The Immune Response: This Means War

We had a lecture today on the topic of the immune system.  The professor talked about all the different types of white blood cells, and what their individual jobs are during the immune response.

At some point, she must have said something about Neutrophils being the front lines.  She must have.  Because my brain instantly went into Analogy Overdrive. Marines!  They’re like the Marines! I thought.  As she explained more and more about the cells, the analogy just kept on going.  I kept waiting for her to say something that was going to destroy the whole story, but she never did.  It just worked.

After the class ended, I went to the professor and told her my new mechanism for understanding cellular immunity.  She’s a fellow analogy lover, so I thought she’d appreciate another perspective.  And she did appreciate it.  Right after she got over the shock that it was an analogy that I’d thought up all on my own.  Which took a while.  Anyway, she asked me to write it all up in an email and send it to her.

I went through three phases in response to this request.  Phase one was filled with thoughts like, “OMG, am so awesome. Teachers love me, la la la.  During phase 2, I realized that I have no time.  Certainly not enough time to be explaining elaborate immune-military reconnaissance missions to my med-surg professor. I complained about this duty during phase 2 to a classmate.  I said I needed to be studying instead!  She said, studying what? I was like, THE IMMUNE RESPONSE.  She said, um, writing that email is kind of like studying. That kicked me into phase 3.  For the duration of that phase I was mostly like um, holy crap, am I really about to send an email to my professor telling her about an alternative way to teach material that I truly have no grasp on?

Luckily, the risk of making a fool of myself has never, not once, stopped me from doing so.  Below is the very long, very nerdy, boring to most people email that I wrote my professor this afternoon.  Mostly I’m posting it because my father-in-law is going to truly enjoy the bit about Eosinophils.
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The Immune Response: This Means War.  Cellular War.

Neutrophils – The Marines of the Immune Response. The primary role of the marines is to go into a new zone and complete the first 30-60 days of war.  They’re the first men in, setting up camp, working on the front lines.  Just like Neutrophils in the immune response.  Elevated neutrophils indicates a brand new infection, just like the presence of the marines should indicate a brand new battle.

Then the Monocytes come in.  These guys are the army.  Specifically, they are the infantry.  They are the second group on the scene, taking over what the neutrophils have been doing, but in a more large-scale, endurance-oriented manner.  They are all attack-attack-attack, kind of in a general way.  They’re not real picky.  If you’re a foreign body that is present in an area after the Monocytes have been called to duty, you’re a goner.

When the army sets up camp, that’s when the Macrophages take the star role.  They are the army, but transformed from the infantry into a group with a more permanent residence.  That’s why they stick around so long, even after the battle has been long won.  (Macrophages have been known to stay elevated in the body for up to 6 months after all other signs of infection are gone.)  They’re the clean up crew.  Overthowing a government (beating an infection) takes a lot less time than cleaning up after the war and building a new government.  And that’s why the macrophages stick around for so long.  Their job is to clean up (by eating!) all the debris and junk that’s left over after the good fight has been fought.  Another time we see elevated macrophage levels is when the body has a chronic infection.  This is like what we see when the army sets up a full-blown camp whenever the war has taken a more “chronic” turn. We’re seeing the guys in Iraq and Afganistan do some patrolling, some rebuilding, and some general “cleaning of the streets” right now, similar roles to what the macrophages do weeks/months post-op.  Only the soldiers aren’t eating the trash.  Which is good.  Seems like that would cause indigestion.

The Lymphocytes are kind of The Generals of the immune reaction.  They show up after everything’s already a wee-bit settled in the immune response much like the generals wait until the more acute danger has passed before arriving in the war zone.  Then they play the role of coordinating the T-cells and the B-cells.  It’s their job to recognize the intruders/insurgent and point the armies of the immune system in the correct direction.  Plus, they’re the “stars of the immune response,” right?  Without the Officers/Bosses, the immune response is a little bit like the soldiers rushing onto the beach at normandy.  They just went on the beach and killed everyone that they recognized as foreign.  Then, after the craziness dies down, the Generals come in, start to help the soldiers focus their attack on a very specific group, just like the Lymphocyes help focus the attention of the immune response.

If you want to continue with the analogy, the Navy would have to be the T-helper cells.  They often play the wartime role of managing the transportation, feeding, supplies, and general care of the men on the ground. In certain situations, the Navy does see some combat, but it’s not as often.  And it’s very rare that the Navy runs into an attack like the Marines and Army.  (They have planes and ships for that.) The T-helper cells don’t play a primary attack role in the immune response, either.  They’re helpers.  They help grow T-cells, and basically work to maximize the capabilities of the other cells by doing anything they can.  As far as I know, the T-helper cells don’t have nukes, though, so that analogy might break down right there.

