This is my first blog post in 7 months.  I wish it was a little more exciting.  I just finished this book and I wanted to get my scattered thoughts down because my memory is terrible and I did not want to forget the thoughts this book provoked in me.  This isn’t a great book review in that, if you don’t already know what the book is about, I didn’t provide any summary.  I also referenced people/things that someone who hasn’t read the book will have no idea about.  Maybe I shouldn’t bill this as a book review at all, but rather a conversation starter with anyone who has read the book.  Okay?  Okay.  Well, without further ado…

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I’ve just finished “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” a book I’ve been meaning to read for the past two years.  It was worth at least some of the hype and brought up several points of consideration for me.

Obviously, the race and class factors that affected - and continue to affect - Henrietta Lacks and her family was a huge part of this story.  It is one of the great ironies, driven home throughout the book, that HeLa cells have done so much for science and medicine and yet the Lacks family, most of whom are chronically ill, cannot afford health insurance.  Honestly, (and as I type this, I realize how ignorant it probably makes me sound), perhaps it’s an urban/rural divide, or a middle class/lower class divide, or even a racial divide between myself and the Lackses, but when I read some of the descriptions of the people and the conditions in which they lived in this book, I felt like I was reading about the 1940’s.  The fact that Clover, the tiny town where many of them grew up or lived, was simply bulldozed sometime in the 2000’s, blew my mind.

Because the author portrays the Lacks family so candidly, their lack of education comes across often.  The fact that a scientist gave Deborah a biology textbook to explain her mother’s cells to her was laughable, but infuriating at the same time.  Also laughable/infuriating was thinking about Deborah Googling HeLa in an Ambien-induced state and getting all kinds of wacky results and being unable to make sense of which items related to her mother and which ones didn’t.  It did made my heart happy though, when the author emphasized that the later generations of Lackses are college-bound or striving for college.

It’s just sad and cruel because if the Lackses were really serious about suing someone regarding the HeLa cells, I don’t think they would have had the education (or the means) to go about it (though Deborah totally kicked ass on getting power-of-attorney over Elsie’s records).  They couldn’t advocate for themselves and there was no one to advocate for them.  It’s like everyone the Lackses ever came in contact with regarding the HeLa cells either used them or brushed them off.  Enter Rebecca Skloot.  When I first started the book, I thought the author was arrogant, inserting herself into the process at every opportunity.  But I realize now that she was an integral part of this story (and that working on this project for ten years must have been a profound experience for her).  The more you read about past reporters and scientists’ interactions with the family, the more Skloot grows on you.  She was as honest as she could be about her intentions and she put up with ALOT (Deborah’s constant bipolar freakouts, for example) and stuck with the reporting through it all.  She also did everything she could to help the Lacks family understand on a basic level how her mother’s cells were obtained and what they were used for.  And she set up a memorial foundation!  I was glad, in the end, that it seemed like the family finally got some peace of mind.

The final thing this book obviously wants its readers to think about - and I certainly did - is ethical research concerns. It’s hard to judge the scientists who first discovered HeLa cells and freely traded them without informed consent because what they were doing was standard practice at the time.  Informed consent as a concept didn’t exist then and looking back on it with contemporary eyes is unfair.  That being said, reading that there are still not really any measures in place to protect individuals from their tissues or other specimens being used for scientific purposes frightens me a little.  On a personal level, I don’t mind if science or medicine uses any tissues, etc. they may have collected from me in the past 24 years or that they may collect in the next 24.  But the principle makes me uneasy.  I think it’s a greedy (and ignorant) person who would refuse the use of their tissues for possible commercial gain, but I do also generally believe people have the right TO KNOW things.  Some of the scientists quoted in the Afterword of the book were urging people to set aside their personal feelings for the benefit science.  I would challenge these scientists to make science and research more transparent to the public.  Tissue culture doesn’t have to be a big, bad, scary thing.  I think the not knowing is what makes it seem ominous.  If you go in for a routine check-up and you think your samples are thrown out after they are processed, then you find out down the line that they weren’t, of course that is going to stir up feelings of confusion and distrust.  People should be made aware that there is a possibility, however small or large, that a part of them might be used in scientific or medical research and in what ways it might be used.  I think most sane, rational people would be happy to contribute.

In December, I posted some of my best haikus from the previous months.  Well, I’ve been writing a haiku every day since January 1st.  I can’t wait to get to 366!  While they are not all masterpieces of the poetic form, here are some of the better ones:

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the house and the gym

are not very compelling

settings for haiku.

***

mouth-watering smell

of fresh garlic and onions

in a saute pan.

***

didn’t get a thing

done today - sucked into the

vortex of tv.

