIES

Population-based study of military veterans

A second prospective study was conducted using a random sample of men less than 65 years of age at follow-up who served in the US Army during the Vietnam War.21 Two measures of PTSD were obtained, one based on criteria from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3rd edition (DSM-III), and a second one using the Keane PTSD scale. After excluding any men with a history of heart disease at baseline and controlling for known coronary risk factors, the researchers found that a diagnosis of PTSD (using the DSM-III measure) more than doubled the risk for early-age heart disease mortality (hazard ratio = 2.25; 95% CI, 1.02–4.95). These results were maintained after controlling for depression and whether or not men actually served in Vietnam or elsewhere, and results were similar when the Keane PTSD measure was used. Compared with the men participating in the Normative Aging Study, this study’s population had generally higher PTSD symptom levels and had a significantly younger average age. Thus, findings from this population-based study of US veterans are highly consistent with earlier findings from a more limited sample within the Normative Aging Study.

Community-based study of civilian women

To address the question of whether effects are constrained to men with military experience (and likely combat exposure) or to older individuals, we recently examined the association between PTSD and CHD in civilian women, again using a prospective study design.22 Past-year trauma and associated PTSD symptoms were assessed using the National Institute of Mental Health Diagnostic Interview Schedule and considered in relation to incident CHD during the 14-year follow-up. After excluding individuals with heart disease at baseline and controlling for known coronary risk factors as well as depression and trait anxiety, we found that women with 5 or more PTSD symptoms had a threefold increase in the risk of incident CHD (odds ratio = 3.21; 95% CI, 1.29–7.98) compared with women with no PTSD symptoms. These findings were unchanged after women with angina were excluded and after known coronary risk factors were controlled for. Women in this study were even younger than the men in the prior prospective studies, with a mean age at baseline of 44.4 years. This study provides evidence that that damaging effects of PTSD symptoms are not limited to military men but are also evident among initially healthy community-dwelling civilian women exposed to non-combat-related trauma.

Together, these studies suggest that PTSD may be involved in the etiology of CHD, as all were meticulous in excluding individuals who might have already had heart disease at baseline.

 

 

MORE STUDIES FOCUSING ON POTENTIAL MECHANISMS

As empirical evidence emerges that consistently suggests that PTSD is involved in the etiology of CHD, more studies are focusing on potential mechanisms and biological alterations related to PTSD that may help to explain its association with CHD. It has long been observed that individuals with PTSD often exhibit hypocortisolism and corresponding alterations in hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis regulation that seem to be linked with reduced responsiveness to glucocorticoids.23 Moreover, several studies have suggested an association of PTSD with inflammatory and autoimmune diseases, leading investigators to speculate that PTSD causes chronic low-level inflammation.21,24

As a result, studies focusing directly on the relationship between PTSD and inflammation or consequences of inflammation are beginning to appear. For example, one recent study compared levels of both proinflammatory and anti-inflammatory activity across patients with PTSD and age- and gender-matched controls without PTSD.25 Findings indicated the presence of a low-grade systemic proinflammatory state among patients with PTSD, and levels of proinflammatory activity were associated in a dose-response fashion with PTSD symptom levels. In another study, patients with PTSD were found to have more endothelial dysfunction, as measured by plasma concentrations of soluble tissue factor, compared with age- and gendermatched controls without PTSD.26

Another line of research has considered whether links between PTSD and CHD may be explained in part by alterations in vagal function.27 Various studies in small samples have found reduced heart rate vari ability and increased sympathetic activity at rest,28–30 with parasympathetic activity blunted in response to challenge or trauma reminder among PTSD patients compared with healthy individuals without PTSD.16,29,31 A similar line of work has considered the effect of PTSD on parasympathetic nervous system functioning by examining effects on baroreflex sensitivity. Arterial baroreflex responses contribute to parasympathetic tone and have been linked with psychosocial stress, carotid atherosclerosis, and increased risk of cardiovascular disease.32–34 Two studies have considered whether baroreflex sensitivity is reduced among individuals with PTSD relative to those without PTSD.35,36 One study, conducted among smokers, found reduced baroreceptor sensitivity among women but not men after controlling for demographics, medications, diagnostic characteristics, and smoking variables. 36 A second study, conducted among women only, found baroreceptor sensitivity to again be reduced among women with PTSD after controlling for a range of potential confounders, including comorbid psychiatric disorders.35 These women also appeared to have attenuated parasympathetic withdrawal response during a stressful challenge condition, similar to findings from studies of heart rate variability. Results from this small number of studies are somewhat preliminary, but given the consistency across these initial findings and other work linking related disorders (such as depression and anxiety) with reduced heart rate variability, ongoing work in this area is recommended.27

CAN IT BE SHOWN THAN PTSD PRECEDES CHD DEVELOPMENT?

One of the challenges for studying potential mechanisms and biological alterations that explain how PTSD might influence the development of CHD is establishing that PTSD actually precedes the biological change under study. Much of the research to date compares individuals with PTSD or high levels of PTSD symptoms to individuals without PTSD or its symptoms. As a result, these studies cannot definitively determine whether PTSD caused the biological alteration or if presence of the biological alteration preceded PTSD and in fact increased susceptibility to the disorder.23 Convincing evidence that PTSD is involved in the etiology of CHD will include demonstrating that PTSD precedes the biological changes posited to contribute to the development of CHD.

Suggestive evidence from an animal model

One recent study in animals provides some reassurance that the posited direction of effects for the research reviewed above is plausible. Using an animal model of PTSD, rats were randomly assigned to exposure to a severe stress (a predator) for 10 minutes or to a control group.37 Behavioral reactions were tested 7 days after the stress exposure, and measures of ACTH, prolactin, and heart rate variability were obtained. Rats exposed to extreme stress demonstrated behavioral and biological changes commensurate with disruptions expected with PTSD. For example, stressed rats exhibited increased plasma ACTH, higher heart rate, lower heart rate variability, and many more maladaptive behaviors when compared with control rats. Since the animals were randomly assigned to exposure to severe stress, it is unlikely that these effects could be attributed to biological differences between the groups at baseline. Moreover, clear biological changes were evident as a result of exposure to severe stress. Taken together, these findings provide some reassurance that PTSD may have biological sequelae that in turn influence the risk of CHD, although prospective studies of PTSD and biological alterations in human populations clearly are needed.

AS PTSD PREVALENCE RISES, URGENCY FOR INSIGHTS INCREASES

PTSD occurs commonly in the general population but is of particular concern for individuals working in high-risk service occupations and in the military. With ongoing conflicts we may expect to see significant increases in the population prevalence of PTSD. Giving due consideration to the burden of illness associated with PTSD has added urgency, as recent studies have highlighted problems with access to and quality of mental health care.19,38 Thus, understanding the relationship between PTSD and CHD remains critical. Insights obtained from this work may increase our understanding of how biological susceptibility to heart disease develops and may aid in identifying strategies for disease prevention and intervention.

References

Papers of special note have been highlighted as either of interest (•) or of considerable interest (••) to readers.

  1. Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC, Spiro A, Vokonas PS, Sparrow D. Prospective study of post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms and coronary heart disease in the Normative Aging Study. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2007; 64:109116.
    •• Describes the first prospective test of the hypothesis that posttraumatic stress disorder increases the incident risk of coronary heart disease.
  2. The American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 4th ed, text revision. Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association; 2000:463.
  3. Koenen KC, Stellman JM, Stellman SD, Sommer JF. Risk factors for course of posttraumatic stress disorder among Vietnam veter ans: a 14-year follow-up of American Legionnaires. J Consult Clin Psychol 2003; 71:980986.
    • Detailed examination of factors that increase risk and affect course of posttraumatic stress disorder and its recovery.
  4. Vanitallie TB. Stress: a risk factor for serious illness. Metabolism 2002; 51( suppl 1):4045.
  5. Solter V, Thaller V, Karlović D, Crnković D. Elevated serum lipids in veterans with combat-related chronic posttraumatic stress disorder. Croat Med J 2002; 43:685699.
  6. Boscarino JA, Chang J. Electrocardiogram abnormalities among men with stress-related psychiatric disorders: implications for coronary heart disease and clinical research. Ann Behav Med 1999; 21:227234.
  7. Bankier B, Januzzi JL, Littman AB. The high prevalence of multiple psychiatric disorders in stable outpatients with coronary heart disease. Psychosom Med 2004; 66:645650.
  8. McEwen BS. Mood disorders and allostatic load. Biol Psychiatry 2003; 54:200207.
  9. Rozanski A, Blumenthal JA, Davidson KW, Saab P, Kubzansky LD. The epidemiology, pathophysiology, and management of psychosocial risk factors in cardiac practice: the emerging field of behavioral cardiology. J Am Coll Cardiol 2005; 45:637651.
    •• In-depth examination of how psychosocial factors may contribute to the development and progression of coronary heart disease, as well as consideration of managing psychosocial risk in cardiac practice.
  10. Breslau N, Davis GC, Schultz LR. Posttraumatic stress disorder and the incidence of nicotine, alcohol, and other drug disorders in persons who have experienced trauma. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2003; 60:289294.
  11. Koenen KC, Hitsman B, Lyons MJ, et al. Posttraumatic stress disorder and late-onset smoking in the Vietnam era twin registry. J Consult Clin Psychol 2006; 74:186190.
  12. Page WF, Brass LM. Long-term heart disease and stroke mortality among former American prisoners of World War II and the Korean conflict. Mil Med 2001; 166:803808.
  13. Dong M, Giles WH, Felitti VG, et al. Insights into causal pathways for ischemic heart disease: adverse childhood experiences study. Circulation 2004; 110:17611766.
  14. Kang HK, Bullman TA, Taylor JW. Risk of selected cardiovascular diseases and posttraumatic stress disorder among former World War II prisoners of war. Ann Epidemiol 2006; 16:381386.
  15. Schnurr PP, Spiro A. Combat exposure, post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms, and health behaviors as predictors of self-reported physical health in older veterans. J Nerv Ment Dis 1999; 187:353359.
  16. Sack M, Hopper JW, Lamprecht F. Low respiratory sinus arrhythmia and prolonged psychophysiological arousal in posttraumatic stress disorder: heart rate dynamics and individual differences in arousal regulation. Biol Psychiatry 2004; 55:284290.
  17. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Buddeberg C, et al. Altered blood coagulation in patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. Psychosom Med 2006; 68:598604.
  18. Kessler RC, Berglund P, Demler O, Jin R, Merikangas KR, Walters EE. Lifetime prevalence and age-of-onset distributions of DSMIV disorders in the National Comorbidity Survey Replication. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2005; 62:593602.
  19. Hoge CW, Castro CA, Messer SC, McGurk D, Cotting DI, Koffman RL. Combat duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, mental health problems, and barriers to care. N Engl J Med 2004; 351:1322.
  20. Wittstein IS, Thiemann DR, Lima JA, et al. Neurohumoral features of myocardial stunning due to sudden emotional stress. N Engl J Med 2005; 352:539548.
  21. Boscarino JA. A prospective study of PTSD and early-age heart disease mortality among Vietnam veterans: implications for surveillance and prevention. Psychosom Med 2008; 70:668676.
  22. Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC, Jones C, Eaton WW. Post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms and coronary heart disease in women. Health Psychol. In press.
  23. Yehuda R. Advances in understanding neuroendocrine alterations in PTSD and their therapeutic implications. Ann N Y Acad Sci 2006; 1071:137166.
  24. O’Toole BI, Catts SV. Trauma, PTSD, and physical health: an epidemiological study of Australian Vietnam veterans. J Psychosom Res 2008; 64:3340.
  25. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Kraemer B, et al. Evidence for low-grade systemic proinflammatory activity in patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. J Psychiatr Res 2006; 41:744752.
  26. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Traber R, et al. Measures of endothelial dysfunction in plasma of patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. Psychiatry Res 2008; 158:363373.
  27. Thayer JF, Lane RD. The role of vagal function in the risk for cardiovascular disease and mortality. Biol Psychol 2007; 74:224242.
  28. Blechert J, Michael T, Grossman P, Lajtman M, Wilhelm FH. Autonomic and respiratory characteristics of posttraumatic stress disorder and panic disorder. Psychosom Med 2007; 69:935943.
  29. Cohen H, Benjamin J, Geva AB, Matar MA, Kaplan Z, Kotler M. Autonomic dysregulation in panic disorder and in post-traumatic stress disorder: application of power spectrum analysis of heart rate variability at rest and in response to recollection of trauma or panic attacks. Psychiatry Res 2000; 96:113.
  30. Cohen H, Kotler M, Matar MA, Kaplan Z, Miodownik H, Cassuto Y. Power spectral analysis of heart rate variability in posttraumatic stress disorder patients. Biol Psychiatry 1997; 41:627629.
  31. Sahar T, Shalev AY, Porges SW. Vagal modulation of responses to mental challenge in posttraumatic stress disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2001; 49:637643.
  32. La Rovere MT, Pinna GD, Raczak G. Baroreflex sensitivity: measurement and clinical implications. Ann Noninvasive Electrocardiol 2008; 13:191207.
  33. Lucini D, Di Fede G, Parati G, Pagani M. Impact of chronic psychosocial stress on autonomic cardiovascular regulation in otherwise healthy subjects. Hypertension 2005; 46:12011206.
  34. Nasr N, Pavy-Le Traon A, Larrue V. Baroreflex sensitivity is impaired in bilateral carotid atherosclerosis. Stroke 2005; 36:18911895.
  35. Hughes JW, Dennis MF, Beckham JC. Baroreceptor sensitivity at rest and during stress in women with posttraumatic stress disorder or major depressive disorder. J Trauma Stress 2007; 20:667676.
  36. Hughes JW, Feldman ME, Beckham JC. Posttraumatic stress disorder is associated with attenuated baroreceptor sensitivity among female, but not male, smokers. Biol Psychol 2006; 71:296302.
  37. Cohen H, Zohar J, Matar M. The relevance of differential response to trauma in an animal model of posttraumatic stress disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2003; 53:463473.
  38. Tanielian T, Jaycox LH. Invisible Wounds of War: Psychological and Cognitive Injuries, Their Consequences, and Services to Assist Recovery. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp; 2008.
References

Papers of special note have been highlighted as either of interest (•) or of considerable interest (••) to readers.

  1. Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC, Spiro A, Vokonas PS, Sparrow D. Prospective study of post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms and coronary heart disease in the Normative Aging Study. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2007; 64:109116.
    •• Describes the first prospective test of the hypothesis that posttraumatic stress disorder increases the incident risk of coronary heart disease.
  2. The American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 4th ed, text revision. Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association; 2000:463.
  3. Koenen KC, Stellman JM, Stellman SD, Sommer JF. Risk factors for course of posttraumatic stress disorder among Vietnam veter ans: a 14-year follow-up of American Legionnaires. J Consult Clin Psychol 2003; 71:980986.
    • Detailed examination of factors that increase risk and affect course of posttraumatic stress disorder and its recovery.
  4. Vanitallie TB. Stress: a risk factor for serious illness. Metabolism 2002; 51( suppl 1):4045.
  5. Solter V, Thaller V, Karlović D, Crnković D. Elevated serum lipids in veterans with combat-related chronic posttraumatic stress disorder. Croat Med J 2002; 43:685699.
  6. Boscarino JA, Chang J. Electrocardiogram abnormalities among men with stress-related psychiatric disorders: implications for coronary heart disease and clinical research. Ann Behav Med 1999; 21:227234.
  7. Bankier B, Januzzi JL, Littman AB. The high prevalence of multiple psychiatric disorders in stable outpatients with coronary heart disease. Psychosom Med 2004; 66:645650.
  8. McEwen BS. Mood disorders and allostatic load. Biol Psychiatry 2003; 54:200207.
  9. Rozanski A, Blumenthal JA, Davidson KW, Saab P, Kubzansky LD. The epidemiology, pathophysiology, and management of psychosocial risk factors in cardiac practice: the emerging field of behavioral cardiology. J Am Coll Cardiol 2005; 45:637651.
    •• In-depth examination of how psychosocial factors may contribute to the development and progression of coronary heart disease, as well as consideration of managing psychosocial risk in cardiac practice.
  10. Breslau N, Davis GC, Schultz LR. Posttraumatic stress disorder and the incidence of nicotine, alcohol, and other drug disorders in persons who have experienced trauma. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2003; 60:289294.
  11. Koenen KC, Hitsman B, Lyons MJ, et al. Posttraumatic stress disorder and late-onset smoking in the Vietnam era twin registry. J Consult Clin Psychol 2006; 74:186190.
  12. Page WF, Brass LM. Long-term heart disease and stroke mortality among former American prisoners of World War II and the Korean conflict. Mil Med 2001; 166:803808.
  13. Dong M, Giles WH, Felitti VG, et al. Insights into causal pathways for ischemic heart disease: adverse childhood experiences study. Circulation 2004; 110:17611766.
  14. Kang HK, Bullman TA, Taylor JW. Risk of selected cardiovascular diseases and posttraumatic stress disorder among former World War II prisoners of war. Ann Epidemiol 2006; 16:381386.
  15. Schnurr PP, Spiro A. Combat exposure, post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms, and health behaviors as predictors of self-reported physical health in older veterans. J Nerv Ment Dis 1999; 187:353359.
  16. Sack M, Hopper JW, Lamprecht F. Low respiratory sinus arrhythmia and prolonged psychophysiological arousal in posttraumatic stress disorder: heart rate dynamics and individual differences in arousal regulation. Biol Psychiatry 2004; 55:284290.
  17. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Buddeberg C, et al. Altered blood coagulation in patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. Psychosom Med 2006; 68:598604.
  18. Kessler RC, Berglund P, Demler O, Jin R, Merikangas KR, Walters EE. Lifetime prevalence and age-of-onset distributions of DSMIV disorders in the National Comorbidity Survey Replication. Arch Gen Psychiatry 2005; 62:593602.
  19. Hoge CW, Castro CA, Messer SC, McGurk D, Cotting DI, Koffman RL. Combat duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, mental health problems, and barriers to care. N Engl J Med 2004; 351:1322.
  20. Wittstein IS, Thiemann DR, Lima JA, et al. Neurohumoral features of myocardial stunning due to sudden emotional stress. N Engl J Med 2005; 352:539548.
  21. Boscarino JA. A prospective study of PTSD and early-age heart disease mortality among Vietnam veterans: implications for surveillance and prevention. Psychosom Med 2008; 70:668676.
  22. Kubzansky LD, Koenen KC, Jones C, Eaton WW. Post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms and coronary heart disease in women. Health Psychol. In press.
  23. Yehuda R. Advances in understanding neuroendocrine alterations in PTSD and their therapeutic implications. Ann N Y Acad Sci 2006; 1071:137166.
  24. O’Toole BI, Catts SV. Trauma, PTSD, and physical health: an epidemiological study of Australian Vietnam veterans. J Psychosom Res 2008; 64:3340.
  25. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Kraemer B, et al. Evidence for low-grade systemic proinflammatory activity in patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. J Psychiatr Res 2006; 41:744752.
  26. von Kanel R, Hepp U, Traber R, et al. Measures of endothelial dysfunction in plasma of patients with posttraumatic stress disorder. Psychiatry Res 2008; 158:363373.
  27. Thayer JF, Lane RD. The role of vagal function in the risk for cardiovascular disease and mortality. Biol Psychol 2007; 74:224242.
  28. Blechert J, Michael T, Grossman P, Lajtman M, Wilhelm FH. Autonomic and respiratory characteristics of posttraumatic stress disorder and panic disorder. Psychosom Med 2007; 69:935943.
  29. Cohen H, Benjamin J, Geva AB, Matar MA, Kaplan Z, Kotler M. Autonomic dysregulation in panic disorder and in post-traumatic stress disorder: application of power spectrum analysis of heart rate variability at rest and in response to recollection of trauma or panic attacks. Psychiatry Res 2000; 96:113.
  30. Cohen H, Kotler M, Matar MA, Kaplan Z, Miodownik H, Cassuto Y. Power spectral analysis of heart rate variability in posttraumatic stress disorder patients. Biol Psychiatry 1997; 41:627629.
  31. Sahar T, Shalev AY, Porges SW. Vagal modulation of responses to mental challenge in posttraumatic stress disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2001; 49:637643.
  32. La Rovere MT, Pinna GD, Raczak G. Baroreflex sensitivity: measurement and clinical implications. Ann Noninvasive Electrocardiol 2008; 13:191207.
  33. Lucini D, Di Fede G, Parati G, Pagani M. Impact of chronic psychosocial stress on autonomic cardiovascular regulation in otherwise healthy subjects. Hypertension 2005; 46:12011206.
  34. Nasr N, Pavy-Le Traon A, Larrue V. Baroreflex sensitivity is impaired in bilateral carotid atherosclerosis. Stroke 2005; 36:18911895.
  35. Hughes JW, Dennis MF, Beckham JC. Baroreceptor sensitivity at rest and during stress in women with posttraumatic stress disorder or major depressive disorder. J Trauma Stress 2007; 20:667676.
  36. Hughes JW, Feldman ME, Beckham JC. Posttraumatic stress disorder is associated with attenuated baroreceptor sensitivity among female, but not male, smokers. Biol Psychol 2006; 71:296302.
  37. Cohen H, Zohar J, Matar M. The relevance of differential response to trauma in an animal model of posttraumatic stress disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2003; 53:463473.
  38. Tanielian T, Jaycox LH. Invisible Wounds of War: Psychological and Cognitive Injuries, Their Consequences, and Services to Assist Recovery. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp; 2008.
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Creating a healing environment: Rationale and research overview

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Creating a healing environment: Rationale and research overview

It has long been known that the physical environment has important implications for the disease process. One of the first instances where the impact of one’s environmental surroundings on disease was appreciated was the discovery that hand washing and linen changes reduced rates of puerperal fever.1 At the time, it must have seemed strange that the “bad humours” of childbed fever could be removed by bathing the physician’s hands and changing the linens of the mother. Now, however, we routinely accept that infection is a battle between ever-present microbes and the human immune system’s exposure to them via the physical environment.