Eosinophils are a highly specialized type of cell that are activated when the body is having an immune response triggered by allergies.  As we all know, our bodies aren’t always our friends with it comes to allergies.  My body, for instance, thinks that Zack is an invader that needs to be stopped, lest he harm me.  So I don’t have to elaborate much more before it becomes obvious that Zack and his dad both will feel that Eosinophils are the Air Force of the immune response.  Highly specialized, usually misguided.  Bonus similarity between the two: they’re both known for taking short tours.

And down here at the end, that only leaves the poor, lonely old Basophils.  With their limited fighting capabilities and their primary role being listed as “carriers of stuff,” I’d have to guess that they’d best fit into the role of the Sea Bees.  Both could be defined as: A support crew that doesn’t kill anything.  Plus the Sea Bees surely had to be dedicated “carriers of stuff” when they were helping with the construction of the Panama Canal, which is the singular thing I know about the history of the Sea Bees.  Sounds like a match made in heaven.

I Feel Like a Zombie.

I woke up at seven and started doing homework.  And then I did homework all day.  Until seven, but on the p.m. side of things.

That’s 12 un-interrupted hours of homework on a Saturday.

I’m barely alive.

I feel like a zombie.  But I’m not. Which is good. Because Zack likes to kill zombies.  And it would be bad if Zack killed me.

Workout Word Vomit

By some miracle of nature (and of prioritization), I have exercised every day this week.

Navy Bryan, (my partner in crime nursing, and apparently, exercise), decided that he wanted to start working his way though a half-marathon training program.  Because we’ve been working out after class off-and-on all summer long, he asked me if I wanted to do the program with him.  He told me that he thought it’d bring some direction and focus to our workouts.  He wants to talk as many people as he can (our whole nursing class!) into starting a half-marathon training program. Right now.  At the beginning of our 18-hour jam-packed fall semester.  He is crazy.

I gently reminded him of what happened last time I ran a half-marathon.  Navy Bryan, having been in the Navy, isn’t much one for excuses.  He was all, “Whatever.  We’re doing this.”  I agreed that I would at least run the during-the-week runs with him, and some of the long runs, too, given that my gastrointestinal tract didn’t take to turning itself inside-out again.  In the case that my GI tract does, in fact, start crying foul, I’ll take it down a notch.  I seem to be able to run up to about 6 miles* without any warning signs of IMMINENT DEATH.  So am I running another half?  Meh.  I’m not that concerned with whether I am or am not right now.  Because before I can even think about if I can run another half, I have to think about getting to where I can run 3 miles.  Then 4 miles.  Etc.  I’m not getting carried away.

So, anyway.  That brings us back to my original point.  I’ve worked out every day this week.  Having a plan of action has proven itself useful.  On Monday, I ran 3 miles on a treadmill.  I walked 2 minutes per 10 minutes of running in a desperate attempt to get my heart rate to drop to the sub-190′s.  Yeah.  I said 190.  And my resting heart rate is below 60.  You doing that math? For those of you who don’t have heart rate calculators in your favorites: allow me to explain.  190, for me, is about three beats-per-minute away from CARDIAC EXPLOSION.

Tuesday was when we played the 80 minutes of racquetball.  (Update on that: I was more sore from this activity than anything else I’ve done all week.  I had trouble removing my sports bra the next day because my shoulder, and my thighs still ache from being in an hour-long squat. The giant bruise on my thumb seems to be fading nicely, however, and I think my toenail is going to hang on.  So, good news all around.)

Wednesday, I’ve already told you about, too.  It was “The Most Beautiful Day EVAR.” Holy Miley, that was a good day.

Thursday I ran 2 miles outside, no stopping, and faster than molasses!  Okay, I still went really slow, but it was faster than the day before.  And that day was a bonus, anyway.  I was supposed to be a non-running day, but I ran anyway.

And today!  Today I rode my beautiful road bike for one whole hour with Zack!  It’s so nice outside, we couldn’t resist hopping on the bikes and taking a (15-mile out-and-back) spin down some of the local river-side trails.  I talked his ear off the whole way out.  I would have talked his ear off the whole way back, too, (I have lots of nursing information to spill these days) but I couldn’t because the sun was setting.  Which means the bugs were coming out.  Which means I was getting pelted in the face by a hoard of gnats about every three seconds.  I spent all of my extra energy trying to not yawn.  Cause yawning would have resulted in the need for bug-flossing.  And nobody likes to floss gnats out of their molars.  Nobody.

