tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89603516439878405622024-03-13T03:49:45.913-07:00Diary of a cancer cellHourly adventures of a tumor cell with a good heart. No, wait, sorry, good nucleus.
Learn about this terrible disease from the point of a view of a little cell, born on the wrong side of the fight.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-52960241327817523802020-06-07T08:46:00.001-07:002020-06-07T08:46:34.753-07:00Hour 19: The snake charmers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
There are times in life when you’ve thought you were going
to die so many times that you decide that maybe you don't care after all.
This was one of those times. As I looked into the panic-stricken faces of the
cancerous and healthy cells around me, and listened to their whispers of fear,
I decided that this, frankly, was getting quite old, and I hoped that starvation would just get on with it and kill us already. Who knows, maybe
there would be an afterlife and in that life I could be born as something
better…like a healthy cell. Or as a human even, imagine that? I hoped that my
good intentions would at least spare me from coming back as a cockroach. Not
that I had ever seen a cockroach, but from what I’d heard, they sounded
disgusting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
And so I settled down, closed my eyes, closed my pores, and
waited to die.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Except it was taking quite a long time. And this whole: 'Starving! Can’t breathe!’ thing was really quite uncomfortable. Nevertheless, death: here
I come.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
They say when humans drown it’s like going to sleep. Gosh, I
wish cells could sleep. Or drown for that matter. Ah well. Choice was made. To the afterlife I go.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I would love to be able to tell you that this was it. I drifted peacefully onwards, into the light, or wherever it is that you are meant to drift off to, but alas, as you probably guessed, it was not the case. And it was not for lack of trying. I had entered such a deep state of meditation and acceptance that I had probably convinced all my neighboring cells that I had died. All except one, of course. Cell Ex relentlessly nudged me with all of his filopodia, to the point that at a certain stage I felt like he was more on me, then next to me. Talk about invading my personal space. And of course he kept distracting me with a steady stream of whispers, fearfully narrating the comings and goings of our current predicament. I'd like to see you pass away peacefully, when the cell you have just split from and have since tried to ignore the existence of, kept saying things like: 'I can't breathe. Are we dying? X, I'm hungry. Oh my, is that an oxygen molecule? Oh no, never mind. Quick hide! I think that one is an immune cell. Phew ok, all good. So how about that food I asked? Jeesh, look at that cell, what is it doing? Is that..Is it singing? X, look! X? Are you dead? I think I hear music. Maybe that cell is singing. Oh, look, the other one is doing it too. Should we sing too?' You'd think a lack of air would prevent him from talking. I should be so lucky.<br />
<br />
So there I was, at peace, IGNORING HIM, when suddenly, I started to hear the singing too. Only it wasn't singing, it was more like music, a light melody, almost tuneless, floating towards us. There was something endearing, almost enchanting in its notes, like a wolves lament to the moon, or the whisper of the wind as it blows through the trees. The melody remained light, but so hypnotic, and I found myself opening my eyes, even if just to ensure that it wasn't a welcome from the angels. I noticed then that my former half had fallen silent, as had all other cells surrounding us, and I watched in wonder as more and more cancer cells started emitting their own melody. The gentle thrum grew steadily louder, captivating more and more of the sorrounding cells, and I found that all I could do was listen, entranced, and strangely moved.<br />
<br />
And then it happened, but could that really be? The blood vessels, which had been steadily appearing further and further away as our mass grew in size, seemed closer. Was our mass moving? Were we shrinking? I watched, stunned, as the blood vessels moved progressively closer, like tree roots hunting hungrily for nutrients. Meanwhile the music continued, beautiful temptress, urging them forward. They reached us like a tidal wave, clinging onto our bodies, sorrounding us from all sides, and for a moment all we could taste was the sweet relief of a new breath, working its way through our system. The thrumming stopped, and as the new blood vessels settled, there was a sudden, victorious silence.<br />
<br />
They call it angiogenesis, you see. When the cancerous cells enchant the blood vessels to start growing again, to come closer, like snake charmers, flirting with death. Their new proximity meant our salvation, our survival, our progression. A new beginning. I looked at the cells sorrounding me relish in their newfound comfort, realising once again, that I had escaped my own demise.<br />
<br />
But then why did this feel like the beginning of an end?<br />
<br />
Cell X<br />
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-65019304566481730882018-02-25T10:29:00.000-08:002018-02-27T06:28:55.041-08:00Hour 18: Lose a lover, win an ex<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wasn’t smiling. Oh no. Not even a tiny bit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It had taken me quite a few minutes to get my
bearings. I mean, you can imagine how disorientating it feels to split yourself
into two. There’s the darkness, the unbearable pain, the double personality.
And then the fear. So much fear. No matter how much you may want to die, the
fear never seems to recede. And then suddenly you are fine again. Split
perfectly, pain is gone, you are as good as new. And you are so relieved!
Because you are alive, and isn’t life beautiful?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s when I heard her whisper: ‘Welcome back’. And I had
grinned with all my heart and soul. It hadn’t even occurred to me that what had
just happened may have actually been a bad thing. That I had officially
contributed to the creation of more cancer cells. That I had just confirmed
that I was a cancer cell, after having promised her that I wasn’t. That the
cancer cells around me were cheering and welcoming the new addition. That I
should be feeling guilty. That she probably thought the decent thing for me to
do would have been to let myself die. No. I hadn’t gotten to all that when I turned to look
at her, grin on my face, and met her icy, revolted stare.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It hit me like a punch. With her look reality
came crashing down. What had I done? What could I say? My grin melted off
my face, washing the happiness away in one fell swoop. I couldn’t think of a single
thing to say. I just hung there, transfixed, staring into the iciness of the
one cell that had once been my whole reason to live. And she stared back, coveying more hate in one look that I could’ve ever managed with all
the cursing in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, I felt something beside me move ever so slightly
and Selina shifted her gaze to look behind me. Her face immediately changed,
her jaw dropping open in confusion. She stared, and then looked from me to behind my
shoulder in quick succession. I felt a new dread overwhelm me as I turned
around slowly.<br />
<br />
And there it was. There I was? I found myself looking in the face of
the brand new cell I had created when I split. Only it was my face. It was my
body. It was me. But it couldn’t be. Because I was me. Was I? Were there two of
me? Was I me? I wish I hadn’t turned around. This was much, much worse than
Selina’s anger. This was like looking in the mirror and losing your identity.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CmETLnUYDzQ/WomZrVSeplI/AAAAAAAAD4E/aIUdmzs9GYk28Ml_zzzAZC7LQcGL_XShQCLcBGAs/s1600/Picture12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="614" height="276" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CmETLnUYDzQ/WomZrVSeplI/AAAAAAAAD4E/aIUdmzs9GYk28Ml_zzzAZC7LQcGL_XShQCLcBGAs/s400/Picture12.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The new me, my alter ego...whatever you want to call it, was
grinning, noneplussed. It had shifted slightly to peer curiously at Selena, who
was still looking from me, to it, in confusion. And then it spoke, with a clear
confident voice, so much like my own. Yet different, as I don’t think I had
ever mastered that assertiveness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Hi.’ It said looking straight past me, ‘I’m Cell X’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Selina’s jaw dropped even further, and a small part of me
wondered if a cell's jaw could get dislocated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘You must be Selena,’ it continued, ‘I heard a lot about
you’.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That did it. You can come into my world, looking like me,
sounding like me. But you will NOT come into my world and be more charming than I ever was to Selena. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No!’ I shouted before I could stop myself. Both cells
turned to stare at me: Selina with her mouth still forming a perfect ‘o’, and
the other ‘me’, looking at me with a look so friendly that it made me wonder if
I had shouted ‘Welcome’ instead of ‘no’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Of course, I know who <i>you</i> are’ it said. ‘You are X. Thank
you so much for bringing me into this world’. And then it proceeded to stare at
me with a look of awe and wonder and love, like a lost puppy to its master.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I…’ I started. I was thrown. What was happening. ‘I..what...?!’
I fumbled for words, while the other ‘me’ started at me expectantly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No.’ I concluded lamely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No?’ It asked me politely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No.’ I said more confidently. ‘No. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> am Cell X.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Of course you are.’ It responded with a warm smile: ‘Me
too.’ It chuckled, like this was the most wonderful thing in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No.’ I said firmly. ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i>
am. Me. This’ I said pointing to myself, ‘is Cell X.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That</i>’ I continued
pointing in its direction ‘is…?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Cell X’ the other cell responded promptly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh boy. This was clearly not going to work. I sighed in
frustration looking for another angle to make my point. Meanwhile, Selina just
continued to stare. As did most of the other cells around us, of course.
Nothing better than an audience to witness you trying to prove you are
yourself. And all the while, the newborn cell just looked around nonchalantly,
like this was the best day of its life. To be fair, it probably was, as it had
just been born. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A passing immune cell broke our stance by carrying-out a
routine antigen check. We all promptly pulled out our I.D.s, and tried to put on our
best ‘I am a healthy cell' smile. After the first scare, I had grown accustomed to these checks. I wondered how the new cell was faring, and peered in it's direction. I noticed another
tumour cell handing the other ‘me’ a freshly-made fake I.D. The new cell took it and handed it out with a charming smile. Was nothing scary to him? Even Selena appeared less in control, and handed the I.D. out with the look of confusion still on her face. Luckily, she was
still too stunned to speak, let alone report us to the immune cell. The cell
checked all our I.D.s and, finding nothing out of the order, left us to it with
a curt nod.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The newborn cell (the 'other me') like the rest of us, started to put its
I.D. away. That gave me an idea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Can I see that?’ I asked quickly, pointing to its I.D.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Why?’ Said the newborn cell. Its face finally changed from
warm to suspicious. That made me strangely satisfied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I just want to see the picture’ I lied. ‘I’ll show you mine
if you want?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That seemed to do the trick. The cell handed me its I.D. and
I promptly exchanged it with mine. I pretended to look at the picture, praising
the angle of his filopodia, while I quickly scanned the text until I found what
I was looking for. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
NAME: Cell EX<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh. Of course. He wasn’t Cell X. He used to be. Hence Cell
EX. I was still me! I returned the ID to Cell EX and smiled and nodded politely
as it jabbered on about something. But I wasn’t listening. I had turned back to
face Selina, who finally seemed to have recovered from the shock and confusion.
