It Might Get Messy

Parasites and parasitic life styles seem sort of simple-minded and brute-force on their face. For many parasites, a simple balance between taking what they need from their hosts while making sure not to take so much that the host population is affected (after all, not only do you gotta eat, but all those generations of little parasites to come gotta eat as well!) defines things. 


But of course that’s just one end of a spectrum of evolution that gets incredibly complex. The creepiest parasites, and there is a surprisingly large number of them, take over not only the host’s physiology, but its psychology and behavior as well. There are fungi, for example, whose spores land on insects, and the mycelia—the “roots” of the fungus—burrow into the insects’s body (often these are ants or roaches of various kinds). While the insect is in the prime of its life, the fungus is careful to avoid the ant’s vital organs and feed only in nonlethal parts of the body. As the ant ages, though, the fungus takes over part of its brain. The fungus adjusts the chemical messages in the brain so that the ant crawls to the very top of a stalk of grass or weed, and then clamps its jaws tight on the plant. At that point, the fungus completes its job, consuming the brain and vital organs of the insect. Then the fungus produces spores, which are now nice and high in the wind and can spread good distances to find more hosts [1]. 


There are many other examples [2]. Toxoplasma acts like a sedative to rats, not only keeping them from panicking when they smell cat urine, but making them seek cat-favored places to hang out. Certain kinds of worms with partial aquatic life cycles get back to the water by triggering suicidal psychosis in grasshoppers, causing them to drown themselves and allowing the parasites the swim away.


Cancer isn’t usually viewed as a “parasite”, nor are its neurological effects generally considered major aspects of its pathology. But I can tell you this—one of the most devastating outcomes of cancer and its treatment is the fact that you, the victim, are not in control of your life. Or death. Or pretty much anything except how stoically you can take the pounding from both sides.


I realized this a few weeks ago after my first round of surgery. Doctor H scraped out all the lymph structure in the area likely to have acquired stray malignancies. This was done really as a precaution—there was no evidence at that point that my lymphatics were affected. But the cancer was large and advanced, and the odds were good that it had reached out and touched tissues beyond the obviously impacted right parotid gland. 


That surgery was supposed to be a landmark on the road to recovery. At that point, the cancer was gone from my body, and the future should have been under my control.


But it wasn’t. The failure of the surgery to stem the flow of lymph into my chest cavity meant I couldn’t get enough nutrition—particularly of the goopy gut-tube liquid—to get stronger. And I could feel it. Moving out of bed took serious effort, taking a short walk required Spartan commitment. Like one of those grasshoppers headed for the nearest farm pond, I was helpless in my own body.


So I went back in for another try. That was the surgery a couple weeks ago on a Tuesday. I knew by the time the anesthetic wore off that evening that we had failed again. I could feel that I was still fighting to keep myself from going for that swim.


That was why it was so important for Dr. H to come in that Friday with a fresh approach, an old hand, and a willingness to tackle the problem again right away. This time, by Saturday mid-day, I could feel a huge shift in my reality. Basically, I could feel that the flood of lymph had stopped, meaning that the last ongoing manifestation of the cancer and its treatment had been taken care of. Life—and recovery—were back under my control. The sense of panic—panic that there was nothing I could do to help repair myself—was gone. Oh, I still have the serious voice impairment, and the trouble swallowing, the inability to eat or drink by mouth, and the weakness that comes from 10 months without serious exercise. But those things are mine to fix now. Now it’s up to me to exercise, and straighten my voice out, and get myself eating real food. And maybe there are limits to how far that recovery goes, and for sure it’s going to take massive effort. But the worms no longer have my brain. I’m not hopping toward that pond, helplessly putting one leg in front of the other at somebody else’s bidding. I’m on my own and it’s up to me. 


Sure feels good!


Notes


[1] http://neurophilosophy.wordpress.com/2006/11/20/brainwashed-by-a-parasite/


[2] http://www.livescience.com/7019-mind-control-parasites.html