The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

I never thought I could be as engrossed in a book about cell research and science as I have been in reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. This was a book that made me cry and made me giggle and it made me cringe as it filled me with wonder – and then gratitude.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is the story of a woman whose cells are harvested, without her knowledge or consent,  and of what happens to those cells.

It is the story of how those cells go on to become immortal, multiplying like no other cells had ever done before. Scientifically named the HeLa cells, they are known and used by researchers, scientists, and doctors the world over, even making the trek into outer space and being detonated in an atomic bomb.

It is the story of a poor young mother, a tobacco farmer, who dies of cervical cancer and leaves a husband to raise five children, who live in poverty and fear of doctors and who learn of Henrietta’s cells decades later.

It is the story of how Henrietta’s cells, excised as she is prepped for radiation treatment of her cervix in an attempt to halt the cancer cells that will ravage her body and ultimately kill her. These cells are distributed around the world and are as vital in stemming the polio epidemic of the ’50s, as they are to DNA research and gene mapping, in vitro fertilization, cancer research and treatment, and the HPV virus. Each and every one of you reading this has most likely benefitted from Henrietta’s cells in some way.

It is also the story of Rebecca Skloot’s determination to learn about the woman whose cells she first learns about at the age of 16 in a biology class. It is her journey in scientific research, discovery and creative nonfiction writing as she slowly gains the trust of the Lacks family, particularly Henrietta’s daughter Deborah.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is about medical ethics, cell research, race, gender, social class – and a whole lot more. It is also an exciting read, at times a thriller, it reads like a novel, and is the kind of science lesson you’ll wish you had in high school.

I thought of my mother-in-law, Carolyn, as I read this book. She, too,  had cervical cancer, in the early 1970′s. She had radiation implants then a hysterectomy and went on, cancer free, for two decades, until her heart failed her. I couldn’t help but remember her as I read this book and realize that the research done through Henrietta’s cells benefitted Carolyn in her own treatment.

I have been telling everyone lately about the book, driving my family and friends to distraction, and I really can’t wait to discuss this tonight at our book group – or with you, dear reader, here on the Cutoff.

(Rebecca Skloot has a wonderful site about the book and there are some great pictures aside from the ones in the book. The pictures can be found HERE, and you can click on to the rest of the site for more information, including hearing the author speak.)

Nesting

I’ve just been doing a little “nesting” these past few days, catching up on some chores and finishing The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks for our book discussion on Thursday. I hope you are all well.

A sermon of sorts

The morning awoke in a mild-mannered mood. We were sitting together in church, which we get to do most Sundays when it comes sermon time. Tom plays guitar during the service. I save him a spot near the aisle next to me so we can have some time at church together.  Just before it was time for him to leave my side, I jotted a quick note about the arboretum. With a nodding of heads, a plan was quickly in motion to head there right after church.

Mid-morning was changing its mood by the time we left the church parking lot. See what happens when you pass notes to your beau during the sermon? Undaunted, we drove west to the Morton Arboretum.

 After a quick purchase of coffee in the visitor center, we headed outdoors. With more than six inches of snow, it was a good day for snowshoers and cross-country skiers, who were out in good numbers as we wandered about on foot. It looked like fun, but, you will remember my story of cross-country skiing and Campbell’s tomato soup. In case you don’t, or didn’t read it, you can find it here. Enjoy the laugh.

A we walked, a stiff wind kicked up. We really weren’t appropriately dressed for a hike, but round the small lake we went, sipping our coffee and quickening our pace as we enjoyed the stark beauty of the winterscape.

As bleak and cold as midwinter can be here in the midwest, there is such ethereal beauty in it .

Winter is also the best time for seeing the structure of nature. The bones of a garden are laid bare and the strong lines of trees and shrubs are evident, as are the fractures and breaks among the bark and limbs. Winter is a time for nature’s rest and for man’s assessment and appreciation.

It is also a time when the evidence of good four season’s planning shines through. I found this true when we rounded a soft bend and this river birch came into view. So well placed were the grasses surrounding it that they gave the illusion of water. The colors of the peeling bark and the stems of the grasses were in agreement with each other – gave the feeling of another sermon on a Sunday morn.

It also brought to mind Robert Frost’s Birches. As I looked for the poem, I came across this website with a recording of the poem.

A once-in-awhile day

Isn’t  it wonderful when a once-in-awhile day brings the simplest of pleasures? When  a walk to the mailbox finds a letter from a loved one? A parcel you’ve been waiting for arrives, that book you ordered or a handmade craft from Etsy waits inside. Your favorite magazine, perhaps? I am close to giddy when one of my two favorites arrive. Victoria or English Home, hopefully not on the same day for that would be way too much excitement. I set the magazine aside, on an end table or a chair, and I savor the wait. First a chore, then tea, brewed and steeped with care. Sometimes I wait until later in the evening when the lamps are on and the mood is just right.

Do you ever have a once-in-awhile day where the greatest gift it brings is something unexpected in your mail?

I had a once-in-awhile day on Friday. After safely arriving home as the snow was falling, I brought in my bag of groceries and put on my boots and my long, hooded coat, camera in one pocket and cell phone in the other, and headed down our long driveway to the mailbox. The camera, of course, was for pictures. The long coat with a hood for protection from the elements. The cell phone in case I fell and needed help. It happens.

Our mailbox is at the road. Our drive narrows as it reaches the road. After a significant snowfall, it starts to feel and look like a snow tunnel – one Beatrix Potter would paint. New fallen snow is quiet and pristine and the landscape takes on a new personality. The world seems fresh and new for a time. There is a smell to snowl that is hard to explain, though I’ve heard it compared “oddly enough like apple blossoms”.

