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Additionally, scientists turned to creatures such as flies, worms, yeasts, mice, and even microbes to better understand diseases. Shubin suggests that many leading causes of death in humans--heart disease, diabetes, obesity and stroke--have a genetic basis and probably an evolutionary one as well. During evolutionary history as fish, amphibians, reptiles and mammals, human ancestors were active predators or active collectors and tree-living animals.

With illnesses that humans suffer today, "much of the difficulty is almost certainly due to our having a body built for an active animal but the lifestyle of a spud," he writes. Shubin tells this story not only to the scientist, but also to the lay reader. His message is the same: "I can imagine few things more beautiful or intellectually profound than finding the basis for our humanity," he writes, "and remedies for many of the ills we suffer, nestled inside some of the most humble creatures that have ever lived on our planet.

The hardcover page book will be available on line and at major bookstores beginning Jan. Shubin will give a book lecture at 2 p. The lecture is free with basic admission to the Field. The book will be available for sale outside the lecture hall before and after the presentation. Shubin is scheduled to sign books afterward. Publisher Pantheon Books of New York has announced an initial print run of 50, copies. An audio version of the book is planned, and the book already is being translated into Japanese, German, French, Korean, Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese, Italian and Dutch.

Book illustrations are by Kalliopi Monoyios, a scientific illustrator in Shubin's lab at Chicago.

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Shubin earned a doctorate in organismic and evolutionary biology from Harvard in and joined the University of Chicago faculty in He has published various research papers and has been awarded numerous prizes including a John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Fellowship. UChicago Medicine offers primary and specialty care at over 40 locations throughout Illinois and Indiana.

UChicago Medicine and Ingalls Memorial offer a broad range of challenging clinical and non-clinical career opportunities doing work that really matters. Close MyChart MyChart is not for medical emergencies. If you have a medical emergency, call If you need help with MyChart, call us at Share with facebook Share with twitter Share with linkedin. Forefront News. New book reveals an evolutionary journey of the human body.


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January 8, Share Share with facebook Share with twitter Share with linkedin. In the first few days on board, sense of time on the ship dissolves. As we move east, through the Norwegian Sea to the Barents Sea, a muffled voice declares on the public announcement system, first in German then in English, that the clocks will go forward one hour that night.

This happens every afternoon for the first week. Like many things on the ship, it happens in a strictly regulated way.


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Time will be lost in three minute intervals spread throughout the night, so that the shortening of the shifts is spread fairly between the three night watches. Each night the minutes between and , between midnight and , and then and go missing. Compounding this sense of slipping time is the lack of windows in the communal spaces in the ship.

On C-deck is the Red Saloon, where most people spend their idle moments, lit by a soporific glow from yellow-shaded wall lamps. The ship rolls heavily in the swells, causing a pen hanging on a string on the saloon wall to swing like a pendulum. In the bar down on D-deck, a stool spins slowly by itself.


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But everyone's experience of the motion is different. For Hildebrandt, it is unbearable. She spends most of day three in the top bunk of our cabin with her eyes tight shut. The waves outside are m high on average, their tips whipped into white horses by a north-easterly wind. Seven-metre waves roll through every now and again. We hear a faint crash as the ship hits a trough, sending a wall of spray flying up to the windows of the bridge. As the short days pass, it becomes clear that I am one of the irritating few who doesn't suffer at all from seasickness.

Instead I thoroughly enjoy the sensation of being magnetised to the floor one moment and floating near-weightlessly the next. As I climb the steps from deck to deck, I imagine that I am walking on the surfaces of different worlds — first struggling on a vast planet with an overbearing gravitational field, a second later skimming lightly across the surface of the moon.

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By day four of the voyage, as we pass the tip of Novaya Zemlya, a pair of islands extending from northern Siberia, those who have been suffering from seasickness begin to emerge from their cabins as their bodies adjust to the unstable floor. They check the maps on touchscreen monitors in the Red Saloon, zooming in to see our progress and adjusting the settings to see the ice thickness data further ahead, superimposed on the map in bright purple.

We are soon set to pass a handful of Siberian islands, including Severnaya Zemlya to the west and Bolshevik Island to the north. Just beyond them, a nasty tongue of ice curls out from the ice cap. People murmur about passing between the islands. The route is rumoured to be extraordinarily beautiful, and it would be our first up-close sight of land since leaving Norway. But it is also a tricky stretch to navigate.

Another large ship passed through that stretch a few days ago, so we know it is possible. But Polarstern has a deep hull, and accurate data on the depth of the sea floor is scarce. There is also the problem that the more time we spend travelling through ice, the trickier the ride. But icebergs are much, much larger. They can go way down for a hundred metres. An unwelcome image floats into my mind. Felix Lauber, a senior crew member, assures me that even if Polarstern crashed headlong into an iceberg at speed, we would not be in serious trouble. Lauber has worked on the bridge for 10 years he's still "the new guy" by the crew's standards, he tells me and appears to have a strong attachment to Polarstern, both for its scientific capacity and its physical sturdiness.

Everyone would take a step forward but we would be fine. She is an amazing build, really. Lauber's view from the bridge looks out onto the bow, where the iron grey waves turn into a white sheet that showers down on the containers stored on the deck. The rough seas have already posed challenges for some of the scientific instruments they contain.

Water has been sloshing in through the inlets at the bottom of the containers, which are there to ensure that they don't trap water inside, but also allow a good quantity of sea foam to bubble in from below. The instruments are, of course, the scientists' only way of getting their jobs done once we find ice.

Without fully functional tools, they would have come to the North Pole for nothing. Some of the scientists care for them almost as if they were living creatures. Most of those not kept in exposed sea containers on the bow live down in labs on E-deck. The confined corridors are painted a faded shade of institutional green.

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I find her working at a screen showing a black-and-white trace with clusters of sharp peaks. She is measuring the levels of naturally occurring ozone-degrading compounds in the Arctic. The release of these compounds, produced by microorganisms and geochemical processes, can have the same degrading effect on the atmosphere as CFCs, the now-banned class of chemicals used as refrigerants and propellants since the s.

Abrahamsson is travelling north to find out whether the young, thin sea ice that now dominates the Arctic is a potent emitter of these compounds, as studies in the Antarctic have suggested it might be. Read more about the detectives hunting down ozone-killing chemicals. Looking around her lab I see a white unit with a glowing green hexagonal design cut into its front and in one corner a discreet label that reads "Good Boy".

On the other side of the lab I see an identical instrument, only its label says "Bad Boy". One of the instruments worked perfectly well out of the box in the lab back home, Abrahamsson tells me.

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The other, not so much. Between the two green-glowing instruments sits a complicated steel box with a tangle of wires among dozens of gauges and dials. Its name: "Miss Sophie". It's as if it's saying, 'Why did you leave me?

When I visit, only half of Abrahamsson's whizzing, hissing instruments have been turned on.