I knew that because she had started glaring at me again. At
least she had figured which one I was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I’m still me’ I whispered to her. I said it with sadness
and relief, with a hint of a smile playing on my lips, and a broken heart in my
eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Do you realise what you’ve
done?’ She replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was so much anger and pain in her eyes. How could I
have done something like that to her? I met her gaze in silence, lost for words once again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘It will be ok’ I whispered eventually, more to myself than to anyone
else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No, it won’t.’ She mumbled, desperately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Yes it will.’ I said more firmly, looking up at her. ‘Because
I’m still me.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And even if she didn’t realise it, that made all the
difference in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Selina didn’t respond. Her anger seemed to have webbed away to become sorrow. Somehow, that made me feel even worse. She turned away from me and refused to look at me for the remainder of
the hour. I let her be. I wasn’t sure I could forgive myself, so didn’t know
how she could either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I was, stuck with a cell I had created. Literally. I
had destroyed the only cell I had ever cared for. And funnily enough, despite
the wonderful charade Cell EX was putting on, I had a strange gut feeling
warning me not to trust that bright new little cell. Except I was a cell and didn't have a gut, but it still counts. It felt like a memory from a
dream, full of dark thoughts muddled with my own.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I finally turned to look at Cell EX, I found it staring at me
expectantly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Yes.’ I answered automatically. What was the question?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cell EX looked even more puzzled. I guess ‘yes’ was not the
right answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Sorry, what did you say?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I’m hungry’ said Cell EX.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Oh. That’s ok.’ I said relieved. ‘Just grab one of the
molecules floating by…’ I said gesturing to the nearest blood flow. But the
words died on my lips, as there were no molecules. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our food had disappeared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>Cell X </o:p></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-20596429991605421332018-02-06T12:03:00.001-08:002018-03-05T06:51:28.243-08:00<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/14430837/?claim=vk5dkmcvf6b">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-32162700224074540112018-01-28T08:40:00.000-08:002018-01-28T08:44:05.658-08:00Hour 17: Mitose-me<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dear diary,</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I found myself lying there, surrounded by
darkness and fog. I couldn’t remember who or where I was. I couldn’t feel my
body. And then, as if in a dream, a memory came to greet me. It was an old
memory, of when I had just been born. It’s contours felt fuzzy, but the words I
had over-heard remained sharp. An older cell had been singing its last truth
before giving in to senescence, telling a tale as old as tales go. The words
rang in my mind as I remembered. I could see it now.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">''Legend says mitosis is not a cellular
process, but the story of two lovers. As with every epic love story, there was
a great love, unfounded jealous, and an eternity of punishment. But there cannot
be a love story without a slither of a happy ending. Even here, the two lovers
found a way to be re-united, if only for an instant, during mitosis.</span><span style="font-family: "euphemia" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7ulqN-wWrII/WLHJEa2w-vI/AAAAAAAADqE/saP1NnBC92wKHKmSjTbDjPLeMuwZXDhfACEw/s1600/3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7ulqN-wWrII/WLHJEa2w-vI/AAAAAAAADqE/saP1NnBC92wKHKmSjTbDjPLeMuwZXDhfACEw/s320/3.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "euphemia" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">This love story begins in something smaller
than the human cell: the cellular nucleus. It’s a story that begins at the
beginning of all things, where two sets of chromosomes who had always felt like they were halves
of something bigger, finally met. The love that ensued was bigger and stronger
than all things. Not bearing the thought of separation, the two lovers decided
to let their encasing membranes fuse, and become one. Enclosed in the same nucleous,
nothing could keep them apart. For a while all was well, and they continued to
live surrounded by each other, their searching appeased, their souls content.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DezoV-SJc90/WLHJMoA6FnI/AAAAAAAADqE/RK9W2cotoDcsQD04FQUr42UYWPb1iM9JgCEw/s1600/3.1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DezoV-SJc90/WLHJMoA6FnI/AAAAAAAADqE/RK9W2cotoDcsQD04FQUr42UYWPb1iM9JgCEw/s320/3.1.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">But gradually things began to deteriorate: All the other cellular organelles started to become jealous. Having been forced into a life of
solitude, never to find another’s half, they wallowed in their loneliness as they gazed
into the happiness of the chromosome pair. Bitter and resentful, they knew the cell needed the double set of chromosomes to survive. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Instead, their vengeance was inflicted disguised as a gift: The chromosomes were to be granted their wish to always be together but forced to fuse to create one full
set of genes. The curse caused the chromosomes to be torn to pieces as they merged. When they became one, the power of their love was so strong that it gave life, and the first cell was born. But it came at a cost: The chromosome lovers had been forced into unity, losing
their identity. They had been morphed into eternal solitude. Their love became a distant memory.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">Eventually, nature took pity on the
chromosome lovers, and decided to reward them for their sacrifice of life. And so, mitosis was born: D</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;">uring mitosis, each chromosome is duplicated into an identical copy. Then, and only then, are the chromosome lovers
able to see each other again. For a fleeting glimpse of an instant, they are left to be individuals, to gaze in wonder, to speak, to love. To keep all the other organelles at bay, nature distracted them by allowing them to become doubled too. Thus, even if for a short time, mitosis became the time when all solitude was lost, as each part of the cell finally found its other half. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As is every other cellular process, mitosis was designed to have different phases. Like clockwork, each phase was to progress into the next, eventually ending in two separate cells, each with it's own set of chromosomes, an unavoidable conclusion to a temporary solace. But at first, things didn't flow smoothly: Finally re-united, the doubled chromosomes clung to each other, refusing to lose each other again. They held on, a promise in their cores, creating a bond that is now known as the kinetochore. To this day, mitosis will reveal the chromosomes connected at their kinetochore as strongly as the interlocked fingers of obstinate, desperate souls. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Centrosomes were therefore devised, small centres that could create and control rope-like microtubules. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cOxAqG7xhzc/WLHJKAocbEI/AAAAAAAADp8/x-ekg9n74Z4qj5hqmSmHkQA6iQ-6fEpVQCEw/s1600/3.2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cOxAqG7xhzc/WLHJKAocbEI/AAAAAAAADp8/x-ekg9n74Z4qj5hqmSmHkQA6iQ-6fEpVQCEw/s320/3.2.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During prophase, the first phase of mitosis, the microtubule ropes were unleashed and ordered to go and bind each chromosome at the centre of their souls, the kinetochores, and begin pulling the couple apart from other ends of the cell. The unyielding, unrelenting strength of the microtubules was such that the second mitosis phase, the metaphase, was punctuated by the scene of all the chromosome couples, still together, but aligned in the centre of the nucleous. The love and sorrow ensuing from that one moment was such that it earned its own name, 'the metaphase plate', the platform of halves. All bonds were finally broken in the next phase, called anaphase, during which the lovers were separated and dragged into opposite ends of the cell. Their songs of woe will be enough to pierce your soul, each and every time. When telophase finally rang true, the separated chromosomes found themselves encased in separate sets of membranes, each containing one copy of a full set of genes. Finding no solace in their renewed solitude, the chromosomes melted into undefined chromatin, leaving behind the definition of a shape, of an identity, unable to bear life alone. Mitosis ended with cytokinesis, where a cell splits into two, each side claiming a set of organelles, and a nucleous of implacable sorrow. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thus, mitosis became the curse of true lovers, the penalty of jealousy, the loneliness of nature, the sacrifice of life.''</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I felt it then. I felt my membrane and my organelles, my double personality. I felt too full, like I was going to explode. And then a tear, right in the middle of my membrane, and I felt release. The tear grew bigger and bigger, and I wondered if I was meant to feel scared. But it was strangely pleasant, satisfactory somehow, like removing dead skin from your body. I felt it rip me in half, and I let it, feeling more and more myself until finally, it was over. There was nothing more to tear, there were now two membranes, two minds. I was me again, just me. Tiny, insignificant, happy to die trying to change, me. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">'Welcome back' whispered a familiar voice. And I smiled.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 13.8px;">Cell X</span></span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-51763809849252299242016-01-07T07:53:00.001-08:002018-01-28T08:37:14.815-08:00Hour 16: Splitting headaches<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Mitosis is an essential process in the lives of cells, as it
allows them to replicate (become two individual cells). This is a highly
regulated process, as there a lot of things that need to be doubled before
either 'daughter' cell can exist independently. During mitosis, the DNA of a
cell is distributed equally among daughter cells. However, before this can
happen, the cell needs to double in size, double all of its organelles
(cell organs) and, most importantly, make an exact copy of its DNA. As you can
imagine, keeping track of all this doubling can get confusing, so scientists
have found a way to subdivide this whole process into several distinct steps.
These include interphase, Gap1 (G1), Synthesis (S), Gap 2, and finally,
mitosis. Most of you will have covered all of this in your school years, maybe
in a time long-forgotten, or maybe you are stuck trying
to memorize it now. But before you turn away in disgust
(bleargh, biology) and contemplate clicking onto the next more frivolous web-site,
I ask you this: have you ever wondered what mitosis would<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>feel<span class="apple-converted-space"><i> </i></span><i>like?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>For the school students, who are wondering
'what is the point of learning this since I will never use it again in my life',
I have included some simplified biology details that should help you pass your
dreaded biology exam. Hang in there, soon you will be part of the people who
can comfortably forget biology details without any significant consequence to
their lives.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The<span class="apple-converted-space"><u> </u></span><u>Gap
1</u><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(G1) phase, is the step
that comes after interphase. Essentially, all that happens in G1 is that the
cell increases in size and gets ready for DNA replication. To do this, the cell
increases its supply of proteins and number of organelles, such as mitochondria
(the cellular equivalent of lungs, they breathe and use the oxygen to produce
energy) and ribosomes (essential to the cell as they make protein). It can
last a variable amount of time. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I waited and waited in the gloom. My body
seemed to grow with the drumming of the heart-beat. But I was darkness and I
was barely aware of my size. I was anger, and disappointment and pain. I wasn't
any different from my fellow cancer cells. I was a monster, too. I let myself
sink deeper into my misery. I didn't deserve an escape. I felt my sides push
against my neighbouring cells, and I let them, revelling in the feeling of
discomfort. I don't know how much time had passed as I grew, impassive. It
could've been hours, or minutes, or days. Time seemed to have lost its value,
as it led me to my atrocious fate. Abruptly, everything stalled. I glanced
down, disinterested, noticing how my inside organs seemed to have doubled.