All of this to say: I feel good this week.  Next week (or the week after that), when I start to say things like, OMG AM DROWNING IN NURSING HOMEWORKZ, and HAVE TESTS, CANNOT TAKE EXTRA TIME FOR PIDDLY THINGS LIKE EATING AND SLEEPING, remind me of this.  Tell me to go back to the post that I wrote on the 27th of August and try to remember how much better I felt after 30 minutes of exercise. I’ll need your voice of reason by then.  I’m sure of it.
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*I might have just figured out the problem.  I can count on one hand the number of times I have run 6 miles.  2.  I’ve run 6 miles 2 times.  I’ve run 8 miles 1 time, and I’ve run 13.1 miles one time.  I might have just figured out the reason that my body turned itself inside out on race day.  It might have been operator error.  Whoopsie.

On Cooler Temperatures

The temperatures here in North Texas took a 25+ degree nose dive today.  Everyone in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex has been celebrating in the usual fashion that we, as a human race, celebrate anything.  We’ve all been posting about it on facebook.

The actual weather? Grey skies all day long, coupled with the occasional bouts of drizzle.  Nevertheless, this has been my news feed, all day long, from every person I know: “OMFG WTF SO AWESOME TEH WEATHERZ!!!”  And other internet acronyms, as well.

I can’t blame them.  After suffering in 110 degree temperatures for EONS (so it seems), grey skies and drizzle are a welcome change when accompanied by 80 degree temperatures.  I’m not busting on people for relishing them online.  It’s just that I’m posting my OMG I LOVE THIS WEATHER updates on my blog rather than my facebook and that’s much more sophisticated.  MUCH more.

The reason that I bring all this up, though, isn’t just because It’s a fantastic excuse to use LOL speak.  (Though it is.) It’s because I took advantage of the cold front and actually ran outside for the first time in a million years.  Or since April.  Whatever.

Today it was me, Scout, and the limitless grey skies, out pounding the pavement together.  I miraculously accomplished 3 miles of (incredibly slow) running without having to stop-and-walk for the first time since my half-marathon.  My shuffle was dead-on with its song selection.

And you know how sometimes the first two miles of running are super hard and everything hurts until you break through some weird running barrier?  And then after that everything is okay for 10 whole minutes until your run is over and then you’re all, DAMN.  THAT WAS GETTING NOT SO TERRIBLE THERE AT THE END.  But the idea of running farther just to experience some more of the not-so-terribleness isn’t enough to make you actually keep going for more miles because, what are you, crazy?

Yeah.  That’s how my runs usually are.  But today it wasn’t.  Today it was slow and steady wins the race.  And after the first three minutes were over (the first three minutes are hard for me, always), I was like, woah! This doesn’t suck already!  YESSS.

When I got home I text messaged a buddy of mine, celebrating how awesome it was to run three whole miles for the first time in so so so long! FTW*! And he replied something like, “Well, duh.  because it’s freakin’ beautiful outside!”  I was like, hey!  Don’t try to explain my victory away, dude.  A win is a win, regardless of the weather**.

*FTW is “For The Win.”  I’m explaining that for my dad!  Dad mention! And Boo’ll never see it, buried way down here at the bottom of this long post! Sneaky!

**And as long as we’re putting things in their place, let’s get this one thing clear.  (I’m not complaining, but…) The weather is not “freakin’ beautiful.”  It’s just freakin’ REASONABLE for the first time since June. 110 is brutal.

Focusing on the Positive

Though I’m not thrilled to be done with our 2 week ‘summer vacation,’ I am glad to be getting back in the groove of things. I’m not trying to geek out and say that I’m totally pumped to be back in class because oh my gawd I’m such a nerd and I missed the hours and hours of reading and all that. (…Um, even though I kind of am that nerd? Though I truly didn’t miss the reading.) The best part about being back in class is that I no longer have to deal with the gut-wrenching anxiety I was having about starting the Fall semester.

Instead, I’m dealing with gut-wrenching anxiety about surviving the fall semester, but that’s an entirely different, and far more manageable kind of anxiety. Or at least, it’s a kind that I’m very accustomed to. There’s a familiarity about it, and that familiarity is the reason that this anxiety doesn’t keep me up all night like the other kind did. If nothing else, I’m resting easy in the idea that the semester is already in motion, and that at the end of it, I will have completed 1/2 of nursing school.