Traditional medicine is only now recognizing the effect on the disease process of less measurable, nonphysical factors such as stress. Many disease processes have a well-established relationship with stress; examples include the relation between psychosocial stress and more rapid progression of Parkinson disease, as well as the “broken heart syndrome.” Studies of inner city children under stress due to violence or socioeconomic factors show that they have greater disease burdens and worse disease outcomes compared with less-stressed children. Many stressors, such as physical or emotional abuse, lifetime traumas, turmoil in the childhood family, and recent stressful life events, have implications for both disease and healing.2 Similarly, the spiritual component of healing cannot be ignored, nor can the effect of a patient’s environment and aesthetic surroundings.

For these reasons, it makes sense to view health care as a comprehensive approach to combat all factors contributing to the disease process. The integration of all therapies—peaceful and comforting surroundings, stress reducers, caring health care providers, together with evidence-based medicine—creates a healing environment. This article presents an overview of this concept of comprehensively integrated therapies, with a focus on the role of the “healing environment,” or healing-oriented design and architecture, and provides examples and lessons from my institution, the North Hawaii Community Hospital.

‘BLENDED MEDICINE’ AND HEALING

Many people refer to traditional medicine as “Western medicine.” Western medicine in the United States is evidence-based and, in most circumstances, validated by clinical trials. These therapies have either stood the test of time or been shown to have superior effectiveness in treating a given disease. Introducing and validating a new treatment, either via the US Food and Drug Administration (as is the case with pharmaceuticals) or within the medical community, can take considerable time and money.3–6

“Blended medicine” involves the use of complementary and alternative medicine together with traditional medicine. Blended medicine techniques are not necessarily validated in large clinical trials, but blended medicine has been found to promote stress reduction, faster healing, decreased infection rates, staff and patient satisfaction, and the economic benefit of lower hospital operating costs.7,8

Blended medicine recognizes the practical reality that healing usually relies on both traditional medicine and other components of care. It has been argued that high-tech treatment (eg, subspecialty care and advanced imaging) accounts for 20% of healing while “high-touch” treatment (complementary and alternative medical therapies) and a healing environment account for the remaining 80% (and that most treatment centers leave out this 80%).9 This third component—the environment—completes the triad of blended medicine.

Potential for improved outcomes

As early as the late 1980s, the treatment of heart disease came to recognize the beneficial effects of stress management, as demonstrated by recognition of the association between heart disease and the “type A” personality and its role in emotional expression.10 Back then, one of the few “alternative therapies” widely known in the West was meditation. Pharmacologic advances in the treatment of heart disease have improved outcomes exponentially. In preliminary studies, alternative therapies such as meditation have been shown to impact blood pressure and may prove effective in the treatment of hypertension and heart disease.11,12 Considering the outcomes of achieving the same treatment targets with blended medicine has provocative implications. For instance, if transcendental meditation results in a blood pressure goal of less than 130/80 mm Hg and a low-density lipoprotein cholesterol level of less than 70 mg/dL, what reason is there to believe that the outcomes would not match those of comparable pharmacologic manipulations of blood pressure and lipid levels?

HOLISTIC APPROACHES TO HEALING

For many acute illnesses, holistic approaches to healing are being used to augment traditional hospital care; such approaches exemplify the concept of blended medicine. Our experience at the North Hawaii Community Hospital has been that effective treatment of patients must include the ideology of holistic medicine: treating the body, mind, and spirit in the context of the patient’s culture and natural surroundings. We have found that complementary treatments that embody this holistic ideology yield benefits in terms of patient satisfaction. These therapies, some of which are covered by insurance,13 include the following:

Manipulation/massage—pressing, rubbing, and moving muscles and other soft tissues, primarily using the hands and fingers. The aim is to increase the flow of blood and oxygen to the massaged area. The use of therapeutic massage has demonstrated benefit in both adult and pediatric conditions.14,15

Acupuncture therapy—a family of procedures that originated in traditional Chinese medicine. Acupuncture is the stimulation of specific points on the body by a variety of techniques, including the insertion of thin metal needles though the skin. It is intended to remove blockages in the flow of qi—a traditional Chinese concept that roughly translates to “energy flow” or “vitality”—and restore and maintain health.

Biofeedback—the use of electronic devices to help people learn to control body functions that are normally not consciously controlled (such as breathing or heart rate). The intent is to promote relaxation and improve health. One particular program, known as HeartMath®, is a systematized program developed for heart patients.

Guided imagery—a gentle but powerful technique that focuses and directs the imagination. Although guided imagery has been called “visualization” and “mental imagery,” these terms are misleading, as the technique involves far more than just visual sense. Guided imagery involves all of the senses, and almost anyone can do it. It involves the whole body, the emotions, and all the senses, and it is precisely this body-based focus that makes for its powerful impact.

Naturopathy—a comprehensive medical system that originated in Europe and aims to support the body’s ability to heal itself through dietary and lifestyle changes together with other therapies such as herbs, massage, and joint manipulation. An example of its application in the hospital would be the use of ginger root for the treatment of nausea.

Healing touch or healing energy—a relaxing, nurturing energy therapy. Gentle touch assists in balancing physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Healing touch works with the body’s energy field to support its natural ability to heal. It is safe for all ages and works in harmony with standard medical care.

Aroma therapy—the use of pure and natural essential oils, absolutes, floral waters, resins, carrier oils, infused oils, herbs, and other natural substances. The natural ingredients used in aromatherapy have specific medicinal uses; for example, ginger and peppermint can treat nausea.

Pet therapy. The comforting effects of animals have been noted through the years. For instance, Florence Nightingale recommended “a small pet animal” as an “excellent companion for the sick.” A growing number of studies provide supportive evidence that these “huggable health care workers” truly help the healing process.16

Music therapy—the clinical and evidence-based use of music interventions to accomplish individualized goals (eg, stress management) within a therapeutic relationship. Programs exist for credentialing professional music therapists.

 

 

THE ROLE OF THE HEALING ENVIRONMENT

As noted above, part of holistic healing and blended medicine is the environment of care. Stress is an inherent part of the hospital experience and can serve to complicate a patient’s disease. The general appearance of a hospital’s rooms, grounds, and environment has important effects on patients.

Creating a patient-friendly environment is a challenge, especially since patients come in all sizes and from all cultures. A patient-friendly therapeutic environment for children arguably will be different from one designed for seniors. One unifying concept, however, is low-stress, high-comfort design. Research from the Center for Health Design has shown that the more attractive the environment, the higher the perceived quality of care and the lower the anxiety of patients. For example, there is a significant relationship between perceived wait times (which are affected by the pleasantness and aesthetics of waiting areas) and perceived quality/perceived anxiety.17 Patients underestimated longer (≥ 30 minutes) actual wait times and overestimated short (0 to 5 minutes) actual wait times. There was no significant relationship between actual wait times and perceived quality or perceived anxiety,17 suggesting that perceived wait times, which are influenced strongly by the physical design of the environment of care, are a more important determinant of patient satisfaction.

Research on the healing environment is proliferating

Research and industry efforts to promote healing through design are ongoing in a number of centers. The Pebble Project is a joint research effort between the Center for Health Design, a nonprofit research and advocacy organization, and selected health care providers.17 The project, launched in 2000, is charged with creating a ripple effect in the health care community to provide research and documented examples of health care facilities whose design has made a difference in the quality of care. Such design-related improvements in care also can translate into improved financial performance of the institution.17

The North Hawaii Community Hospital experience

The North Hawaii Community Hospital, built in 1996, has incorporated the healing environment into many aspects of its design. We had the advantage of being able to build the hospital with a therapeutic design that includes elements such as wide corridors that deliberately do not trigger the “fight or flight” response. The use of natural lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and skylights throughout the hospital helps to keep the patient in sync with respect to chronobiologic principles. Against the backdrop of architectural and design elements like these, care is delivered in a restorative, therapeutic environment based on holistic principles and cultural wisdom to create a total healing environment.18

Hospital building boom presents an opportunity

As our nation’s population ages, the US health care system is anticipating a hospital construction boom worth $200 billion over the next decade.19 In California alone, new spending for hospital buildings was projected to exceed $14 billion between 2002 and 2010.8 This represents a great opportunity: at this pivotal moment, hospitals leaders are discovering the role of complementary medicine and healing design in improving patient and community health. Evidence suggests that hospital adoption of design approaches that minimize ecological harm and maximize patient healing and staff satisfaction leads to measurable outcomes such as reductions in length of stay, use of pain medication, medical mistakes, and cost of care.7,20,21

These findings should remind us that patient satisfaction is defined not only by clinical outcomes but also by the aesthetics of the hospital experience. Patients want a healthful, healing environment. It is not hard to predict patients’ preferences. They are similar to those that all of us share—for a comfortable environment and respect for our preferences and culture together with evidenced-based, high-tech diagnostics.

REMAINING QUESTIONS AND CONCLUSIONS

As the study of blended medicine and the healing environment advances, a number of questions loom before us:

  • Will we find that hospitals are just warehouses for sick bodies and that the ideal healing environment may in fact be a spa, the patient’s home, or some yet-to-be discovered variation on the current hospital system?
  • Are there some disease processes that are solely caused by stress, or rather by an exaggerated process of normal injury?

  • Why do we not study the biochemical makeup of healthy individuals involved in the complementary and alternative medicine practices mentioned above?
  • What are the mechanisms of recovery in stress-induced injury?

The answers to these questions will unquestionably be complex, but as the study of heart-brain medicine grows more widespread, research to provide insight into the intricacies of alternative therapies will increase. No doubt there will be evidence against some accepted modalities, as well as discovery of new ones. The key lies in the heart-brain relationship.

Given that many diseases respond to the unexplained regulation of the autonomic nervous system, the mechanism of interplay between environment and this regulation needs to be explored and addressed as part of health care delivery. Systematic documentation of findings and clinical trials on the supposed mechanisms are needed.22 Once complementary and alternative therapies are validated, they must be implemented into treatment in much the same way as we now use as-needed medications. Instruction in the role and implementation of blended medicine and the healing environment should be part of the curriculum in medical and nursing schools.

References
  1. Warrell DA, Cox TM, Firth JD, Benz EJ. eds. Oxford Textbook of Medicine. 4th ed. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press; 2005.
  2. Leserman J, Li Z, Hu YJ, Drossman DA. How multiple types of stressors impact on health. Psychosom Med 1998; 60:175181.
  3. Chaudhury H. Advantages and disadvantages of single- versus multiple-occupancy rooms in acute care environments. Environ Behav 2005; 37:760786.
  4. DiMasi JA, Hansen RW, Grabowski HG. The price of innovation: new estimates of drug development costs. J Health Econ 2003; 22:151185.
  5. Dobson R. Alternative therapies could save the NHS money, says report commissioned by Prince Charles. BMJ 2005; 331:795.
  6. Daw J. Stress management improves cardiac health and saves money, study finds. Monitor on Psychology; March 2002. http://www.apa.org/monitor/mar02/stressmgt.html. Accessed June 27, 2008.
  7. Milliken TF, Clements PT, Tillman HJ. The impact of stress management on nurse productivity and retention. Nurs Econ 2007; 25:203210.
  8. Ulrich RS. Health benefits of gardens in hospitals. Paper presented at: Plants for People International Exhibition Floriade 2002.
  9. Bakken EE. The dream behind the summit. Cleve Clin J Med 2007; 74( suppl 1):S7.
  10. Friedman HS, Booth-Kewley S. Personality, type A behavior, and coronary heart disease: the role of emotional expression. J Pers Soc Psychol 1987; 53:783792.
  11. Hankey A. Studies of advanced stages of meditation in the Tibetan Buddhist and Vedic traditions. I: A comparison of general changes. Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2006; 3:513521.
  12. Eisenberg DM, Delbanco TL, Berkey CS, et al. Cognitive behavioral techniques for hypertension: are they effective? Ann Intern Med 1993; 118:964972.
  13. Hawaii State Consortium for Integrative Healthcare. Insurance coverage for complementary and alternative medicine (CAM) treatments for cancer patients (final report). http://www.hawaiiconsortium.com/site/376/publications.aspx. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  14. Tsao JCI. CAM for pediatric pain: what is state-of-the-research? Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2006; 3:143144.
  15. Tsao JCI. Effectiveness of massage therapy for chronic, non-malignant pain: a review. Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2007; 4:165179.
  16. Soares C. Pet therapy: huggable healthcare workers. Discovery Health Web site. http://health.discovery.com/centers/aging/pet_therapy/pet_therapy_print.html. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  17. The Pebble Project overview. The Center for Health Design Web site. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/pebble/overview.php. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  18. Bakken E. Presentation at an American College of Cardiology meeting on integrated medicine. October 2003; Mauna Lani Resort, HI.
  19. Designing the 21st century hospital. Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Web site. http://www.rwjf.org. Published June 2006.
  20. Chaudhury H, Mahmood ACenter for Health Design CHER (Coalition for Health Environments Research) Research Committee. The effect of environmental design on reducing nursing and medication errors in acute care settings. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/reports/reducing_errors.php. Published November 2007. Accessed June 25, 2008.
  21. Ikonomidou E, Rehnström A, Naesh O. Effect of music on vital signs and postoperative pain. AORN J 2004; 80:269278.
  22. Fonteyn M, Bauer-Wu S. Using qualitative evaluation in a feasibility study to improve and refine a complementary therapy intervention prior to subsequent research. Complement Ther Clin Pract 2005; 11:247252.
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Jone Geimer-Flanders, DO
Hawaii Heart Brain Center, Division of Cardiology, North Hawaii Community Hospital, Kamuela, HI*

Correspondence: Jone Geimer-Flanders, DO, Kona Community Hospital, Division of Cardiology, Ali’i Health, 79-1019 Haukapila Street, Kealakekua, HI 96750; [email protected]

*Affiliation at the time of the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. Dr. Geimer-Flanders is currently with the Division of Cardiology, Kona Community Hospital, Kealakekua, HI.

Dr. Geimer-Flanders reported that she has no fi nancial interests or relationships
that pose a potential confl ict of interest with this article.

Publications
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S66-S69
Author and Disclosure Information

Jone Geimer-Flanders, DO
Hawaii Heart Brain Center, Division of Cardiology, North Hawaii Community Hospital, Kamuela, HI*

Correspondence: Jone Geimer-Flanders, DO, Kona Community Hospital, Division of Cardiology, Ali’i Health, 79-1019 Haukapila Street, Kealakekua, HI 96750; [email protected]

*Affiliation at the time of the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. Dr. Geimer-Flanders is currently with the Division of Cardiology, Kona Community Hospital, Kealakekua, HI.

Dr. Geimer-Flanders reported that she has no fi nancial interests or relationships
that pose a potential confl ict of interest with this article.

Author and Disclosure Information

Jone Geimer-Flanders, DO
Hawaii Heart Brain Center, Division of Cardiology, North Hawaii Community Hospital, Kamuela, HI*

Correspondence: Jone Geimer-Flanders, DO, Kona Community Hospital, Division of Cardiology, Ali’i Health, 79-1019 Haukapila Street, Kealakekua, HI 96750; [email protected]

*Affiliation at the time of the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. Dr. Geimer-Flanders is currently with the Division of Cardiology, Kona Community Hospital, Kealakekua, HI.

Dr. Geimer-Flanders reported that she has no fi nancial interests or relationships
that pose a potential confl ict of interest with this article.

Article PDF
Article PDF

It has long been known that the physical environment has important implications for the disease process. One of the first instances where the impact of one’s environmental surroundings on disease was appreciated was the discovery that hand washing and linen changes reduced rates of puerperal fever.1 At the time, it must have seemed strange that the “bad humours” of childbed fever could be removed by bathing the physician’s hands and changing the linens of the mother. Now, however, we routinely accept that infection is a battle between ever-present microbes and the human immune system’s exposure to them via the physical environment.

Traditional medicine is only now recognizing the effect on the disease process of less measurable, nonphysical factors such as stress. Many disease processes have a well-established relationship with stress; examples include the relation between psychosocial stress and more rapid progression of Parkinson disease, as well as the “broken heart syndrome.” Studies of inner city children under stress due to violence or socioeconomic factors show that they have greater disease burdens and worse disease outcomes compared with less-stressed children. Many stressors, such as physical or emotional abuse, lifetime traumas, turmoil in the childhood family, and recent stressful life events, have implications for both disease and healing.2 Similarly, the spiritual component of healing cannot be ignored, nor can the effect of a patient’s environment and aesthetic surroundings.

For these reasons, it makes sense to view health care as a comprehensive approach to combat all factors contributing to the disease process. The integration of all therapies—peaceful and comforting surroundings, stress reducers, caring health care providers, together with evidence-based medicine—creates a healing environment. This article presents an overview of this concept of comprehensively integrated therapies, with a focus on the role of the “healing environment,” or healing-oriented design and architecture, and provides examples and lessons from my institution, the North Hawaii Community Hospital.

