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J. S. Xander
Oct 9, 20206 min read

The Test – of – Sterone


STERONE was having a tough day. Actually it had been a tough decade.

The daily grind was the usual. Work would start in the morning. The powers-that-be upstairs would give the signal and STERONE knew it was time to produce. He was tired though, not like he remembered at the beginning. He’d always had countless energy then, but it had been a while…

STERONE always wondered how the Directors in the Brain kept the organisation of all the actors ongoing. There were so many workers in the human body. STERONE was part of the “Leydig cells” at the end of the chain of communication. He was responsible for making testosterone. An important molecule that made his human feel confident, strong and more focused. He used to be extremely proud of his work, but the long period of cutbacks and debilitation had left him demotivated. Everyone at the workforce was struggling with lack of interest. Morale was low.

Daily, he would get a sign from PIT, the pituitary gland, who in turn was controlled by the Hypothalamus – known by everyone as Big H. At the beginning Big H had been calm and controlled, a magnanimous presence among them. However, in the recent years he had changed and become more unpredictable. It was unsettling.


Mornings were peak hours, that was the height of production! Then, after some non-stop labour, they would reach the target amount and a second alert would come from big H to slow down. Eventually, upper management would start coordinating other body parts. STERONE would stay on call, reducing his work slowly, until finally the day would dwindle to a close.


Ever since his human had hit puberty, around fifteen years into STERONE’s existence, that had been the routine. It varied sometimes, for example when his human saw an attractive woman. Then, STERONE would produce a little extra.


At least ..for the first twelve years. At least... until the first crisis occurred.


It had started, not with a bang, but with a whisper. One day, the usual clear signal coming from big H, arrived foggy and disturbed, a barely audible murmur. This continued for a few days, and then, suddenly, big H went almost completely quiet. STERONE remembered being at loss of what to do. After over a decade of the same routine, he was left sedentary and non-operational. It turned out, the Hypothalamus was busy, far too busy with another gland.


He was screaming orders at AD, the adrenal glad, who was pumping cortisol and adrenaline on overtime. The stress chemicals whizzed around and made the entire body vibrate with energy. It was a different energy to that of testosterone, which STERONE crafted carefully and knew in all it’s rings and edges. Testosterone was deeper, aggressive and everyone knew it would quiet down at sundown. Instead, the intensity of cortisol and adrenaline was sharp and piercing. Like a shrill, high-pitched sound.

Of course, it was not the first time that cortisol and adrenaline had rushed into the mix, but they often vanished quite quickly. Not this time. Big H lost control of the situation and STERONE started to get worried. Was he out of a job? Their human was completely wired, tensed up with all the stress hormones, as they whizzed around and affected all the organs for days.


It was only when the muddles of atoms cleared that STERONE heard again from big H. A sign came through one afternoon and STERONE was told to start producing. A little rusty and shocked from the turmoil of having been thrown off-schedule, he started again, glad to be back in business. With a clearer and clearer connection coming from both big H and the pituitary gland, he managed to quickly get his head back in the game.


Their schedule slightly changed after that. He would start in the morning, slow down in the afternoon and then peak again at an odd time in the evening. This new timing left STERONE vaguely fazed, but still, it was good to be back at work. He was proud of his work. That was the case, at least until the second crash happened.


This time, business was closed for over six days.


Cortisol, adrenaline, DHEA, insulin and sugars took turns at whizzing around the blood stream.


STERONE was then put back to work and he started once more with less conviction this time. Then he stopped. And was told to start. And stopped. This cycle lasted for many many months.


STERONE felt like he was being periodically discarded and then kicked awake from his slumber. There was no routine. He would be forced to slog away at strange hours of the night with the Hypothalamus whispering or yelling instructions at intermittent periods. There was no logic, no structure, no reassuring cycle. Only chaos.


Unfortunately, the worse was yet to come.



They arrived in the night. In greater numbers than STERONE had ever seen. Wielding their oxygen-hydrogen groups like a weapon ready to bust through perimeters. To damage and react the cells surrounding them. The liver had only partially been able to stop them. They had breached all defenses and swarmed into the blood stream ready to create chaos. STERONE knew all about the poisonous nature of ethanols, but usually they were like adrenaline and cortisol. They used to arrive in small numbers and dis-appear briefly afterwards. Like an unwelcome visitor that didn’t stay very long.


It was the volume, the hoards of molecules which were invading the blood stream that left STERONE quivering in fear. He braced himself for what would happen, but nothing could have made him ready.


It was an assault.


STERONE was shaken by each unwanted reaction. He was bumped. He was knocked and smacked. The ethanols threw their electron pairs viciously at his structure. He was left after many hours, battered and dazed.


The next morning STERONE hadn’t recovered. He tried to check in for incoming signals from big H or PIT, but it was just a faint humming from the above. By the evening, STERONE was marginally better. Given a chance, he might have gone back to full health, but he didn’t know that the nightmare had only started. That evening they came again. In large insurmountable numbers and STERONE fought them once more. Agonizing over each moment.


The next night, they arrived with reinforcements and STERONE struggled to fend them off.

A few nights later, there were even more, this time the by-products of the reactions had come with them. They were much more cruel and toxic than the ethanols. Fighting them was an act of futile courage. STERONE coped with the slings being thrown at him and recoiled, waiting for the storm to pass. When it didn’t he resolved to protect the salvageable. There was no communication from Big H, not even a rumble or muttering from PIT.


It had been a fight. One STERONE was not prepared for and he had come out of tarnished.


STERONE couldn’t remember with clarity when it had stopped. He had only vague memories of brief moments of reprise. Of light breaking through the darkness of the storm. In fact STERONE had no certainty that the storm could not strike again. However, it was also true that life had been more regular for some time. In fact, STERONE could not confirm it, but he suspected that at one point some external help had arrived. An external chemical that had brought clarity to the system. Whatever it had been, STERONE was grateful for it. Eventually, the line of communication between him, PIT and big H had cleared up. STERONE had been relieved to hear from the upper management again.


Now, STERONE knew he wasn’t as dynamic and enterprising as he used to be. He was humbled daily by his diminished performance. Still, with each morning a small part of him sealed the scars of his fight, leaving wounds that would never heal but could be closed for some time. He kept on working, head down, despite what he had been through. He slowly and carefully forged the testosterone and released it. Hoping that his work would be a drop in the bloodstream to help them all recover from the war they had been through.


He didn’t feel any of his former strength and vigor. Instead depressed by his perceived weakness he moved on at a steady, lethargic pace.


He did not realise in fact, that it was precisely his attempts to move through the pain, despite what he had been through, that made him strong.



 

As usual – some references for you.

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