Today at work I was researching the tissue origins of different cell culture systems that we have available to use in the lab. "Cell culture" refers to the process by which we can take mammalian cells and grow them in petri dishes. Mammalian cells are much more complicated to grow than bacteria, and the best growing cells are usually derived from tumors, which have already escaped the normal growth inhibition experienced by most cells in the body.I study the brain, so I was looking up various cell lines derived from brain tumors. For extra background, I looked up information about the cancers on Wikipedia. Neuroblastoma and medulloblastoma are particularly nasty brain tumors that appear most often in children.My career in medical research often requires me to read horrid descriptions of truly awful diseases, and I have become impervious to emotional reactions of any kind when reading about diseases. Today, though, I was gripped with horror as I read the descriptions. Instead of calling up my standard mental image of a human brain to localize the various abnormalities, I found myself imagining the crippling cancers growing inside the brain of my five-month-old son. Even as I type this, I can't seem to escape the vivid (to me, anyway) image of a medulloblastoma growing inside of Max's fourth ventricle.I've written about the happier face of this protective instinct in myself. I guess the protective instinct has an anxious side that even jaded scientists like I am not immune to. I guess I'll reassure myself with lots of smiling pictures of my adorable (and, thank goodness, cancer-free) baby boy.
Katie and I had a heated discussion the night before last. We were sitting on the couch watching Jon Stewart when she noticed a large, apparently cancerous growth sticking out of the bottom of my foot. She asked what the big lump in my sock was. "That's my toe," I responded, nonplussed. I had crossed my first and second toes, causing a lump to protrude from the bottom of my sock. Katie was quite alarmed. "You can cross your toes?" "Sure, can't you? Everyone can cross their toes!" "Of course I can't cross my toes. Who can cross their toes?" And I confirmed that Katie could not, in fact, cross her toes. Even manipulating her toes with my fingers, I could not get her toes to stay crossed. She just has very short toes. That led, of course, into a discussion of who was the freak. Were my long, crossable toes abnormal, or were her stubby, uncrossable phalanges the outliers? In case you're confused, here are some pictures. First, of my v...
Gosh he is cute! love the big blues and awesome smiles!
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