Maybe I had finally lost my mind, and I was just seeing double. I noted I was
huge, towering over my fellow cells. I wondered if this was how Hulk felt on a
daily basis. I briefly wondered if I should feel some sympathy for him, and
then remembered I didn’t care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The synthesis (S) phase, is the stage
where the DNA is replicated. On any other day, a cell’s DNA looks like a bowl
of spaghetti. You can imagine how hard it would be to pick out individual
spaghetti pieces and try to duplicate them without making a mess (please do not
try this at home). Cells have found a way to ‘tidy-up’ the DNA into chromosomes
just for this purpose. Essentially, they make the bowl of spaghetti look like
baguette bread loafs. Each bread loaf (chromosome) is duplicated and then left
to lie next to the original baguette. To avoid making a new mess, and
forgetting what’s what, each baguette copy is tied to the original with a
tooth-pick in its centre (scientists call this the ‘centromere’). When two
baguettes(chromosomes) are tied like that, scientists like to call them ‘sister
chromatids’, because they want to confuse you. You can call them ‘brother
baguettes’ to get right back at them. DNA
synthesis (replication) is completed as quickly as possible, so as not to
expose the fresh baguettes to mutagenic factors before they are completed. Mutations
cause cancers. Cancers are bad. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I suddenly realised there was a
faint cheering in the background. Scours of cancerous evil eyes were watching
my progress, elated. I felt nauseated, and attempted to return to the
blackness, the numbness. I closed my eyes, and revelled in the feeling of the
oxygen seeping into my pores. But the solace of darkness didn't envelop me.
Instead, I felt a faint tugging in my nucleus. The nucleus contains the DNA,
like a skull would a brain, if I were human. It controls our every move,
our every thought. I guess the feeling I was experiencing could be compared to
a migraine, or a strong headache. The pain jolted me out of my depression, and
I grimaced, confused. I tried in vain to ascertain what was happening inside my
nucleus. But like a man wouldn't be able to look into its own brain, I was
unable to make the slightest progress. The pain got stronger, clouding my
brain. Every thought had to travel through a thick fog before becoming
coherent. I tried to shake my head, but realised I couldn't. I had no head. I
was a cell. A sticky, huge cell, who couldn't budge. The nearby cancer cells
seemed to notice my discomfort, and started cheering louder. 'Here comes the
DNA synthesis' one cell said, ecstatic. Her words raced through my muddled
thoughts, their meaning sinking into the depth of my soul. The fear they
brought was stronger than the pain. Survival instincts kicked in, as I realised
I was about to have two sets of DNA, a second brain. I was about to become two
cells. I wondered in horror, whether I would lose myself as I became two. Was
this the end of me? 'I'm not afraid.' I thought. 'I'm not afraid, I'm not
afraid, I'm not afraid.' I repeated these words over and over in my mind,
clinging to their meaning, chanting them to the fear that was slowly building
at the edges on my mind. But I wouldn't, I couldn't let it win. If I was to go
as a monster, I wouldn't let myself be a coward too. The edges of my thoughts
were becoming clouded, and I chanted, louder and louder, challenging the pain,
resisting my nature. But the clouds didn't recede, and I realised with a jolt
that my thoughts had now become weak whispers of fear, as I mumbled 'I'm not
afraid' one last time. I felt a final blinding tug in my nucleus, as if my
brain was being opened up and split into two, and I felt myself sink into the
darkness. Through the rumbling in my ears I thought I heard a pleading voice,
clear as an angel, whisper my name. 'Selena.' I thought. And then it all went
black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The <u>Gap 2</u> (G) phase, is just a gap between
DNA synthesis and mitosis. Impossibly, the cell continues to grow in size.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I slowly slipped back to consciousness,
faintly aware of a strong pain gradually subsiding. My thoughts were still
muddled, and I noticed there seemed to be an echo to the voices within me. I
felt like I was screaming inside an empty cave, my every scream doubled back at
me. As if sound was looking at itself in the mirror. I tried to recall what was
happening, but thinking was becoming so hard. There seemed to be too many
thoughts conflicting with each other...Like two minds in one body. This
realisation hit me like a lightning bolt, and I understood that my cloudy state
of mind was due to me having one nucleus with two sets of DNA, like one head
with two brains. Both of my minds froze in unison. Then, a faint pressure on my
membrane broke me out of my reverie: impossibly, I was still getting bigger.
I felt a second part of me rejoice in the notion of splitting. Like I had
somehow unearthed an evil side. I got muddled up in a mixture of happiness and
awe, terror and fear. When would this nightmare end? I closed my eyes again,
attempting to clear my mind. I longed for the silence, for a mind at peace.
There were too many thoughts, too many evil thoughts. I felt crowded. And then,
as abruptly as it had stopped, the pain seared again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cell X</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-6665091460405004132015-11-08T13:33:00.002-08:002018-01-28T08:27:09.253-08:00Hour 15: Resistance is futile<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pKKpu2QQaEI/Vj_NQCZ4wAI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Qwpu3bnEviA/s1600/Picture2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="385" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pKKpu2QQaEI/Vj_NQCZ4wAI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Qwpu3bnEviA/s400/Picture2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dear
diary,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
know it seems crazy that I could be so upset about hearing my origins. After
all, I had always known I was a cancer cell. And I had also always been aware
that being a cancer cell was not a good thing. But what can I say. Sometimes,
although deep down we know something, we choose to ignore it. We pretend things
are not what they are, and act as if believing a lie might actually make it
true. Sure, I had always had that little voice deep down inside, reminding me that
inherently, I was cancer. Usually, with an unwelcome gut-wrenching feeling too.
But I was more than happy to look the other way, convincing myself that I had
accepted that fact, and was now moving on. So much so that when my truth was
finally confirmed, I found myself completely unprepared. For Selena, the tale
of her past had been just that: a piece of history. To me however, it was a spell
of black magic, where everything had suddenly become too real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
hadn't uttered a single word to Selena since she finished her story.
Thankfully, she had also kept her distance. Our conversation had somehow become
too intimate, and we both needed some space. Unfortunately, letting someone
have some space becomes very hard when you are stuck to your fellow cells. But
Selena was nice enough not to comment on my avoiding any eye contact, and I
blissfully stared into space as my mind, well, went to pieces. As if in a
dream, I kept having this vivid vision of a contorted Neo cell advancing on me,
and, with its face shielded by a black mask, announcing: 'X, I am your father',
in between ragged breaths (which strangely sounded vaguely like a
coffee-machine). My response was a strangled yell of 'Naaaaoooooooo!' into the
darkness, as I’d turn to Selena, who with loving eyes would whisper: ‘And I am
your sister’. As a cell, I never had enough time to follow the whole plot of
Star Wars. It seemed, however, that the few details I had gained from the
franchise were enough to give me nightmares. Here I was, the 'son' of the most
evil cell ever created, genetically programmed to fulfil my father's destiny,
and maybe, to outshine it too. And if I resisted? No matter, there were plenty
more cells to fill my shoes. Resistance was futile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
was quietly mulling this over when I suddenly realised my other-half was
staring at me with a gleeful expression on her face. I proceeded to give her
the 'what you staring at' expression, to which she just winked conspiratorially.