‘BLENDED MEDICINE’ AND HEALING

Many people refer to traditional medicine as “Western medicine.” Western medicine in the United States is evidence-based and, in most circumstances, validated by clinical trials. These therapies have either stood the test of time or been shown to have superior effectiveness in treating a given disease. Introducing and validating a new treatment, either via the US Food and Drug Administration (as is the case with pharmaceuticals) or within the medical community, can take considerable time and money.3–6

“Blended medicine” involves the use of complementary and alternative medicine together with traditional medicine. Blended medicine techniques are not necessarily validated in large clinical trials, but blended medicine has been found to promote stress reduction, faster healing, decreased infection rates, staff and patient satisfaction, and the economic benefit of lower hospital operating costs.7,8

Blended medicine recognizes the practical reality that healing usually relies on both traditional medicine and other components of care. It has been argued that high-tech treatment (eg, subspecialty care and advanced imaging) accounts for 20% of healing while “high-touch” treatment (complementary and alternative medical therapies) and a healing environment account for the remaining 80% (and that most treatment centers leave out this 80%).9 This third component—the environment—completes the triad of blended medicine.

Potential for improved outcomes

As early as the late 1980s, the treatment of heart disease came to recognize the beneficial effects of stress management, as demonstrated by recognition of the association between heart disease and the “type A” personality and its role in emotional expression.10 Back then, one of the few “alternative therapies” widely known in the West was meditation. Pharmacologic advances in the treatment of heart disease have improved outcomes exponentially. In preliminary studies, alternative therapies such as meditation have been shown to impact blood pressure and may prove effective in the treatment of hypertension and heart disease.11,12 Considering the outcomes of achieving the same treatment targets with blended medicine has provocative implications. For instance, if transcendental meditation results in a blood pressure goal of less than 130/80 mm Hg and a low-density lipoprotein cholesterol level of less than 70 mg/dL, what reason is there to believe that the outcomes would not match those of comparable pharmacologic manipulations of blood pressure and lipid levels?

HOLISTIC APPROACHES TO HEALING

For many acute illnesses, holistic approaches to healing are being used to augment traditional hospital care; such approaches exemplify the concept of blended medicine. Our experience at the North Hawaii Community Hospital has been that effective treatment of patients must include the ideology of holistic medicine: treating the body, mind, and spirit in the context of the patient’s culture and natural surroundings. We have found that complementary treatments that embody this holistic ideology yield benefits in terms of patient satisfaction. These therapies, some of which are covered by insurance,13 include the following:

Manipulation/massage—pressing, rubbing, and moving muscles and other soft tissues, primarily using the hands and fingers. The aim is to increase the flow of blood and oxygen to the massaged area. The use of therapeutic massage has demonstrated benefit in both adult and pediatric conditions.14,15

Acupuncture therapy—a family of procedures that originated in traditional Chinese medicine. Acupuncture is the stimulation of specific points on the body by a variety of techniques, including the insertion of thin metal needles though the skin. It is intended to remove blockages in the flow of qi—a traditional Chinese concept that roughly translates to “energy flow” or “vitality”—and restore and maintain health.

Biofeedback—the use of electronic devices to help people learn to control body functions that are normally not consciously controlled (such as breathing or heart rate). The intent is to promote relaxation and improve health. One particular program, known as HeartMath®, is a systematized program developed for heart patients.

Guided imagery—a gentle but powerful technique that focuses and directs the imagination. Although guided imagery has been called “visualization” and “mental imagery,” these terms are misleading, as the technique involves far more than just visual sense. Guided imagery involves all of the senses, and almost anyone can do it. It involves the whole body, the emotions, and all the senses, and it is precisely this body-based focus that makes for its powerful impact.

Naturopathy—a comprehensive medical system that originated in Europe and aims to support the body’s ability to heal itself through dietary and lifestyle changes together with other therapies such as herbs, massage, and joint manipulation. An example of its application in the hospital would be the use of ginger root for the treatment of nausea.

Healing touch or healing energy—a relaxing, nurturing energy therapy. Gentle touch assists in balancing physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Healing touch works with the body’s energy field to support its natural ability to heal. It is safe for all ages and works in harmony with standard medical care.

Aroma therapy—the use of pure and natural essential oils, absolutes, floral waters, resins, carrier oils, infused oils, herbs, and other natural substances. The natural ingredients used in aromatherapy have specific medicinal uses; for example, ginger and peppermint can treat nausea.

Pet therapy. The comforting effects of animals have been noted through the years. For instance, Florence Nightingale recommended “a small pet animal” as an “excellent companion for the sick.” A growing number of studies provide supportive evidence that these “huggable health care workers” truly help the healing process.16

Music therapy—the clinical and evidence-based use of music interventions to accomplish individualized goals (eg, stress management) within a therapeutic relationship. Programs exist for credentialing professional music therapists.

 

 

THE ROLE OF THE HEALING ENVIRONMENT

As noted above, part of holistic healing and blended medicine is the environment of care. Stress is an inherent part of the hospital experience and can serve to complicate a patient’s disease. The general appearance of a hospital’s rooms, grounds, and environment has important effects on patients.

Creating a patient-friendly environment is a challenge, especially since patients come in all sizes and from all cultures. A patient-friendly therapeutic environment for children arguably will be different from one designed for seniors. One unifying concept, however, is low-stress, high-comfort design. Research from the Center for Health Design has shown that the more attractive the environment, the higher the perceived quality of care and the lower the anxiety of patients. For example, there is a significant relationship between perceived wait times (which are affected by the pleasantness and aesthetics of waiting areas) and perceived quality/perceived anxiety.17 Patients underestimated longer (≥ 30 minutes) actual wait times and overestimated short (0 to 5 minutes) actual wait times. There was no significant relationship between actual wait times and perceived quality or perceived anxiety,17 suggesting that perceived wait times, which are influenced strongly by the physical design of the environment of care, are a more important determinant of patient satisfaction.

Research on the healing environment is proliferating

Research and industry efforts to promote healing through design are ongoing in a number of centers. The Pebble Project is a joint research effort between the Center for Health Design, a nonprofit research and advocacy organization, and selected health care providers.17 The project, launched in 2000, is charged with creating a ripple effect in the health care community to provide research and documented examples of health care facilities whose design has made a difference in the quality of care. Such design-related improvements in care also can translate into improved financial performance of the institution.17

The North Hawaii Community Hospital experience

The North Hawaii Community Hospital, built in 1996, has incorporated the healing environment into many aspects of its design. We had the advantage of being able to build the hospital with a therapeutic design that includes elements such as wide corridors that deliberately do not trigger the “fight or flight” response. The use of natural lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and skylights throughout the hospital helps to keep the patient in sync with respect to chronobiologic principles. Against the backdrop of architectural and design elements like these, care is delivered in a restorative, therapeutic environment based on holistic principles and cultural wisdom to create a total healing environment.18

Hospital building boom presents an opportunity

As our nation’s population ages, the US health care system is anticipating a hospital construction boom worth $200 billion over the next decade.19 In California alone, new spending for hospital buildings was projected to exceed $14 billion between 2002 and 2010.8 This represents a great opportunity: at this pivotal moment, hospitals leaders are discovering the role of complementary medicine and healing design in improving patient and community health. Evidence suggests that hospital adoption of design approaches that minimize ecological harm and maximize patient healing and staff satisfaction leads to measurable outcomes such as reductions in length of stay, use of pain medication, medical mistakes, and cost of care.7,20,21

These findings should remind us that patient satisfaction is defined not only by clinical outcomes but also by the aesthetics of the hospital experience. Patients want a healthful, healing environment. It is not hard to predict patients’ preferences. They are similar to those that all of us share—for a comfortable environment and respect for our preferences and culture together with evidenced-based, high-tech diagnostics.

REMAINING QUESTIONS AND CONCLUSIONS

As the study of blended medicine and the healing environment advances, a number of questions loom before us:

  • Will we find that hospitals are just warehouses for sick bodies and that the ideal healing environment may in fact be a spa, the patient’s home, or some yet-to-be discovered variation on the current hospital system?
  • Are there some disease processes that are solely caused by stress, or rather by an exaggerated process of normal injury?

  • Why do we not study the biochemical makeup of healthy individuals involved in the complementary and alternative medicine practices mentioned above?
  • What are the mechanisms of recovery in stress-induced injury?

The answers to these questions will unquestionably be complex, but as the study of heart-brain medicine grows more widespread, research to provide insight into the intricacies of alternative therapies will increase. No doubt there will be evidence against some accepted modalities, as well as discovery of new ones. The key lies in the heart-brain relationship.

Given that many diseases respond to the unexplained regulation of the autonomic nervous system, the mechanism of interplay between environment and this regulation needs to be explored and addressed as part of health care delivery. Systematic documentation of findings and clinical trials on the supposed mechanisms are needed.22 Once complementary and alternative therapies are validated, they must be implemented into treatment in much the same way as we now use as-needed medications. Instruction in the role and implementation of blended medicine and the healing environment should be part of the curriculum in medical and nursing schools.

It has long been known that the physical environment has important implications for the disease process. One of the first instances where the impact of one’s environmental surroundings on disease was appreciated was the discovery that hand washing and linen changes reduced rates of puerperal fever.1 At the time, it must have seemed strange that the “bad humours” of childbed fever could be removed by bathing the physician’s hands and changing the linens of the mother. Now, however, we routinely accept that infection is a battle between ever-present microbes and the human immune system’s exposure to them via the physical environment.

Traditional medicine is only now recognizing the effect on the disease process of less measurable, nonphysical factors such as stress. Many disease processes have a well-established relationship with stress; examples include the relation between psychosocial stress and more rapid progression of Parkinson disease, as well as the “broken heart syndrome.” Studies of inner city children under stress due to violence or socioeconomic factors show that they have greater disease burdens and worse disease outcomes compared with less-stressed children. Many stressors, such as physical or emotional abuse, lifetime traumas, turmoil in the childhood family, and recent stressful life events, have implications for both disease and healing.2 Similarly, the spiritual component of healing cannot be ignored, nor can the effect of a patient’s environment and aesthetic surroundings.

For these reasons, it makes sense to view health care as a comprehensive approach to combat all factors contributing to the disease process. The integration of all therapies—peaceful and comforting surroundings, stress reducers, caring health care providers, together with evidence-based medicine—creates a healing environment. This article presents an overview of this concept of comprehensively integrated therapies, with a focus on the role of the “healing environment,” or healing-oriented design and architecture, and provides examples and lessons from my institution, the North Hawaii Community Hospital.

‘BLENDED MEDICINE’ AND HEALING

Many people refer to traditional medicine as “Western medicine.” Western medicine in the United States is evidence-based and, in most circumstances, validated by clinical trials. These therapies have either stood the test of time or been shown to have superior effectiveness in treating a given disease. Introducing and validating a new treatment, either via the US Food and Drug Administration (as is the case with pharmaceuticals) or within the medical community, can take considerable time and money.3–6

“Blended medicine” involves the use of complementary and alternative medicine together with traditional medicine. Blended medicine techniques are not necessarily validated in large clinical trials, but blended medicine has been found to promote stress reduction, faster healing, decreased infection rates, staff and patient satisfaction, and the economic benefit of lower hospital operating costs.7,8

Blended medicine recognizes the practical reality that healing usually relies on both traditional medicine and other components of care. It has been argued that high-tech treatment (eg, subspecialty care and advanced imaging) accounts for 20% of healing while “high-touch” treatment (complementary and alternative medical therapies) and a healing environment account for the remaining 80% (and that most treatment centers leave out this 80%).9 This third component—the environment—completes the triad of blended medicine.

Potential for improved outcomes

As early as the late 1980s, the treatment of heart disease came to recognize the beneficial effects of stress management, as demonstrated by recognition of the association between heart disease and the “type A” personality and its role in emotional expression.10 Back then, one of the few “alternative therapies” widely known in the West was meditation. Pharmacologic advances in the treatment of heart disease have improved outcomes exponentially. In preliminary studies, alternative therapies such as meditation have been shown to impact blood pressure and may prove effective in the treatment of hypertension and heart disease.11,12 Considering the outcomes of achieving the same treatment targets with blended medicine has provocative implications. For instance, if transcendental meditation results in a blood pressure goal of less than 130/80 mm Hg and a low-density lipoprotein cholesterol level of less than 70 mg/dL, what reason is there to believe that the outcomes would not match those of comparable pharmacologic manipulations of blood pressure and lipid levels?

HOLISTIC APPROACHES TO HEALING

For many acute illnesses, holistic approaches to healing are being used to augment traditional hospital care; such approaches exemplify the concept of blended medicine. Our experience at the North Hawaii Community Hospital has been that effective treatment of patients must include the ideology of holistic medicine: treating the body, mind, and spirit in the context of the patient’s culture and natural surroundings. We have found that complementary treatments that embody this holistic ideology yield benefits in terms of patient satisfaction. These therapies, some of which are covered by insurance,13 include the following:

Manipulation/massage—pressing, rubbing, and moving muscles and other soft tissues, primarily using the hands and fingers. The aim is to increase the flow of blood and oxygen to the massaged area. The use of therapeutic massage has demonstrated benefit in both adult and pediatric conditions.14,15

Acupuncture therapy—a family of procedures that originated in traditional Chinese medicine. Acupuncture is the stimulation of specific points on the body by a variety of techniques, including the insertion of thin metal needles though the skin. It is intended to remove blockages in the flow of qi—a traditional Chinese concept that roughly translates to “energy flow” or “vitality”—and restore and maintain health.

Biofeedback—the use of electronic devices to help people learn to control body functions that are normally not consciously controlled (such as breathing or heart rate). The intent is to promote relaxation and improve health. One particular program, known as HeartMath®, is a systematized program developed for heart patients.

Guided imagery—a gentle but powerful technique that focuses and directs the imagination. Although guided imagery has been called “visualization” and “mental imagery,” these terms are misleading, as the technique involves far more than just visual sense. Guided imagery involves all of the senses, and almost anyone can do it. It involves the whole body, the emotions, and all the senses, and it is precisely this body-based focus that makes for its powerful impact.

Naturopathy—a comprehensive medical system that originated in Europe and aims to support the body’s ability to heal itself through dietary and lifestyle changes together with other therapies such as herbs, massage, and joint manipulation. An example of its application in the hospital would be the use of ginger root for the treatment of nausea.

Healing touch or healing energy—a relaxing, nurturing energy therapy. Gentle touch assists in balancing physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Healing touch works with the body’s energy field to support its natural ability to heal. It is safe for all ages and works in harmony with standard medical care.

Aroma therapy—the use of pure and natural essential oils, absolutes, floral waters, resins, carrier oils, infused oils, herbs, and other natural substances. The natural ingredients used in aromatherapy have specific medicinal uses; for example, ginger and peppermint can treat nausea.

Pet therapy. The comforting effects of animals have been noted through the years. For instance, Florence Nightingale recommended “a small pet animal” as an “excellent companion for the sick.” A growing number of studies provide supportive evidence that these “huggable health care workers” truly help the healing process.16

Music therapy—the clinical and evidence-based use of music interventions to accomplish individualized goals (eg, stress management) within a therapeutic relationship. Programs exist for credentialing professional music therapists.

 

 

THE ROLE OF THE HEALING ENVIRONMENT

As noted above, part of holistic healing and blended medicine is the environment of care. Stress is an inherent part of the hospital experience and can serve to complicate a patient’s disease. The general appearance of a hospital’s rooms, grounds, and environment has important effects on patients.

Creating a patient-friendly environment is a challenge, especially since patients come in all sizes and from all cultures. A patient-friendly therapeutic environment for children arguably will be different from one designed for seniors. One unifying concept, however, is low-stress, high-comfort design. Research from the Center for Health Design has shown that the more attractive the environment, the higher the perceived quality of care and the lower the anxiety of patients. For example, there is a significant relationship between perceived wait times (which are affected by the pleasantness and aesthetics of waiting areas) and perceived quality/perceived anxiety.17 Patients underestimated longer (≥ 30 minutes) actual wait times and overestimated short (0 to 5 minutes) actual wait times. There was no significant relationship between actual wait times and perceived quality or perceived anxiety,17 suggesting that perceived wait times, which are influenced strongly by the physical design of the environment of care, are a more important determinant of patient satisfaction.

Research on the healing environment is proliferating

Research and industry efforts to promote healing through design are ongoing in a number of centers. The Pebble Project is a joint research effort between the Center for Health Design, a nonprofit research and advocacy organization, and selected health care providers.17 The project, launched in 2000, is charged with creating a ripple effect in the health care community to provide research and documented examples of health care facilities whose design has made a difference in the quality of care. Such design-related improvements in care also can translate into improved financial performance of the institution.17

The North Hawaii Community Hospital experience

The North Hawaii Community Hospital, built in 1996, has incorporated the healing environment into many aspects of its design. We had the advantage of being able to build the hospital with a therapeutic design that includes elements such as wide corridors that deliberately do not trigger the “fight or flight” response. The use of natural lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and skylights throughout the hospital helps to keep the patient in sync with respect to chronobiologic principles. Against the backdrop of architectural and design elements like these, care is delivered in a restorative, therapeutic environment based on holistic principles and cultural wisdom to create a total healing environment.18

Hospital building boom presents an opportunity

As our nation’s population ages, the US health care system is anticipating a hospital construction boom worth $200 billion over the next decade.19 In California alone, new spending for hospital buildings was projected to exceed $14 billion between 2002 and 2010.8 This represents a great opportunity: at this pivotal moment, hospitals leaders are discovering the role of complementary medicine and healing design in improving patient and community health. Evidence suggests that hospital adoption of design approaches that minimize ecological harm and maximize patient healing and staff satisfaction leads to measurable outcomes such as reductions in length of stay, use of pain medication, medical mistakes, and cost of care.7,20,21

These findings should remind us that patient satisfaction is defined not only by clinical outcomes but also by the aesthetics of the hospital experience. Patients want a healthful, healing environment. It is not hard to predict patients’ preferences. They are similar to those that all of us share—for a comfortable environment and respect for our preferences and culture together with evidenced-based, high-tech diagnostics.

REMAINING QUESTIONS AND CONCLUSIONS

As the study of blended medicine and the healing environment advances, a number of questions loom before us:

  • Will we find that hospitals are just warehouses for sick bodies and that the ideal healing environment may in fact be a spa, the patient’s home, or some yet-to-be discovered variation on the current hospital system?
  • Are there some disease processes that are solely caused by stress, or rather by an exaggerated process of normal injury?

  • Why do we not study the biochemical makeup of healthy individuals involved in the complementary and alternative medicine practices mentioned above?
  • What are the mechanisms of recovery in stress-induced injury?

The answers to these questions will unquestionably be complex, but as the study of heart-brain medicine grows more widespread, research to provide insight into the intricacies of alternative therapies will increase. No doubt there will be evidence against some accepted modalities, as well as discovery of new ones. The key lies in the heart-brain relationship.

Given that many diseases respond to the unexplained regulation of the autonomic nervous system, the mechanism of interplay between environment and this regulation needs to be explored and addressed as part of health care delivery. Systematic documentation of findings and clinical trials on the supposed mechanisms are needed.22 Once complementary and alternative therapies are validated, they must be implemented into treatment in much the same way as we now use as-needed medications. Instruction in the role and implementation of blended medicine and the healing environment should be part of the curriculum in medical and nursing schools.

