Changes in capillary blood flow in response to imagined anxiety
A PhD candidate in experimental psychology investigates the blushing response
“You said,” David begins, checking his notes, “that blushing represents a unique link between symbol processing and emotions. What do you mean by that?”
Miriam knew she was being vague when she had said that during her presentation, so his challenge was fair. He had written it down, verbatim, which certainly showed his interest. Yes, she decides, this is someone to test.
David had approached her at the end of the event where PhD candidates from diverse disciplines presented summaries of their research. Miriam spoke for a few minutes about her study of the blushing response.
“If you’re really interested, I need more participants,” Miriam offers casually. “Takes fifteen minutes. My lab is just across the street in the Kramer building.”
Several minutes later, in her office, David reads and signs the consent form. Miriam turns on the equipment and helps David with the headset, which looks like an oversized pair of glasses without lenses, connected with a cable to a computer. Several filaments emerge from the frame and rest on the surface of the skin around the eyes and cheeks. “These sensors measure blood flood,” she says.
Then the test begins.
“I’ll ask you to read four cards out loud as I hand them to you. Think about them carefully, but don’t speak out loud."
Miriam hands him the first card:
[Card 1] Imagine you are describing a particularly embarrassing moment you have had, either with an individual or in a group setting.
She pauses about twenty seconds after each card, then hands David the next one.
[Card 2] Imagine you are describing a time you had a strong attraction to someone that felt inappropriate or forbidden.
[Card 3] Imagine you are sharing a secret you have never told anyone.
[Card 4] Imagine sharing something you don’t like about yourself.
“That’s all it is,” she says. “Thanks so much.”
As Miriam shuts down the equipment, David asks her why she is so fascinated with blushing.
“My great-great-grandfather was a scholar and mystic in Poland and he engraved his greatest insight onto his walking stick. I have it at home. It was handed down to me across four generations.”
She rolls up her left sleeve to reveal a tattoo running down the length of her arm.
“I’m terrified of losing it from theft or fire or whatever, so I did this. It’s Yiddish.”
“What does it say?” he asks.
"Vi mir reagin tsu eynikayt? Ba a yonik, mit a royt vern. Literally, it means: How do we respond to unity, first by becoming red. I’ve spent years trying to decode that. I think it means: How do we respond when we perceive the consciousness of the universe of which we are part? With reverence, gratitude and awe? Maybe. But initially, in that first moment of realisation, we blush.”
She enters David’s name into her lab book, along with many names of other young men and woman.