What was going on? I looked around me, discretely checking if I had missed some
kind of immune invasion, but everything seemed normal. I turned back to my
other half, and realised she had turned away. Had I just imagined this whole
exchange? I was just telling myself to take up yoga, because I was obviously getting
overly stressed, when she discretely muttered: 'You too!' from the corner of her
mouth. Her sudden whisper caused me to jump-up in fright, which would have been
fine except that with us cells, this usually tends to have a domino effect. Being
glued together, a sudden jump of one cell will cause the rest to jump up in
succession… This resulted in our host’s body giving an involuntary shiver, and
pulling her cardigan sleeves lower on her arms. After apologising profusely to
the nearby cells, who were now glaring at me, I directed my attention to my
other half, who had returned to giving me a proud look. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'Me
too, what?' I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'You
too.' She replied solemnly, nodding in the direction of my mid-section. I quickly
looked down and noticed I was starting to appear rounder… Thinking my other
half was just looking for some weight-watchers comradery, I smiled bashfully
and nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'Ahh,
terrible right? It's this whole drop in temperature thing. Makes us all gain a
little weight. But don't worry, you still look fantastic!' I told her, trying
to sound sincere. I then started thinking maybe instead of yoga, I should take
up some better exercise...Didn't want Selena to start being put off by my
bulging belly. I then noticed my other half was shaking as she laughed uncontrollably. Slightly annoyed, I mouthed: 'What?' to which she just laughed
harder. When she finally recovered she explained:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'It's not weight gain, you dummy. It's our
time! Finally: Interphase.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
felt my whole world stop as I heard the dreaded word. It couldn't be. I gaped
at my other half in panic, replaying her last sentence over and over in my
mind, trying to make sense of what she had just told me. Interphase. Me? But I had
been so careful with my nutrient intake…How could this be? I was different. I
wasn’t going to proliferate. No, no, no, no! I felt a growing numbness as I
shifted my gaze down to my mid-section to confirm her insinuations. And sure
enough, there it was: I was bigger, growing steadily. Preparing to split into
two cells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Despair
gripped me as I froze, unable to take my eyes off my now bulging belly. As
interminable seconds ticked by, I circled from disbelief, to anger, to pain,
to panic. I began drowning in my emotional turmoil. Like a voice lost in a
raging hurricane, I heard my other half mutter on about how we would make Neo so proud, how soon it would all be ours. It was all
a distant buzzing to my ears. I couldn’t escape my demons. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eventually, Selena
noted my stance. I could feel her eyes probing, trying to identify the reason
behind my sudden frigidity. I looked away from my bulging membrane into the
depth of her eyes, and in her innocence I saw my own evil. I became disgusted
by all that I was. I heard her beautiful whisper, calling my name, and I turned
away. Mustering all my motility, I shifter away from her, shielding my body
with countless cancer cells, until I could no longer see her face. I could hear
her angelic murmurs searching for me, unable to make sense of my behavior. I let
the sound drift away with the beating of the host’s heart, allowing myself to become one with the darkness around me. In time, all was silent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cell
X</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-74858407800407894182015-09-09T12:15:00.001-07:002015-10-05T14:34:17.348-07:00Hour 14: The hallmarks of freedom -Part II<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">Dear diary,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">the initial revelations had my mind whirling in every direction. Who was Neo? How did I get here? Who was I, really? But there was no time for thought now. As Selena carried on with the story, all I could do was stare, enthralled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">'But it still wasn’t enough for Neo. He wanted him and his twisted other halves to grow even more. Only to do that, he needed its surrounding cells to release more growth factors. And, as I mentioned before, nobody seemed too keen on releasing them. That’s when he started to speak, whispers so loud they carried over different organs, and caused our host to stop and wonder where the noise was coming from. He spoke of freedom, of a world where there were no constraints, where a cell could be where it wanted and do as it pleased. He spoke of progenies so big they would last generations, of travelling to other parts of the body, of alliances between immune systems and blood vessels and cells. His words made us dream of immortality, of not having to undergo senescence. He made healthy cells rebel against their constraints. He promised in exchange for growth factors, he would give us our freedom.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">'Initially very few cells responded. Most were afraid of the repercussions…what if the immune cells decided to respond and engulf them all? But eventually his words and ideals poisoned enough minds for him to gain a so called 'support group'…healthy cells that were willing to help him in his quest. Scientists call this the tumor ‘stroma’. They were like hypnotised cells, releasing more and more growth factors, allowing Neo to proliferate disproportionately. He made so many cells he eventually lost count, and started naming them all ‘Cell X’. That’s why I got scared when I heard your name. I…I thought he might have returned.' <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.4px;">Her voice broke. The look of pain returned in her eyes, and I started feeling cold. There it was, my true identity. Cell X, just one of the many cells created by Neo. Selena had inadvertently given me the key to my past, what I had been searching for, and yet all I suddenly wanted to do was to give it back. I concentrated on composing my face, keeping my terror at bay. Amid the turmoil of emotions, I felt my curiosity burn stronger. I needed to know. I just needed to know. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘So what happened next? Did they catch him?’ I asked, focusing on keeping my tone light. She looked up, and I suddenly realised her eyes were filled with tears. But her face was no longer sad. Her pupils blased with a fury only grief could cause, and before she spoke, I understood. Dread filled me as I heard her truth:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘I lost my mother cell to that…that…’ she hesitated, her words filled with emotion. ‘cell. She was wonderful, X. She was so so wonderful. Kind, and caring…and so.. alive, so full of life! She made everything seem simple...I remember all I wanted to do was hide in her embrace, because I knew there I would be safe. No organism was able to resist her, like they could smell her goodness. And she was so cool, always urging us on, confident for us when we weren't, ready to pick us up whenever we fell. I am who I am because of her, and…’ she stopped, wanting me to understand ‘I don’t know who to be without her.’ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">Again, she paused, staring at me intently. I don't know what she was looking for ...Maybe for a fragment of her mother cell, wanting to believe part of her would live on. I tried to convey my sympathy with my eyes. I tried to give her the warmth she was longing for so desperately. I forgot all that I was, and tried to become the cell she needed me to be. I wished I could have somehow touched her. She stared at me for a long time, searchingly. Her anger and pain slowly subsided, and eventually her expression became stern. She could go on.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘They were dark times, X. Neo was gaining stromal cells by the day…To this day I don’t know how he did it, but cells were just changing their minds in a split second. It was as if he was hypnotising them! Cells close to us were beginning to turn, and nobody seemed to be able to stop this reign of terror. Where were the immune cells? Where were the people who were meant to protect us? Time stood still as we waited, unable to escape, unable to move, for it to be our turn. We knew the messages were close when a few of my sisters became stromal cells. I knew then that it would be my turn soon, and I turned to my mother cell with a look of proud defiance. I was not going to go without a fight. My mother cell response startled me. I expected fear, or anger. Instead there was pleading and sacrifice. Before I could ask, Neo's signalling molecules reached us. As my mother cell shifted, shielding me from Neo’s influence, I understood. She had given herself, she had became tumor stroma, so that I would stay Selena.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">She paused again, and I stared at her, in awe of this mother cell that had given herself to save Selena. Speech-less, I tried to imagine what it would've been like to have such a cell to fight for you. I pictured the happy times she recalled, that I had never seen. I was startled when Selena continued her story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">'Of course, I spend hours trying to revert my family back to healthy cells. All in vain. It was as if they were blind and deaf…nothing I did helped. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">Then one day the immune cells finally reacted. It was a day of chaos, where immune cells blindly scavaged, barely checking for ID. It was all I could do to keep myself safe. When the chaos cleared, I realised a lot of stromal cells and tumor cells had been lost...including my mother cell. Although I had lost her long before that. Things quieted down after that…Neo stopped being so exuberant. Tumor cells disappeared gradually. Stromal cells stopped being converted.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">'So what happened to him? To Neo?' I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">'I don’t know what became of him… some say he has found ways to evade the immune system and is still growing in the shadows. Others say he may have lost his growth factor supply and eventually underwent senescence.'<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">We were quiet for a moment, each lost in thought. All these revelations swirled incoherently in my mind, and I was afraid I might explode. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to remain the cell I thought I was for a little while longer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">Eventually, Selena looked at up at me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘X?’ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘Yeah?’ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘You are not a tumor cell, right?’ She asked slowly. She knew. I knew she knew. But she didn't want to know. And I didn't want to be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘No.’ I answered reassuringly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘And you would tell me if you knew one, right?’ she continued. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘Of course.’ I replied smiling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘Promise?’ She whispered. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">‘Promise’. I nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.4px;">I wondered why in that moment we both felt the need to find reassurance in lies, like little children desperately clinging to fairy-tales. Maybe we both knew I was different, and it just wasn’t time to admit all truths.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">Cell X</span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-75770283778170736062015-08-05T08:18:00.001-07:002018-01-28T08:31:29.874-08:00Hour 13: The hallmarks of freedom -Part I<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Dear diary,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">It had been at least fifteen minutes of silence before
I had the guts to probe further on what Selena meant by: ‘You weren’t there’. I
felt like it was somehow vital for me to understand. I asked gently,
softly, afraid I might once again say the wrong word and cause her to spiral
back into the suspicion and accusations. I liked the way her eyes emitted a soothing
warmth when she smiled, and I wanted them to stay that way for as long as
possible. It didn’t take much probing for her to reveal the truth. It did,
however, cause her face to change into something I hadn’t yet seen in my few
hours here, something that made my insides ache. I realised now that what I was
seeing was loneliness and pain. It rendered the air between us colder and
darker and I longed to rub it away. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">I had no idea, back then, that she was about to tell me the story of my existence.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">'It all happened a few weeks ago. Those were good
times, all cells lived in </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">synchrony</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">. We all had our duties, which we happily fulfilled,
until it was our time to go. You know…that’s the cycle of life. I was a young
cell, much like you, a few hours old, full of life, bare of experience. I was
so excited when my duties were explained to me! I still remember how I believed
I was unique, how I would be the one to change the world. I felt invincible... And my mother cell only encouraged me further. Me and all my sisters worked in
harmony, but I was always her favourite. It was her who chose my name. All my
sisters are just cells ‘E’ with a number and our tissue specification…as in
epithelial cells? She added the extra ‘NA’ to my name in the form where they
asked her about tissue type. It meant ‘not applicable’, an inside joke,because she said I’d
belong anywhere. She used to say it was as if I glowed in the dark. And I
believed her. Those were golden times. Our host's body thrived. Eternity felt
tangible.'<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">'And then came a cell like any other, and all that we
knew was changed forever. At first we were so oblivious to the threat. It was a
young cell with big ambitions, and every tissue encouraged ambitious cells.
They believed they would work harder for the well-being of the whole. This
little cell wanted to be the best at everything, trying to be the first one to
grow, the first one to split. We didn’t realise it’s progeny was starting to
look more and more different. We didn’t realise he was changing too.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">'Eventually, it’s tissue started telling him to slow down, there was no need for
this erratic proliferation, that a cell could be honoured for tasks other than
growing and splitting. They started to limit it’s supply of growth factor, so
that it wouldn’t be able to activate the pathways that would eventually lead it to
split. But they were too late: all these physical changes in the cells exterior were due to
its changing its internal equilibrium. You know how normal cells can only
proliferate when they receive special molecules from other cells that say they
can? The ones that bind on our surface and cause us to grow and split? He had
managed to mutate its surface receptors so that they no longer needed signals
to be activated. He could proliferate as much as he wanted. He kept growing and
changing, and all we could do was stand by, idle. Rumours started spreading, telling of a cell that did as it pleased. He started to be known as Neo.'<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Neo?’ I interrupted. ‘Like in the matrix? Was it
because he was the one?’ I asked eager. She looked at me confused. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘No’ she
clarified ‘Neo as in neoplasm..an uncontrolled growth of cells?’ I nodded, slightly
disappointed, and urged her on.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> <i>...to be continued.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-77430596507109966432015-07-27T12:48:00.001-07:002015-10-08T14:25:48.430-07:00Hour 12: Selena<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JzjAB72lsRM/VhbfQd1fEqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/HxnJws16a3A/s1600/Picture1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JzjAB72lsRM/VhbfQd1fEqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/HxnJws16a3A/s400/Picture1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Dear diary,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I opened my eyes to find her staring at me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘How did
you do that?’ she whispered in shock. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Do what?’ I asked. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">‘How did you come out
of senescence?’ she explained. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I could’ve shot my-self. How could I have been
this stupid? Normal cells cannot enter senescence and then just revert to an
actively proliferating state! And there I was, having faked senescence, and
then re-opened my eyes. Truth was, after the initial </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">embarrassment</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">, faking senescence had proved to be quite boring. Staying still, with my eyes closed...After a few minutes my mind had wandered off, and I had eventually forgotten I was meant to fake sleep. Hence, the eye opening. Way to blow my cover! I decided the only way to save myself
was to act dumb:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I wasn’t senescing.’ I said avoiding her eyes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Yes you
were! I saw you! You…You…’ Her whispers were getting louder. If I didn’t get
the situation under control, she would soon attract the attention of
neighbouring healthy cells. I looked up at her with an air of derision. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I wasn’t
senescing. Cells can’t senesce and then just magically come alive again’ I
retorted confidently. It might have been the sudden eye contact or my tone, but
suddenly a note of doubt appeared in her eyes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘But…your eyes were closed.. You
weren’t proliferating..I..’ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I stopped her in her tracks: </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘My eyes weren’t
closed. I was looking down. I thought I had seen a virus float by...or something. Plus I’m too
young to proliferate.’ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">That seemed to do the trick. She closed her mouth and
eyed me suspiciously. For a moment she didn’t say anything, staring at me so
hard I felt as if she could see my thoughts. I had to force myself to keep eye
contact, and, as a precaution, I decided to also think healthy thoughts. Just
in case. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">She startled me when she broke the silence:</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘You look different.’ It
wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She clearly wasn’t giving up easily. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m
from a different tissue as you are’. I explained calmly. It was a white lie. I
was different because I was cancer. So technically, I was a different tissue. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Oh
really?’ she asked airily ‘What’s your name?’. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Finally a question I could answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Cell X!’ I replied promptly. I realised my mistake when her face changed.