References
  1. Warrell DA, Cox TM, Firth JD, Benz EJ. eds. Oxford Textbook of Medicine. 4th ed. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press; 2005.
  2. Leserman J, Li Z, Hu YJ, Drossman DA. How multiple types of stressors impact on health. Psychosom Med 1998; 60:175181.
  3. Chaudhury H. Advantages and disadvantages of single- versus multiple-occupancy rooms in acute care environments. Environ Behav 2005; 37:760786.
  4. DiMasi JA, Hansen RW, Grabowski HG. The price of innovation: new estimates of drug development costs. J Health Econ 2003; 22:151185.
  5. Dobson R. Alternative therapies could save the NHS money, says report commissioned by Prince Charles. BMJ 2005; 331:795.
  6. Daw J. Stress management improves cardiac health and saves money, study finds. Monitor on Psychology; March 2002. http://www.apa.org/monitor/mar02/stressmgt.html. Accessed June 27, 2008.
  7. Milliken TF, Clements PT, Tillman HJ. The impact of stress management on nurse productivity and retention. Nurs Econ 2007; 25:203210.
  8. Ulrich RS. Health benefits of gardens in hospitals. Paper presented at: Plants for People International Exhibition Floriade 2002.
  9. Bakken EE. The dream behind the summit. Cleve Clin J Med 2007; 74( suppl 1):S7.
  10. Friedman HS, Booth-Kewley S. Personality, type A behavior, and coronary heart disease: the role of emotional expression. J Pers Soc Psychol 1987; 53:783792.
  11. Hankey A. Studies of advanced stages of meditation in the Tibetan Buddhist and Vedic traditions. I: A comparison of general changes. Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2006; 3:513521.
  12. Eisenberg DM, Delbanco TL, Berkey CS, et al. Cognitive behavioral techniques for hypertension: are they effective? Ann Intern Med 1993; 118:964972.
  13. Hawaii State Consortium for Integrative Healthcare. Insurance coverage for complementary and alternative medicine (CAM) treatments for cancer patients (final report). http://www.hawaiiconsortium.com/site/376/publications.aspx. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  14. Tsao JCI. CAM for pediatric pain: what is state-of-the-research? Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2006; 3:143144.
  15. Tsao JCI. Effectiveness of massage therapy for chronic, non-malignant pain: a review. Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2007; 4:165179.
  16. Soares C. Pet therapy: huggable healthcare workers. Discovery Health Web site. http://health.discovery.com/centers/aging/pet_therapy/pet_therapy_print.html. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  17. The Pebble Project overview. The Center for Health Design Web site. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/pebble/overview.php. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  18. Bakken E. Presentation at an American College of Cardiology meeting on integrated medicine. October 2003; Mauna Lani Resort, HI.
  19. Designing the 21st century hospital. Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Web site. http://www.rwjf.org. Published June 2006.
  20. Chaudhury H, Mahmood ACenter for Health Design CHER (Coalition for Health Environments Research) Research Committee. The effect of environmental design on reducing nursing and medication errors in acute care settings. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/reports/reducing_errors.php. Published November 2007. Accessed June 25, 2008.
  21. Ikonomidou E, Rehnström A, Naesh O. Effect of music on vital signs and postoperative pain. AORN J 2004; 80:269278.
  22. Fonteyn M, Bauer-Wu S. Using qualitative evaluation in a feasibility study to improve and refine a complementary therapy intervention prior to subsequent research. Complement Ther Clin Pract 2005; 11:247252.
References
  1. Warrell DA, Cox TM, Firth JD, Benz EJ. eds. Oxford Textbook of Medicine. 4th ed. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press; 2005.
  2. Leserman J, Li Z, Hu YJ, Drossman DA. How multiple types of stressors impact on health. Psychosom Med 1998; 60:175181.
  3. Chaudhury H. Advantages and disadvantages of single- versus multiple-occupancy rooms in acute care environments. Environ Behav 2005; 37:760786.
  4. DiMasi JA, Hansen RW, Grabowski HG. The price of innovation: new estimates of drug development costs. J Health Econ 2003; 22:151185.
  5. Dobson R. Alternative therapies could save the NHS money, says report commissioned by Prince Charles. BMJ 2005; 331:795.
  6. Daw J. Stress management improves cardiac health and saves money, study finds. Monitor on Psychology; March 2002. http://www.apa.org/monitor/mar02/stressmgt.html. Accessed June 27, 2008.
  7. Milliken TF, Clements PT, Tillman HJ. The impact of stress management on nurse productivity and retention. Nurs Econ 2007; 25:203210.
  8. Ulrich RS. Health benefits of gardens in hospitals. Paper presented at: Plants for People International Exhibition Floriade 2002.
  9. Bakken EE. The dream behind the summit. Cleve Clin J Med 2007; 74( suppl 1):S7.
  10. Friedman HS, Booth-Kewley S. Personality, type A behavior, and coronary heart disease: the role of emotional expression. J Pers Soc Psychol 1987; 53:783792.
  11. Hankey A. Studies of advanced stages of meditation in the Tibetan Buddhist and Vedic traditions. I: A comparison of general changes. Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2006; 3:513521.
  12. Eisenberg DM, Delbanco TL, Berkey CS, et al. Cognitive behavioral techniques for hypertension: are they effective? Ann Intern Med 1993; 118:964972.
  13. Hawaii State Consortium for Integrative Healthcare. Insurance coverage for complementary and alternative medicine (CAM) treatments for cancer patients (final report). http://www.hawaiiconsortium.com/site/376/publications.aspx. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  14. Tsao JCI. CAM for pediatric pain: what is state-of-the-research? Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2006; 3:143144.
  15. Tsao JCI. Effectiveness of massage therapy for chronic, non-malignant pain: a review. Evid Based Complement Alternat Med 2007; 4:165179.
  16. Soares C. Pet therapy: huggable healthcare workers. Discovery Health Web site. http://health.discovery.com/centers/aging/pet_therapy/pet_therapy_print.html. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  17. The Pebble Project overview. The Center for Health Design Web site. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/pebble/overview.php. Accessed June 26, 2008.
  18. Bakken E. Presentation at an American College of Cardiology meeting on integrated medicine. October 2003; Mauna Lani Resort, HI.
  19. Designing the 21st century hospital. Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Web site. http://www.rwjf.org. Published June 2006.
  20. Chaudhury H, Mahmood ACenter for Health Design CHER (Coalition for Health Environments Research) Research Committee. The effect of environmental design on reducing nursing and medication errors in acute care settings. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/reports/reducing_errors.php. Published November 2007. Accessed June 25, 2008.
  21. Ikonomidou E, Rehnström A, Naesh O. Effect of music on vital signs and postoperative pain. AORN J 2004; 80:269278.
  22. Fonteyn M, Bauer-Wu S. Using qualitative evaluation in a feasibility study to improve and refine a complementary therapy intervention prior to subsequent research. Complement Ther Clin Pract 2005; 11:247252.
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Redesigning the neurocritical care unit to enhance family participation and improve outcomes

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Redesigning the neurocritical care unit to enhance family participation and improve outcomes

Although my medical training prepared me well for treating brain injuries, I learned very little about caring for the enormous emotional needs of patients in neurocritical care units and their families. Having a physical environment that encourages the participation of the patient’s family is extremely important. Not only can having loved ones nearby give great comfort to the patient, but it helps provide a critically ill patient with an identity, which affects quality of care in fundamental ways. Having an identity is an anchor for everything, ultimately influencing not only clinical care but research as well.

This article describes our experience in developing a new neurocritical care environment at Emory University Hospital over the last 10 years using an evidence-based design centered on caring for patients and their families.

STARTING POINT: A RAPIDLY GROWING PATIENT POPULATION

Emory University Hospital, part of the Emory Healthcare health system, is the largest medical center in Georgia, with 43 neuroscience floor beds, 27 dedicated neurocritical care beds, and 10 intermediate neurocritical care beds. We have experienced rapid growth, with neurocritical care admissions rising from 587 in 1999 to more than 1,400 in 2007. We treat patients with meningitis, brain aneurysms, tumors, massive strokes, Guillain-Barré syndrome, myasthenia gravis, and other severe problems.

When we proposed building a replacement neurocritical care unit, we first appealed to the bottom line: if we had more beds and could attract more patients, we would generate more revenue. The hospital’s mission stated that we had to take care of patients with neurological emergencies because no one else in town could.

The administration countered with predictable restrictions: because Emory University was at that time considering building an expensive replacement hospital, they did not want to spend a lot of money improving a single unit. They agreed only to meet the state and federal requirements so that we could quickly open up and receive additional patients.

The initial design was for a 24-bed intensive care unit (ICU) with a “track” around it: visitors would enter patient rooms from the back so as not to disrupt the central area used by the doctors and nurses. The rooms measured 200 square feet, as required by the state of Georgia, with no dedicated space for family members. This design actually duplicated the system we already had in many ways.

TRADITIONAL SYSTEM: PATIENTS SURROUNDED BY EQUIPMENT, NOT FAMILY

In our old unit, the typical patient room was so crowded with specialized equipment that it was virtually impossible to get to the patient without tripping over cords and knocking out catheters. It took some time to respond to an emergency, and maintaining sterility in such an environment was obviously difficult. During rounds, residents, fellows, and the multidisciplinary team practically fell over one another, and actually seeing the patient in the midst of all this was a challenge. In the central area, nurses were crowded around desks with charts spread all over tables, increasing the potential for mistakes in recordkeeping and medications.

Where were the families? We previously had a dark, dingy common space in the outside hallway, well away from patients. Families were prohibited from being in patient rooms during rounds for fear they should misinterpret or be alarmed by something they heard. Discussions between doctors and families took place either in the cluttered patient room or in a public area. Imagine this in situations in which a patient’s prognosis was poor and discussion was needed regarding brain death and organ donation. The new space promised little more than some new converter chair/beds in the common areas.

I did not have a clear idea of exactly what we needed, but I knew that the proposed design was not it.

EVIDENCE FOR A BETTER WAY

To convince the administration that we should pursue a completely new concept, we focused on key people: the chief executive officer of Emory Healthcare and the chief nursing officer of the neurosciences critical care unit. We told them that the current ICU was terrible for families and was inherently dangerous. The potential for medical mistakes was enormous and probably largely unrecognized. Staff burnout was also a potential issue: we reminded them of the tremendous nursing turnover, especially with our aging nursing population. We also told them that we believed there was a better way.

The medical community bases clinical decisions, such as choosing a drug to treat infection, on evidence from the literature. Shouldn’t such evidence also inform how we design hospitals and ICUs? I rapidly learned that convincing scientific evidence exists that the physical environment affects outcome.1 The literature shows that we can empower families and staff and significantly reduce cost.

We proposed a new design founded on an evidencebased approach for patient- and family-centered care. We were confident that a better design could reduce staff stress and enhance performance, and we hoped it could also reduce costs and improve effectiveness. As an academic institution, we wanted to measure such factors and continue to study this issue by building a living laboratory of a new type of family-centered ICU. We also wanted every treatment tool available while remaining flexible enough that we could continue to change in the future. Most importantly, we wanted to keep patients the center of our focus.

EMPHASIS ON FAMILY INVOLVEMENT

We sometimes fool ourselves into thinking that technology improves outcomes when, in fact, many other factors may be more beneficial. When we designed the ICU we had several goals or “design drivers” in mind, with accompanying measurable outcomes to be tracked (Table 1).

Our primary driver was support for families. We proposed completely eliminating all the signs restricting visitors to the ICU, such as those reading, “No visiting: Physician rounds in progress” (we were tempted to rewrite that sign as, “Physician rounds in progress: Visitor presence mandatory”). Rarely is the family actually required to participate in the care of a patient; we have no contract with the family delineating what the health care system provides and what we expect the family to do.

We planned for a family zone in the patient room, a children’s room, lockers and showers, and a family quiet room. Outcome measures would be patient/family satisfaction and provider satisfaction based on surveys, as well as the number of patient/family complaints and the number of litigation filings.

Other important drivers were the desire to support more procedures at the bedside, reduce infection, reduce medical errors, and increase patient safety. Every goal had measurable outcomes to be tracked.

 

 

DESIGN PROCESS WAS DYNAMIC

To help determine factors such as patient room size and configuration as well as the design of family spaces, we analyzed best practices of the prior 10 years’ winners of the ICU Design Citation Award, which is given jointly by the Society of Critical Care Medicine, the American Association of Critical Care Nurses, and the American Institute of Architects Academy on Architecture for Health. We partnered with the division of health care design at Georgia Institute of Technology’s College of Architecture as well as with a psychologist specializing in the role of the physical environment and with numerous graduate students. Several architectural design brainstorming meetings were held.

We then created a simulation that consisted of a large mock-up of the proposed ICU, including a nurses’ station, patient rooms, booms, and family areas. We spent an entire day role-playing a variety of procedures, including resuscitation, intubation, implantation of a brain monitor, handoffs with nurses inside and outside the room, and interactions between families and staff. Videographers recorded everything for later analysis.

We changed designs as we learned from such experiences. We originally planned to distribute the nurses’ stations throughout the ICU but later decided to keep a communal area as well, recognizing that nurses and doctors like to be with each other and need to support one another.

About 50 family members of patients who had graduated from or were still in the critical care unit were involved with the unit’s design throughout the process.

PROPOSAL BECOMES REALITY

Figure 1. Design of the patient/family suites in Emory University Hospital’s redesigned neurocritical care unit. The patient room is separated from the family area by a curved wall with large glassblock windows that let in light and create a cocoon-like effect.
The new unit opened February 2007. The new rooms range from 345 to 450 square feet, compared with 120 to 200 square feet for the old rooms. Each room is a suite, consisting of the patient room and a family area separated by a curved wall with large glass-block windows that let in light and create a cocoon-like effect (Figure 1). The family area has a table, chairs, comfortable sleeping arrangements, a flat-screen television, wireless Internet access, music, and a whitenoise system to blunt surrounding noises.

The new unit allows us to do things we could not do before. I can now easily hold a private conversation with a family member when I visit a patient. Family members can leave the room for some respite and still be just a stone’s throw away from their loved one.

Patient rooms are much bigger than before, and the booms lift a lot of equipment off the floor. The beds and doors are configured so that patients who are awake have a direct line of sight to the nurse’s station.

MEDIA ATTENTION AND REACTIONS

Our new unit was featured in both an article2 and a health care blog3 by the Wall Street Journal. The article opened as follows: “For decades, hospitals tried to keep visitors out of intensive-care units for more than a few minutes at a time. This year, Emory University Hospital here went the other way: It began inviting family members to move into the ward and take a hand in the patient’s care.”2 I think the reporter captured the key idea well, but I would change the word “visitors” to “participants” to indicate that patients’ family members really have a degree of responsibility.

There were interesting comments from readers in response to the article. Many were positive, but not everyone felt the changes were a good idea. One reader wrote, “Pandering to a half-dozen relatives is rarely beneficial to anyone. When we realize that hospitals are there to heal and not to entertain, we’ll cut down the excess costs of treating critical care patients. A close relative is entitled to know what’s happening on a timely basis. Any involvement beyond that should be limited to what is medically beneficial to the patient.”

Another comment, probably from someone who works in an ICU, was, “This sounds more like a marketing ploy by hospital administrators than a plan developed by the nurses and physicians in the trenches.” Interestingly, administrators at Emory resisted the changes because of the high expense. Although the tone of this comment seems cynical, the writer brings up a valid danger—that limited health care resources potentially could be diverted from the patient to the family. But although care that fosters family participation costs more money and takes more energy, what matters is that we are doing a better job for patients and their families.

BENEFITS OF FAMILY-CENTERED UNITS: A CASE STUDY

The following case study illustrates some of the advantages of our new family-centered unit.

David was a 31-year-old computer programmer, the father of a 3-year-old girl, and about to be married. He came in with a grade 3 subarachnoid hemorrhage from a severe carotid intracranial aneurysm. He was in the old neurocritical care unit for 4 or 5 days, and then was moved to the new unit when it opened.

The family—David’s parents and his fiancée— kept a rotating vigil. The Wall Street Journal article described how they always felt that they were in the way in the old ICU, whereas they felt welcome in the new facility. The family often stood at David’s bedside as the team explained the purpose of the complex monitors and instruments. The mother said, “This was our home for a month, and it got so that the nurses could tell when we needed a hug.”2

After 2 weeks, David developed neurogenic pulmonary edema, severe pneumonia, acute respiratory distress syndrome, and heart failure. We induced a coma to protect his brain from high intracranial pressure and placed hypothermia catheters to lower his core temperature in an attempt to better oxygenate him. Just as he was getting better, the aneurysm ruptured again, and we knew that recovery was hopeless.

The family was by his bedside 24 hours a day and knew that the medical team was as well. They witnessed the whole situation and understood when we ran out of options. As David’s parents and fiancée gathered at the bedside, I told them that David had progressed to brain death. Shortly after that, the team that arranged organ donation came to speak with David’s parents, and they elected to donate. They were grateful for the time they had with him and for the way they were treated. David’s father said, “No one ever misled us or told us anything but the truth…and most importantly, we were there for everything.”2

We did everything we could for David, and nothing could change his ultimate outcome. But I think that the way someone dies is incredibly important. The circumstances of how he was treated probably helped allow the family to donate David’s organs and better come to terms with his death. They later generously donated their time to help the neurocritical care unit develop the family-centered approach we wanted by participating in many discussions about their experiences.

 

 

FAMILY-CENTERED UNITS POSE CHALLENGES

Units that are designed for both patients and their families bring to the fore enormous issues that arise in the ICU daily. How does one care for patients and their families simultaneously? Our challenges have included the following, among others:

  • Team rounding. Nobody was happy about inviting families to rounds. Training medical students and fellows with families in the room is a real paradigm shift and raises many controversial issues. Yet I feel that the family needs to be aware of what is going on, particularly because our patients often are intubated and sedated and cannot act as their own advocates.
  • Nursing handoffs. Imagine a nurse operating six or seven intravenous pumps and trying to figure out medications while having a family member—or three or four members—“in her face” 24 hours a day.
  • Urgent or frightening treatment. How do you deal with resuscitation? What if the family is right by the bedside: do you ask them to leave? What kind of support do they need?

We do not have all the answers to such problems. We are currently studying them and trying to figure out best practices.

SUCCESSES AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS

Emory’s neurosciences critical care unit won the 2008 ICU Design Citation Award from the Society of Critical Care Medicine, the American Association of Critical Care Nurses, and the American Institute of Architects Academy on Architecture for Health.

We are now beginning to look at outcomes resulting from the unit redesign, and they all are going in the right direction. ICU patient satisfaction and staff satisfaction have increased, according to self-assessments. Other outcomes being assessed are length of stay and benchmark parameters of quality.

We are currently piloting a staff-family simulation workshop that will train all 80 members of our ICU nursing staff, including fellows, residents, and other faculty, in the fundamentals of communication. Using a one-way mirror, a team of psychologists and experts in grief and posttraumatic stress will watch simulated conversations among staff and actors role-playing situations involving brain death, organ donation, and diagnoses involving high mortality.

Although the concept of care centered around the patient and his or her family seems as acceptable as motherhood and apple pie, there is enormous resistance to it, even from the most dedicated health care workers. The process was long and laborious: we spent about a year and a half preparing for it with a familycentered team and involved all sorts of charters and directors along the way. Starting the changes is the real challenge.

References
  1. Ulrich R, Quan X, Zimring C, Joseph A, Choudhary R. The role of the physical environment in the hospital of the 21st century: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Research report from the Center for Health Design; September 2004. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/reports/physical_environ.php. Accessed October 30, 2008.
  2. Landro L. ICUs’ new message: welcome, families. Wall Street Journal. July 12, 2007. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB118419577614963880.html. Accessed October 30, 2008.
  3. Mantone J.Building family-friendly ICUs. Wall Street Journal. July 12, 2007. http://blogs.wsj.com/health/2007/07/12/building-familyfriendly-icus/. Accessed October 30, 2008.
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Owen Samuels, MD
Director, Neurosciences Critical Care Unit, Emory University Hospital, Atlanta, GA

Correspondence: Owen Samuels, MD, Department of Neurosurgery, The Emory Clinic, 1364 Clifton Road NE, F324, Atlanta, GA 30322; [email protected]

Dr. Samuels reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Samuels’ presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Dr. Samuels.

