Sometime in 1997, two slightly rumpled academics (who’d rather be in the lab) are standing in a classroom introducing a unit on the “Physiology and Pharmacology of the Central Nervous System” to 30 rumpled undergrads (who’d rather be in bed).
The lights are dimmed and a transparency is slipped on to the whirring projector. A bit of fiddling with the focus and the spartan text appears on screen:
What are “brain cells”?
- Glial cells
As a member of the rumpled mass I copy these words onto my notepad, adding “- around 90% of all brain cells, from Greek for ‘glue’, provide nutrients for neurones, other housekeeping functions” to the “glial cells” bullet point, in accordance with the words of the lecturer.
And so it came to pass that glial cells feature at the top of the page of the first notes I ever took in the first class I ever took on neuroscience. They didn’t get another look-in at any other point during my brief and unglittering academic career.
No, when it came to the brain we were interested in the 100 billion neurones that, we were told, send all the information buzzing around the brain and make us who we are. Glial cells were viewed by neuroscientists as, at worst, the cranial concrete into which the neuronal wiring is laid and, at best, neurones’ housekeepers.
How times change. Over the last 15 years scientists have realised that glial cells hold considerable sway in how the whole house is run; there hardly seems to be a decision taken where they don’t have some influence. Continue reading