Colour seemed to drain from her membrane, as terror filled her eyes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘That’s
not a cell’s name’ she muttered in a barely audible murmur. I felt my face
mirror her own, as fear filled my gut. I concentrated on composing my face.
Healthy cells grew in controlled ways: each cell had a specific function, a
name according to which tissue it belonged in, a number. X wasn’t a number. At least not
since human cells in the roman ages. X was a name they would give a cell when
they lost count. Cell X was a name they would only assign to a cell that didn’t
belong in a body. A tumor cell. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I..’ My voice cracked and my mind reeled. Come
on, think! I took a calming breath and faked shame.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> ‘I wasn’t assigned a name
yet.’ The look of terror didn’t leave her eyes, as I urged on:</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I was only born
a few hours ago and my tissue is quite disorganised. Most of us don’t have
names yet!’ I let out a fake laugh. It sounded more like a cough. She just kept
looking at me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ I soothed. ‘I just
picked a random name until they assign me one’. I looked down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> ‘It was stupid’.
I mumbled under my breath. I waited, the only sound was the rythmic rumbling of
our hosts heartbeat. After what seemed like an eternity, I noticed with
the corner of my eye an oxygen molecule entering her membrane. She was finally
breathing again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s ok.’ She said. Her forfeit was like honey. ‘I
over-reacted. I guess…’ she looked away. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘I guess you weren’t there. You... didn’t
know’. Her last whisper was almost to her-self. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I didn’t know? What was she
talking about? I hesitate on probing her further for the moment, not after such
a close call. I decided to instead distract her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">’So what’s your name?’ I asked,
smiling encouragingly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Oh! I’m Cell ENA 15,3072,567.’ She replied with a proud
smile. I gaped at her with my mouth hanging open. ‘But my friends call me Selena’.
She concluded, winking. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">‘Selena. I like that.’ I stated, grinning. We looked at each other
for another long moment, and then both turned back to our chores (you know,
cell chores, making sure our signalling pathways are working fine, secreting
the right molecules, ensuring the structure of the tissue we are holding is
still intact. Boring stuff).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I still don’t know what she meant when she said ‘You
weren’t there’. Or what the ENA in her cell name signifies. But if there is one
thing I know, it’s that I will never forget her name. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Cell X</span></div>
</div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-20508633337257681642015-07-01T02:57:00.000-07:002015-07-01T03:00:54.463-07:00Hour 11: Rules of good conduct<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Dear
diary,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today
I met a good cell. It wasn’t on purpose of course…There isn’t much space inside
bodies, and we tend to be squished-up against all kinds of cells. Up to now, I’d
been stuck against this old dormant cell, which wasn’t much company as she
was…well…asleep all the time. But today the dynamics shifted slightly (I think
our human host went jogging), and I ended up squished face first against its
neighbour: a very young, healthy cell. I had encountered quite a few
healthy cells in my few hours here, but there was something different about
her: she hung there with such precision, that she seemed to glow in our
darkness, making all its neighbouring cells look misplaced. Her plumpness was
perfection, and I looked at her in awe, consumed by the knowledge that she had
achieved her true purpose in life. I was astounded. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunately,
my immediate response was to stare at her with my mouth dangling open for the
most inappropriate amount of time (may I remind you of how awkward it is to
have someone stare at you with their mouth open when your faces are glued
together). Once I recovered some of my bearings, I promptly closed my mouth and
tried to remember the ‘Rules of good conduct in case of contact with
neighbouring cells’. You see, all cells need to communicate with one another in
order for the whole organism to survive. Often, this is done through the
secretion of small molecules, which is a far more effective than the whispering madness (you can see why in Hour 4: Chinese
whispers). There are five main ways for us cells to communicate, and they
differ mainly based on how far the cell you want to communicate with is. We can
communicate to our-selves (intracrine signalling), as humans would when they
think; we can talk-out loud to ourselves (autocrine signalling, never
recommended as it makes you sound slightly mad); then we have a type of
communication reserved to cells which are in direct contact (juxtacrine signalling),
which humans use when patting their buddies on the back; we have a way to contact
cells which are in our close proximity (paracrine signalling, humans just talk
for that one); and finally, we have devised ways to make signals travel quite
long distances (e.g. to spread hormones). This last one is called endocrine
signalling, and is as good as using the internet and sending a message to
another organ. Sorry, country. A cancer cell needs to be a master of
communication if it wishes to survive. A tumor environment is often what
determines the survival and thriving of a tumor. So when we are split, we are
given a very important lecture on some basic ‘Rules of good conduct in case of
contact with neighbouring cells’. Simple things really…like never show you are
a tumor and generally be neighbourly, as you never know when healthy cells can come in handy (in the plan to take over the body, that is). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that I was glued to this new cell, I
hurriedly tried</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> to remember the first rule. ’Rule 1: Never reveal your identity’.
Ok. I could do that. I discretely looked down at my nucleous (the ‘organ’ that
holds my DNA) and checked whether my chromatin was neatly </span><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">disorganized. I had to make sure</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> she
wouldn’t be able to detect that I had genetic mutations that made me a cancer
cell. Thinking back, she probably wouldn’t have been able to tell even if my DNA
had been neatly arranged in genes…It’s not like cells can sequence. And also, she
probably wouldn’t have known what a cancer cell was until I told her. So all I
had achieved was that she probably thought I had looked down to check out </span></span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">her</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> nucleous. And I know this doesn't sound so bad to a human, but it's as if she caught me looking at her rack. I therefore hastily looked up, only to realise I was still stuck to her face. Of course, the
sudden recalling of her proximity made all the other rules go down the drain. In my disdain I somehow concluded it would be appropriate for me to introduce myself. Ok.
Introductions. What did the rules say about that? ‘Rule 2: It is considered </span><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">neighborly</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> to introduce one-self. To avoid suspicion, never reveal true names.’
Ok. Ok. Ok. I practiced different options in my head. ‘Hi, I’m X’. No. Sounded like I was her ex. ‘Hello, my name is cell X’. No. Too formal. I needed something
cool… I know: ‘X. Cell X’. Yes! And a smile. Perfect. James Bond would be
proud. With as much confidence as I could muster, I bravely sucked in an oxygen molecule and opened my mouth to
whisper…and instead accidentally activated my signalling molecules. These are
like text messages: once you send them, you cannot take them back. And of course
I secreted proliferative signals…signals that told her to start dividing. I literally
just told her I wanted to have her babies before I even uttered a word.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After
that, I thought it was best to follow 'Rule 3:Always act like a healthy cell.’