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Owen Samuels, MD
Director, Neurosciences Critical Care Unit, Emory University Hospital, Atlanta, GA

Correspondence: Owen Samuels, MD, Department of Neurosurgery, The Emory Clinic, 1364 Clifton Road NE, F324, Atlanta, GA 30322; [email protected]

Dr. Samuels reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Samuels’ presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Dr. Samuels.

Author and Disclosure Information

Owen Samuels, MD
Director, Neurosciences Critical Care Unit, Emory University Hospital, Atlanta, GA

Correspondence: Owen Samuels, MD, Department of Neurosurgery, The Emory Clinic, 1364 Clifton Road NE, F324, Atlanta, GA 30322; [email protected]

Dr. Samuels reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Samuels’ presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Dr. Samuels.

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Although my medical training prepared me well for treating brain injuries, I learned very little about caring for the enormous emotional needs of patients in neurocritical care units and their families. Having a physical environment that encourages the participation of the patient’s family is extremely important. Not only can having loved ones nearby give great comfort to the patient, but it helps provide a critically ill patient with an identity, which affects quality of care in fundamental ways. Having an identity is an anchor for everything, ultimately influencing not only clinical care but research as well.

This article describes our experience in developing a new neurocritical care environment at Emory University Hospital over the last 10 years using an evidence-based design centered on caring for patients and their families.

STARTING POINT: A RAPIDLY GROWING PATIENT POPULATION

Emory University Hospital, part of the Emory Healthcare health system, is the largest medical center in Georgia, with 43 neuroscience floor beds, 27 dedicated neurocritical care beds, and 10 intermediate neurocritical care beds. We have experienced rapid growth, with neurocritical care admissions rising from 587 in 1999 to more than 1,400 in 2007. We treat patients with meningitis, brain aneurysms, tumors, massive strokes, Guillain-Barré syndrome, myasthenia gravis, and other severe problems.

When we proposed building a replacement neurocritical care unit, we first appealed to the bottom line: if we had more beds and could attract more patients, we would generate more revenue. The hospital’s mission stated that we had to take care of patients with neurological emergencies because no one else in town could.

The administration countered with predictable restrictions: because Emory University was at that time considering building an expensive replacement hospital, they did not want to spend a lot of money improving a single unit. They agreed only to meet the state and federal requirements so that we could quickly open up and receive additional patients.

The initial design was for a 24-bed intensive care unit (ICU) with a “track” around it: visitors would enter patient rooms from the back so as not to disrupt the central area used by the doctors and nurses. The rooms measured 200 square feet, as required by the state of Georgia, with no dedicated space for family members. This design actually duplicated the system we already had in many ways.

TRADITIONAL SYSTEM: PATIENTS SURROUNDED BY EQUIPMENT, NOT FAMILY

In our old unit, the typical patient room was so crowded with specialized equipment that it was virtually impossible to get to the patient without tripping over cords and knocking out catheters. It took some time to respond to an emergency, and maintaining sterility in such an environment was obviously difficult. During rounds, residents, fellows, and the multidisciplinary team practically fell over one another, and actually seeing the patient in the midst of all this was a challenge. In the central area, nurses were crowded around desks with charts spread all over tables, increasing the potential for mistakes in recordkeeping and medications.

Where were the families? We previously had a dark, dingy common space in the outside hallway, well away from patients. Families were prohibited from being in patient rooms during rounds for fear they should misinterpret or be alarmed by something they heard. Discussions between doctors and families took place either in the cluttered patient room or in a public area. Imagine this in situations in which a patient’s prognosis was poor and discussion was needed regarding brain death and organ donation. The new space promised little more than some new converter chair/beds in the common areas.

I did not have a clear idea of exactly what we needed, but I knew that the proposed design was not it.

EVIDENCE FOR A BETTER WAY

To convince the administration that we should pursue a completely new concept, we focused on key people: the chief executive officer of Emory Healthcare and the chief nursing officer of the neurosciences critical care unit. We told them that the current ICU was terrible for families and was inherently dangerous. The potential for medical mistakes was enormous and probably largely unrecognized. Staff burnout was also a potential issue: we reminded them of the tremendous nursing turnover, especially with our aging nursing population. We also told them that we believed there was a better way.

The medical community bases clinical decisions, such as choosing a drug to treat infection, on evidence from the literature. Shouldn’t such evidence also inform how we design hospitals and ICUs? I rapidly learned that convincing scientific evidence exists that the physical environment affects outcome.1 The literature shows that we can empower families and staff and significantly reduce cost.

We proposed a new design founded on an evidencebased approach for patient- and family-centered care. We were confident that a better design could reduce staff stress and enhance performance, and we hoped it could also reduce costs and improve effectiveness. As an academic institution, we wanted to measure such factors and continue to study this issue by building a living laboratory of a new type of family-centered ICU. We also wanted every treatment tool available while remaining flexible enough that we could continue to change in the future. Most importantly, we wanted to keep patients the center of our focus.

EMPHASIS ON FAMILY INVOLVEMENT

We sometimes fool ourselves into thinking that technology improves outcomes when, in fact, many other factors may be more beneficial. When we designed the ICU we had several goals or “design drivers” in mind, with accompanying measurable outcomes to be tracked (Table 1).

Our primary driver was support for families. We proposed completely eliminating all the signs restricting visitors to the ICU, such as those reading, “No visiting: Physician rounds in progress” (we were tempted to rewrite that sign as, “Physician rounds in progress: Visitor presence mandatory”). Rarely is the family actually required to participate in the care of a patient; we have no contract with the family delineating what the health care system provides and what we expect the family to do.

We planned for a family zone in the patient room, a children’s room, lockers and showers, and a family quiet room. Outcome measures would be patient/family satisfaction and provider satisfaction based on surveys, as well as the number of patient/family complaints and the number of litigation filings.

Other important drivers were the desire to support more procedures at the bedside, reduce infection, reduce medical errors, and increase patient safety. Every goal had measurable outcomes to be tracked.

 

 

DESIGN PROCESS WAS DYNAMIC

To help determine factors such as patient room size and configuration as well as the design of family spaces, we analyzed best practices of the prior 10 years’ winners of the ICU Design Citation Award, which is given jointly by the Society of Critical Care Medicine, the American Association of Critical Care Nurses, and the American Institute of Architects Academy on Architecture for Health. We partnered with the division of health care design at Georgia Institute of Technology’s College of Architecture as well as with a psychologist specializing in the role of the physical environment and with numerous graduate students. Several architectural design brainstorming meetings were held.

We then created a simulation that consisted of a large mock-up of the proposed ICU, including a nurses’ station, patient rooms, booms, and family areas. We spent an entire day role-playing a variety of procedures, including resuscitation, intubation, implantation of a brain monitor, handoffs with nurses inside and outside the room, and interactions between families and staff. Videographers recorded everything for later analysis.

We changed designs as we learned from such experiences. We originally planned to distribute the nurses’ stations throughout the ICU but later decided to keep a communal area as well, recognizing that nurses and doctors like to be with each other and need to support one another.

About 50 family members of patients who had graduated from or were still in the critical care unit were involved with the unit’s design throughout the process.

PROPOSAL BECOMES REALITY

Figure 1. Design of the patient/family suites in Emory University Hospital’s redesigned neurocritical care unit. The patient room is separated from the family area by a curved wall with large glassblock windows that let in light and create a cocoon-like effect.
The new unit opened February 2007. The new rooms range from 345 to 450 square feet, compared with 120 to 200 square feet for the old rooms. Each room is a suite, consisting of the patient room and a family area separated by a curved wall with large glass-block windows that let in light and create a cocoon-like effect (Figure 1). The family area has a table, chairs, comfortable sleeping arrangements, a flat-screen television, wireless Internet access, music, and a whitenoise system to blunt surrounding noises.

The new unit allows us to do things we could not do before. I can now easily hold a private conversation with a family member when I visit a patient. Family members can leave the room for some respite and still be just a stone’s throw away from their loved one.

Patient rooms are much bigger than before, and the booms lift a lot of equipment off the floor. The beds and doors are configured so that patients who are awake have a direct line of sight to the nurse’s station.

MEDIA ATTENTION AND REACTIONS

Our new unit was featured in both an article2 and a health care blog3 by the Wall Street Journal. The article opened as follows: “For decades, hospitals tried to keep visitors out of intensive-care units for more than a few minutes at a time. This year, Emory University Hospital here went the other way: It began inviting family members to move into the ward and take a hand in the patient’s care.”2 I think the reporter captured the key idea well, but I would change the word “visitors” to “participants” to indicate that patients’ family members really have a degree of responsibility.

There were interesting comments from readers in response to the article. Many were positive, but not everyone felt the changes were a good idea. One reader wrote, “Pandering to a half-dozen relatives is rarely beneficial to anyone. When we realize that hospitals are there to heal and not to entertain, we’ll cut down the excess costs of treating critical care patients. A close relative is entitled to know what’s happening on a timely basis. Any involvement beyond that should be limited to what is medically beneficial to the patient.”

Another comment, probably from someone who works in an ICU, was, “This sounds more like a marketing ploy by hospital administrators than a plan developed by the nurses and physicians in the trenches.” Interestingly, administrators at Emory resisted the changes because of the high expense. Although the tone of this comment seems cynical, the writer brings up a valid danger—that limited health care resources potentially could be diverted from the patient to the family. But although care that fosters family participation costs more money and takes more energy, what matters is that we are doing a better job for patients and their families.

BENEFITS OF FAMILY-CENTERED UNITS: A CASE STUDY

The following case study illustrates some of the advantages of our new family-centered unit.

David was a 31-year-old computer programmer, the father of a 3-year-old girl, and about to be married. He came in with a grade 3 subarachnoid hemorrhage from a severe carotid intracranial aneurysm. He was in the old neurocritical care unit for 4 or 5 days, and then was moved to the new unit when it opened.

The family—David’s parents and his fiancée— kept a rotating vigil. The Wall Street Journal article described how they always felt that they were in the way in the old ICU, whereas they felt welcome in the new facility. The family often stood at David’s bedside as the team explained the purpose of the complex monitors and instruments. The mother said, “This was our home for a month, and it got so that the nurses could tell when we needed a hug.”2

After 2 weeks, David developed neurogenic pulmonary edema, severe pneumonia, acute respiratory distress syndrome, and heart failure. We induced a coma to protect his brain from high intracranial pressure and placed hypothermia catheters to lower his core temperature in an attempt to better oxygenate him. Just as he was getting better, the aneurysm ruptured again, and we knew that recovery was hopeless.

The family was by his bedside 24 hours a day and knew that the medical team was as well. They witnessed the whole situation and understood when we ran out of options. As David’s parents and fiancée gathered at the bedside, I told them that David had progressed to brain death. Shortly after that, the team that arranged organ donation came to speak with David’s parents, and they elected to donate. They were grateful for the time they had with him and for the way they were treated. David’s father said, “No one ever misled us or told us anything but the truth…and most importantly, we were there for everything.”2

We did everything we could for David, and nothing could change his ultimate outcome. But I think that the way someone dies is incredibly important. The circumstances of how he was treated probably helped allow the family to donate David’s organs and better come to terms with his death. They later generously donated their time to help the neurocritical care unit develop the family-centered approach we wanted by participating in many discussions about their experiences.

 

 

FAMILY-CENTERED UNITS POSE CHALLENGES

Units that are designed for both patients and their families bring to the fore enormous issues that arise in the ICU daily. How does one care for patients and their families simultaneously? Our challenges have included the following, among others:

  • Team rounding. Nobody was happy about inviting families to rounds. Training medical students and fellows with families in the room is a real paradigm shift and raises many controversial issues. Yet I feel that the family needs to be aware of what is going on, particularly because our patients often are intubated and sedated and cannot act as their own advocates.
  • Nursing handoffs. Imagine a nurse operating six or seven intravenous pumps and trying to figure out medications while having a family member—or three or four members—“in her face” 24 hours a day.
  • Urgent or frightening treatment. How do you deal with resuscitation? What if the family is right by the bedside: do you ask them to leave? What kind of support do they need?

We do not have all the answers to such problems. We are currently studying them and trying to figure out best practices.

SUCCESSES AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS

Emory’s neurosciences critical care unit won the 2008 ICU Design Citation Award from the Society of Critical Care Medicine, the American Association of Critical Care Nurses, and the American Institute of Architects Academy on Architecture for Health.

We are now beginning to look at outcomes resulting from the unit redesign, and they all are going in the right direction. ICU patient satisfaction and staff satisfaction have increased, according to self-assessments. Other outcomes being assessed are length of stay and benchmark parameters of quality.

We are currently piloting a staff-family simulation workshop that will train all 80 members of our ICU nursing staff, including fellows, residents, and other faculty, in the fundamentals of communication. Using a one-way mirror, a team of psychologists and experts in grief and posttraumatic stress will watch simulated conversations among staff and actors role-playing situations involving brain death, organ donation, and diagnoses involving high mortality.

Although the concept of care centered around the patient and his or her family seems as acceptable as motherhood and apple pie, there is enormous resistance to it, even from the most dedicated health care workers. The process was long and laborious: we spent about a year and a half preparing for it with a familycentered team and involved all sorts of charters and directors along the way. Starting the changes is the real challenge.

Although my medical training prepared me well for treating brain injuries, I learned very little about caring for the enormous emotional needs of patients in neurocritical care units and their families. Having a physical environment that encourages the participation of the patient’s family is extremely important. Not only can having loved ones nearby give great comfort to the patient, but it helps provide a critically ill patient with an identity, which affects quality of care in fundamental ways. Having an identity is an anchor for everything, ultimately influencing not only clinical care but research as well.

This article describes our experience in developing a new neurocritical care environment at Emory University Hospital over the last 10 years using an evidence-based design centered on caring for patients and their families.

STARTING POINT: A RAPIDLY GROWING PATIENT POPULATION

Emory University Hospital, part of the Emory Healthcare health system, is the largest medical center in Georgia, with 43 neuroscience floor beds, 27 dedicated neurocritical care beds, and 10 intermediate neurocritical care beds. We have experienced rapid growth, with neurocritical care admissions rising from 587 in 1999 to more than 1,400 in 2007. We treat patients with meningitis, brain aneurysms, tumors, massive strokes, Guillain-Barré syndrome, myasthenia gravis, and other severe problems.

When we proposed building a replacement neurocritical care unit, we first appealed to the bottom line: if we had more beds and could attract more patients, we would generate more revenue. The hospital’s mission stated that we had to take care of patients with neurological emergencies because no one else in town could.

The administration countered with predictable restrictions: because Emory University was at that time considering building an expensive replacement hospital, they did not want to spend a lot of money improving a single unit. They agreed only to meet the state and federal requirements so that we could quickly open up and receive additional patients.

The initial design was for a 24-bed intensive care unit (ICU) with a “track” around it: visitors would enter patient rooms from the back so as not to disrupt the central area used by the doctors and nurses. The rooms measured 200 square feet, as required by the state of Georgia, with no dedicated space for family members. This design actually duplicated the system we already had in many ways.

TRADITIONAL SYSTEM: PATIENTS SURROUNDED BY EQUIPMENT, NOT FAMILY

In our old unit, the typical patient room was so crowded with specialized equipment that it was virtually impossible to get to the patient without tripping over cords and knocking out catheters. It took some time to respond to an emergency, and maintaining sterility in such an environment was obviously difficult. During rounds, residents, fellows, and the multidisciplinary team practically fell over one another, and actually seeing the patient in the midst of all this was a challenge. In the central area, nurses were crowded around desks with charts spread all over tables, increasing the potential for mistakes in recordkeeping and medications.

Where were the families? We previously had a dark, dingy common space in the outside hallway, well away from patients. Families were prohibited from being in patient rooms during rounds for fear they should misinterpret or be alarmed by something they heard. Discussions between doctors and families took place either in the cluttered patient room or in a public area. Imagine this in situations in which a patient’s prognosis was poor and discussion was needed regarding brain death and organ donation. The new space promised little more than some new converter chair/beds in the common areas.

I did not have a clear idea of exactly what we needed, but I knew that the proposed design was not it.

EVIDENCE FOR A BETTER WAY

To convince the administration that we should pursue a completely new concept, we focused on key people: the chief executive officer of Emory Healthcare and the chief nursing officer of the neurosciences critical care unit. We told them that the current ICU was terrible for families and was inherently dangerous. The potential for medical mistakes was enormous and probably largely unrecognized. Staff burnout was also a potential issue: we reminded them of the tremendous nursing turnover, especially with our aging nursing population. We also told them that we believed there was a better way.

The medical community bases clinical decisions, such as choosing a drug to treat infection, on evidence from the literature. Shouldn’t such evidence also inform how we design hospitals and ICUs? I rapidly learned that convincing scientific evidence exists that the physical environment affects outcome.1 The literature shows that we can empower families and staff and significantly reduce cost.

We proposed a new design founded on an evidencebased approach for patient- and family-centered care. We were confident that a better design could reduce staff stress and enhance performance, and we hoped it could also reduce costs and improve effectiveness. As an academic institution, we wanted to measure such factors and continue to study this issue by building a living laboratory of a new type of family-centered ICU. We also wanted every treatment tool available while remaining flexible enough that we could continue to change in the future. Most importantly, we wanted to keep patients the center of our focus.

EMPHASIS ON FAMILY INVOLVEMENT

We sometimes fool ourselves into thinking that technology improves outcomes when, in fact, many other factors may be more beneficial. When we designed the ICU we had several goals or “design drivers” in mind, with accompanying measurable outcomes to be tracked (Table 1).

Our primary driver was support for families. We proposed completely eliminating all the signs restricting visitors to the ICU, such as those reading, “No visiting: Physician rounds in progress” (we were tempted to rewrite that sign as, “Physician rounds in progress: Visitor presence mandatory”). Rarely is the family actually required to participate in the care of a patient; we have no contract with the family delineating what the health care system provides and what we expect the family to do.

We planned for a family zone in the patient room, a children’s room, lockers and showers, and a family quiet room. Outcome measures would be patient/family satisfaction and provider satisfaction based on surveys, as well as the number of patient/family complaints and the number of litigation filings.

Other important drivers were the desire to support more procedures at the bedside, reduce infection, reduce medical errors, and increase patient safety. Every goal had measurable outcomes to be tracked.

 

 

DESIGN PROCESS WAS DYNAMIC

To help determine factors such as patient room size and configuration as well as the design of family spaces, we analyzed best practices of the prior 10 years’ winners of the ICU Design Citation Award, which is given jointly by the Society of Critical Care Medicine, the American Association of Critical Care Nurses, and the American Institute of Architects Academy on Architecture for Health. We partnered with the division of health care design at Georgia Institute of Technology’s College of Architecture as well as with a psychologist specializing in the role of the physical environment and with numerous graduate students. Several architectural design brainstorming meetings were held.

We then created a simulation that consisted of a large mock-up of the proposed ICU, including a nurses’ station, patient rooms, booms, and family areas. We spent an entire day role-playing a variety of procedures, including resuscitation, intubation, implantation of a brain monitor, handoffs with nurses inside and outside the room, and interactions between families and staff. Videographers recorded everything for later analysis.

We changed designs as we learned from such experiences. We originally planned to distribute the nurses’ stations throughout the ICU but later decided to keep a communal area as well, recognizing that nurses and doctors like to be with each other and need to support one another.

About 50 family members of patients who had graduated from or were still in the critical care unit were involved with the unit’s design throughout the process.

PROPOSAL BECOMES REALITY

Figure 1. Design of the patient/family suites in Emory University Hospital’s redesigned neurocritical care unit. The patient room is separated from the family area by a curved wall with large glassblock windows that let in light and create a cocoon-like effect.
The new unit opened February 2007. The new rooms range from 345 to 450 square feet, compared with 120 to 200 square feet for the old rooms. Each room is a suite, consisting of the patient room and a family area separated by a curved wall with large glass-block windows that let in light and create a cocoon-like effect (Figure 1). The family area has a table, chairs, comfortable sleeping arrangements, a flat-screen television, wireless Internet access, music, and a whitenoise system to blunt surrounding noises.

