On How I Swallowed a Piece of Plastic Fork -- and Got a Lesson in Neuroscience

I swallowed a piece of a plastic fork, during a luncheon at work last week, and it led to an interesting lesson in neuroscience, of all things. In terms of my digestive system, nothing ever came of it; it must have passed harmlessly out the other side by now. But as for my nervous system, I experienced the strange phenomena of having different parts of my brain simultaneously process the same event differently: my conscious mind knew everything was fine, but my subconscious mind was deranged with worry.

How I ate a piece of plastic fork . . . and got a lesson in neuroscience.

Swallowing a Piece of Plastic Fork . . .

I didn't really think much of it when I bit into something crunchy while eating my salad, which was loaded with all kinds of crispy, crunchy things. But a minute later, I noticed a piece of the plastic fork was missing. I looked on my plate and around the table, but couldn't find it anywhere. There was only one place it could have gone.

I was a little freaked out at first, because I had no idea how sharp the piece was where it had broken off, and while I now almost nothing about anatomy and physiology, I do know that the small intestine is just that: small.

Thank God for Google! I quickly typed the words "swallowed a piece," and before I had even finished the word "piece," Google had suggested the query "swallowed a piece of plastic fork." Apparently, I'm not the only one who has done this, then!

Reassuringly, the search results seemed to indicate a consensus among the online community: I was in no real danger. Most people who seek medical attention for this mishap are sent home without treatment. Within a couple of days, the piece of plastic fork would have passed safely through my system, and I'd be in the clear.

. . . And Got a Lesson in Neoroscience

But what struck me was how my mind processed this information. It was like my mind was a committee of two or more voices, with my cerebral cortex ostensibly in charge, but it had a hell of a time coaxing and cajoling my limbic system to follow its lead.

As soon as I realized I had swallowed the piece of plastic fork, I felt seized by a sudden sense of dread. With my conscious mind I reminded myself to breathe, that it probably wasn't that big a deal, and that surely others had swallowed objects like this and lived to tell the tale. Then, when the Google search results had reassured my intellect that I was okay, my subconscious mind was still feeling tense and nervous. Consciously, I knew that I should just forget about it an turn my thoughts towards other things, like enjoying the rest of my meal, but my limbic system was still in fight-flight-or-freeze mode. Finally, I thought to myself, "If I really believe I am in some kind of danger, I should just go to the bathroom, force myself to throw up, and be done with it." Somehow, putting it like that, my limbic system gave in and quieted down.

After that I was able to resume eating my meal with some enjoyment, although I was not able to enjoy it nearly as much as I had before. I didn't think much of it the rest of the day, but I could still sense a feeling of vague worry lurking in the shadows of my subconscious. By the next day, I had really forgotten all about it, and  a few days later, it occurred to me that the object must have passed harmlessly out of my system. Much ado about nothing!

So I swallowed a piece of plastic fork and lived to tell the tale, as my cerebral cortex knew would happen. But for some reason, even thinking about it now, my limbic system wants to worry about it in hindsight. The brain is such a weird thing. We practically identify ourselves with our minds, but when we experience inner mental conflict, we realize that we are identifying ourselves with something that is not a unitary entity; the brain is really more like a conglomerate of loosely connected, independent-minded committee members. From what limited reading I've done on the subject, the latest neuroscience backs me up in this assessment of my brain. Maybe Walt Whitman anticipated 21st-century neuroscience when he said, "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large -- I contain multitudes."