And so I pretended to undergo sudden senescence and faked falling asleep. I
know to her it might have looked more like a fainting than falling asleep, but
I don’t care. After all, I’m not planning to ‘fake wake-up’ any time soon. Hopefully
some immune cell will come and engulf me and put me out of my misery. Argh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell
X</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-76291446521571297952015-05-25T08:28:00.000-07:002015-05-25T08:28:11.987-07:00Hour 10: Insomnia<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-63Zae2ovVF8/VWMv-SuFbaI/AAAAAAAAAEA/RixSaB91QXE/s1600/Picture11%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-63Zae2ovVF8/VWMv-SuFbaI/AAAAAAAAAEA/RixSaB91QXE/s400/Picture11%2Bcopy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Euphemia","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Euphemia","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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 <i>live</i> 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?’).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-47620079305360741162015-05-13T13:15:00.001-07:002015-05-13T13:15:53.609-07:00Hour 9: Drink respons-hic-ly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZiUKJVTXMY/VVOM-bALPqI/AAAAAAAAADE/4V3Wx8eooR4/s1600/Picture10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="397" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZiUKJVTXMY/VVOM-bALPqI/AAAAAAAAADE/4V3Wx8eooR4/s400/Picture10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Deer
dairy, <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">I
was abaut to right a posssst but-hic-then samfing magical hapnnnd. </span></b><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">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.</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> <i>Extra
brief pause to continue hysterical giggling because I can’t remember why we are
laughing, and that’s funny too. </i><b>May
host decyded to go and partieiei (I don’t know what that means) HOW-EVER ai
fink that… </b><i>brief pause while
attempting to regain train of thought. Brief pause laughing at the expression ‘train
of thought’.</i> <b>Rite, I fink dat she met my deeerest new bestest buddy called, weight,
wat’sss your naime again? Ohh-hic, rite: ACETALDEHYDE. Only </b><i>Brief pause to laugh at how funny this whole
event is </i><b>shi didn’t no! Shi had
noooo adia that mai baddy ACETALDEHYDE was coming, be-hic-cause </b><i>More laughter, you get the drill </i><b>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!! </b>Brief pause to hug
Acetaldehyde and tell him how much he is the bestest buddiest ever. <b>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!! </b><i>Brief pause to try and force ‘acy’ to speak
to no avail. Acy is, afterall, only a molecule. </i><b>FAINE, Ai </b><i>attempts to point
at itself only to realise it doesn’t have arms </i><b>will tell dem. Acy heer, makes cells laik ME! </b><i>Brief pause to dance to ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ because
‘wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-yeah’) </i><b>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. </b><i>Brief pause to await response to this
monumental statement. Brief pause to realise ‘Acy’ is actually quite sexy. </i><b>Hey Acy-hic, did-I mention, you are so hot
you are causing a fever? </b><i>Sleazy smile
with half-closed eyes. You know which I mean.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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 </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> 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 </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">favor</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">, and just don't. I'm going to have a nap.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Excell</span><span style="font-family: Euphemia, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-78410000476387005712015-04-29T10:26:00.001-07:002015-04-29T10:26:34.945-07:00Hour 8: Betrayal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dFeNfau1vEE/VUEUBVi1RnI/AAAAAAAAACw/9D6-Vx0rHSQ/s1600/Picture%2B10%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dFeNfau1vEE/VUEUBVi1RnI/AAAAAAAAACw/9D6-Vx0rHSQ/s1600/Picture%2B10%2Bcopy.jpg" height="226" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I had been told that the reason we would thrive
would be our alliance with the immune cells, I wouldn’t have believed it. Just
a few short hours ago, we were distraught at the thought of what the encounter
with the immune system could cause us. We feared the closeness, the contact:
surely they would realise we weren’t meant to be there. But then we were spared
without so much as a second glance. I mean, I know we put a lot of work into
those fake I.D.s, but come on: they really should have more reliable ways of
determining what’s real and what isn’t. I feel like we are a Trojan horse,
welcomed into our host’s body with ceremony, only to turn out to be the one
that will cause its destruction. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then the immune cells left, and with the lack of
other cell debris, I thought we wouldn’t see them for a while. Instead, the
macrophages started to come and visit us more and more regularly, until they
became an almost constant presence around us. For the humans reading this, the
macrophages are part of the ‘rumbling-tums’ army of the immune system (see post
entitled ‘Hour 7’): they are huge cells, the biggest I have seen in my
existence…For humans they would be like glowing white dinosaurs. And like
dinosaurs, they do not seem to be so smart, but their size grants them
authority amongst other cells. Their sheer aim in life is to eat, and their
only selection in their meal is that they will eat anything that is not meant
to be in the body. As if a human would pick a house, and start eating anything
that entered it without his/her permission…ugh! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">At first I thought that the macrophage’s constant
presence was due to their hunger: maybe they were just hoping one of us would
drop dead so that they would have more debris to snack on. Or maybe they were
suspicious of our presence, so they were waiting around in case one of us would
make a false move, and then they would have an all-you-can-eat buffet of tumor
cells to devour. I would never have suspected that these cells were actually there
to help us: like corrupt policemen, macrophages work against their human host.
As a rapidly growing mass, tumor cells need a constant supply of nutrients and
oxygen. Other organs attain it through blood vessels, which have been carefully
orchestrated to grow in a manner that ensures that all cells are irrigated with
a sufficient supply. However, as tumor cells are an unplanned presence, there
will be no blood vessels in their close proximity. And molecules can only
travel so far (they do not, after all, have any form of transportation other
than random floating). Hence, until we can somehow increase our blood supply, our
tumor mass will not be able to grow (yay!). Unluckily, the macrophages not only
planning to protect us against all other immune cells, but will also help us
attain a good blood supply. And that is only the start: they mentioned that one
day they could even allow us to be able to wander around the body! Now, before
you start panicking and accusing macrophages for all the evils in the world,
just be aware that if you are a healthy human, it is probably thanks to those
macrophages. They are not all bad: they are mostly amazingly good. I think it’s
just us tumors that somehow corrupt them, and make them work against you. At
least human scientists are beginning to pick up on this </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">behavior</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">: seems macrophages are playing the double game in most bodies. Some believe macrophages should be
targeted for anti-cancer therapies. I think they deserve it. Let’s hope it
won’t come to that though, as anti-cancer therapies will also wipe me out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Gosh diary, what can I say? It’s hard. It’s hard to be
a tumor cell, born evil, trying to fight your nature with every diffusion of
oxygen. It’s hard to pretend to be just like every other tumor cell, so as to strike
at the most appropriate moment and somehow make a difference. But it’s harder
still to realise that the cells that were meant to support you in the fight are
actually working against you. Is there any good left in this body?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><span style="font-family: Euphemia, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-39374558952813499932015-04-15T13:02:00.000-07:002015-06-03T12:56:43.297-07:00Hour 7: They-who-cannot-be-named<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rmT84NsbE3Q/VTAWheQ5v9I/AAAAAAAAACc/qNbXcTsrBaM/s1600/Picture9%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rmT84NsbE3Q/VTAWheQ5v9I/AAAAAAAAACc/qNbXcTsrBaM/s1600/Picture9%2Bcopy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After what was probably the most stress-full hour of my existence,
the inspection has finally come to a close. Now that the remaining cell debris
have been disposed of, and we are actually surrounded by clean fluid, I can’t help
but think back to how the immune system is actually made of so many types of
cells. And how, like most things in biology, they are named in the most
complicated way. You see, after the freak-out part in which I was inspected, during
which I may or may not have slightly panicked and saw my life flash before of
my eyes (let’s never talk about that again, and pretend I handled the situation
in the most macho way ever), I actually started to pay attention to the cells
doing the inspection: their shapes and sizes and what I grasped of their main
function. Immunologists like you to believe the immune system is the
most complicated thing ever. And to make their point, they have devised a way
to make it SOUND complicated. So complicated in fact, that the brain will get
stuck trying to identify the word it has been handed, and forget to follow the
explanation on what that cell actually does. Don’t understand what I’m talking
about? Fine, see for your-self: here is just a sample of my immunologist ABC.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">CAUTION: Not for the faint tongued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A for antigen<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">B for basophils<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">C for cholecalciferol<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">D for dendritic cells<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">E for eosinophils (pronounce that, I dare you)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">F for the very rude word you might be thinking right
now<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">G for gamma delta T cells<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">H for major histocompatibility complex <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I for interleukins<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">J for just stop trying<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">K for keratinocytes<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">L for leukotrienes <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">M for macrophages <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">N for natural killer cells (take that, James Bond)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">O for the shape of your mouth as you read this list<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">P for prostaglandins<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Q for questioning scientists sanity<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">R for really, you are still trying to pronounce them?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">S for state of your tongue by this point<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">T for T lymphocytes<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">U for urine (did you know it was full of pathogens?)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">V for vescicle<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">W for why. Just why.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">X for xanthoma<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Y for ‘You’, i.e. what we would call each other if
our names were on this list<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Z for the sounds the audience make when people use these names.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These names are the stuff of nightmares, letters so
unmemorable, that students are forced to resort to sudden spurts of bad
handwriting skills in the middle of a perfectly
written paper, in the hope that the examiner might read the right word in that
jumble of letters. Now, let’s not forget that most of the scientists who actually
have to use these words are not native English speakers, so most of these words
will have to be slightly mispronounced. Just for that, I tip my (metaphorical)
hat to the immunologists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that we are on the same page, let me enlighten you on
what these poorly named cells actually do. The simplest way in which I
could explain it is by categorizing them in the 'picky-eaters' vs the 'rumbling-tums'. The 'rumbling-tums' are large (yes, I meant fat) cells who are ruthless eaters, satisfied with
engorging themselves on anything that doesn't belong in the body. They literally enforce the
law by <i>eating</i> law-breakers. Makes
guns look so silly, doesn't it? Then there are what I call the ‘picky-eaters’. They
are slightly more sophisticated than the 'rumbling-tums' in that they are more
specific to what they kill: to each pathogen (body-invader), one ‘picky-eater’ immune cell. Now don’t
get me wrong, ‘picky-eater’ cells still kill whoever broke the law (even thought usually not by eating them, as they are too picky). And sometimes they
resort to calling the ‘rumbling-tums’ to do it. But they do tend to wander
around with an air of superiority, as they are the ‘high-class’ police that
will only be called for more important investigations. And that’s that. The
immune system. Made of unspeakable words, and things talking to each other through
more unpronounceable ways, just to make everyone cringe and turn the other way.
But don’t worry, you already understand all there really is to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh, and just for the record, I introduced myself to what the immunologists call a 'macrophage' cell as it wandered by: its name was Bob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-75446297815342785322015-04-01T08:02:00.001-07:002015-04-01T11:58:18.781-07:00Hour 6: The blind wanderers<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They came gliding
like ghosts in the darkness, an army of cells of so many different shapes and
sizes that for a few moments I was lost in wonder, and forgot all fear of what
was to come. The first cell appeared like a beacon in the dark, and then there
were many, until their presence over-came all of my senses. Slowly they made
their way towards us, attracted by the debris of the cell that had died what
seemed like a life-time ago. All cells, good and bad, stayed as still as
statues, their ID clearly in sight, hoping the procession would move on and
leave them unscathed. As I waited, I wished I had been born on the other side,
a few mm away, from a healthy cell. I wished my nucleous was not damaged and
mutated. I wished I could have deserved to live. And then whispers pierced the
air, violating that deafening silence around us. Like sirens they were wails breaking
our reverie: “Police! Nobody migrate! Keep your junctions were we can see them!”. As if we could have migrated if we had wanted
to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It seemed
like a life-time before they reached us, but it can’t have been longer than a
few seconds. Their bodies started pressing onto the tumour mass, as they anchored
them-selves to facilitate their wandering. As they glided along, they checked
IDs like a blind person fumbling in the dark: the blindness was not their weakness, but their strength, allowing them to concentrate on controlling our
antigens and ignore all forms of deception. All too soon, I saw an immune cell
edging towards me. As its filopodia touched my membrane, I recoiled at the
slimy-ness of its touch. Slowly, I felt it pull it-self
across my surface, greedily searching for my antigen. I thought of looking into its eyes, hoping it would look into mine and see the goodness of my intentions. Then
I feared it might also see the truth, that I didn’t belong in this body, and so I shut
my eyes tightly. Finally, I realised the immune cells didn’t even have eyes. Meanwhile, its extensions were still probing my membrane, hunting hungrily. In my terrified
state, all I could think of was of Harry Potter’s dementors, and how they
sucked the happiness out of you until they could reach you and inhale your
soul. This was my dementor, and so I started hoping I didn’t have a soul. And
then the immune cell shifted covering my whole membrane, shielding me from
life. I could not breathe. Panic choked me and I thought this must be it, it’s
over. Instinctively, I moved, one last desperate effort to save myself.
