If the universe is expanding, on top of a mountain, time is wider, more expanded, than at sea level. On top of a mountain, clocks tick a tiny bit faster.
Faster than what? Faster than the baseline, which we may assign as sea level. But from the perspective of an observer on the mountaintop, time is neither “faster” nor “more dilated.” To an observer on the mountaintop, the mountaintop functions as sea level.
Does 2024 appear dilated in the eyes of 2024? No. 2024 only appears dilated if I am viewing it from the perspective of 2023.
My mother has Alzheimer’s, as did both her parents. Some researchers—in particular, Dr. Lisa Mosconi—have been exploring links between Alzheimer’s and the way the brain changes during menopause.
Recently, as I entered menopause, I had an atypical cognitive lapse. The feeling I had was precise: My brain is not getting enough oxygen. I noticed the veins on the backs of my hands were bulging dramatically. My blood, I thought. It’s too big. It’s not getting into the smallest capillaries. When we lived in Boston, my mother and I both used to suffer from Reynaud’s. This was a similar feeling, like a Reynaud’s of the brain.
There is an interesting difference between male and female fertility. I was born, in 1969, with all of my eggs. A man makes several million sperm per day—about 1,500 per second. Eggs are more like hardware—more fixed or immutable in time. Sperm are more like software—constantly being revised and rewritten. Together, this creates a more robust model for time, like knowing a ship’s speed as well as its point of origin.
My brain is more like an ovary—more like hardware. My brain is not being completely replaced every 120 days. But my blood is.
My body makes 2 million new red cells every second. Am I making new red blood cells that are “too large” for my brain?
Conversely, could I be making new red blood cells that are too small, therefore requiring me to make too many of them in order to maintain adequate blood volume? When the demand for heme synthesis skyrockets, it exhausts my resources, especially folate, iron, and B12. Plus, when I make blood that’s too small, I have to squeeze too much (hypertension) in order to feel the RBC in the capillary. I don’t want to enter hypertensive crisis. Neither do I want to have hypovolemia (low blood volume).
If I go into hypertensive crisis, and I am given vasodilators, this may help me in the short-term. But it will alter my perception of time. When I am too vasodilated, it is as if I am seeing light from the top of the mountain. When I am too vasoconstricted, it is as if I am seeing light from the bottom of the sea. As the universe ascends—expands—I have to vasodilate in a gentle, incremental fashion. As the universe condenses, I have to vasoconstrict. I am always trying to keep pace with time.
Under the influence of vasodilators, my perception is altered. The world looks smaller and saltier than it really is. It is as if there is no tryptophan (the largest amino acid); everything is glycine (the smallest amino acid). The scale is shifted. The vasodilated perspective prompts me to make new blood that is “too small”—which then perpetuates the problem. I get caught in a loop, constantly making new blood that is never the right size. Could this be part of the mechanism of Long Covid?
Long-term changes to blood cells triggered by Covid-19 infection: https://www.fau.eu/2021/06/21/news/research/long-term-changes-to-blood-cells-triggered-by-covid-19-infection/
When time is too wide, the world looks too small, so I make new blood that is too small. Time is too wide when I am too vasodilated.
When time is too narrow, the world looks too wide, and I make new blood that is too large (too large for my capillaries). Time is too narrow when I am too vasoconstricted.
In other words, there is a paradox. When my perspective is too wide—too vasodilated—I make new blood that is too small, which requires me to vasoconstrict. When my perspective is too narrow—too vasoconstricted—I make new blood that is too large, which requires me to vasodilate. I am out of sync with my own blood. When I am out of sync with my own blood, I am out of sync with time.