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 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