Stupidly, I thought to fight dementors you need to find a happy thought and
produce a <i>patronus</i>. What was my happy thought? I looked back of
what life had given me and flashes of cells showing off their cell cycle states flooded my mind. I remembered my will to be different, to do some good. Maybe this was the best I could do. Maybe dead was the best I could be. So I smiled, grateful for the few hours I had been
granted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And suddenly I
was free, and there was oxygen, and the immune cell was gone. Was I dead?
Tentatively, I opened my eyes and looked around. My membrane seemed intact,
with no traces of the immune cell. I closed my eyes in giddiness, and welcomed
the familiar sound of blood rushing through the veins. Hopeful, I looked around
at my literal other-half. I found her staring at me, grinning. At first I was
only shocked she was not ignoring me, as she usually does. I must be dead
after-all. Then I noticed she was pointing at something so I looked down and saw my
ID. My ID! It was still intact albeit for the slimy remnants of where the
immune cell had inspected it. Only then it dawned on me: the immune cell must have gotten
hold of it when I moved trying to escape! So I was alive. And I had passed the
inspection. It had worked! I was alive! I was alive! I was saved!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I felt light-headed with relief as I turned
back to my other-half, who was still grinning at me. I searched my mind for the right thing to say and when words failed me, I
grinned back. We stayed like that for a few seconds, both smiling broadly, so
happy to have been spared that we forgot all hostility. Finally, my other-half
turned away, resuming its formal positioning. However, I couldn’t help but notice that
this time, she was not as shifted away from me as she previously was. As if
she had forgiven me, slightly, for wearing the same membrane. As if that moment
of camaraderie will not be easily forgotten. And for the first time, I felt
hopeful. Maybe everything will be alright after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-24913124081631293372015-03-24T12:54:00.002-07:002015-03-24T12:54:24.000-07:00Hour 5: Even evil fears<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x4kXtM0ACUw/VRCQrFGbMbI/AAAAAAAAACI/LA4pL1VpaIE/s1600/Picture8%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x4kXtM0ACUw/VRCQrFGbMbI/AAAAAAAAACI/LA4pL1VpaIE/s1600/Picture8%2Bcopy.jpg" height="252" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today has been a frenzy of
scribbling and typing, as all tumor cells attempt to create a credible fake I.D.
The air is full of tension and the usual darkness that surrounds us broken by
the relentless flashing of photography (don’t ask me how we managed to get
cameras down here. You should still be trying to establish how it is that I
have a computer with a fully functional internet connection. Just accept that
we now also have cameras, and read on). I took advantage of the sudden bursts
of light to comb my filopodia (those long things sticking out of my body that
make me look like an octopus) for my picture. I thought a fringe would make me
look more amiable: after all, if Justin Bieber and those One Direction boys
pulled it off, why shouldn’t I? Sadly, it seems I too have become a victim of
the ‘please-tell-me-I-don't-look-like-that-in-real-life’ syndrome. Not
that it is my fault! The photographer instructed (after an eternity of turning
me this way and that, look up and down and at the side at the same time) to say
'cheese' right before he took the shot. As I have never heard of a thing called
'cheese' in my life, what I instead ended up whispering was 'what?!’. I think
the result is quite clear in my picture. I hear my syndrome is a very common
problem amongst humans, usually striking post-adolescent people who are about
to take a formal photo that's meant to last them for the next decade. It is
such a big problem that humans have had to make their IDs small enough to fit
in a wallet, so that they could be hidden from view. Hence, I have decided that
after the inspection my ID will remain hidden deep between my filopodia (and
constantly rubbed until my picture fades).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Gosh, the inspection. It’s
funny how even the most evil of things have something to fear. And if there is
one thing us tumor cells fear, it is the immune system. You see, they are the
ones who control what survives and what doesn’t in the human body. I’m guessing
it could be compared to the human police force, only the human police is not as
harsh: where you get a fine, or a warning, or even prison, we get death. There
is no middle ground with the immune system. There is no bluffing, or pleading. They
are not there to listen, or to be misguided: they are there to protect the
body. And anything that is not meant to be in the body will have to be disposed
of. Funnily enough, the immune cells have no eyes. Or ears, or noses for that
matter. So how do they know what’s meant to be there and what isn’t? Well, they
have a very simple, very ingenious system: they call it the antigen check. Now
don’t be alarmed at the world antigen, it’s all actually a very simple
principle: each cell, of every living being (human, animal, plant), or even of
every non-living thing (dust, dirt) has an antigen (which is basically an I.D.
stuck on top of its body like a flag). This antigen will be recognised by the
immune system, allowing it to understand if it’s a foreign body (non-self
a.k.a. terminate) or if it’s part of the body (self a.k.a. peace and love). For
each antigen (ID), the immune system will have a specific soldier at the ready.
Surprisingly, the immune system will create all soldiers particular to each
antigen before each human is even born: these little immune cells will be at
the ready, should you ever come in contact with whichever cell of whichever
creature it may be, to protect you. It’s as if your police force had the ID of
every person, born or unborn, ready in its files, just in case it ever came
across you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lucky for me, cancer cells have
discovered a way to go around this system: the standard norm states that if it
belongs to the body, it gets to stay. Now, unluckily for you humans, us cancer
cells are actually created by your bodies. Yes, we are mutated to something
that barely resembles a cell. And yes, we are evil (at least most of us are)
(not me! Not me!). But we are still technically <i>from</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>the body. Which means that, in most
cases, our antigens will be the same to those of the other healthy cells.
Hence, the fake I.D.s: if our antigens (I.D.s) state that we are from the body,
the immune cells will have to move on. And we could be saved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish the theory it-self would
be enough to keep us calm. We are a trembling mass as we await the
arrival of the immune cells. All seems quieter, or maybe it's just that for
once, there is a complete lack of whispering. It's as if even the healthy cells
surrounding us are aware that something is about to happen.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>One more heart-beat and then all goes
still: they are coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-55844532982081841362015-03-19T13:39:00.001-07:002015-03-19T13:39:15.503-07:00Hour 4: Chinese whispers<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Diary,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today a cell on the other side of the tumor went
through apoptosis (i.e. it died). We still haven't understood why this happened. Some say the cell was stressing too much
because lately we’ve had quite a lack in nutrients. Others thought it hadn’t yet learned how to
control its P53 levels. For you non-cells out there, P53 is what scientists like to call a tumor suppressor
protein. What it basically means is that in the fight against cancer, P53 is on the human side. It’s really good at detecting when the cell’s DNA has too many
mutations in it, and, when it does, it makes the cell die before it can become one of us. Like some kind of anti-zombie prevention. Most
of us tumors have learned to control our P53 levels, but some newly split cells are
not as fortunate. Like the cell that died today. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As you can imagine, it was awful: as soon as
people realised P53 was causing it to enter apoptosis, there was screaming, and
panic, cell were running everywhere and…ok, that’s not entirely true. Maybe there wasn’t
any chaotic running. We are tumour cells, we cannot run. We cannot even walk:
we are so stuck to each other we put superglue to shame. And maybe
there wasn’t any screaming... Cells can’t scream! If we could, each human would
be accompanied by a constant unexplained buzzing sound emanating from every
pore. Think a swarm of bees makes a scary sound? Well imagine what a crowd of
people could do if every cell would scream. And so, we whisper. Really softly. And
luckily, we are so tiny that even all of our whispers put together don’t make much
noise.. So that when we talk to each other, our human hosts just assume that the
noise they hear must be from their clothes brushing against each other, or the
wind…humans can be so naïve sometimes. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Well anyways, today the cell died. But before
it did, it whispered: ‘Oh no! Not p53’. This made the </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">neighboring</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> cells quite alarmed, and soon whispers of P53 started to spread. Only whispers don’t spread the way
words said in a regular tone would. Ever played ‘Chinese whispers’? Something similar
happened today. The terrorized murmurs of </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">‘P53!’, by the time they had reached my side of the tumor, sounded slightly different:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">‘Hey guys, pee filthy tree!’ ‘What?!’ ‘Huh?!’ ‘Hey, don’t be rude, say <i>pardon</i>’ ‘Hey cells, I think I’m growing, look! Look! Do you think
it’s G1??’ ‘<i>Pardon</i>’ ‘What’s a tree?’ ‘Pee filthy tree!!’ ‘Guys, I really think this
is it! I’m fatter!!’ ‘No, I don’t think you’re fatter’ ‘Pee filthy tree!’ ‘What’s
that cell saying?’ ‘I think it wants to pee’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It went on like this for the next half hour. By the
time we realised what was happening, the cell was long dead. And I wish the only
problem was its passing. You see, human cells don’t die as humans would: we don’t
have our life flash before our eyes. We don’t slowly follow the light and
peacefully pass on, with our faces angelic and a slight smile on our faces.