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Navy Bryan and I broke out our racquetball skills for the first time in about 3 weeks today. Over the break, I took some time to, ahem, actually look up the rules for how to play racquetball. Seems like something we’d have done a little earlier, right? But no. Up until today, we were just in a white box, smashing a little blue ball against the walls with an aggression previously unseen by the human race. Having looked up the rules, (or, at least a few of them,) we were forced to play (something similar to) a real game today. (We’re still missing some key information in the areas of serving and score keeping.)

Somehow, even though the version of racquetball that we’re playing now is significantly more challenging than the lawless, Mad-Max version we were playing before, I am much better than I was 3 weeks ago. I’m not sure if all that relaxation was good for my hand-eye coordination or what, but I had a much lower “Hit vs. Airbender” ratio than usual. Bryan and I matched each other point-for-point for 80 minutes. I absolutely love the catharsis of getting into that court and smashing the hell out of that ball for a while.

Of course, I still had my Airbender moments. (Today I even mixed in a very Matrix-esque move that I’m going to video soon so that you can see it. It’s that good.) And I’m not so superior in my racket handling skills that I’m above occasionally smashing myself on accident. I crashed my racket into my left hand (directly on the knuckle at the base of the thumb) with such vigor that I busted the blood vessel that runs over the joint. The entire base of my thumb is the color of a eggplant and sore to the touch. Win. At first I welcomed the hand pain, though, because it took my mind off of my toenail. My left big-toe was throbbing because I’d just done an insane move while trying to get the ball, resulting in the jarring, and subsequent seperation (and soon, I fear, death) of my toe nail. These injuries have only proven to me that my love for racquetball is a ferocious monster that can’t be tamed; despite the pain in both my left-side limbs, I can’t wait to go back and play again.

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It was raining outside today when I was running towards the gym. As I was passing the office where I used to work, I saw my boss walking towards me. He was without an umbrella, head-down in the rain, looking a little bit miserable.

Now, a word about my old boss: I absolutely adore him. He’s the best man I’ve ever worked for, hands-down, and one of the greatest people I know. If I hadn’t been so desperate to be a nurse, I would have worked happily for him until the day one of us retired.

Needless to say, I was happy to run into him. I stopped to say hello and hug his neck. We scurried under an awning and proceeded to have a rapid-fire conversation about how my summer semester was, how the fall semester is starting, and what’s been going on with me. He told me how proud he is of me for doing the program despite the hurtles that I’ve faced. His eyes lit up with excitement as I told him about how much I am enjoying it. And, like any good authority figure, he was even more pleased to find that my grades are tip-top and that I get along with all my professors. Plus, he knows the true way to make women happy:

Boss: You look skinny! Like, good skinny!
Me: Thanks! I’ve been trying!
Boss: So, is it hard?
Me: What, nursing or getting skinny?
Boss: Both!
Me: Yes. But I love it.

Running into him (or any of my former co-workers), always makes me a little nostalgic for the days when I worked there. That job came with the world’s greatest time off policy, school holidays, a fun staff, and the best boss ever. What it didn’t have was: homework, stress, a constantly changing schedule, overwhelming hospital days, wake up calls at 0500 hours or medication work sheets. I’d fear I’d made a terrible mistake if I wasn’t 100% sure that I need to be a nurse.

So I’ll choose not to miss the days when my afternoons and evenings were all mine, and when most of my ‘work day’ was spent jacking around on the internet. Instead I’ll choose to bask in the warm glow of my former boss’s approval and continually try to convince him to go work at a hospital so he be my boss again some day soon.

(Not A) Dog Bed

I took some pictures of the (Not A) Dog Bed for you.

Isn’t it pretty?  I’ve had that fabric forever; I’ve been saving it for the perfect project.  And I finally found myself a perfect project.  Except the dang dog still won’t sleep on it.  Not for love or money.  Or for milkbones or peanut butter.  We’ve tried everything.  It’s tragic!  Because look at the cuteness!

Good news, though.  I found someone who’s willing to sleep on the (Not A) Dog Bed.

Cruz to the rescue.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.  Cruz loves to sleep.  It’s his number one love.  Plus, one of his favorite activities in the world is sleeping right on top of whatever I’m working on, whether it’s a craft or a nursing school book.  This bed is the perfect kitty combination of a.) sleeping and b.) sleeping on something I worked on.  So it’s official.  The (Not A) Dog Bed is now Cruz’s Domain.