There wasn’t much mail on Friday, which was okay. The walk was worth the effort just the same. I could hear a chickadee  making her presence known and a few deer were watching, the snow catching on top of their hides like feathers from a pillow. The few cars on our road made a slow, crunching sound with their tires as the passed and the only signatures on the snow were my own boot prints.

It was a once-in-awhile day.

The walk to the mailbox and back was the only gift that I received.

The simplest of pleasures, indeed.

Snow flakes

 by Emily Dickinson

Snow flakes.

I counted till they danced so

Their slippers leaped the town,

And then I took a pencil

To note the rebels down.

And then they grew so jolly

I did resign the prig,

And ten of my once stately toes

Are marshalled for a jig!

Yarding up

Our neighbor’s front lawn was like a page out of a children’s magazine. The puzzle page, in fact. The one where you have to find ten things that are wrong with the picture; an upside down umbrella where the mailbox should be, or a boat in the middle of the driveway with someone who has just caught a fish.

It was a bit like a page out of Where’s Waldo.

Winters can be harsh here, especially for the deer population. With few natural predators in an urban area, their numbers have escalated over the years. With less and less natural forests for them to find food and more looking for it, winters become an even bigger challenge for them. Snow cover makes it harder for them to find vegetation and frigid temperatures bring on a fragile existence. In winter, the deer often wander in large groups to conserve energy. When it is very cold, they will huddle close together to keep warm. This is called yarding up.

 It was late afternoon when I passed our neighbor’s house. It as quite cold, but the sun was still out. The herd was comfortable standing and grazing. Yarded up.

Yarded up. Sounds a bit like football – or presidential primaries.

If you click the left picture once, you will see quite a few deer. If you click a second time and scroll across, you should count at least fifteen. The picture on the right is a bit blurry, but, if you click you can see one of the three bucks that were part of the crowd.

Sunshine on my shoulders

It was a welcome gift to see the sun slipping in this morning as I came down the stairs to start my day.

It’s rays slid through the kitchen, down the  hallway, and settled on a piece of pottery. In a few days, the sun will tire of the piece of art, and illuminate something else. For today, it chose this pot, giving the illusion of the sun shining on our earth.

It teased me for a minute or so,  then kissed my mother’s cheek. I’ve been thinking about my mom lately, remembering coming home for lunch from school on a cold day like today. I’d tumble in the back door to some hot soup, or a chicken pot pie, maybe some leftovers from the night before.  I think my mom must have sent the sunshine my way today.

 I thought of her all day and I kept humming this John Denver song.

“Sunshine on My Shoulders”.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGC1UjVJ99I

Hitty, Her First Hundred Years

The dusting is done, the wise men are back in the box with the carolers and the nutcracker, the ornaments and the stars. Oh, a few wreaths are still hanging, for wreaths embrace all seasons, don’t you agree? I’ll admit to a few books still out, hopeful that I will pick them up and read them still, but, for the most part, the house is settled down . . .

. . . or so I thought as I settled myself down only to be rather rudely “goosed” by the extension wand from the vacuum cleaner. It was  hidden in the folds of the couch.

After a few grumbles, then a giggle, for I know who left it there, I got to thinking of Hitty: Her First Hundred Years, by Rachel Field.

Do you know the story? It is charming adventure for young readers. I used to have the original issue like the one shown above, but can’t seem to find it. There is an updated, which I did find. While it is altered a bit, it is still a delightful story.

Hitty is a wooden doll, made especially out of ash for Clarissa, who lives in Maine. When Clarissa and her family set sail for foreign lands, Hitty embarks upon all sorts of adventures, which she tell us about in her diary of her first one hundred years. She falls off of a boat and is rescued, becomes the doll of a missionary’s child, is the prize of a tribal chief, meets Mr. Lincoln, and on and on until she becomes what is akin to a National Treasure. She even lives in a basket with a snake charmer, then the daughter of missionary whose name is Thankful.

Thankful, embarrassed that her doll isn’t as fancy as the dolls of other girls, stuffs Hitty into the “sofa innards”, where Hitty languishes for 15 years before she is finally rescued.

I thought about Hitty being stuffed into a sofa for so very long as I put the vacuum wand back where it belonged. How sad that would be for a little wood doll to be stuck with nothing but the lint and the sofa change.

Then, being me, I wondered if there was anything else stuck in our sofa, like some M&M’s or some peanuts.

I think I’ll just go and rock for awhile and imagine what adventures this little doll could go on.

Have you found any treasures stuffed in your sofa lately?

I Have a Dream

Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D. C. is considered one of his most memorable speeches. Many of us remember when it was first spoken. Some of us memorized it in school.

On this, our national holiday honoring Martin Luther King, I wanted to share with you a very special rendition of “I Have a Dream” was given recently by Washington D. C. schoolchildren at the Lincoln Memorial. This aired tonight on PBS’s Newshour.

www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/social_issues/jan-june11/dream_01-17.html

Liebster Redux

Nice things from nice folks just keep happening to me and one is from Perpetua from Perpetually in Transit, who nominated me for a Liebster Blog Award. I am so touched by her kindness and grateful for her words. As I was just recently honored last month, I will direct you to the post acknowledging it, but, I do hope you will take the time to visit Perpetually in Transit and read the wonderful blogs Perpetua writes from across the pond in Wales. She has such a spiritual warmth about her that I know you will like and she has listed some of her favorite blogs, which we can all explore over the next few days. So, without further ado, here is Perpetua’s blog.

Thank you, Perpetua; for the kind words and for introducing us all to such fine blogs you visit.

My post on the Liebster Blog award can be found here.