Cells implode. Literally. Our insides start degenerating, until they become 'outsides'. On every cells around them, outsides. You think the p53 murmur was a
cry for help? It was a warning to get out of the splash zone. But guess what, as we
are glued together, there was no getting out of anything. All I can say is that
I now feel like that dead cell is part of me…..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Overall, it was not the best hour of my existence. And
now we have a new problem to deal with: when a cell dies, immune cells come
round to get rid of its leftovers (they eat them). It’s purely for protection
purposes, they don’t want other cells insides to damage healthy cells around
them. The problem is cancers are not what you would call a 'healthy cell', and if the immune cells find out
we are here, they will destroy us. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So guess what? I’m off to get a fake I.D. They might even
take my first picture…wish me luck!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><span style="font-family: Euphemia, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-70153283164554845992015-03-17T11:15:00.001-07:002015-03-22T11:12:55.378-07:00Hour 3: A monstrous dilemma<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l8szHxM_0mk/VQ8F9LwBz8I/AAAAAAAAAB0/2-XtBJhZKWM/s1600/picture%2B5%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l8szHxM_0mk/VQ8F9LwBz8I/AAAAAAAAAB0/2-XtBJhZKWM/s1600/picture%2B5%2Bcopy.jpg" height="190" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I found myself facing the ethical conundrum which has
recently been associated with hormonal centenary teenage vampires: to eat, or
not to eat. I’m assuming for you humans the answer is always quite straight-forward:
you can decide which organisms cannot be sacrificed to your digestive system, and
eat anything that doesn’t belong to that list. For most other mystical
creatures the problem solves it-self too. Take the werewolves for example: they
eat like humans unless they have the misfortune of being under the spell of the
moon, in which case they turn into fluffy little pets with a craving for
vampires. But hey, even if they do end up eating a few vampires nobody minds
too much: vampires eat humans, so if vampires die, it’s a win-win for all. It
really all made sense until Twilight, and Vampire Diaries, and True Blood
appeared on your screens. Suddenly vampires with a good heart were born. Vampires
that dramatically fell in love with their food (I don’t think there is a human
equivalent for that, unless you ever found a burger attractive), and decided
not to eat it, only to valiantly eat squirrels and grizzly bears instead (I
wonder how often they found a hair in their meal). Humans promptly forgave the
sins of their past, and, sighting in awe, wished they too could have their very
own vegetarian vampire that would love them for eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well in my case, I feel like I’m the good vampire. Not because I’m an
extremely attractive cancer cell that starts sparkling when exposed to
sun-light. My thing has nothing to do with super-human speed and strength, or
random fangs sticking out of my membrane. Like most vampires, my survival would
mean the end of my human host. Yet still, I feel like I am the <i>good</i> vampire.
And no, it’s not because I’ve fallen in love with some oxygen molecule or
nutrient surrounding me. I mean, how can you fall for atoms? As tiny and
perfectly shaped they could be, they still don’t do it for me. I feel like I’m
that <i>good</i> vampire because I don’t want to have to destroy a life in order to
survive. Only I’m a cancer cell, and I don’t have my vegetarian options. Eating
wouldn’t mean the destruction of a human...not in the short term. But once I
become like them, like the other cells around me, once I start proliferating...well,
then it becomes a matter of time before I cause the end of my host. And ultimately,
of my-self.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent quite a while torn by the dilemma, fighting the
monster that I was to become. And yet at no point was I able to end it all, and
succumb to apoptosis. There was always this little voice inside me that cried in injustice.
And that’s when it came to me: I will not become what I was created to be. I
will fight the monster with all that I have, every minute of every hour that I
live. And I will find a way to become a normal cell, to get rid of the
mutations in my nucleus (heart). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People have learned to love a monster, when the monster
proved to have more heart than its prey. Maybe people will learn to love me too, one day. When the time is right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-24425809517173875692015-03-16T11:52:00.000-07:002015-03-19T13:40:44.596-07:00Hour 2: The cycle of life<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Time seems to pass by in a flurry of diffusion and CO2
release. All is quiet except for the distant rhythmic pulsing of the nearby
blood vessels and the occasional bustle of sporadic oxygen molecules. I wish I
could describe the amazing landscape that surrounds me, with the synergy of
cells working in unison to create…well, life. But unfortunately all I see is
pitch black. I can only distinguish my whereabouts by the different squidgy
sounds different organs make when I accidentally brush against them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All my neighbouring cells seem to be interested in is
proliferating. You will find them sticking out their membranes with an air of
superiority, importantly announcing to whoever is in their vicinity that they
are about to enter the M-phase. The ‘M-phase’! They won’t even call it by its
full name (mitosis) because they say only newly-split cells call it that. For
those human readers that are not cells, mitosis is the step where cells finally
manage to divide themselves into two identical copies. I mean, talk about being
narcissistic! Luckily, mitosis is not as easy as it sounds…cells first have to go
through the G1-phase (they call it the ‘growth phase’, but really, they just
get fat), then the S-phase (there they get to copy all the crappy stuff that is
in their heart, or nucleus…like DNA), and then another growth phase called G2 (the
cell’s equivalent of putting on weight, then stuffing its face more because the
diet starts tomorrow). Only once they’ve done all that, do they get to enter
the M-phase. But don’t worry, none of them are actually splitting. Nutrients
and oxygen are too scarce lately, and most of us wouldn’t be able to reach G1
even if we wanted to!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometimes, you will find a cell sneakily pinching its
mid-riff and, with an irritating air of supremacy, whisper in a strained voice
that it is time, it’s undergoing cytokinesis. These types of statements are usually
acclaimed with a tense silence, bursting with a mixture of jealousy and
curiosity. Yet, when after several minutes the cell is still formed by one
intact globule, with no trace of a contractile ring, most cancer cells will
begin to call its bluff. The shamed cell will then have to admit to still
having a single nucleus, and resume its plump shape. Believe it or not,
cytokinesis is the step after mitosis (I know, life is complicated for us
cells)…just picture it as the phase where the cell is now as gigantic as a sumo
wrestler, complete with double everything (organelle wise). Now picture a
person coming along and placing a really skinny belt on the belly of this
gigantic sumo, and insisting on tightening the buckle until the sumo actually
splits into two. Well there you have it, cytokinesis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As usual, nobody pays me much attention except for those rare
glances at my chromatin (I really need to comb that DNA of mine), just to make
sure I will not suddenly split myself into two and beat them all at it. Not
that I have any intention of doing so. I don’t really understand their
fascination for constantly bloating and splitting. Imagine your biggest aim in
life being to split into two? No thank you, I am perfectly comfortable sticking
to my Go-phase (the phase where you don’t bloat, and instead look toned and
gorgeous). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wonder if one day I’ll become just as pointless as the rest
of them. They told me it’s the ‘cycle of life’. I guess only time will tell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-61490812509670419562015-03-16T08:35:00.000-07:002015-03-22T08:53:02.135-07:00Hour 1: Anyone can blog<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wIaOBm5KVMc/VQ7lAkDi3VI/AAAAAAAAABk/aF-symIA_SQ/s1600/Picture4%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wIaOBm5KVMc/VQ7lAkDi3VI/AAAAAAAAABk/aF-symIA_SQ/s1600/Picture4%2Bcopy.jpg" height="202" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear diary,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today my mother cell split in two, and I came to life. You might have expected some kind of celebration for my arrival, but alas no. Most cells just continued with their daily tasks of proliferating (a disgusting process where they start growing until they look like they might explode, and then actually cut them-selves in half, and become two. Ugh!), or scavenging for rogue oxygen molecules (food is always scarce for us law-breakers). I was just one amongst a crowd of ugly looking cancer cells. Even my other-half (literally) decided to abandon me: after giving me the once-over, she decided it wasn’t wise for us to remain in close proximity or someone might notice we were wearing the same membrane (the human equivalent of wearing the same top). Unfortunately, as we are still a so called 'benign tumor' (i.e. all of us tumor cells have to remain clumped together into one unwanted blob), all my other-half could do was struggle to detach her-self from me only to finally give up, turn the other way, and pretend I was invisible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All in all, it wasn’t a great first hour of my life. It’s hard to feel special when you are surrounded by identical copies of you. They told me one day (as in tomorrow) I would have to grow and proliferate too (I shudder at the mere thought). They told me that proliferating was my purpose as a tumor cell…but I longed for a difference type of existence. And so I took matters into my own (metaphorical) hands, and decided to take the message from the cartoon ‘Ratatouille’ literally: <i>anyone can cook</i>. Ok. Mostly I took the ‘anyone can’ bit and added ‘blog’ instead of ‘cook’, but two out of three words is good enough. So here I am, and here I will be, relaying the adventures of my simple existence as I…grow?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">May I have found the key to individualism: may I be the first cancer cell to blog.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cell X.</span></span></div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960351643987840562.post-24803838811714357012015-03-16T08:34:00.000-07:002016-05-09T10:07:38.211-07:00To my human readers<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-duzPggI3Ys4/VzDDlstm3qI/AAAAAAAADow/SILVM5W-GDQUctaEmMjtMZZ49es-gOCVgCLcB/s1600/Even%2Bcells%2Bneed%2Btherapy%2Bsometimes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-duzPggI3Ys4/VzDDlstm3qI/AAAAAAAADow/SILVM5W-GDQUctaEmMjtMZZ49es-gOCVgCLcB/s400/Even%2Bcells%2Bneed%2Btherapy%2Bsometimes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Some people are born good, and taught
to be bad. Some are made bad by life. I refuse to believe that any human can be
born bad. Unfortunately, that is not true for us cells. Some of us are split
good. Some of us will just grow to fit our purpose and remain there until our
time is done. Others, however, will be born bad… when bad cells are split,
there is something misplaced in their heart (sorry, nucleus), something
sinister. These cells can either do the noble thing, and die...or they can live
to destroy. I am not proud to say, I was born a cancer cell. And as a bad cell,
I was born to end the same thing that was keeping me alive: my human host. But
unlike every great villain in most stories, I longed to be the hero. I was just
born on the wrong side. So, as unfortunately I cannot overturn my nature, let
me redeem myself by making the science behind my life accessible to you all.
Let me tell you the tales of my existence so that you will no longer have to
fear my presence. Let me show you how the struggle of scientists to ‘cure’ me
can affect us cancer cells on our daily routines. Let the day come where I will
no longer have to blog, as I will be no more. Such a noble cause should not be
reserved for the understanding of the elite: let science be for all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cell X</span></div>
</div>
Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02028996879543099038noreply@blogger.com0