Hour 15: Resistance is futile

Dear diary,

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.

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.

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.

'Me too, what?' I asked.

'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.

'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:

'It's not weight gain, you dummy. It's our time! Finally: Interphase.'

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.

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. 

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.

Cell X

Hour 14: The hallmarks of freedom -Part II

Dear diary,

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.

'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.'

'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.' 

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. 

‘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:

‘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.’ 

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.

‘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.'

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.

'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. 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.'

'So what happened to him? To Neo?' I asked.

'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.'
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.

Eventually, Selena looked at up at me.
‘X?’ 
‘Yeah?’ 
‘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. 
‘No.’ I answered reassuringly. 
‘And you would tell me if you knew one, right?’ she continued. 
‘Of course.’ I replied smiling. 
‘Promise?’ She whispered. 
‘Promise’. I nodded.

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.

Cell X

Hour 13: The hallmarks of freedom -Part I

Dear diary,

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. I had no idea, back then, that she was about to tell me the story of my existence. 

'It all happened a few weeks ago. Those were good times, all cells lived in synchrony. 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.'

'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.' 

'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.'

‘Neo?’ I interrupted. ‘Like in the matrix? Was it because he was the one?’ I asked eager. She looked at me confused. 

‘No’ she clarified ‘Neo as in neoplasm..an uncontrolled growth of cells?’ I nodded, slightly disappointed, and urged her on.

                                         ...to be continued.

Hour 12: Selena

Dear diary,

I opened my eyes to find her staring at me. 
‘How did you do that?’ she whispered in shock. 
‘Do what?’ I asked. 
‘How did you come out of senescence?’ she explained. 
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 embarrassment, 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:
‘I wasn’t senescing.’ I said avoiding her eyes. 
‘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. 
‘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. 
‘But…your eyes were closed.. You weren’t proliferating..I..’ 
I stopped her in her tracks: ‘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.’ 
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. 
She startled me when she broke the silence:‘You look different.’ It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She clearly wasn’t giving up easily. 
‘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. 
‘Oh really?’ she asked airily ‘What’s your name?’. 
Finally a question I could answer. 
‘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. 
‘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. 
‘I..’ My voice cracked and my mind reeled. Come on, think! I took a calming breath and faked shame.
 ‘I wasn’t assigned a name yet.’ The look of terror didn’t leave her eyes, as I urged on:‘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. 
‘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.
 ‘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. 
‘It’s ok.’ She said. Her forfeit was like honey. ‘I over-reacted. I guess…’ she looked away. ‘I guess you weren’t there. You... didn’t know’. Her last whisper was almost to her-self. 
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.
’So what’s your name?’ I asked, smiling encouragingly. 
‘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. 
‘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).

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. 

Cell X

Hour 11: Rules of good conduct

Dear diary,

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.

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).  

Now that I was glued to this new cell, I hurriedly tried 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 disorganized. I had to make sure 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 her 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 neighborly 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.

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.

Cell X

Hour 10: Insomnia

Dear diary,

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

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

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

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

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

Cell X

Hour 9: Drink respons-hic-ly

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

Deer dairy,

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

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

Excell

Hour 8: Betrayal

Dear diary,

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.

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!

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 behavior: 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.

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?

Cell X

Hour 7: They-who-cannot-be-named

Dear diary,

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.

CAUTION: Not for the faint tongued.

A for antigen

B for basophils

C for cholecalciferol

D for dendritic cells

E for eosinophils (pronounce that, I dare you)

F for the very rude word you might be thinking right now

G for gamma delta T cells

H for major histocompatibility complex

I for interleukins

J for just stop trying

K for keratinocytes

L for leukotrienes

M for macrophages

N for natural killer cells (take that, James Bond)

O for the shape of your mouth as you read this list

P for prostaglandins

Q for questioning scientists sanity

R for really, you are still trying to pronounce them?

S for state of your tongue by this point

T for T lymphocytes

U for urine (did you know it was full of pathogens?)

V for vescicle

W for why. Just why.

X for xanthoma

Y for ‘You’, i.e. what we would call each other if our names were on this list

Z for the sounds the audience make when people use these names.

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.

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 eating 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.

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.

Cell X 

Hour 6: The blind wanderers

Dear diary,

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.

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 patronus.  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.

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!

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.

Cell X

Hour 5: Even evil fears

Dear diary,

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).

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.

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 from 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.  

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. One more heart-beat and then all goes still: they are coming.

Cell X

Hour 4: Chinese whispers

Dear Diary,

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. 

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. 

Well anyways, today the cell died. But before it did, it whispered: ‘Oh no! Not p53’. This made the neighboring 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 ‘P53!’, by the time they had reached my side of the tumor, sounded slightly different:

‘Hey guys, pee filthy tree!’  ‘What?!’  ‘Huh?!’  ‘Hey, don’t be rude, say pardon’ ‘Hey cells, I think I’m growing, look! Look! Do you think it’s G1??’  ‘Pardon’  ‘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’.

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…..

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. 

So guess what? I’m off to get a fake I.D. They might even take my first picture…wish me luck!

Cell X

Hour 3: A monstrous dilemma

Dear diary,

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.

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 good 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 good 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.

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).

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.

Cell X

Hour 2: The cycle of life

Dear diary,

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.

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!

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.

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).

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.  

Cell X

Hour 1: Anyone can blog

Dear diary,

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.

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: anyone can cook. 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?

May I have found the key to individualism: may I be the first cancer cell to blog.

Cell X.

To my human readers

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.

Cell X