The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

On Monday night, the Community Center welcomed author Rebecca Skloot to speak about her book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Skloot, along with members of the family of Henrietta Lacks (about whom the book was written), and representatives from the Johns Hopkins Institute of Bioethics were in attendance to speak about this incredible story and the implications it holds for the health care debate, and for social justice in general. In typical Community Center fashion, the place was packed, there was hardly a seat to be had, and CBS Sunday Morning even came out to film! (though I don’t think I got on camera, I was too busy finding folding chairs for everyone…oh well, my time to shine will come!)

Henrietta Lacks was an African American woman living in East Baltimore during the first half of the 20th century. She was diagnosed with cervical cancer by doctors at Johns Hopkins Hospital, and she died in 1951 in her early thirties. Before she died, doctors took some samples of her tissue to run tests (without her knowledge), and they eventually discovered that Henrietta’s cells were “immortal,” meaning that, basically, they don’t die. Doctors and scientists put them in numerous test tubes and Petri dishes and the result was always the same; Henrietta’s cells outlasted all others.

This, of course, excited doctors, and soon her cells were being grown and shipped all over the world in order to be tested on and experimented with. Lack’s cells, which were eventually knicknamed “HeLa” (for HEnrietta LAcks), were even flown into outer space. Though Hopkins has claimed that the hospital never made any financial gain from the distribution of her cells, it can be assumed that millions of dollars have been exchanged because of the work that continues to be done with these cells.

The issue that Skloot is trying to grapple with in this book is the issue of bring Henrietta's story to life. Primarily, she was able to tell the story of a woman whose own descendants were not aware of, not to mention the millions of people who have worked with HeLa cells. She succeeded in giving life to a woman who has been dead for sixty years, though her cells continue to live on.

Most of the questions from the audience were centered on recognition and compensation, and here is where I think this story fits into a larger perspective. Fact: though many people (doctors, scientists, etc.) have benefited financially and intellectually from the existence of Lacks’ cells, the Lacks family has not. Fact: the Lacks family is struggling economically, and cannot afford healthcare. Fact: Henrietta’s own son, Sonny, has a $100,000 hospital bill, and is uninsured.

The question is, how does this story get resolved? Many people in the audience were calling for Hopkins to financially repay the Lacks family for Henrietta’s cells, but the hospital is currently not prepared to do so. As I think more about this story, the issue becomes more complex, and the questions become more difficult to answer. The initial act of taking her cells occurred over sixty years ago; how long is too long to give credit to someone? HeLa cells are currently not patented; should the Lacks family patent them, or are they in such widespread use that it would be like someone trying to patent water?

And what does this story say about a system that allows the cells of a woman to be fundamental in numerous medical innovations that have saved countless lives, yet that woman’s family can’t afford to see a doctor?

Though I believe all these complex questions about rights and property and science need to be addressed, I think that the public image of Johns Hopkins Hospital would go a long way if it just took care of the Lacks family’s medical bills. Hopkins has claimed it never profited off of Henrietta; I don’t think that matters. As a leader in science, medicine, and education, as well as being arguably the most recognizable name in the city of Baltimore, I feel it would do wonders for its relationship with the public if it took care of Sonny’s bills, and made sure that this family does not want for anything medically-related. They are not asking for much, just some security for their health (hey, isn’t that what everyone in this country is asking for?). Come on, Hopkins, it’s the least you can do.

I had mentioned to Mr. Moore earlier in the day that I might be interested in reading this book, and like the wonderful boss he is, he ended up buying me a copy! So of course I got it signed by Skloot and the members of the Lacks family (including Henrietta’s great-granddaughter), and I can’t wait to start reading it. I’ll let you know how it is.

Also, this story should be airing on CBS Sunday Morning sometime in March. Keep an eye out for it!- and you’ll also be able to see Rebecca Skloot speak into the American Idol karaoke machine microphone that I use for my music class! See, I am famous!

Adventus

These are lyrics to a song I wrote about a year and a half ago, and this piece appeared in the 2009 edition of SJU's Crimson & Grey Literary Magazine. At the time, I was in the contemplative mood of imagining the return of Jesus to our society. What would he see, what would he think? Would he be comfortable here? Would we be proud to show him all the human race has accomplished? These were the questions I had, and I tried to answer them through the form of an open letter from Jesus to the big man upstairs, God. Now, as I go through this JVC experience, I find these questions are even more relevant. Anyway, it's called "Adventus"- enjoy, and let me know what you think.
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Adventus

You sent me back down to the place where I was killed.
You said, "There's babies on the corners and there's kids popping pills.
They're ending the lives of those who needn't have died,
And you know just how it feels to be crucified."

It had been a long while since I'd been through this town,
So I decided to see if my friends were still around.
But Paulie lost his head, and Petey went with him,
And Johnny? Well, they caught him and threw him in the prison.

And Old Man Laz, well, he's still waiting for his therapy,
And they say Tommy don't want nothing to do with me.
And my girl Maria, she's back to turning tricks again.
You know Mr. P's still got the cleanest hands of all of them.

You told me to go back to the school where I once taught,
But they knocked that shack down and put up a shopping mall.
Every day and every night they go and pray to their gods,
But this time they have weird names, like Gabbana and Vuitton.

I couldn't take it anymore!
So I caught the first train to the Dead Sea Shore.
But even the Dead Sea Shore wasn't the same as before,
Because all the fish were green, and the water wasn't pure.