The new unit allows us to do things we could not do before. I can now easily hold a private conversation with a family member when I visit a patient. Family members can leave the room for some respite and still be just a stone’s throw away from their loved one.

Patient rooms are much bigger than before, and the booms lift a lot of equipment off the floor. The beds and doors are configured so that patients who are awake have a direct line of sight to the nurse’s station.

MEDIA ATTENTION AND REACTIONS

Our new unit was featured in both an article2 and a health care blog3 by the Wall Street Journal. The article opened as follows: “For decades, hospitals tried to keep visitors out of intensive-care units for more than a few minutes at a time. This year, Emory University Hospital here went the other way: It began inviting family members to move into the ward and take a hand in the patient’s care.”2 I think the reporter captured the key idea well, but I would change the word “visitors” to “participants” to indicate that patients’ family members really have a degree of responsibility.

There were interesting comments from readers in response to the article. Many were positive, but not everyone felt the changes were a good idea. One reader wrote, “Pandering to a half-dozen relatives is rarely beneficial to anyone. When we realize that hospitals are there to heal and not to entertain, we’ll cut down the excess costs of treating critical care patients. A close relative is entitled to know what’s happening on a timely basis. Any involvement beyond that should be limited to what is medically beneficial to the patient.”

Another comment, probably from someone who works in an ICU, was, “This sounds more like a marketing ploy by hospital administrators than a plan developed by the nurses and physicians in the trenches.” Interestingly, administrators at Emory resisted the changes because of the high expense. Although the tone of this comment seems cynical, the writer brings up a valid danger—that limited health care resources potentially could be diverted from the patient to the family. But although care that fosters family participation costs more money and takes more energy, what matters is that we are doing a better job for patients and their families.

BENEFITS OF FAMILY-CENTERED UNITS: A CASE STUDY

The following case study illustrates some of the advantages of our new family-centered unit.

David was a 31-year-old computer programmer, the father of a 3-year-old girl, and about to be married. He came in with a grade 3 subarachnoid hemorrhage from a severe carotid intracranial aneurysm. He was in the old neurocritical care unit for 4 or 5 days, and then was moved to the new unit when it opened.

The family—David’s parents and his fiancée— kept a rotating vigil. The Wall Street Journal article described how they always felt that they were in the way in the old ICU, whereas they felt welcome in the new facility. The family often stood at David’s bedside as the team explained the purpose of the complex monitors and instruments. The mother said, “This was our home for a month, and it got so that the nurses could tell when we needed a hug.”2

After 2 weeks, David developed neurogenic pulmonary edema, severe pneumonia, acute respiratory distress syndrome, and heart failure. We induced a coma to protect his brain from high intracranial pressure and placed hypothermia catheters to lower his core temperature in an attempt to better oxygenate him. Just as he was getting better, the aneurysm ruptured again, and we knew that recovery was hopeless.

The family was by his bedside 24 hours a day and knew that the medical team was as well. They witnessed the whole situation and understood when we ran out of options. As David’s parents and fiancée gathered at the bedside, I told them that David had progressed to brain death. Shortly after that, the team that arranged organ donation came to speak with David’s parents, and they elected to donate. They were grateful for the time they had with him and for the way they were treated. David’s father said, “No one ever misled us or told us anything but the truth…and most importantly, we were there for everything.”2

We did everything we could for David, and nothing could change his ultimate outcome. But I think that the way someone dies is incredibly important. The circumstances of how he was treated probably helped allow the family to donate David’s organs and better come to terms with his death. They later generously donated their time to help the neurocritical care unit develop the family-centered approach we wanted by participating in many discussions about their experiences.

 

 

FAMILY-CENTERED UNITS POSE CHALLENGES

Units that are designed for both patients and their families bring to the fore enormous issues that arise in the ICU daily. How does one care for patients and their families simultaneously? Our challenges have included the following, among others:

  • Team rounding. Nobody was happy about inviting families to rounds. Training medical students and fellows with families in the room is a real paradigm shift and raises many controversial issues. Yet I feel that the family needs to be aware of what is going on, particularly because our patients often are intubated and sedated and cannot act as their own advocates.
  • Nursing handoffs. Imagine a nurse operating six or seven intravenous pumps and trying to figure out medications while having a family member—or three or four members—“in her face” 24 hours a day.
  • Urgent or frightening treatment. How do you deal with resuscitation? What if the family is right by the bedside: do you ask them to leave? What kind of support do they need?

We do not have all the answers to such problems. We are currently studying them and trying to figure out best practices.

SUCCESSES AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS

Emory’s neurosciences critical care unit won the 2008 ICU Design Citation Award from the Society of Critical Care Medicine, the American Association of Critical Care Nurses, and the American Institute of Architects Academy on Architecture for Health.

We are now beginning to look at outcomes resulting from the unit redesign, and they all are going in the right direction. ICU patient satisfaction and staff satisfaction have increased, according to self-assessments. Other outcomes being assessed are length of stay and benchmark parameters of quality.

We are currently piloting a staff-family simulation workshop that will train all 80 members of our ICU nursing staff, including fellows, residents, and other faculty, in the fundamentals of communication. Using a one-way mirror, a team of psychologists and experts in grief and posttraumatic stress will watch simulated conversations among staff and actors role-playing situations involving brain death, organ donation, and diagnoses involving high mortality.

Although the concept of care centered around the patient and his or her family seems as acceptable as motherhood and apple pie, there is enormous resistance to it, even from the most dedicated health care workers. The process was long and laborious: we spent about a year and a half preparing for it with a familycentered team and involved all sorts of charters and directors along the way. Starting the changes is the real challenge.

References
  1. Ulrich R, Quan X, Zimring C, Joseph A, Choudhary R. The role of the physical environment in the hospital of the 21st century: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Research report from the Center for Health Design; September 2004. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/reports/physical_environ.php. Accessed October 30, 2008.
  2. Landro L. ICUs’ new message: welcome, families. Wall Street Journal. July 12, 2007. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB118419577614963880.html. Accessed October 30, 2008.
  3. Mantone J.Building family-friendly ICUs. Wall Street Journal. July 12, 2007. http://blogs.wsj.com/health/2007/07/12/building-familyfriendly-icus/. Accessed October 30, 2008.
References
  1. Ulrich R, Quan X, Zimring C, Joseph A, Choudhary R. The role of the physical environment in the hospital of the 21st century: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Research report from the Center for Health Design; September 2004. http://www.healthdesign.org/research/reports/physical_environ.php. Accessed October 30, 2008.
  2. Landro L. ICUs’ new message: welcome, families. Wall Street Journal. July 12, 2007. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB118419577614963880.html. Accessed October 30, 2008.
  3. Mantone J.Building family-friendly ICUs. Wall Street Journal. July 12, 2007. http://blogs.wsj.com/health/2007/07/12/building-familyfriendly-icus/. Accessed October 30, 2008.
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Neuromodulation of cardiac pain and cerebral vasculature: Neural mechanisms

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Neuromodulation of cardiac pain and cerebral vasculature: Neural mechanisms

The cardinal symptoms of angina pectoris—chest pain and pain that may radiate to either arm or the neck and jaw—are well recognized. The visceral characteristics of anginal pain are also familiar; for example, referral to somatic structures, pain that is diffuse and poorly localized, skin and deep tissue tenderness, enhanced autonomic reflexes such as sweating and vasomotor symptoms, and muscular rigidity.

The neurologic mechanisms that explain the manifestations of angina pectoris are less well clarified, and are targets of active research. Our research into the neuromodulation of cardiovascular function over the last 2 decades has produced results that may have clinical implications and others that have raised new questions. This article summarizes some of our key findings from studies of neural mechanisms of angina pectoris, central sensitization of cardiac nociceptive stimuli, and the neuromodulation of cardiac pain, with a focus on processing in the spinal cord.

NEURAL MECHANISMS OF ANGINA PECTORIS

Cells of the spinothalamic tract form a sensory pathway that transmits afferent information to the thalamus.1 One of our research objectives was to examine how these cells process information when the heart is exposed to noxious stimuli.

Thoracic spinal processing

The animal model for our early studies was an anesthetized primate. The afferent nerves were activated in one of two ways: either the coronary artery was occluded or bradykinin and algesic chemicals were injected into the pericardial sac or left atrial appendage. Recorded activity was then made from the spinothalamic tract cells in the T1–T5 and C5–C6 segments.1 We found convergence of visceral and somatic input, generally to the chest and upper arm. The finding was consistent with the observation that pain from angina commonly occurs in proximal somatic fields. No visceral input was evident in cells in C7–C8, where the somatic effects are primarily distal—to the hand, for example.

Upper cervical processing

It is known that some patients experience angina pectoris as neck and jaw pain. The dental literature has shown that what is initially considered to be a toothache occasionally turns out to be angina and coronary artery disease.2 Clinical literature from the late 1940s observed that despite the use of sympathectomy to relieve angina pectoris, neck and jaw pain continued or developed.3,4 This pain was attributed to transmission of nociceptive information in vagal afferent fibers, commonly thought to transmit innocuous cardiac sensory information.

When we recorded activity from spinothalamic tract cells in the C1–C2 region to observe the effect of cardiac nociceptive stimulation, we demonstrated a major role for the vagus nerve.1 Injection of saline into the heart had no effect in the C1–C2 region, but injection of algesic chemicals into the pericardial sac caused significant activity that disappeared after transection of the vagus nerve. This finding suggested that vagal afferent fibers ascend into the nucleus tractus solitarius of the medulla and either directly or indirectly modulate the C1–C2 neurons, which also receive converging somatic information from the neck and jaw region.5

CENTRAL SENSITIZATION OF CARDIAC NOCICEPTIVE STIMULI

Clinical studies suggest that anxiety and depression are prevalent in patients suffering from chest pain with and without underlying cardiac disease.6 Anxiety and/or stress increases circulating levels of corticosteroids, which can act on the glucocorticoid receptors in the amygdala, particularly in the central area.7 The amygdala plays a pivotal role in transforming chronic stressful stimuli into behavioral, visceral, and autonomic responses.8

Previous studies have shown that corticosteroids upregulate expressions of corticotropin-releasing factor in the central nucleus of the amygdala and increase indices of anxiety.7,9 They are also associated with hypersensitivity in visceromotor responses to colorectal distention10 and sensitize lumbosacral spinal neurons to colorectal and urinary bladder distention.11,12 We therefore hypothesized that glucocorticoids manipulate amygdala function, inducing hypersensitivity to nociceptive input from the heart through the modulation of upper thoracic spinal neuronal activity.

To examine the impact of stress on the nervous system when the heart is exposed to noxious stimuli, we assessed the effect of chronic activation of the amygdala on the T3–T4 spinal neurons and on C1–C2 propriospinal neurons. Fisher 344 rats were selected for this study because of their relatively low level of anxiety-related behavior.9 Micropellets of crystalline corticosterone or cholesterol (30 μg, used as a control) were implanted in the central nucleus of the amygdala. After 7 days, the corticosterone-implanted, but not the cholesterol-implanted, animals displayed high-anxiety behavior, as determined with an elevated plus maze.7

The responses of T3–T4 spinal neurons to intrapericardial injections of the algesic chemical bradykinin were compared in the corticosterone- and cholesterol-implanted rats. Compared with cholesterol-implanted animals, the duration of activity in response to the noxious cardiac stimulus was significantly longer in the corticosterone-implanted rats; in addition, activity shifted from the short-lasting (the response lasts only as long as the stimulus is applied) to long-lasting excitatory (the response lasts well beyond the period the stimulus is applied) neurons. Long-lasting excitatory neuronal activity is associated with intense pain and hypersensitivity, while short-lasting neurons are associated with a more acute response. The number of neurons with large field sizes in the corticosterone-implanted animals also increased, which is another indication of sensitization.

Figure 1. Proposed glucocorticoid-activated descending pathways from the central nucleus of the amygdala (CeA) that may produce central sensitization of the upper thoracic spinal neurons receiving cardiac nociceptive information. The descending information may be transmitted directly (dotted line) to the upper thoracic neurons or in part through activation (dashed line) of propriospinal neurons in the C1–C2 segments (solid line). It should be pointed out that the dotted line also represents neurons from the CeA that may send projections to several brainstem nuclei, which then send axons to the spinal cord.
To study the role of the propriospinal pathway from C1–C2 segments in transmitting information from the amygdala to the thoracic spinal cord, we stimulated the central nucleus of the amygdala, which created a burst activity in T2–T4 spinal neurons that ended when the stimulus was removed. We then exposed the C1–C2 and C5–C6 spinal cord segments to ibotenic acid, which disrupts cell function but does not affect axons, and repeated the amygdala stimulation. Overall, the responses of 65% of the T2–T4 cells tested by amygdala stimulation were eliminated after C1–C2 cell disruption, but none of the neuronal responses to amygdala stimulation were eliminated after ibotenic acid was applied to the C5–C6 segments. The results suggest that C1–C2 plays a role in transmitting information from the amygdala to the T3–T4 neurons, and that there is a small direct pathway between the two areas (Figure 1).

 

 

NEUROMODULATION OF CEREBROVASCULATURE AND CARDIAC PAIN

Neuromodulation of cerebral blood flow

Spinal cord stimulation is used to treat several cerebrovascular disorders, including cerebral ischemia, focal cerebral ischemia, stroke, postapoplectic spastic hemiplegia, and prolonged coma (see Yang et al13 for citations that address these pathologies). There is no clear explanation for its therapeutic effect; mechanisms being investigated include changes in cerebral blood flow and processing of nociceptive information.

To assess the effect of spinal cord stimulation on cerebral blood flow, we exposed the C1–C2 area of an anesthetized rat, stimulated the area with a ball electrode, and used laser Doppler flow probes to measure the blood flow on the surface of the cortex bilaterally. 13 The stimulus parameters were 30%, 60%, and 90% of motor threshold; the threshold was determined by gradually increasing the intensity of spinal cord stimulation until the neck muscles contracted. Blood flow increased on both sides with increasing stimulation intensities.13

Other studies have evaluated cerebral blood flow but did not measure change in cerebrovascular resistance. We observed that spinal cord stimulation—particularly at 60% and 90% of motor threshold—increased blood flow and reduced resistance to spinal cord stimulation on the dorsal columns at C1, both ipsilaterally and contralaterally.

In other tests, cerebral blood flow and vascular resistance to spinal cord stimulation were not changed after transection of the spinal cord at the C6–C7 segments. These results suggested that information was not being transmitted to the sympathetic nervous system via the thoracic spinal cord. We applied ibotenic acid to C1–C2 to assess whether the underlying stimulated neurons affected cerebral blood flow; there was no significant change. On the other hand, a small cut in the dorsal column rostral to the stimulation site caused significantly reduced cerebral blood flow and vascular resistance, indicating that the dorsal columns function in an ascending manner to produce the vasodilation in the cerebral cortex.13

Capsaicin-sensitive sensory nerves, which contain transient receptor potential vanilloid-1 (TRPV1) receptors, may have a role in spinal cord stimulation–induced vasodilation. TRPV1 receptors are nonselective cation channels activated by capsaicin, heat, and hydrogen ions.14 Activation, which causes an influx of cations and release of calcitonin gene-related peptide (CGRP) and substance P, is related to the pathogenesis of inflammation and hypertension. To examine the potential role played by capsaicin-sensitive sensory nerves, we administered resiniferatoxin (RTX), an ultrapotent capsaicin agonist; RTX specifically targets and desensitizes TRPV1-containing sensory fibers.13,15 Administration either intravenously or by direct application to the spinal cord results in a 15- to 20-minute period of sensitization followed by several hours of desensitization; if exposure lasts for several days, the nerves are destroyed.

Intrathecal administration of RTX to the spinal cord resulted in no significant change in cerebral blood flow. However, intravenous administration resulted in significantly decreased cerebral blood flow and decreased resistance, suggesting a role for TRPV1 receptors in cerebral blood flow.13

There may be a connection between spinal cord stimulation at C1 and vasodilation of the cortex. The literature suggests that spinal cord stimulation activates the dorsal column nuclei16; we found evidence of this in our laboratory when we recorded activity from cells in the cuneate and gracilus nuclei after spinal cord stimulation. There is also a possible pathway between the dorsal column, the rostral ventrolateral medulla, and the sphenopalatine ganglion that influences vasodilation.17–20 Although not yet clearly defined, evidence suggests a connection between spinal cord stimulation and transmission of this information through the dorsal columns to influence vasodilation.17–20

Neuromodulation of thoracic spinal processing of cardiac nociceptive information

Stimulating the dorsal columns activates the large afferent fibers, which in turn activate neuronal mechanisms in the spinal cord gray matter. These mechanisms may be partly attributed to “gate control,” in which large afferent fibers can decrease the amount of information coming from the nociceptive afferent nerves to reduce the nociceptive sensation.15,21,22 González-Darder et al23 considered this mechanism in a study of 12 patients with unstable angina (Table 1). Upper cervical spinal cord stimulation resulted in a decreased number of anginal episodes per week and an improved rate-pressure product (heart rate × systolic blood pressure). Their findings suggest that stimulating the upper cervical region could achieve effects similar to those seen after stimulating the spinal cord at T2.

Using a rat model to assess the effects of spinal stimulation, we recorded T3 activity during dorsal column stimulation of either C8-T1 or C1–C2 segments. Activity was almost completely suppressed with C1–C2 stimulation during bradykinin injection into the pericardial sac. The results suggest that spinal cord stimulation suppresses the processing of nociceptive information.24

Stimulating the spinal cord at C8-T1 also suppresses the effect of bradykinin. One possible mechanism for this effect is that spinal cord stimulation activates large afferent fibers; GABAergic connections in the superficial dorsal horn may suppress the processing of information in the spinothalamic tract neurons.22,25

SUMMARY

Our investigations have generated information about afferent input to the spinothalamic tract cells, the effects of glucocorticoids on amygdala function, and possible therapeutic mechanisms of spinal cord stimulation.

We have demonstrated convergence of viscerosomatic input in spinothalamic cells. There is virtually no viscerocardiac input at the C7–C8 region, but there is input at C5–C6. Vagal afferent activity is the major source of input at the C1–C2 region; in this region. Vagal nerve stimulation may have a major role in processing in the upper cervical spinal cord and may change the balance of processing in the supraspinal nuclei.

Glucocorticoids manipulate amygdala function by inducing hypersensitivity to nociceptive input from the heart through central sensitization of upper thoracic spinal neuronal activity. Descending information from the amygdala depends, in part, on the C1–C2 propriospinal pathway.

Spinal cord stimulation at C1–C2 or C8-T1 can activate inner neuronal mechanisms that may involve GABA, modulating the wide dynamic range of neurons that are part of the spinothalamic tract.

