They say that the family is the cell of society. A person is compared to a cog in the state machine. We live in humanoids, elements of a social system, forming consumer communities, constituting target audiences, joining interest groups, and blending into the masses while simultaneously absorbing mass media. Yet at the same time, we are so unique, irreplaceable, individuals—personalities, distinct entities. It seems that this duality of part and whole has firmly taken root in our consciousness. Once you start thinking about it, the next step doesn't seem too difficult anymore.
Our organism is nothing more than a collection of cells that essentially don't even know about each other. And what appears from the outside as an incredibly complex and precisely coordinated mechanism turns out to be merely colonies of specialized single-celled organisms. For a while, they live together like good neighbors, even cooperating: repairing their shared home, repelling attacks by hostile viruses and bacteria. But then the fragile biochemical balance is disrupted, and the former unity disappears. Former friends become enemies, defenders turn into aggressors. Self-destruction begins, expansion, territorial reorganization: inflammation, autoimmune diseases, cancer...
I received this diagnosis about fifteen years ago. I remember the slightly embarrassed face of the young doctor who, almost apologetically, informed me that with my condition, there was no more than a year left to live. Now, it seems, I can say he was wrong. But why do I feel like *I* was the one mistaken? That damned duality again.
At the time, someone sent me a screenshot of an article or some link to a clinic in Belarus. Why? I had already almost resigned myself by then. But here was an experimental method, a limited number of volunteers, a success rate of up to 99%... And I fell for it. For those percentages. If only I had known beforehand that later I would envy that very remaining one percent.