A review by Wanda Swenson
The cells are called HeLa (hee-lah) cells. They were used in research of the diabetes, heart disease or the cancer you may have been diagnosed with. They definitely were used to develop the many vaccines with which we have all been inoculated, and they are being used in advanced medical techniques such as gene mapping, chemotherapy and in vitro fertilization.
They have created a huge moral debate and dilemma in the research world about who owns the rights to the cells, tissue and organs that are harvested every day in clinics and hospitals everywhere and that are sitting in labs and freezers all around the world. With that kind of importance, you would think you would have heard of HeLa cells, but I’ll bet you haven’t.
Until I read “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks” by Rebecca Skloot, I had never heard of them either, but it was definitely a revelation of an unusual kind for me. The book was recommended to me last fall by a former student and her mother. I was so intrigued that I went online and ordered it from Amazon the next day.
Henrietta Lacks was a poor black woman living in Virginia in 1951, who had been raised by her grandfather and had married her first cousin, David. They had five children, two of whom were born before the couple was married. In January of 1951, four months after the birth of her fifth child, Henrietta was diagnosed with cervical cancer and treated with radium tube inserts and radiation X-rays.
The treatments did not save her life, but during her treatment, doctors removed two samples of Henrietta’s cervix, a healthy part and a cancerous part, without her permission. Those cells from her cervix were given to Dr. George Otto Gey who cultured them in his lab and found they had a unique property. They did not die as other cells did; in fact, they multiplied at an amazing rate and could be used successfully in research experiments. This was a dramatic boon to the medical field of research. These cells would eventually become the HeLa immortal cell line that is still used in research all over the world.
The name HeLa was taken from the first two letters of Henrietta’s first and last name, and for many years, no one knew who she was or where the cells actually came from. Rebecca Skloot decided to learn more about the woman whose cells were populating research labs everywhere after a college biology lecture in 1988. She began researching, interviewing and investigating everyone who had known Henrietta and all those who treated her.
Skloot’s main reason for writing the book was to tell the story of Henrietta and her children, who live in poverty and have never received a dime for the use of their mother’s cells for over half a century. Skloot’s relationship with Henrietta’s daughter, Deborah, was challenging and difficult at times, but she was the motivation for Skloot to find the pathway to the truth. The family was not provided any information on their mother’s cancer, how she died or how “immortal” she is, due to the trillions of her cells that still populate the world. It has been difficult for the family to make peace with the existence of those cells and the science that made it possible.
Legally, the rights to Henrietta’s cells were not hers or her family’s in the 1950s, and it is still the same today. That is what is causing the moral and legal debate in the medical community that may never be solved. When we sign those papers before medical procedures, we are most likely signing away ownership to whatever it is that is being removed from us and giving permission for it to be used for medical research. Most of us don’t care where our appendix goes or who wants to use it, I guess, but for Henrietta’s family, the profit from her immortal cells could have been a way to rise out of poverty and into a brighter life.
This is an interesting nonfiction read that really gets to the heart of an unbelievable historic event, a family that was left ignorant of that event and a legal and ethical debate surrounding tissue ownership and research.

The Long Road Home
I was mad at Gay on Friday. Virtuous she may be, but she hornswoggled me. She asked me to accompany her to Sioux Falls to pick up our brother, Corey, and his wife, Whitney, from the airport. I readily agreed and then she dropped the bomb. The flight arrived at 11 p.m. I tried to keep a brave face, but all I could think of was my 8 p.m. bedtime. I slept in the short-term parking lot and revived to chat on the road home. I became aware of an odd noise and I prayed, “Please let that be a low-flying airplane.” It was a flat tire.
Corey (coatless) searched high and low for the jack and tire futively. He resorted to the car manual and discovered it in a wheel well. A chilly wind was blowing and Gay bravely went out to assist. I knew I would be useless, so I didn’t budge. Whitney wrapped up in a quilt and said, “I have faith in my husband to fix this.” We took out Gay’s cell phone and looked at Pinterest and helpful decorating tips. We glanced up on a regular basis to watch the tire fixers discomfort. Gay relented quickly, standing in the dark (no flashlight) to call for help — Garth, Craig Olson, Carli. Finally, Tara (Olson) Larson picked up and called Carli’s hubby, Nathan, to help. Gay related we were by Hartford (we were almost to Salem). Nathan, thanks for trying to find us! How Corey and Gay changed that tire in the dark I will never know, but no one stopped to help. It may be because Gay was wrapped in an orange hood with just her nose and eyes sticking out and a crocheted afghan. I maintain Whitney said this, but she says I’m just throwing her under the bus. It couldn’t be me ‘cuz I gave up being a “Catty B@%*#” for Lent.
Flash forward to Sunday. What to do on a crappy, windy day? Play a marble game called “Joker” similar to the old “Aggravation”. We consider it to be a competitive sport “‘cuz you get to pick off your opponents. There is quite a bit of yelling, threats of revenge and gloating. Those of you who still think Soop is a “swell” guy, come play with us. He continually criticizes team and opponent moves and labels them stupid, dumb and idiotic. I yelled, “You’re not gonna browbeat me with your superior male attitude!” Janet asked Corey if he was sure he was actually related to us because he was too nice. Soop and Janet have to be separated because of his continuous criticism. I informed him to quit or he was going to give her irritable bowel syndrome. Whitney played like a true Baysinger and even challenged the rules and won. (She is a true teacher.) We broke out the wine at two in the afternoon and played until 9:15 that night (and we still hated to quit).
Corey and Whitney came home to be at the baptism of Jeremiah and Cassie Lindsey’s baby boy, Kolby. Corey had to Google how to be a godfather. (Seriously, he did.)
P.S. — We all may have gained 10 pounds this weekend because all we did was eat. Gay made her own “surprise” birthday supper. Ha!
Dee Baby