References
  1. Foreman RD. Mechanisms of cardiac pain. Annu Rev Physiol 1999; 61:143167.
  2. Myers DE. Vagus nerve pain referred to the craniofacial region. A case report and literature review with implications for referred cardiac pain. Br Dent J 2008; 204:187189.
  3. Lindgren I, Olivecrona H. Surgical treatment of angina pectoris. J Neurosurg 1947; 4:1939.
  4. White JC, Bland EF. The surgical relief of severe angina pectoris: methods employed and end results in 83 patients. Medicine 1948; 27:142.
  5. McNeill DL, Chandler MJ, Fu QG, Foreman RD. Projection of nodose ganglion cells to the upper cervical spinal cord in the rat. Brain Res Bull 1991; 27:151155.
  6. Sheps DS, Creed F, Clouse RE. Chest pain in patients with cardiac and noncardiac disease. Psychosom Med 2004; 66:861867.
  7. Shepard JD, Barron KW, Myers DA. Corticosterone delivery to the amygdala increases corticotropin-releasing factor mRNA in the central amygdaloid nucleus and anxiety-like behavior. Brain Res 2000; 861:288295.
  8. Rozen JB, Schulkin J. From normal fear to pathological anxiety. Psychol Rev 1998; 105:325350.
  9. Gunter WD, Shepard JD, Foreman RD, Myers DA, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B. Evidence for visceral hypersensitivity in high-anxiety rats. Physiol Behav 2000; 69:379382.
  10. Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Gibson M, Gunter W, Shepard J, Foreman R, Myers D. Stereotaxic delivery of corticosterone to the amygdala modulates colonic sensitivity in rats. Brain Res 2001; 893:135142.
  11. Qin C, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Myers DA, Foreman RD. Corticosterone acts directly at the amygdala to alter spinal neuronal activity in response to colorectal distension. J Neurophysiol 2003; 89:13431352.
  12. Qin C, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Foreman RD. Spinal neuronal responses to urinary bladder stimulation in rats with corticosterone or aldosterone onto the amygdala. J Neurophysiol 2003; 90:21802189.
  13. Yang X, Farber JP, Wu M, Foreman RD, Qin C. Roles of dorsal column pathway and transient receptor potential vanilloid type 1 in augmentation of cerebral blood flow by upper cervical spinal cord stimulation in rats. Neuroscience 2008; 152:950958.
  14. Steenland HW, Ko SW, Wu LJ, Zhuo M. Hot receptors in the brain. Mol Pain 2006; 2:34.
  15. Wu M, Komori N, Qin C, Farber JP, Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Roles of peripheral terminals of transient receptor potential vanil-loid-1 containing sensory fibers in spinal cord stimulation-induced peripheral vasodilation. Brain Res 2007; 1156:8092.
  16. Sagher O, Huang DL. Effects of cervical spinal cord stimulation on cerebral blood flow in the rat. J Neurosurg 2000; 93( 1 suppl):7176.
  17. Seylaz J, Hara H, Pinard E, Mraovitch S, MacKenzie ET, Edvinsson L. Effect of stimulation of the sphenopalatine ganglion on cortical blood flow in the rat. J Cereb Blood Flow Metab 1988; 8:875878.
  18. Suzuki N, Hardebo JE, Kåhrström J, Owman C. Selective electrical stimulation of postganglionic cerebrovascular parasympathetic nerve fibers originating from the sphenopalatine ganglion enhances cortical blood flow in the rat. J Cereb Blood Flow Metab 1990; 10:383391.
  19. Kamiya H, Itoh K, Yasui Y, Ino T, Mizuno N. Somatosensory and auditory relay nucleus in the rostral part of the ventrolateral medulla: a morphological study in the cat. J Comp Neurol 1988; 273:421435.
  20. Patel S, Huang DL, Sagher O. Evidence for a central pathway in the cerebrovascular effects of spinal cord stimulation. Neurosurgery 2004; 55:201206.
  21. Meyerson BA, Linderoth B. Spinal cord stimulation: mechanisms of action in neuropathic and ischemic pain. In:Simpson BA, ed. Electrical Stimulation and the Relief of Pain. Vol. 15. New York, NY: Elsevier Publishers; 2003:161182.
  22. Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Mechanisms of spinal cord stimulation in painful syndromes: role of animal models. Pain Med 2006; 7:S14S26.
  23. González-Darder JM, Canela P, González-Martinez V. High cervical spinal cord stimulation for unstable angina pectoris. Stereotact Funct Neurosurg 1991; 56:2027.
  24. Qin C, Farber JP, Linderoth B, Shahid A, Foreman RD. Neuromodulation of thoracic intraspinal visceroreceptive transmission by electrical stimulation of spinal dorsal column and somatic afferents in rats. J Pain 2008; 9:7178.
  25. Linderoth B, Meyerson B. Spinal cord stimulation: mechanisms of action. In:Burchiel K. Surgical Management of Pain. New York, NY: Thieme Medical Publishers Inc; 2002:505526.
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Robert D. Foreman, PhD
Department of Physiology, College of Medicine, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Chao Qin, MD, PhD
Department of Physiology, College of Medicine, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Correspondence: Robert D. Foreman, PhD, Department of Physiology, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, 940 S.L. Young Blvd., Room 653, Oklahoma City, OK 73104; [email protected]

Dr. Foreman reported that he serves as a consultant for Advanced Neuromodulation
Systems. Dr. Qin reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Foreman’s presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Drs. Foreman and Qin.

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Author and Disclosure Information

Robert D. Foreman, PhD
Department of Physiology, College of Medicine, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Chao Qin, MD, PhD
Department of Physiology, College of Medicine, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Correspondence: Robert D. Foreman, PhD, Department of Physiology, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, 940 S.L. Young Blvd., Room 653, Oklahoma City, OK 73104; [email protected]

Dr. Foreman reported that he serves as a consultant for Advanced Neuromodulation
Systems. Dr. Qin reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Foreman’s presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Drs. Foreman and Qin.

Author and Disclosure Information

Robert D. Foreman, PhD
Department of Physiology, College of Medicine, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Chao Qin, MD, PhD
Department of Physiology, College of Medicine, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, Oklahoma City, OK

Correspondence: Robert D. Foreman, PhD, Department of Physiology, University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center, 940 S.L. Young Blvd., Room 653, Oklahoma City, OK 73104; [email protected]

Dr. Foreman reported that he serves as a consultant for Advanced Neuromodulation
Systems. Dr. Qin reported that he has no financial interests or relationships that pose a potential conflict of interest with this article.

This article was developed from an audio transcript of Dr. Foreman’s presentation at the 3rd Heart-Brain Summit. The transcript was formatted and edited by the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine staff for clarity and conciseness, and was then reviewed, revised, and approved by Drs. Foreman and Qin.

Article PDF
Article PDF

The cardinal symptoms of angina pectoris—chest pain and pain that may radiate to either arm or the neck and jaw—are well recognized. The visceral characteristics of anginal pain are also familiar; for example, referral to somatic structures, pain that is diffuse and poorly localized, skin and deep tissue tenderness, enhanced autonomic reflexes such as sweating and vasomotor symptoms, and muscular rigidity.

The neurologic mechanisms that explain the manifestations of angina pectoris are less well clarified, and are targets of active research. Our research into the neuromodulation of cardiovascular function over the last 2 decades has produced results that may have clinical implications and others that have raised new questions. This article summarizes some of our key findings from studies of neural mechanisms of angina pectoris, central sensitization of cardiac nociceptive stimuli, and the neuromodulation of cardiac pain, with a focus on processing in the spinal cord.

NEURAL MECHANISMS OF ANGINA PECTORIS

Cells of the spinothalamic tract form a sensory pathway that transmits afferent information to the thalamus.1 One of our research objectives was to examine how these cells process information when the heart is exposed to noxious stimuli.

Thoracic spinal processing

The animal model for our early studies was an anesthetized primate. The afferent nerves were activated in one of two ways: either the coronary artery was occluded or bradykinin and algesic chemicals were injected into the pericardial sac or left atrial appendage. Recorded activity was then made from the spinothalamic tract cells in the T1–T5 and C5–C6 segments.1 We found convergence of visceral and somatic input, generally to the chest and upper arm. The finding was consistent with the observation that pain from angina commonly occurs in proximal somatic fields. No visceral input was evident in cells in C7–C8, where the somatic effects are primarily distal—to the hand, for example.

Upper cervical processing

It is known that some patients experience angina pectoris as neck and jaw pain. The dental literature has shown that what is initially considered to be a toothache occasionally turns out to be angina and coronary artery disease.2 Clinical literature from the late 1940s observed that despite the use of sympathectomy to relieve angina pectoris, neck and jaw pain continued or developed.3,4 This pain was attributed to transmission of nociceptive information in vagal afferent fibers, commonly thought to transmit innocuous cardiac sensory information.

When we recorded activity from spinothalamic tract cells in the C1–C2 region to observe the effect of cardiac nociceptive stimulation, we demonstrated a major role for the vagus nerve.1 Injection of saline into the heart had no effect in the C1–C2 region, but injection of algesic chemicals into the pericardial sac caused significant activity that disappeared after transection of the vagus nerve. This finding suggested that vagal afferent fibers ascend into the nucleus tractus solitarius of the medulla and either directly or indirectly modulate the C1–C2 neurons, which also receive converging somatic information from the neck and jaw region.5

CENTRAL SENSITIZATION OF CARDIAC NOCICEPTIVE STIMULI

Clinical studies suggest that anxiety and depression are prevalent in patients suffering from chest pain with and without underlying cardiac disease.6 Anxiety and/or stress increases circulating levels of corticosteroids, which can act on the glucocorticoid receptors in the amygdala, particularly in the central area.7 The amygdala plays a pivotal role in transforming chronic stressful stimuli into behavioral, visceral, and autonomic responses.8

Previous studies have shown that corticosteroids upregulate expressions of corticotropin-releasing factor in the central nucleus of the amygdala and increase indices of anxiety.7,9 They are also associated with hypersensitivity in visceromotor responses to colorectal distention10 and sensitize lumbosacral spinal neurons to colorectal and urinary bladder distention.11,12 We therefore hypothesized that glucocorticoids manipulate amygdala function, inducing hypersensitivity to nociceptive input from the heart through the modulation of upper thoracic spinal neuronal activity.

To examine the impact of stress on the nervous system when the heart is exposed to noxious stimuli, we assessed the effect of chronic activation of the amygdala on the T3–T4 spinal neurons and on C1–C2 propriospinal neurons. Fisher 344 rats were selected for this study because of their relatively low level of anxiety-related behavior.9 Micropellets of crystalline corticosterone or cholesterol (30 μg, used as a control) were implanted in the central nucleus of the amygdala. After 7 days, the corticosterone-implanted, but not the cholesterol-implanted, animals displayed high-anxiety behavior, as determined with an elevated plus maze.7

The responses of T3–T4 spinal neurons to intrapericardial injections of the algesic chemical bradykinin were compared in the corticosterone- and cholesterol-implanted rats. Compared with cholesterol-implanted animals, the duration of activity in response to the noxious cardiac stimulus was significantly longer in the corticosterone-implanted rats; in addition, activity shifted from the short-lasting (the response lasts only as long as the stimulus is applied) to long-lasting excitatory (the response lasts well beyond the period the stimulus is applied) neurons. Long-lasting excitatory neuronal activity is associated with intense pain and hypersensitivity, while short-lasting neurons are associated with a more acute response. The number of neurons with large field sizes in the corticosterone-implanted animals also increased, which is another indication of sensitization.

Figure 1. Proposed glucocorticoid-activated descending pathways from the central nucleus of the amygdala (CeA) that may produce central sensitization of the upper thoracic spinal neurons receiving cardiac nociceptive information. The descending information may be transmitted directly (dotted line) to the upper thoracic neurons or in part through activation (dashed line) of propriospinal neurons in the C1–C2 segments (solid line). It should be pointed out that the dotted line also represents neurons from the CeA that may send projections to several brainstem nuclei, which then send axons to the spinal cord.
To study the role of the propriospinal pathway from C1–C2 segments in transmitting information from the amygdala to the thoracic spinal cord, we stimulated the central nucleus of the amygdala, which created a burst activity in T2–T4 spinal neurons that ended when the stimulus was removed. We then exposed the C1–C2 and C5–C6 spinal cord segments to ibotenic acid, which disrupts cell function but does not affect axons, and repeated the amygdala stimulation. Overall, the responses of 65% of the T2–T4 cells tested by amygdala stimulation were eliminated after C1–C2 cell disruption, but none of the neuronal responses to amygdala stimulation were eliminated after ibotenic acid was applied to the C5–C6 segments. The results suggest that C1–C2 plays a role in transmitting information from the amygdala to the T3–T4 neurons, and that there is a small direct pathway between the two areas (Figure 1).

 

 

NEUROMODULATION OF CEREBROVASCULATURE AND CARDIAC PAIN

Neuromodulation of cerebral blood flow

Spinal cord stimulation is used to treat several cerebrovascular disorders, including cerebral ischemia, focal cerebral ischemia, stroke, postapoplectic spastic hemiplegia, and prolonged coma (see Yang et al13 for citations that address these pathologies). There is no clear explanation for its therapeutic effect; mechanisms being investigated include changes in cerebral blood flow and processing of nociceptive information.

To assess the effect of spinal cord stimulation on cerebral blood flow, we exposed the C1–C2 area of an anesthetized rat, stimulated the area with a ball electrode, and used laser Doppler flow probes to measure the blood flow on the surface of the cortex bilaterally. 13 The stimulus parameters were 30%, 60%, and 90% of motor threshold; the threshold was determined by gradually increasing the intensity of spinal cord stimulation until the neck muscles contracted. Blood flow increased on both sides with increasing stimulation intensities.13

Other studies have evaluated cerebral blood flow but did not measure change in cerebrovascular resistance. We observed that spinal cord stimulation—particularly at 60% and 90% of motor threshold—increased blood flow and reduced resistance to spinal cord stimulation on the dorsal columns at C1, both ipsilaterally and contralaterally.

In other tests, cerebral blood flow and vascular resistance to spinal cord stimulation were not changed after transection of the spinal cord at the C6–C7 segments. These results suggested that information was not being transmitted to the sympathetic nervous system via the thoracic spinal cord. We applied ibotenic acid to C1–C2 to assess whether the underlying stimulated neurons affected cerebral blood flow; there was no significant change. On the other hand, a small cut in the dorsal column rostral to the stimulation site caused significantly reduced cerebral blood flow and vascular resistance, indicating that the dorsal columns function in an ascending manner to produce the vasodilation in the cerebral cortex.13

Capsaicin-sensitive sensory nerves, which contain transient receptor potential vanilloid-1 (TRPV1) receptors, may have a role in spinal cord stimulation–induced vasodilation. TRPV1 receptors are nonselective cation channels activated by capsaicin, heat, and hydrogen ions.14 Activation, which causes an influx of cations and release of calcitonin gene-related peptide (CGRP) and substance P, is related to the pathogenesis of inflammation and hypertension. To examine the potential role played by capsaicin-sensitive sensory nerves, we administered resiniferatoxin (RTX), an ultrapotent capsaicin agonist; RTX specifically targets and desensitizes TRPV1-containing sensory fibers.13,15 Administration either intravenously or by direct application to the spinal cord results in a 15- to 20-minute period of sensitization followed by several hours of desensitization; if exposure lasts for several days, the nerves are destroyed.

Intrathecal administration of RTX to the spinal cord resulted in no significant change in cerebral blood flow. However, intravenous administration resulted in significantly decreased cerebral blood flow and decreased resistance, suggesting a role for TRPV1 receptors in cerebral blood flow.13

There may be a connection between spinal cord stimulation at C1 and vasodilation of the cortex. The literature suggests that spinal cord stimulation activates the dorsal column nuclei16; we found evidence of this in our laboratory when we recorded activity from cells in the cuneate and gracilus nuclei after spinal cord stimulation. There is also a possible pathway between the dorsal column, the rostral ventrolateral medulla, and the sphenopalatine ganglion that influences vasodilation.17–20 Although not yet clearly defined, evidence suggests a connection between spinal cord stimulation and transmission of this information through the dorsal columns to influence vasodilation.17–20

Neuromodulation of thoracic spinal processing of cardiac nociceptive information

Stimulating the dorsal columns activates the large afferent fibers, which in turn activate neuronal mechanisms in the spinal cord gray matter. These mechanisms may be partly attributed to “gate control,” in which large afferent fibers can decrease the amount of information coming from the nociceptive afferent nerves to reduce the nociceptive sensation.15,21,22 González-Darder et al23 considered this mechanism in a study of 12 patients with unstable angina (Table 1). Upper cervical spinal cord stimulation resulted in a decreased number of anginal episodes per week and an improved rate-pressure product (heart rate × systolic blood pressure). Their findings suggest that stimulating the upper cervical region could achieve effects similar to those seen after stimulating the spinal cord at T2.

Using a rat model to assess the effects of spinal stimulation, we recorded T3 activity during dorsal column stimulation of either C8-T1 or C1–C2 segments. Activity was almost completely suppressed with C1–C2 stimulation during bradykinin injection into the pericardial sac. The results suggest that spinal cord stimulation suppresses the processing of nociceptive information.24

Stimulating the spinal cord at C8-T1 also suppresses the effect of bradykinin. One possible mechanism for this effect is that spinal cord stimulation activates large afferent fibers; GABAergic connections in the superficial dorsal horn may suppress the processing of information in the spinothalamic tract neurons.22,25

SUMMARY

Our investigations have generated information about afferent input to the spinothalamic tract cells, the effects of glucocorticoids on amygdala function, and possible therapeutic mechanisms of spinal cord stimulation.

We have demonstrated convergence of viscerosomatic input in spinothalamic cells. There is virtually no viscerocardiac input at the C7–C8 region, but there is input at C5–C6. Vagal afferent activity is the major source of input at the C1–C2 region; in this region. Vagal nerve stimulation may have a major role in processing in the upper cervical spinal cord and may change the balance of processing in the supraspinal nuclei.

Glucocorticoids manipulate amygdala function by inducing hypersensitivity to nociceptive input from the heart through central sensitization of upper thoracic spinal neuronal activity. Descending information from the amygdala depends, in part, on the C1–C2 propriospinal pathway.

Spinal cord stimulation at C1–C2 or C8-T1 can activate inner neuronal mechanisms that may involve GABA, modulating the wide dynamic range of neurons that are part of the spinothalamic tract.

The cardinal symptoms of angina pectoris—chest pain and pain that may radiate to either arm or the neck and jaw—are well recognized. The visceral characteristics of anginal pain are also familiar; for example, referral to somatic structures, pain that is diffuse and poorly localized, skin and deep tissue tenderness, enhanced autonomic reflexes such as sweating and vasomotor symptoms, and muscular rigidity.

The neurologic mechanisms that explain the manifestations of angina pectoris are less well clarified, and are targets of active research. Our research into the neuromodulation of cardiovascular function over the last 2 decades has produced results that may have clinical implications and others that have raised new questions. This article summarizes some of our key findings from studies of neural mechanisms of angina pectoris, central sensitization of cardiac nociceptive stimuli, and the neuromodulation of cardiac pain, with a focus on processing in the spinal cord.

NEURAL MECHANISMS OF ANGINA PECTORIS

Cells of the spinothalamic tract form a sensory pathway that transmits afferent information to the thalamus.1 One of our research objectives was to examine how these cells process information when the heart is exposed to noxious stimuli.

Thoracic spinal processing

The animal model for our early studies was an anesthetized primate. The afferent nerves were activated in one of two ways: either the coronary artery was occluded or bradykinin and algesic chemicals were injected into the pericardial sac or left atrial appendage. Recorded activity was then made from the spinothalamic tract cells in the T1–T5 and C5–C6 segments.1 We found convergence of visceral and somatic input, generally to the chest and upper arm. The finding was consistent with the observation that pain from angina commonly occurs in proximal somatic fields. No visceral input was evident in cells in C7–C8, where the somatic effects are primarily distal—to the hand, for example.

Upper cervical processing

It is known that some patients experience angina pectoris as neck and jaw pain. The dental literature has shown that what is initially considered to be a toothache occasionally turns out to be angina and coronary artery disease.2 Clinical literature from the late 1940s observed that despite the use of sympathectomy to relieve angina pectoris, neck and jaw pain continued or developed.3,4 This pain was attributed to transmission of nociceptive information in vagal afferent fibers, commonly thought to transmit innocuous cardiac sensory information.