I thought that maybe I could find some wood
And use my hands to carve a living, like a good boy should.
But the funniest thing, Pop, I've found in this town
Is that all of your trees have been cut to the ground!

They've got the tallest buildings that I ever have seen,
But they still don't have homes for folks out on the street.
And every night, there's some guys who eat like kings.
And every night, there's some guys who don't eat anything.

So I was walking down the road, wondering what to do.
I had my hands in my pockets and a hole in my shoe,
When some young punks came up and hit me from behind
And sneered at me, "Let him turn his tears into wine!"

They left me for the vultures on the side of the road;
They stole all my belongings and they broke all my bones.
And from every passerby, there was no offer of aid.
I guess for bums out on the street, there's not much worth to save.

I kept praying and praying for the end to come.
I asked you, "How could you twice decided to forsake your son?"
When at that moment, I heard some footsteps come along;
He had his head held high and he was singing this song:

"When the rose fits with the glove,
Even the eagle's gotta fly with the dove.
And if you can't be with the one you love, well,
Love the one you're with."*

He was a nice young boy, with long hair like mine.
I asked him, "Where did you learn such a beautiful rhyme?"
He replied, "Not long ago, there were a couple of guys
Who said 'All you need is love, and you'll end up alright'."

So he took me to his home, and he laid me on his bed
And he swaddled me in cloth and he fixed up my head.
And when I asked him the cost for all his kindness,
He shrugged and said, "Just do unto others, that's the best thing, I guess."

What's All This White Stuff?

Some shots from the Baltimore Blizzard- what a wonderful week (that's not sarcasm, I really love all this snow)!


The view from our front porch on Saturday.




And here's Kelly, trying to start a snowball fight.




A view of Downtown from Charles St.




And then, it got windy.


Check out all my Blizzard shots from this week here.

Staying Power

Can you remember the first music you ever heard? I've tried to do this multiple times, and I always seem to come back to the same three albums. To hear me tell it, my musical life seems to have been born from Bruce Springsteen's "Greatest Hits," Carole King's "Tapestry," and Nanci Griffith's "Other Voices, Other Rooms"- these were the albums that my parents played in the house when I was a kid. Sure, they played more than just those three, and perhaps I had been exposed to other songs and albums prior to my first meeting with Mr. Springsteen, Ms. King and Ms. Griffith, but their works are what stick in my mind as my earliest encounters with music. I remember the loud audacity of the Boss and his band, the perfect placement of each piano note on "Tapestry," and the simple, evocative sound of Griffith's voice flowing through my house, and I remember the feeling that those sounds gave me. Now, as an adult, I find that when I listen to those albums, the feeling I get hasn't changed.

Music, good music, isn't a one-time thing. It is an organic presence built upon hundreds of moments shared between sound and mind. For me, the moments I had with those three albums propelled me to more moments with a greater variety of music and sound. It motivated me to have my own moments learning to play a piano, then the drums, and from there, a guitar. These moments of discovering new musicians, or mastering new instruments, build and feed off one another so that combined, they have an undeniable presence in my life. And at the end of the day, it makes my life more complete to have this thing called music in me. So maybe I'll never be a legendary musician, and maybe I'll never make a "living" playing my guitar. But because I was exposed to music, and because that exposure took on a life of it's own within me, then doing things like playing my guitar or going to a concert gives me all the "living" I need.

I'm trying to build moments for my After-School kids to share with music, and I think it's working. For the past few weeks I've been teaching them the basics of reading notes in a measure and having them work on recognizing patterns and beats. Typically, I'll draw a few measures on the board and place a few quarter and eighth notes in them. Then I'll have a student keep a steady count of 1, 2, 3, 4 and try to clap when they see a note that matches up with their count. They took to this surprisingly quickly and lately they've become really good at recognizing patterns.

Their most difficult task so far occurred Monday when I wrote different patterns on 20 note cards and placed them in a circle on the floor. I had them walk around in a circle to some music (their preference is Michael Jackson, and who am I to argue? 'Cause this is thriller, thriller night!), and when I stopped the music, they stopped at whichever note card they were at (kind of like a cakewalk, except no cake). Then, they had to listen as I clapped a beat with my hands, and if they could recognize that the beat that I was clapping was the one written on their card, they would win a prize.

Well, a lot of them did. As I clapped some eighth notes in a four count measure and looked around the room to see all my kids following along on their note cards, I thought, "This is pretty cool." They're having moments with music, just like I did years ago, and there's no telling where it will take them. Maybe they'll be able to read the music in their hymnals at church. Maybe they'll go home and ask their parents to buy them a guitar. Maybe, years later, they'll win a Grammy and dedicate it to "those silly games Mr. Scott used to make us play." Hey, a guy can dream vicariously, can't he?

Maybe none of that will happen, and I think that music will still be worth it. It is for me, and I know it will be for these kids. During these times when music programs are being cut from schools nationwide, it's more important than ever to re-institute the presence of the arts in all our lives, and especially those of children.

This country wants something that will last, something that has staying power? Invest in music and arts education. It's worth it. Since those days of my youth when I would listen to "Thunder Road" or when I would try to memorize the lyrics of Griffith's "This Old Town," music has stayed with me, and I can only hope that through their exposure to music in our After-School program, it will stay with these kids as well.

So tell me, can you remember the first music you ever heard?



(I'd really like to start getting some instruments into the kids' hands. If anyone knows of some resources that I might try to obtain some instruments, please let me know. Maybe we'll write a song for you!)