Wednesday 29 April 2015

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

Wednesday 15 April 2015

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 

Wednesday 1 April 2015

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