***

oh, to be the girls

on boardwalk empire!  so

gorgeous, drunk, happy.

***

thinking about the

distance between us makes me

melancholy too.

***

i miss sunday nights

at the barbary, singing

and dancing with you.

***

the signs were always

obviously pointing me

in this direction.

***

sleeping and waking

with you in reality -

sweeter than in dreams.

***

yes, please, let’s go to

atlantic city, london,

paris, alaska!

***

motivation was

easy in january;

february’s hard.

***

without my glasses,

the world is a series of

blurry shapes, colors.

***

my brilliant best

friend says being 24’s

all vicissitudes.

***

cookies, card, a dance

party, so many hugs!  thanks

for the sweet send off!

***

vegetarian

asian noodle soup in big

bowls with my best friend.

***

valentine’s day is

lame, we agree.  so here’s a

just because haiku.

***

i am finally

understanding why people

love caffeine so much.

***

scalding hot shower

washes away five hours

of job frustration.

***

i’ve been foolish to

believe there might be someone

in this world for me.

***

everywhere i go,

i carry this worn notebook

of lousy haiku.

I’ve softened a lot in regards to my views on children in the past year or two.  I really could not be bothered with them between the years of 2001 to 2010.  I didn’t want to hear them screaming or crying.  When I worked in a restaurant, I certainly did not want toddler’s grubby little hands smearing food all over my tables and throwing things onto the floor for me to clean up later.  My old roommate and I used to dread going to the supermarket for fear of unattended children running into our shins.  Looking back, I think I was just uncertain of how to interact with kids.  I like to talk. A LOT.  And I consider myself a very articulate person.  I always found it difficult to interact with kids because I felt like they could never understand what I was trying to say.  And I found myself unable to say things in a simple, relatable way. (I have this problem with peers and adults too.  If I say something the way I want to say it, and it’s not understood immediately, I have a really hard time rephrasing it.)

But I remember what actively changed my mind about children.  I met my friend Owen’s 1-year old son, Liam, for the first time.  I had met other babies/children of friends and family members prior to this day, but something about this casual afternoon with Owen and Liam was special.  We were watching kids’ shows and Liam was eating pizza (I think), and just playing.  I just became fascinated by how open and inquisitive he was.  When he picked up a toy and I asked, “Liam, can I see?” and he brought it over and shared with me, there was something so simple and innocent and sweet about it.  It was love at first interaction.  I was also fascinated by the side of Owen that Liam brought out.  Owen is someone who I have known for years, but seeing him interact with his son was different than seeing him in any other situation – it was also tinged with simplicity, innocence, and sweetness.  The love I could see and feel between my friend and his son, and the love I felt towards my friend for bringing someone so magical into the world and letting me share an afternoon with him, filled my heart.  That day changed my demeanor towards kids forever.  Soon after, my cousin and his wife had a baby girl named Michelle.  Two years ago, I would never have made the effort to get to know my adorable second cousin, but presently, I did.  And I love that she knows and recognizes me.  And I love when we make silly kissy-faces at each other.

But I don’t just have a soft spot for children that I know or am related to.  I smile at kids in stores now.  I tell little girls that they have cute dresses or pretty headbands or awesome animal hats.  Let’s face it.  Kids have all the best clothes and I am totally jealous.  I also never ever thought I would want to work with kids but I do - I work as a mentor for school children grades K-8.  And while I still find that some can be bratty and annoying (so can adults), I mainly find them to be sweet and joyful.  There is nothing like a first grade girl holding your hand and asking you to sit next to her on the bus.  There is nothing like the pride you feel for a fifth grade boy who notoriously acts out when he works quietly and completes all of his assignments correctly.  There is nothing like a game of “I Spy” with a second grade boy who calls you “salty.”  There is nothing like first graders screaming with laughter when you are chasing after them on the playground.  There is nothing like getting an arts and crafts project with ridiculously drawn likenesses of you.  These are just some of the things I have experienced working in a school for 5 hours a week for only 6 weeks.  The five hours a week I spend with my kids are almost always the best hours of my week.  I have no idea what the future holds for me in terms of whether or not I will ever have kids of my own (if I do ever, it will not be for a very long time).  But in the meantime, other people’s kids just keep on amazing me.

i’m 24 today!  i’m not just having an amazing birthday, but a wonderful birthday week! i am so grateful to everyone who i saw, who called me, who sent cards and messages, who bought (or will buy) me drinks, who bought me wonderful gifts, who baked me carrot cake. i have such an indescribably good feeling about turning 24/the year 2012 and i am the LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD to have so many wonderful people to share all this love and happiness in my heart with! ♥