When we recorded activity from spinothalamic tract cells in the C1–C2 region to observe the effect of cardiac nociceptive stimulation, we demonstrated a major role for the vagus nerve.1 Injection of saline into the heart had no effect in the C1–C2 region, but injection of algesic chemicals into the pericardial sac caused significant activity that disappeared after transection of the vagus nerve. This finding suggested that vagal afferent fibers ascend into the nucleus tractus solitarius of the medulla and either directly or indirectly modulate the C1–C2 neurons, which also receive converging somatic information from the neck and jaw region.5

CENTRAL SENSITIZATION OF CARDIAC NOCICEPTIVE STIMULI

Clinical studies suggest that anxiety and depression are prevalent in patients suffering from chest pain with and without underlying cardiac disease.6 Anxiety and/or stress increases circulating levels of corticosteroids, which can act on the glucocorticoid receptors in the amygdala, particularly in the central area.7 The amygdala plays a pivotal role in transforming chronic stressful stimuli into behavioral, visceral, and autonomic responses.8

Previous studies have shown that corticosteroids upregulate expressions of corticotropin-releasing factor in the central nucleus of the amygdala and increase indices of anxiety.7,9 They are also associated with hypersensitivity in visceromotor responses to colorectal distention10 and sensitize lumbosacral spinal neurons to colorectal and urinary bladder distention.11,12 We therefore hypothesized that glucocorticoids manipulate amygdala function, inducing hypersensitivity to nociceptive input from the heart through the modulation of upper thoracic spinal neuronal activity.

To examine the impact of stress on the nervous system when the heart is exposed to noxious stimuli, we assessed the effect of chronic activation of the amygdala on the T3–T4 spinal neurons and on C1–C2 propriospinal neurons. Fisher 344 rats were selected for this study because of their relatively low level of anxiety-related behavior.9 Micropellets of crystalline corticosterone or cholesterol (30 μg, used as a control) were implanted in the central nucleus of the amygdala. After 7 days, the corticosterone-implanted, but not the cholesterol-implanted, animals displayed high-anxiety behavior, as determined with an elevated plus maze.7

The responses of T3–T4 spinal neurons to intrapericardial injections of the algesic chemical bradykinin were compared in the corticosterone- and cholesterol-implanted rats. Compared with cholesterol-implanted animals, the duration of activity in response to the noxious cardiac stimulus was significantly longer in the corticosterone-implanted rats; in addition, activity shifted from the short-lasting (the response lasts only as long as the stimulus is applied) to long-lasting excitatory (the response lasts well beyond the period the stimulus is applied) neurons. Long-lasting excitatory neuronal activity is associated with intense pain and hypersensitivity, while short-lasting neurons are associated with a more acute response. The number of neurons with large field sizes in the corticosterone-implanted animals also increased, which is another indication of sensitization.

Figure 1. Proposed glucocorticoid-activated descending pathways from the central nucleus of the amygdala (CeA) that may produce central sensitization of the upper thoracic spinal neurons receiving cardiac nociceptive information. The descending information may be transmitted directly (dotted line) to the upper thoracic neurons or in part through activation (dashed line) of propriospinal neurons in the C1–C2 segments (solid line). It should be pointed out that the dotted line also represents neurons from the CeA that may send projections to several brainstem nuclei, which then send axons to the spinal cord.
To study the role of the propriospinal pathway from C1–C2 segments in transmitting information from the amygdala to the thoracic spinal cord, we stimulated the central nucleus of the amygdala, which created a burst activity in T2–T4 spinal neurons that ended when the stimulus was removed. We then exposed the C1–C2 and C5–C6 spinal cord segments to ibotenic acid, which disrupts cell function but does not affect axons, and repeated the amygdala stimulation. Overall, the responses of 65% of the T2–T4 cells tested by amygdala stimulation were eliminated after C1–C2 cell disruption, but none of the neuronal responses to amygdala stimulation were eliminated after ibotenic acid was applied to the C5–C6 segments. The results suggest that C1–C2 plays a role in transmitting information from the amygdala to the T3–T4 neurons, and that there is a small direct pathway between the two areas (Figure 1).

 

 

NEUROMODULATION OF CEREBROVASCULATURE AND CARDIAC PAIN

Neuromodulation of cerebral blood flow

Spinal cord stimulation is used to treat several cerebrovascular disorders, including cerebral ischemia, focal cerebral ischemia, stroke, postapoplectic spastic hemiplegia, and prolonged coma (see Yang et al13 for citations that address these pathologies). There is no clear explanation for its therapeutic effect; mechanisms being investigated include changes in cerebral blood flow and processing of nociceptive information.

To assess the effect of spinal cord stimulation on cerebral blood flow, we exposed the C1–C2 area of an anesthetized rat, stimulated the area with a ball electrode, and used laser Doppler flow probes to measure the blood flow on the surface of the cortex bilaterally. 13 The stimulus parameters were 30%, 60%, and 90% of motor threshold; the threshold was determined by gradually increasing the intensity of spinal cord stimulation until the neck muscles contracted. Blood flow increased on both sides with increasing stimulation intensities.13

Other studies have evaluated cerebral blood flow but did not measure change in cerebrovascular resistance. We observed that spinal cord stimulation—particularly at 60% and 90% of motor threshold—increased blood flow and reduced resistance to spinal cord stimulation on the dorsal columns at C1, both ipsilaterally and contralaterally.

In other tests, cerebral blood flow and vascular resistance to spinal cord stimulation were not changed after transection of the spinal cord at the C6–C7 segments. These results suggested that information was not being transmitted to the sympathetic nervous system via the thoracic spinal cord. We applied ibotenic acid to C1–C2 to assess whether the underlying stimulated neurons affected cerebral blood flow; there was no significant change. On the other hand, a small cut in the dorsal column rostral to the stimulation site caused significantly reduced cerebral blood flow and vascular resistance, indicating that the dorsal columns function in an ascending manner to produce the vasodilation in the cerebral cortex.13

Capsaicin-sensitive sensory nerves, which contain transient receptor potential vanilloid-1 (TRPV1) receptors, may have a role in spinal cord stimulation–induced vasodilation. TRPV1 receptors are nonselective cation channels activated by capsaicin, heat, and hydrogen ions.14 Activation, which causes an influx of cations and release of calcitonin gene-related peptide (CGRP) and substance P, is related to the pathogenesis of inflammation and hypertension. To examine the potential role played by capsaicin-sensitive sensory nerves, we administered resiniferatoxin (RTX), an ultrapotent capsaicin agonist; RTX specifically targets and desensitizes TRPV1-containing sensory fibers.13,15 Administration either intravenously or by direct application to the spinal cord results in a 15- to 20-minute period of sensitization followed by several hours of desensitization; if exposure lasts for several days, the nerves are destroyed.

Intrathecal administration of RTX to the spinal cord resulted in no significant change in cerebral blood flow. However, intravenous administration resulted in significantly decreased cerebral blood flow and decreased resistance, suggesting a role for TRPV1 receptors in cerebral blood flow.13

There may be a connection between spinal cord stimulation at C1 and vasodilation of the cortex. The literature suggests that spinal cord stimulation activates the dorsal column nuclei16; we found evidence of this in our laboratory when we recorded activity from cells in the cuneate and gracilus nuclei after spinal cord stimulation. There is also a possible pathway between the dorsal column, the rostral ventrolateral medulla, and the sphenopalatine ganglion that influences vasodilation.17–20 Although not yet clearly defined, evidence suggests a connection between spinal cord stimulation and transmission of this information through the dorsal columns to influence vasodilation.17–20

Neuromodulation of thoracic spinal processing of cardiac nociceptive information

Stimulating the dorsal columns activates the large afferent fibers, which in turn activate neuronal mechanisms in the spinal cord gray matter. These mechanisms may be partly attributed to “gate control,” in which large afferent fibers can decrease the amount of information coming from the nociceptive afferent nerves to reduce the nociceptive sensation.15,21,22 González-Darder et al23 considered this mechanism in a study of 12 patients with unstable angina (Table 1). Upper cervical spinal cord stimulation resulted in a decreased number of anginal episodes per week and an improved rate-pressure product (heart rate × systolic blood pressure). Their findings suggest that stimulating the upper cervical region could achieve effects similar to those seen after stimulating the spinal cord at T2.

Using a rat model to assess the effects of spinal stimulation, we recorded T3 activity during dorsal column stimulation of either C8-T1 or C1–C2 segments. Activity was almost completely suppressed with C1–C2 stimulation during bradykinin injection into the pericardial sac. The results suggest that spinal cord stimulation suppresses the processing of nociceptive information.24

Stimulating the spinal cord at C8-T1 also suppresses the effect of bradykinin. One possible mechanism for this effect is that spinal cord stimulation activates large afferent fibers; GABAergic connections in the superficial dorsal horn may suppress the processing of information in the spinothalamic tract neurons.22,25

SUMMARY

Our investigations have generated information about afferent input to the spinothalamic tract cells, the effects of glucocorticoids on amygdala function, and possible therapeutic mechanisms of spinal cord stimulation.

We have demonstrated convergence of viscerosomatic input in spinothalamic cells. There is virtually no viscerocardiac input at the C7–C8 region, but there is input at C5–C6. Vagal afferent activity is the major source of input at the C1–C2 region; in this region. Vagal nerve stimulation may have a major role in processing in the upper cervical spinal cord and may change the balance of processing in the supraspinal nuclei.

Glucocorticoids manipulate amygdala function by inducing hypersensitivity to nociceptive input from the heart through central sensitization of upper thoracic spinal neuronal activity. Descending information from the amygdala depends, in part, on the C1–C2 propriospinal pathway.

Spinal cord stimulation at C1–C2 or C8-T1 can activate inner neuronal mechanisms that may involve GABA, modulating the wide dynamic range of neurons that are part of the spinothalamic tract.

References
  1. Foreman RD. Mechanisms of cardiac pain. Annu Rev Physiol 1999; 61:143167.
  2. Myers DE. Vagus nerve pain referred to the craniofacial region. A case report and literature review with implications for referred cardiac pain. Br Dent J 2008; 204:187189.
  3. Lindgren I, Olivecrona H. Surgical treatment of angina pectoris. J Neurosurg 1947; 4:1939.
  4. White JC, Bland EF. The surgical relief of severe angina pectoris: methods employed and end results in 83 patients. Medicine 1948; 27:142.
  5. McNeill DL, Chandler MJ, Fu QG, Foreman RD. Projection of nodose ganglion cells to the upper cervical spinal cord in the rat. Brain Res Bull 1991; 27:151155.
  6. Sheps DS, Creed F, Clouse RE. Chest pain in patients with cardiac and noncardiac disease. Psychosom Med 2004; 66:861867.
  7. Shepard JD, Barron KW, Myers DA. Corticosterone delivery to the amygdala increases corticotropin-releasing factor mRNA in the central amygdaloid nucleus and anxiety-like behavior. Brain Res 2000; 861:288295.
  8. Rozen JB, Schulkin J. From normal fear to pathological anxiety. Psychol Rev 1998; 105:325350.
  9. Gunter WD, Shepard JD, Foreman RD, Myers DA, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B. Evidence for visceral hypersensitivity in high-anxiety rats. Physiol Behav 2000; 69:379382.
  10. Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Gibson M, Gunter W, Shepard J, Foreman R, Myers D. Stereotaxic delivery of corticosterone to the amygdala modulates colonic sensitivity in rats. Brain Res 2001; 893:135142.
  11. Qin C, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Myers DA, Foreman RD. Corticosterone acts directly at the amygdala to alter spinal neuronal activity in response to colorectal distension. J Neurophysiol 2003; 89:13431352.
  12. Qin C, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Foreman RD. Spinal neuronal responses to urinary bladder stimulation in rats with corticosterone or aldosterone onto the amygdala. J Neurophysiol 2003; 90:21802189.
  13. Yang X, Farber JP, Wu M, Foreman RD, Qin C. Roles of dorsal column pathway and transient receptor potential vanilloid type 1 in augmentation of cerebral blood flow by upper cervical spinal cord stimulation in rats. Neuroscience 2008; 152:950958.
  14. Steenland HW, Ko SW, Wu LJ, Zhuo M. Hot receptors in the brain. Mol Pain 2006; 2:34.
  15. Wu M, Komori N, Qin C, Farber JP, Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Roles of peripheral terminals of transient receptor potential vanil-loid-1 containing sensory fibers in spinal cord stimulation-induced peripheral vasodilation. Brain Res 2007; 1156:8092.
  16. Sagher O, Huang DL. Effects of cervical spinal cord stimulation on cerebral blood flow in the rat. J Neurosurg 2000; 93( 1 suppl):7176.
  17. Seylaz J, Hara H, Pinard E, Mraovitch S, MacKenzie ET, Edvinsson L. Effect of stimulation of the sphenopalatine ganglion on cortical blood flow in the rat. J Cereb Blood Flow Metab 1988; 8:875878.
  18. Suzuki N, Hardebo JE, Kåhrström J, Owman C. Selective electrical stimulation of postganglionic cerebrovascular parasympathetic nerve fibers originating from the sphenopalatine ganglion enhances cortical blood flow in the rat. J Cereb Blood Flow Metab 1990; 10:383391.
  19. Kamiya H, Itoh K, Yasui Y, Ino T, Mizuno N. Somatosensory and auditory relay nucleus in the rostral part of the ventrolateral medulla: a morphological study in the cat. J Comp Neurol 1988; 273:421435.
  20. Patel S, Huang DL, Sagher O. Evidence for a central pathway in the cerebrovascular effects of spinal cord stimulation. Neurosurgery 2004; 55:201206.
  21. Meyerson BA, Linderoth B. Spinal cord stimulation: mechanisms of action in neuropathic and ischemic pain. In:Simpson BA, ed. Electrical Stimulation and the Relief of Pain. Vol. 15. New York, NY: Elsevier Publishers; 2003:161182.
  22. Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Mechanisms of spinal cord stimulation in painful syndromes: role of animal models. Pain Med 2006; 7:S14S26.
  23. González-Darder JM, Canela P, González-Martinez V. High cervical spinal cord stimulation for unstable angina pectoris. Stereotact Funct Neurosurg 1991; 56:2027.
  24. Qin C, Farber JP, Linderoth B, Shahid A, Foreman RD. Neuromodulation of thoracic intraspinal visceroreceptive transmission by electrical stimulation of spinal dorsal column and somatic afferents in rats. J Pain 2008; 9:7178.
  25. Linderoth B, Meyerson B. Spinal cord stimulation: mechanisms of action. In:Burchiel K. Surgical Management of Pain. New York, NY: Thieme Medical Publishers Inc; 2002:505526.
References
  1. Foreman RD. Mechanisms of cardiac pain. Annu Rev Physiol 1999; 61:143167.
  2. Myers DE. Vagus nerve pain referred to the craniofacial region. A case report and literature review with implications for referred cardiac pain. Br Dent J 2008; 204:187189.
  3. Lindgren I, Olivecrona H. Surgical treatment of angina pectoris. J Neurosurg 1947; 4:1939.
  4. White JC, Bland EF. The surgical relief of severe angina pectoris: methods employed and end results in 83 patients. Medicine 1948; 27:142.
  5. McNeill DL, Chandler MJ, Fu QG, Foreman RD. Projection of nodose ganglion cells to the upper cervical spinal cord in the rat. Brain Res Bull 1991; 27:151155.
  6. Sheps DS, Creed F, Clouse RE. Chest pain in patients with cardiac and noncardiac disease. Psychosom Med 2004; 66:861867.
  7. Shepard JD, Barron KW, Myers DA. Corticosterone delivery to the amygdala increases corticotropin-releasing factor mRNA in the central amygdaloid nucleus and anxiety-like behavior. Brain Res 2000; 861:288295.
  8. Rozen JB, Schulkin J. From normal fear to pathological anxiety. Psychol Rev 1998; 105:325350.
  9. Gunter WD, Shepard JD, Foreman RD, Myers DA, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B. Evidence for visceral hypersensitivity in high-anxiety rats. Physiol Behav 2000; 69:379382.
  10. Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Gibson M, Gunter W, Shepard J, Foreman R, Myers D. Stereotaxic delivery of corticosterone to the amygdala modulates colonic sensitivity in rats. Brain Res 2001; 893:135142.
  11. Qin C, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Myers DA, Foreman RD. Corticosterone acts directly at the amygdala to alter spinal neuronal activity in response to colorectal distension. J Neurophysiol 2003; 89:13431352.
  12. Qin C, Greenwood-Van Meerveld B, Foreman RD. Spinal neuronal responses to urinary bladder stimulation in rats with corticosterone or aldosterone onto the amygdala. J Neurophysiol 2003; 90:21802189.
  13. Yang X, Farber JP, Wu M, Foreman RD, Qin C. Roles of dorsal column pathway and transient receptor potential vanilloid type 1 in augmentation of cerebral blood flow by upper cervical spinal cord stimulation in rats. Neuroscience 2008; 152:950958.
  14. Steenland HW, Ko SW, Wu LJ, Zhuo M. Hot receptors in the brain. Mol Pain 2006; 2:34.
  15. Wu M, Komori N, Qin C, Farber JP, Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Roles of peripheral terminals of transient receptor potential vanil-loid-1 containing sensory fibers in spinal cord stimulation-induced peripheral vasodilation. Brain Res 2007; 1156:8092.
  16. Sagher O, Huang DL. Effects of cervical spinal cord stimulation on cerebral blood flow in the rat. J Neurosurg 2000; 93( 1 suppl):7176.
  17. Seylaz J, Hara H, Pinard E, Mraovitch S, MacKenzie ET, Edvinsson L. Effect of stimulation of the sphenopalatine ganglion on cortical blood flow in the rat. J Cereb Blood Flow Metab 1988; 8:875878.
  18. Suzuki N, Hardebo JE, Kåhrström J, Owman C. Selective electrical stimulation of postganglionic cerebrovascular parasympathetic nerve fibers originating from the sphenopalatine ganglion enhances cortical blood flow in the rat. J Cereb Blood Flow Metab 1990; 10:383391.
  19. Kamiya H, Itoh K, Yasui Y, Ino T, Mizuno N. Somatosensory and auditory relay nucleus in the rostral part of the ventrolateral medulla: a morphological study in the cat. J Comp Neurol 1988; 273:421435.
  20. Patel S, Huang DL, Sagher O. Evidence for a central pathway in the cerebrovascular effects of spinal cord stimulation. Neurosurgery 2004; 55:201206.
  21. Meyerson BA, Linderoth B. Spinal cord stimulation: mechanisms of action in neuropathic and ischemic pain. In:Simpson BA, ed. Electrical Stimulation and the Relief of Pain. Vol. 15. New York, NY: Elsevier Publishers; 2003:161182.
  22. Linderoth B, Foreman RD. Mechanisms of spinal cord stimulation in painful syndromes: role of animal models. Pain Med 2006; 7:S14S26.
  23. González-Darder JM, Canela P, González-Martinez V. High cervical spinal cord stimulation for unstable angina pectoris. Stereotact Funct Neurosurg 1991; 56:2027.
  24. Qin C, Farber JP, Linderoth B, Shahid A, Foreman RD. Neuromodulation of thoracic intraspinal visceroreceptive transmission by electrical stimulation of spinal dorsal column and somatic afferents in rats. J Pain 2008; 9:7178.
  25. Linderoth B, Meyerson B. Spinal cord stimulation: mechanisms of action. In:Burchiel K. Surgical Management of Pain. New York, NY: Thieme Medical Publishers Inc; 2002:505526.
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Neuromodulation of cardiac pain and cerebral vasculature: Neural mechanisms
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