Monday 25 May 2015

Hour 10: Insomnia




Dear diary,

For the past hour I have been captivated by the song ‘I can’t get no sleep’ by Faithless. For once it was not due to its catchy rhythm (thought I have to admit to having jiggled and wiggled a bit with it), but it was due to the only lyrics that anyone who has ever heard the song will remember: I-can’t-get-no-sleep. I thought they summed up quite well my state of mind (i.e.I can’t sleep). I thought I would be able to, especially since the events of the previous hour. It turns out that once again I am one with the pretty sparkling vampires: I can’t sleep, because I don’t sleep, because I will never sleep. Although unlike them, my problem isn’t that I am a vampire. I can’t sleep because I am a cancer cell. And cancer cells don’t sleep. Not ever? I hear you ask. No, not ever. Not even for a second. And it isn’t because there is no space for a comfy bed in the human body. Well, ok, technically, it is true that we suffer from a lack of bedding. But we also suffer from a lack of limbs, and that has never stopped us from anything.

I will not go so far as saying that healthy cells sleep, but I will have to admit that they do undergo this dormant stage called senescence, which us cancer cells have decided to overcome (surprise surprise). And whilst dormant cells do not technically sleep, they do, at one point in their lives, stop replicating. If you ever read any of my previous posts (particularly Hour 2: The cycle of life) you will know that us cancer cells instead live to replicate…so obviously we had to overcome this whole senescence non-sense. See, healthy cells have this thing called ‘telomeres’ attached to their DNA…Like a cell pedometer, though instead of counting our steps (which, as we can’t walk, would only count up to 0), it counts how many times our DNA gets replicated (1 every time a cell decides to split into two). Once it reaches a certain number, which changes according to which cell-type we are talking about, this cell-pedometer decides you’ve had enough of cloning your-self, and will from here-on-after remain a dormant cell: continue working as you always have, supporting your tissue or whatever, and stop creating more of your-selves. To me, this concept sounds amazing. Do you have any idea what it is like to be one of many, many cells exactly like you? And it’s not like I’m talking about identical twins, who look the same, but are not the same person. No. I’m talking about same insides, same outsides, same voice, same aim, so much so that you would never be able to discern which one of us came first (starting the trend of ‘who came first, the cell or the cell?’).

But alas no, us cancer cells don’t even get the luxury of being in any way unique at any point in our lives. And since our aim in life was to proliferate, of course we managed to get over the whole pedometer system. I am not going to bore you with the details of HOW we did that… we tricked the pedometer making it reduce the number it recorded, and again over-came the restraints of a functional P53 (see Hour 3: Chinese whispers). And so we made any form of dormancy and uniqueness a thing of the past, and moved on.

And this leaves us with only one more question to answer: If we don’t sleep, what do we do? Easy to answer for my fellow cancer cells: the same thing they do every day, try to take over the body. As for me, well, I do what most humans find them-selves doing in the middle of a sleepless night. When they are surrounded by that deafening silence that only the wee hours of the morning can grant you, and all dreams can seem so real, and all fears become terrors. I become one with the darkness, and let its calm seep into my pores. I try to keep all thoughts of despair at bay; after all, we are all soldiers in our own wars, and victory may not coincide with our own survival. I then pretend I can control the rhythm of the heart, the seeping of the fluids, the spinning of my own personal earth. 

Let the night come with solace; let it heal the wounds of your days. Make it be your armour, your shield: an elusive guardian angel.



Cell X

Wednesday 13 May 2015

Hour 9: Drink respons-hic-ly


My dear readers, I am not proud to present you with this piece of writing. However, for the educational intent of this blog, I should not omit any events in my life as a cell. I suggest you read the rest out loud should you wish to understand a word that was said.

Deer dairy,

I was abaut to right a posssst but-hic-then samfing magical hapnnnd. Brief pose to sway in the rythm of the heart. Brief pause to laugh histerically at how the word ‘blog’ sounds like ‘blob’ and that’s so funny. Extra brief pause to continue hysterical giggling because I can’t remember why we are laughing, and that’s funny too. May host decyded to go and partieiei (I don’t know what that means) HOW-EVER ai fink that… brief pause while attempting to regain train of thought. Brief pause laughing at the expression ‘train of thought’.  Rite, I fink dat she met my deeerest new bestest buddy called, weight, wat’sss your naime again? Ohh-hic, rite: ACETALDEHYDE. Only Brief pause to laugh at how funny this whole event is shi didn’t no! Shi had noooo adia that mai baddy ACETALDEHYDE was coming, be-hic-cause More laughter, you get the drill she fought shi was juuust drinking alcahol!! So shi drank alcahol, ai fink shi call-hic-ed it WAYNE (whaaay wud you call a drink WAYNE), and then the bloooood star-ted smelling funny an den it aaaaalll went reeeaaalllyy calm, nd den ACETALDEHYDE came!! Brief pause to hug Acetaldehyde and tell him how much he is the bestest buddiest ever. Hey guys –hic- guys!! LISSTEN to mi, its important. What you didn’t no, is dat whenever you drink WAYNE or ALCAHOL, mai buddy Acy heeer comes, aaand you no what he das? No? Tell him Acy!! Brief pause to try and force ‘acy’ to speak to no avail. Acy is, afterall, only a molecule. FAINE, Ai attempts to point at itself only to realise it doesn’t have arms will tell dem. Acy heer, makes cells laik ME! Brief pause to dance to ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ because ‘wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-yeah’) It heyds in wayne and den cams to healthy-hic-cellssss (whu are sooo boooring, dey NEVER party) and den it messes up their DNA UNTIL dey becom cancer too. Brief pause to await response to this monumental statement. Brief pause to realise ‘Acy’ is actually quite sexy. Hey Acy-hic, did-I mention, you are so hot you are causing a fever? Sleazy smile with half-closed eyes. You know which I mean.

I have decided to not report the rest of the experience as for your educational purposes (and the maintenance of a slither of my dignity), that bit was more than enough. But don’t worry, you didn't miss much. Most of the rest was an incomprehensible and deeply embarrassing slur. However, just in case you missed the not so subliminal message behind the enthusiastic mispronounced words I just reported above, here is a quick summary: alcohol contains a substance named ‘acetaldehyde’ which can cause DNA damage in cells. Still lost? Drinking alcohol can cause cells to become like me and my cancer cell ‘buddies’. With every drink, you increase your risk of cancer. Humans, is it really worth it? Drink responsibly. Or really, do yourself a favor, and just don't. I'm going to have a nap.


Excell