WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS?

Ever wondered why we have sex? Why does cancer happen? Why do dogs age and sharks sleep?

Tassie science journalist Zoe Kean’s new book takes us behind the scenes of the evolutionary paradoxes that make up life on this planet. And explores whether these questions could uncover the secrets of a better life for humans and the creatures we share the planet with.

Illustration: soccer ball in grass.
I was a soccer kid, always kicking a ball around the dusty school oval at lunch time. There were goals missed, spectacular saves and slow-forming friendships made chatting when play was at the other end of the oval. But the most vivid memory from my soccer days is when an announcement came over the school loudspeaker: ‘Can Zoe Kean please come to the principal’s office?’ I do not remember the looks on my teammates’ faces, I just remember bolting the length of the school to get to that office. That morning my mother, Jackie, had been admitted to the Peter Mac Cancer Centre to have a lump removed from her breast.

I raced in and was told the surgery was a success and later that day my dad, John, and I visited Jackie in hospital. More than 20 years on, Jackie has recovered and the cancer has not returned.

The treatment was rough and hard. So were people’s reactions. When I told my friendship group – we were all about ten, old enough to know what cancer could mean – one of them screamed. At the time I was angry at her reaction – What a drama queen! – but I am more understanding as an adult, such is the fear we all have of cancer. Our fear is well-founded. People diagnosed with cancer in Australia between 2014 and 2018 had a 70 per cent chance of surviving after five years, meaning 30 per cent of those patients did not make it.
Pink and blue cancer cell illustration.
Briefly explained, cancer is the cells of your body going off script. They multiply uncontrollably and, left untreated, will wreak havoc on healthy tissue. Incomprehensibly, the body is attacking itself. The question it left me with is – why? Jackie was a very healthy 48-year-old when she had her diagnosis; she had quit smoking many years before, rode a bike, ate more vegetables than anyone I knew and had a vibrant social life. Why would someone who was doing everything right get cancer? And why does cancer strike so many of us?

Early in my career as a science journalist, I was scrolling through journal articles hoping to find an exciting research story to break. A paper on evolution, cancer and Tasmanian devils jumped out at me as if it was in flashing lights.

The Tasmanian devil is the world’s largest surviving carnivorous marsupial – that group of furry animals that raise their milk-fed young in pouches. They roamed mainland Australia and the island state of Lutruwita/Tasmania until around 3000 years ago when they disappeared on the mainland – most likely due to climate change, being hunted by dingos and pressure from humans.

They are cheeky things. I distinctly remember returning to camp on a university zoology trip to find another student standing helplessly beside a ripped tent. We watched on as the plump backside of a local devil lolloped away with a salami. My classmate was beside himself; he was on exchange from Europe, had borrowed the tent from our sternest professor, and he was down a sausage!
Illustration of a Tasmanian devil with sausage in mouth.
It is a good thing devils are plucky, as they are facing a great challenge. In the mid-1990s a female devil developed a cancerous tumour, most likely on her face or mouth. While fighting over a carcass or scrapping with a mate, she bit another devil. Then something strange happened. As she bit down, her cancer cells were transferred to her victim’s wound. The unruly cells survived and grew on their new host as a parasite. Soon after this incident, the female would have died, whether from the cancer or by other means. But her cancer cells lived on, spreading from devil to devil and killing individuals within months of infection.

The first hint of the epidemic came in 1996 when a photographer snapped a shot of an infected devil in the island’s north-east. Scientists scrambled to work out what was causing these disfiguring tumours, now named Devil Facial Tumour Disease or DFTD.

It was not until 2006 that researchers announced that DFTD was a contagious cancer. The chromosomes in the cancer cells were ‘grossly abnormal’, but across individuals they were almost identical, showing that they came from a single origin. Contagious cancers are rare, so this was explosive news. The only other vertebrate we know to be plagued by contagious cancer is the domestic dog.

To learn more I visited Rodrigo Hamede, a researcher at the University of Tasmania’s School of Natural Sciences. Hamede started working with devils in 2004, early in the epidemic, and he was distressed by what he saw. ‘I spent so much time in the field catching the same animals. You would see them in the pouch, then you would see them breeding, so you were attached to the individual. Then suddenly seeing them sick, deteriorating and dying was quite emotionally draining,’ he explains. At this time there was a real fear that DFTD might completely wipe devils off the planet within decades.
Illustration: A cage with a devil looking on.
Just as Hamede was losing hope for the species, he and his colleagues came across something miraculous: devils that were recovering from DFTD. ‘It was 100 per cent mortality until we were lucky enough to see the first animal with a small tumour regression,’ he says. This was in 2009, only 13 years since the first sick devil had been sighted. Was the species evolving to outwit the cancer? Soon, animals whose tumours were regressing were popping up all over the place. Hamede says: ‘Sometimes the tumours shrink, but don’t disappear, sometimes a tumour stops growing and the animal lives for another year and a half with the tumour not growing, and in some cases the tumour simply is just not there anymore.’

Tumour regression in humans does happen, but is vanishingly rare, with estimates from the 1960s suggesting it occurs maybe once in every 100 000 cases. However, because of the phenomenon’s rarity, these numbers are slippery. Spontaneous tumour regression is hard to study because of its infrequency. Additionally, there are ethical constraints in studying it in humans, as when cancer is detected there is a duty to treat it, so on exceptional occasions we may treat tumours that would have vanished anyway.

Hamede’s devils with their disappearing tumours could provide insights into how species evolve to suppress cancer once it has taken root in the body. Testing shows that individuals with tumour regression have a specific immune response not shown by devils whose tumours do not regress.
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This is an edited extract from Why are We Like This? by Zoe Kean, out now via NewSouth Publishing.
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